“I am certain we can make an exception for you, sir. Without question. Would you like me to accompany you upstairs to her room? We are speaking of Mrs. Waterman… Miss Barber … are we not?”
“We are. And yes, I would appreciate it if you would take me to her room.” Without another word, the director of the hospital led him to the elevator, which came almost immediately, filled with doctors, nurses, and visitors, who exited, and then Matthieu and the director stepped in. His guide pressed the button, and a moment later they were on her floor. Matthieu could feel his heart beating faster. He had no idea what he'd see when he entered her room, or who would be there. It seemed unlikely to him that her children would remember him, they had been very young at the time. He assumed that her current husband would be there with her. He was hoping they would be out, taking a break.
The director stopped at the nursing desk, and said a few hushed words to the head nurse. She nodded, glanced at Matthieu with interest, and pointed to a door farther down the hall, which was Carole's room. Matthieu followed him without a word, and in an agony of pain and concern for her, in the bleak hospital lighting, he looked his age. The director stopped at the door the nurse had indicated, and opened it, motioning Matthieu inside. He hesitated and then whispered.
“Is her family with her? I don't want to intrude if it's not a good time.” He had suddenly realized that he might walk into an awkward scene. For a moment, he had forgotten that she no longer belonged to him.
“Would you like me to announce you if they are with her?” the director asked, and Matthieu shook his head, and did not offer to explain. The director understood. “I'll check.” He took a few steps into the room, as Matthieu waited outside and the door whooshed closed. He had been able to see nothing in the room. The director emerged a moment later. “Her family is with her,” he confirmed. “Would you like to wait in the waiting room?”
Matthieu looked relieved at the suggestion. “Yes, I would. This must be very hard for them,” he said, as the director led him back down the hall again, to a small private waiting room, which was normally used for an overflow of visitors, or people in deep grief who needed privacy. It was perfect for Matthieu, who wanted to avoid prying eyes, and preferred to be alone, while he waited to see her. He had no idea how long her family would be with her, but he was prepared to stay all day, or even into the night. He had to see her now.
The director of the hospital motioned to a chair and invited Matthieu to sit down. “Would you like something to drink, sir? A cup of coffee perhaps?”
“No, thank you,” Matthieu said, and extended his hand.
“I appreciate your help. I was shocked when I heard the news.”
“We all were,” the hospital director commented. “She was here for two weeks before we knew who she was. A terrible thing.” He looked appropriately reserved.
“Will she be all right?” Matthieu asked, with a look of sorrow in his eyes.
“I believe it's too soon to tell. Head injuries are treacherous and difficult to predict. She's still in a coma, but breathing on her own, which is a good sign. But she's not out of danger yet.” Matthieu nodded. “I'll come back and check on you later,” the director promised, “and the nurses will bring you anything you like.” Matthieu thanked him again, and he left. The man who had once been the Minister of the Interior of France sat as sadly as any other visitor, thinking of someone he loved, lost in thought. Matthieu de Billancourt was still one of the most respected and once-powerful men in France, and he was as frightened as any other visitor to the réanimation floor. He was terrified for her, and himself. Just knowing she was there, in a room so nearby, made his heart stir again as it hadn't in years.
Jason, Stevie, Anthony, and Chloe had been with Carole for hours by then. They took turns sitting in a chair next to her, stroking her hand, or talking to her.
Chloe kissed her mother's blue fingers sticking out of the cast, begging her to come back. “Come on, Mommy, please… we want you to wake up.” She sounded like a child, and then finally she just sat there and sobbed, until Stevie put an arm around her, got her a drink of water, and someone else took her place near Carole's bed.
Anthony was trying to be brave, but could never get past a few words before breaking down. And Jason stood behind them, looking distraught. They kept trying to talk to her, because there was always the remote possibility that she could hear them. And they were praying that might bring her back. Nothing else had so far. Her children and Jason were looking exhausted, jet-lagged and grief-stricken, and Stevie tried valiantly to keep their spirits buoyed, although she was in no better shape than they. But she was determined to do all she could to help, for Carole's sake and theirs. But at heart, she was as devastated as they. Carole was a beloved friend.
“Come on, Carole, you've got a book to write. This is no time to slack off,” she said as though her employer could hear her, when it was her turn in the chair, and Jason smiled. He liked Stevie. She was a woman of substance, and was being wonderful to all of them. He could see how deeply she cared about Carole. “You know, this really is taking the concept of writer's block to extremes, don't you think? Have you thought about the book? I really think you should. The kids are here too. Chloe looks terrific, she has a new haircut, and a ton of new accessories. Wait till you get the bill!” she said, and the others laughed. “That ought to wake her up,” Stevie commented to them. It was a long afternoon, and it was obvious that nothing had changed. They desperately wished it would. It was an agony watching her still form and deathly pale face.
“Maybe we should go back to the hotel,” Stevie finally suggested. Jason looked like he was about to faint. None of them had eaten since that morning, and barely then. He was gray, and Chloe was crying more and couldn't seem to stop. Anthony didn't look much better, and Stevie was feeling weak herself. “I think we all need food. They'll call us if anything happens, and we can come back tonight,” she said practically, and Jason nodded. He wanted a drink, although he wasn't much of a drinker. But at least right now it was some form of relief.
“I don't want to go.” Chloe sat and sobbed.
“Come on, Clo.” Anthony put his arms around her and gave her a hug. “Mom wouldn't want us to be like this. And we have to keep up our strength.” Earlier Stevie had suggested a swim at the hotel when they went back, and it sounded good to him. He needed exercise to deal with the intense tension they were under. Stevie was longing for a swim herself.
She finally got them rounded up and out the door of the room, with a nod to the nurse. It was no mean feat to move them, since none of them really wanted to leave Carole, nor did she, but she knew they had to keep their spirits as buoyant as they could. There was no telling how long this would go on, and they couldn't afford to fall apart. They would be of no use to Carole if they did, Stevie was well aware of that. So she made it her responsibility to take care of them. It took forever to get them to the elevator. Chloe had forgotten her sweater, and Anthony his coat. They went back one by one, and then finally got into the elevator, promising each other that they would be back in a few hours. They hated leaving her alone.
From his seat in the private waiting room, Matthieu saw them leave. He didn't recognize anyone in the group, but knew who they were. He heard them speak to each other in American accents. There were two women and two men. And as soon as the elevator doors closed, he approached the head nurse again. Normally, all visitors were forbidden, but he was Matthieu de Billancourt, venerated former Minister of the Interior, and the head of the hospital had told her to do whatever Matthieu wished. It was clear that the rules didn't apply to him, and he didn't expect them to. Without saying a word, the head nurse led him into Carole's room. She lay there like a sleeping princess, with IVs in her arm, as a nurse watched over her, and checked the monitors attached to her. Carole lay perfectly still and deathly pale, as he looked at her, and then gently touched her face. Everything he had once felt for her was in his eyes. The nurse stayed in the room, but discreetly turned away. She sensed that she was seeing something deeply private to both of them.