The Mistress(49)

—

As he sat in his kitchen, drinking coffee, Maylis was talking to the doctors, and the news wasn’t encouraging. Gabriel had had another cardiac episode that morning, and they weren’t hopeful. She was sitting alone in the waiting room crying when Marie-Claude arrived from Paris. Maylis told her what was happening, and Marie-Claude hurried down the hall to see her father in cardiac ICU, where he was on a ventilator, and family could visit him only for a few minutes every hour. Maylis had said she was his wife, and Marie-Claude looked pale when she returned a few minutes later, sat down in a chair, and blew her nose.

“He looks awful,” she said, and started to cry again, as Maylis went to comfort her, and was shocked when Gabriel’s daughter pulled away from her. “I don’t know what game you’re playing,” she said angrily. “All you’ve ever done is use my father. You never loved him.” Maylis looked horrified at what she was saying.

“How can you say something like that? We’ve been together for almost five years now, and we were close for years before that. Of course I love him.”

“Really? All you do is talk about your husband, as though he was some kind of saint, instead of a narcissistic madman who drove everyone crazy, including my father, who did everything for him, while Lorenzo accused him of stealing.” She had heard about it for years, and didn’t have her father’s patience with his artistic temperament, affection for him, or sense of humor. He had always thought it was funny when Lorenzo called him a crook. His daughter didn’t. “It’s my father who is the saint here. And if he dies, you’ll have it on your conscience that he never knew if you really loved him. All he ever knew is how much you loved Lorenzo. You even made it clear to him that you could never love him as much as you did your husband, and he was willing to accept that from you. God knows why. He didn’t deserve that.” What she was saying left Maylis speechless, and it was like a powerful slap in the face. And she knew that everything Marie-Claude was saying was true. Every word of it. And all she could do was cry as she listened. And after Marie-Claude unburdened herself with a heartbroken look, she left the room to call her husband, and Maylis called Theo. She was crying even harder than the first time.

“Oh my God, did he die?” Theo couldn’t understand her between the sobs. But he couldn’t imagine anything else the way she sounded.

“No, he’s still alive. It’s Marie-Claude.” She told him verbatim then what she had said, and when she finished, there was a long silence at Theo’s end. He didn’t know what to say to her. It was true, and she knew it. They all did. Gabriel had played second fiddle to an irascible, bad-tempered dead man for twelve years, four of them with Maylis as his mistress, but always pointing out to him that she had loved Lorenzo more. There were times when Theo wondered how he stood it. And he didn’t blame Marie-Claude for being upset with his mother, especially now. She wouldn’t even go to Paris to see him. She made him come to her in the South. Maylis had made very little effort. It was Gabriel who made the relationship work and was infinitely kind and loving to her. “What am I going to do? She hates me. And she’s right. I was awful to him. How could I say all those things about Lorenzo, and that I loved him more?” She was suddenly consumed with guilt, and all she wanted now was for Gabriel to survive so she could tell him how much she loved him.

“He knows you love him, Maman. I think you thought you’d be unfaithful to Papa’s memory if you admitted even to yourself how much you love Gabriel. I think he understood that. We just have to hope he gets better now. That’s all that matters.”

“It sounds like he’s going to die.” She sobbed as she said it.

“We don’t know that. He’s not that old.” But he had just turned sixty-eight with a history of heart trouble. And several cardiac arrests in a short time was dangerous.

They talked for a few more minutes and then they hung up as Marie-Claude walked back into the room and looked like she’d been crying.

“I’m sorry,” Maylis said softly, as Marie-Claude took a seat across from her again, not wanting to sit next to her. “What you said is true, and I was wrong. I’ve always loved him. I just didn’t want to be untrue to Lorenzo.”

“My father knew that,” she said grudgingly, “but it was still a terrible thing to do to him. He loves you, and he was so lonely without you in Paris that he was in St. Paul de Vence all the time. My children and I never see him. You could at least have made the effort to come to Paris once in a while.” Maylis nodded and realized that that was true too.

“I promise, I will in the future,” Maylis said, deeply chastised, and hoping she’d have the chance.

“You may not have to,” Marie-Claude said brusquely. She was irate for her father’s sake, and she had never liked Maylis, and been jealous of her father’s affection for her. She was letting her have it with both barrels now. And Maylis was honest enough to admit where she’d been wrong.

They sat in the waiting room in silence for two hours after that, hoping for news, until a doctor came in, and explained to both of them that Mr. Ferrand was not doing well. He was preparing them for the worst. Maylis nearly fainted when he told them, and Marie-Claude left the room to cry alone. Later they let them see him, still in the coma on the ventilator, which was breathing for him. He had had no more cardiac episodes, but his heart wasn’t strong. He was hooked up to half a dozen monitors, and the ICU staff was watching closely.