“I'd wait. I think it's important to wait for the last tests, if nothing else to ensure our credibility,” he said soberly, wondering if anyone could see him through the open window. His dark hair was tousled, and he wrapped the sheet around his waist. The terry cloth robe from the hotel was just out of reach on a peach brocade chair halfway across his bedroom.
“Don't be such a nervous Nellie,” Frank exhorted him. “The tests are going to be fine. Call me as soon as you hear,” he said, suddenly anxious to get going himself, and get to the office.
“I will. Thanks for calling, Frank. Give my love to Kate, in case I don't reach her before you see her. She was out all day yesterday, and it's too early to call her now,” he said, by way of explanation.
“She's a busy girl,” her father said proudly. She was still a girl to him, and in some ways she hadn't changed since college. She still looked almost the way she had twenty-four years before when Peter had met her. She was lithe and blonde, “cute-looking,” her friends still said, and very athletic. She wore her hair short and had blue eyes like his, and there was something pixieish about her, except when she didn't get what she wanted. She was a good mother, and a good wife to Peter, and an exceptional daughter to Frank. They both knew that. “I'll give her your love,” Frank reassured him, and then hung up, as Peter sat in his room, wearing a sheet, and staring out the window. What was he going to say to him if it all blew up in their faces? How were they going to justify the millions they had spent, the billions they wouldn't make, at least not for a while, and not until they spent still more to correct the problems? Peter couldn't help wondering if Frank would be willing to do that. Would he be willing to pursue Vicotec as far as they had to, to make it perfect, or would he insist that they abandon the project? As chairman of the board, the decision was still his, but Peter was going to do everything he could to fight for it. He was always willing to go the long hauls for the big wins. Frank liked the quick, showy wins. Just getting him through the past four years of development had been hard enough, another year or two might be just too much, particularly in view of what it would have to cost them.
He ordered coffee and croissants from room service, and then picked up the phone. He knew he was supposed to wait for Suchard's call, but he just couldn't help it. He called Paul-Louis and was told that Dr. Suchard was in the laboratory and could not be interrupted. They were having a very important meeting. And all Peter could do was apologize, and go back to the agony of waiting. It seemed an eternity of days, waiting to hear from him. It had been less than twenty-four hours since their meeting the day before, and already Peter was ready to jump out of his skin with unbearable tension.
He put his robe on before the breakfast came, and he thought of going swimming again, but it seemed so decadent during working hours. He took out his computer instead, and sat working with it, while munching a croissant and sipping his coffee, but it was impossible to concentrate, and by noon, he showered and dressed and gave up any hope of working.
It took him a long moment to decide what to do. He wanted to do something frivolous, and truly Parisian. A walk along the Seine, or in the Septième, down the rue du Bac, or just sitting in the Latin Quarter, drinking and watching the passersby. He wanted to do anything but work and think of Vicotec. He just wanted to get out of his room and become part of the city.
He put on a dark business suit, and one of his perfectly tailored white shirts. He wasn't meeting anyone, but he hadn't brought anything else, and as he walked out into the brilliant June sun on the Place Vendome, he hailed a cab and asked the driver to take him to the Bois de Boulogne. He had forgotten how much he loved being there, and he sat for hours, in the warm sun, on a bench, eating ice cream, and watching the children. It was a long way from the laboratories wrestling with Vicotec, farther still from Greenwich, Connecticut, and as he sat there lost in his own thoughts in the Paris sun, it even seemed a long way from the mysterious young wife of Senator Thatcher.
Chapter Three
When Peter left the Bois de Boulogne that afternoon, he took a cab to the Louvre, and strolled briefly through it. It was beautifully organized, and the statues in the courtyard were so powerful that he stood and stared at them for a long time, mesmerized, feeling a silent communion with them. He didn't even mind the glass pyramid that had been put right in front of the Louvre, which had caused so much controversy among both foreigners and Parisians. He walked for a while, and then finally took a cab home. He had been out for hours, and he felt human again, and suddenly more hopeful. Even if the tests didn't go well, they would somehow salvage what they already knew, and then press forward. He wasn't going to let an important project like this die because of a few problems. The FDA hearings were not the end of the world, he'd been through them before over the years, and if it took five years instead of four, or even six eventually, then so be it.
He was feeling relaxed and philosophical when he walked back into the Ritz again. It was late afternoon, and there were no messages for him. He stopped and bought a newspaper, and made a point of going to the girl in charge of the vitrines, and bought the gold bracelet for Katie. It was a solid, handsome chain, with a single large gold heart dangling from it. She loved hearts, and he knew she'd wear it. Her father bought her really expensive things, like diamond necklaces and rings, and knowing he couldn't compete with him, Peter usually kept his gifts to the kind of thing he knew she'd wear, or that would have special meaning.
And when he went upstairs, he glanced around the empty room, and felt suddenly anxious. The temptation to call Suchard was great again, but this time he resisted. He called Katie instead, but when he dialed, all he got was the answering machine again. It was noon in Connecticut, and he figured she was out to lunch, and God only knew where the boys were.
Mike and Paul should have been home from school by then, Patrick had never left, and in another week or so, Katie would be moving everyone to the Vineyard. Peter would stay in town and work, and join them on weekends, as he always did, and then he'd spend his four-week vacation with them in August. Frank was taking July and August off that year, and Katie was planning a big Fourth of July barbecue to open the season.
“Sorry I missed you,” he said to the machine, feeling foolish. He hated talking to electronics. “The time difference makes it difficult. Ill call you later…bye …oh …it's Peter.” He grinned, and hung up, wishing he hadn't sounded so stupid. The answering machine always made him feel awkward. “Captain of industry unable to speak to answering machine,” he said, making fun of himself, as he sprawled across the settee in the peach satin room and looked around him, trying to decide what to do for dinner. He had the option to go to a bistro nearby, or to stay at the hotel and eat in the dining room, or stay in his room, order room service, watch CNN, and work on his computer. In the end, he opted for the last choice. It was the simplest.
He took off his jacket and his tie, and rolled his immaculate shirtsleeves up. He was one of those people who still looked impeccable at the end of the day, not just at the beginning. His sons teased him about it, and claimed he had been born wearing a tie, which made him laugh, remembering his youth in Wisconsin. He would have liked some of that for them, and a little less Greenwich, Connecticut, and Martha's Vineyard. But Wisconsin was far, far behind him. With both his parents and his sister long gone, he had no reason to go there. He still thought of Muriel's children in Montana at times, but somehow, by now it seemed too late to try to make contact. They were almost grown up, and they wouldn't even know him. Katie was right. It was too late now.