“Everything I’ve just said to you is true,” she said miserably, “from beginning to end. And don’t
She was angry now, and hurt by the cruelty of his words.
“I can’t say the same about you!” He spat angrily at her again, his eyes like fire on ice. “How dare you think that you could trick me into marrying you by pretending to be a widow, and failing to mention all this to me. Everything from syphilis to adultery and bastard children. How could you present yourself to my family as something you’re not? And try to convince me now of all these outrageous lies. At least have the guts to admit what you are.” He was in a white rage. He felt as though she had stolen something from him, his faith, his trust, and the sanctity of his family. What she had told him was unthinkable, and he would never believe another word she said, and he certainly didn’t believe the way she was trying to clean it up now.
“And what is it that you think I am, Antoine? A whore? What happened to love and faith in me if you love me? I didn’t have to tell you any of this. You would probably never have found out. But I wanted to tell you the truth because I love you, and you have the right to know everything about me. The bad things that have happened to me were mostly done to me by others, and I’ve paid a high price. I was left by a husband I loved in a marriage that was a fraud, and was then shunned by the only world I knew as a result. I lost everyone I loved and came here alone at twenty-two. I got raped when I was still a virgin. And I had a baby I didn’t want, alone. How much worse does it have to get for you to be a human being and have a little compassion and faith in me?”
“You’re a loose woman, and a liar, Annabelle. It’s written all over you.”
“Then why didn’t you see it before?” she said, crying through her words. They were shouting at each other in the Bois de Boulogne, but there was no one else around.
“I didn’t see it before because you’re a damn good liar. The best I’ve ever known. You had me totally convinced. You’ve contaminated my family and violated everything I hold dear,” he said, looking pompous and sounding cruel. “I have nothing more to say to you,” he said, standing as far away from her as he could get. “I’m going home, and I’m not driving you. Maybe you can pick up a soldier or a sailor, and have a little fun on the way back. I wouldn’t get near you with the toe of my boot.” He turned away from her then and strode off, as she stood and stared at him and shook from head to foot, unable to believe what she’d just heard or what he’d done. A moment later, she heard his car drive off, and she walked slowly out of the Bois de Boulogne. She felt as though her world had ended, and she knew she would never trust anyone again. Not Hortie. Not Antoine. Not anyone she knew. From now on, her secrets were her own, and she and Consuelo didn’t need anyone. She was so devastated she was almost hit by a car when she finally reached the street.
She hailed a cab and gave the driver her address. She was frozen to the bone, and sat sobbing in the back seat. The kindly Russian who was driving her finally asked her if there was anything he could do to help. And all she did was shake her head. Antoine had just proven all her worst fears, that no one would ever believe her innocence, and she would be condemned forever for what everyone else had done. Whatever had been left of her heart was in a million pieces at her feet. He had just proven to her that there was no such thing as love, or forgiveness. And the idea that Consuelo could contaminate anyone’s family, or be accused of it, made her feel sick.
When they reached her house in the sixteenth arrondissement, the gentle old White Russian refused to take the fare from her. He just shook his head and put it back in her hand.
“Nothing can be as bad as that,” he said. He had had hard times of his own in recent years.
“Yes, it is,” she said, choking on a sob. And then she thanked him, and ran into the house.
Chapter 24
Annabelle roamed her house like a ghost for the next three days. She canceled her appointments, didn’t go to her office, and told everyone she was sick. She was. She was heartsick over everything Antoine had said to her, and all that he had utterly destroyed. If he had stoned her in the street or spat on her, it wouldn’t have hurt as much. And in fact, he had done both. And worse. He had broken her heart.
She had Brigitte take Consuelo to school, and to the park, and she told them she was sick as well. Only Helene at her office didn’t believe her. She could sense that something terrible had happened, and she was afraid it involved Antoine.
Annabelle was lying in bed thinking about all of it, and everything he had said, when the doorbell rang. She didn’t want to get up to answer it, and Brigitte was out. There was no one she wanted to see, and after everything Antoine had said to her she had nothing left to say to anyone, especially to him. She hadn’t heard a word from him since he walked out on her in the park. And she didn’t plan to ever speak to him again. She doubted she’d hear from him in any case.
The doorbell persisted for at least ten minutes, and finally, she put on her dressing gown and went downstairs. Maybe it was an emergency and someone in the neighborhood needed a doctor. She pulled the door open without even bothering to look to see who it was and found herself staring up at Antoine. She had no idea what to say. And for the fraction of an instant, neither did he.
“May I come in?” he asked solemnly. She hesitated, not sure if she wanted him in her house again, and then slowly she stepped aside. She took a moment to close the door, and didn’t invite him to sit down. She stood looking at him standing near the front door. “Could we sit down for a minute?” he asked cautiously. Fortunately, he hadn’t given her an engagement ring yet, so she had nothing to return to him.
“I’d rather not,” she said in a dead voice. “I think you said more than enough the other day. I don’t think there’s much point saying any more.” He was startled by the look in her eyes. She looked as though something in her had died.
“Annabelle, I realize I reacted severely. But what you said to me was extremely hard to swallow. You’ve had marriages you never told me about, babies out of wedlock. You lied about being a widow. You owed me better than that. You’ve even been exposed to a fatal disease you could have transmitted to me once we were married.” What he said to her was yet another slap in the face, and proved yet again that he hadn’t believed a word she’d said. His words tore at her already battered heart again.
“I told you I was never exposed. If I had been, I would never even have had dinner with you. I wouldn’t have taken the risk of falling in love with you, if I had been exposed to a disease that could kill you. I love you, Antoine. Or I did. I told you. I never slept with Josiah.”
“That’s a little hard to believe. You were married to the man for two years.”
“He was sleeping with his best friend,” she said in a dead voice. “I just didn’t know it. I thought there was something wrong with me. As it turns out, there was a lot wrong with him. And all you did is prove to me that I shouldn’t have told you at all.” She was devastated as she met his eyes.
“Would you rather have continued to lie to me, as you did from the beginning? You would have been marrying me under false pretenses. I might remind you that that’s fraud.”
“That’s why I told you. What I meant just now was that I shouldn’t have bothered to tell you. I should never have gotten involved with you at all.”
“How can you say such a thing? I love you,” he said, looking pompous. She wasn’t charmed by him anymore.
“That’s no longer believable, given everything you said to me the other day. You don’t treat someone you love that way.”
“I was upset.” She didn’t comment, and looked away. He didn’t go near her. He was afraid that if he did, she might hit him. There was murder in her eyes.
“What you said about Consuelo is unforgivable. I would never let you near her again. It’s not her fault that she’s illegitimate. It’s mine because I gave birth to her, and chose to, in spite of everything. And it’s not even my fault. It’s the fault of some drunken lunatic who threw me on the ground and raped me. And you would blame me for it forever, instead of believing me.” Her eyes were wounded and cold.
“That’s why I came to talk to you. I’ve been thinking about it,” he said cautiously. “I’ll admit, this isn’t what I expected. And it’s not really what I wanted in a wife. But I love you, and I’m willing to overlook and forgive you for
