“I felt wonderful until—”
“Well, there you are. You aren’t going around having any fainting spells?”
“No.”
“Because it’s all over. He said himself that those things are self-healing.”
“He said the risks—”
Kate sighed. “Marianne, every time a woman gets pregnant, there’s always a risk. Life is full of risks. The important thing in life is to decide which risks are the ones worth taking, don’t you agree?”
“Yes.” Marianne sat there thinking. She made her decision. “You’re right. Let’s not say anything to Tony. It would only worry him. We’ll keep it our secret.”
Kate thought, I could bloody well kill John Harley for scaring her to death. “It will be our secret,” Kate agreed.
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Three months later, Marianne became pregnant. Tony was thrilled. Kate was quietly triumphant. Dr. John Harley was horrified.
“I’ll arrange for an immediate abortion,” he told Marianne.
“No, Dr. Harley. I feel fine. I’m going to have the baby.”
When Marianne told Kate about her visit, Kate stormed into John Harley’s office. “How dare you suggest my daughter-in-law have an abortion?”
“Kate, I told her that if she carries that baby to term, there’s a chance it might kill her.”
“You don’t know that. She’s going to be fine. Stop alarming her.”
Eight months later, at four A.M. in early February, Marianne’s labor pains began prematurely. Her moans awakened Tony.
He began hurriedly dressing. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll have you at the hospital in no time.”
The pains were agonizing. “Please hurry.”
She wondered whether she should have told Tony about her conversations with Dr. Harley. No, Kate had been right. It was her decision to make. Life was so wonderful that God would not let anything bad happen to her.
When Marianne and Tony arrived at the hospital, everything was in readiness. Tony was escorted to a waiting room. Marianne was taken into an examining room. The obstetrician, Dr. Mattson, took Marianne’s blood pressure. He frowned and took it again. He looked up and said to his nurse, “Get her into the operating room—fast!”
Tony was at the cigarette machine in the hospital corridor when a voice behind him said, “Well, well, if it isn’t Rembrandt.” Tony turned. He recognized the man who had been with Dominique in front of her apartment building. What had she called him? Ben. The man was staring at Tony, an antagonistic expression on his face. Jealousy? What had Dominique told him? At that moment, Dominique appeared. She said to Ben, “The nurse said Michelline is in intensive care. We’ll come—” She saw Tony, and stopped.
“Tony! What are you doing here?”
“My wife is having a baby.”
“Did your mother arrange it?” Ben asked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Dominique told me your mother arranges everything for you, sonny.”
“Ben! Stop it!”
“Why? It’s the truth, isn’t it, baby? Isn’t that what you said?”
Tony turned to Dominique. “What is he talking about?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Ben, let’s get out of here.”
But Ben was enjoying himself. “I wish I had a mother like yours, buddy boy. You want a beautiful model to sleep with, she buys you one. You want to have an art exhibition in Paris, she arranges it for you. You—”
“You’re crazy.”
“Am I?” Ben turned to Dominique. “Doesn’t he know?”
“Don’t I know what?” Tony demanded.
“Nothing, Tony.”
“He said my mother arranged the exhibition in Paris. That’s a lie, isn’t it?” He saw the expression on Dominique’s face. “Isn’t it?”
“No,” Dominique said reluctantly.
“You mean she had to pay Goerg to—to show my paintings?”
“Tony, he really liked your paintings.”
“Tell him about the art critic,” Ben urged.
“That’s enough, Ben!” Dominique turned to go. Tony grabbed her arm. “Wait! What about him? Did my mother arrange for him to be at the exhibit?”
“Yes.” Dominique’s voice had dropped to a whisper.
“But he hated my paintings.”
She could hear the pain in his voice. “No, Tony. He didn’t. Andre d’Usseau told your mother you could have become a great artist.”
And he was face to face with the unbelievable. “My mother paid d’Usseau to destroy me?”
“Not to destroy you. She believed she was doing it for your own good.”