And then she sobered, remembering her news about Émile. She was on the verge of telling them when Emma announced: “Well.I’m beat. I’m heading to my room to root through my acquisitions, and perhaps take apetite sieste. Rosalyn, lovely to see you, as always. We’ll catch up soon. We have some stories to share, do we not, Blondine?Parisianstories.”
She limped out of the room on her crutches, two sets of eyes following her.
Rosalyn turned to Blondine. “What’s going on?”
“She sent me shopping one day,” said Blondine. “She didn’t want me to know where she was going, but André told me they went to the hospital.”
“Is there a problem with her leg?”
Blondine shrugged. “I can’t get a thing out of her. When I asked, she said something about André and beans—does that mean anything to you?”
“‘Spill the beans’ means ‘to reveal a secret.’”
“Ah, that makes sense now. In any event, Emma said it was just a routine checkup, but...”
“But what?”
“Her appointment was at the Hôpital Universitaire Pitié-Salpêtrière—Charles Foix.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“It is a teaching hospital, known for research.” She paused. “I worry when people go to research hospitals. My grandmother was sent to one. It usually means they have something that can’t be easily cured.”
“You know how Emma is,” Rosalyn said, as she felt a stab of fear. “Probably just demanded the best physician in all of Paris look at her leg.”
“Maybe,” Blondine said, looking doubtful. “But if she wants to keep it to herself, I suppose that’s her choice. After all, we keep our own secrets,non?”
?Rosalyn decided to wait to share the news of Émile’s fate until the three of them were together again. They had explored Émile’sjourney together, and should grieve his death together. Returning to her room, Rosalyn paused in front of the door ofPinot Meunierbut heard no movement. She didn’t want to disturb Emma if she was napping. Could Blondine be onto something? She had noticed Emma taking pills a few times, which she had claimed were vitamins.
Rosalyn had seen enough pills in her life to know that what Emma was taking were not simple nutritional supplements. Still, many people took medications for high blood pressure and a myriad of other ailments; Emma was in her fifties, old enough to have developed a few chronic issues. The thing was... Dash hadn’t told Rosalyn he was feeling ill for a very long time, until it was too late. Why hadn’t he confided in her?
She carried her gifts toChambre Chardonnayand set the beautiful perfume bottle on her bedside table so she could sniff it at will. The new paint set she placed on the table, running her fingers over the tubes of pigment with reverence, reading the names aloud. “Phthalo green, barium yellow, bremen blue, celadon green, alizarin crimson...”
The thought of Emma being sick, really sick, filled Rosalyn with dread. She remembered the look on the doctor’s face when she referred Dash to a research hospital to explore experimental treatment options.
Still, it wasn’t any of Rosalyn’s business. Not to mention she had known Emma for only what—a few weeks? Was it simply being someplace new, or the fact that they were living together, that fostered this feeling of closeness to someone she hardly knew? There was an intensity to the relationship that made her understand why so many people had affairs while on vacation.
Affairs.Her mind went to Jérôme. After the lovely evening at his house, she had fled without explanation.
The truth was that he had stirred something in her that Rosalynthought had died along with her husband. From the very first time she saw Jérôme in his fields, in the barely dawning light, something had drawn her to him... a yearning, a craving, a desire for closeness.
Intimacy.This was a loss that even the young widows’ support group had trouble discussing.
Rosalyn used to hunger for Dash’s touch. Even after they had been married for a while, their connection still burned, not as hot as it was in the very beginning but more intense, buoyed by their closeness, the experiences they had shared.
How could she hunger for another?
Jérôme had introduced her to his son, had noticed her new haircut, had shown her the Comtois collection and his family’s library. He was sending her signs, wasn’t he? She wasn’t even sure what that felt like anymore.
She should seek Jérôme out, to apologize for her abrupt departure.
And yet a part of her longed to remain in her cold little cocoon, insulated from the world. Rosalyn fiddled with the locket around her neck and recalled her horrific nightmare, Dash not allowing her to close the door of the medicine cabinet.
She made her decision.
Chapter Forty-three
Rosalyn dressed in warm clothes and set out walking. Jérôme wasn’t in his fields near the highway, but she spied plumes of smoke from small fires staining the sky, and a team of half a dozen workers bustling like busy ants, high on the hill.
