She sat in her bed for a long time, wondering what to do next, how to find out what had happened. She wanted to pick up the phone and ask him. But if he had wanted her to know the truth, he would have told her five months before, instead of lying to her. She was completely confused. She tossed back the covers and got out of bed, and began pacing her bedroom as the television droned on. She turned it off so she could think more clearly, and then looked at her watch. It was noon in Washington, and six o'clock at night in Paris. And then she had an idea, ran to the kitchen, and grabbed the phone.
She dialed Washington information and asked for the number of his office, and was instantly rewarded. She wasn't totally sure what to do next, but when a voice answered, sounding busy, she asked for Mr. Robinson's assistant, and a male voice came on the phone. She explained that Mr. Robinson had encouraged her to call for her committee on literacy in children in the Deep South, and she could hear the assistant pay attention to her. Isabelle knew that literacy all over America was of great importance to him, and he urged all his candidates to espouse it as a valuable cause.
“Of course,” the assistant said, validating Isabelle's idea.
“We were hoping that he and his wife would attend our event in December. We'd like his wife to be our honorary chair.” There was a brief pause while the assistant caught his breath and Isabelle regrouped, praying that she was right.
“I'm sure Mr. Robinson would like to. I'll check his calendar when you give me the date. But I'm afraid that… er … Mrs. Robinson won't be able to chair the event. Or actually, she might, but… well, they're divorced. In fact,” he sounded slightly embarrassed, “she's getting remarried next month. I'm sure she'd be very interested if you'd actually prefer to ask them. I can give you her number if you'd like to call her. Otherwise, I think Mr. Robinson would be interested in chairing your event, if you'll send me some material on it, and give me the date.”
“Absolutely. I'll get it out to you today.” Isabelle's hand was shaking as she held the phone and closed her eyes. He had lied to her about both things. He and Cynthia were not together, and he could not walk, and she felt certain now of what he had done. He had freed her, for her sake, out of some crazy lunatic idea he had that he owed that to her, because he loved her. Or maybe he didn't love her anymore … but two things were sure, he was no longer married to Cynthia, and he was still in a wheelchair.
“Thank you so much,” she breathed into the phone to his assistant.
“And what was that date again?”
“December twelfth.”
“I'll calendar that for you and let him know.”
“Thank you.”
“And your name? I'm sorry … I didn't catch it….” “No problem. Sally Jones.”
“Thank you, Miss Jones. Thank you for your call.”
She sat in her bed for a long time afterward, pondering what to do next. She just sat there, thinking about him, and ever more certain of what he had done and why. She felt as though everything had changed in the blink of an eye. But this time, instead of wanting to die as she had for the last five months, she felt alive again.
And at midnight, after thinking about it for hours, she knew what she had to do. She picked up the phone and called the airline, and made a reservation for the following afternoon. His elections were only four days away, and the timing was probably awful, but she couldn't wait. She booked a seat on the two o'clock flight the next day. And then she called Sophie and told her she was going to Washington for a few days.
“Why?” Sophie sounded surprised, but she was pleased. Her mother had been so lifeless, so sad, and so distraught for months, and especially after Teddy died, that it was a relief to know she was willing to go anywhere.
“I'm going to see an old friend,” Isabelle explained.
“Anyone I know?” Sophie asked, trying to figure it out. Her mother was acting a little crazy, and sounding strange. She sounded excited and happy and scared.
“Bill Robinson. We were in the accident together,” Isabelle said gently, and Sophie smiled at her end.
“I know, Mom. He was nice to me in London when I visited you in the hospital. He has two daughters and a nice wife.”
“That's about right.” Minus the wife.
“He liked you a lot,” Sophie said innocently, and Isabelle smiled.
“I like him too. I'll call and let you know where I am, and when I'm coming home. Okay? Take good care of yourself, sweetheart. I'll be back soon.”
“Don't rush back. I'm not coming home till Christmas. Have a good time.”
“Thank you,” Isabelle said, and hung up.
She couldn't sleep that night, and left for the airport the next morning at eleven o'clock. She had to be there at noon. And she could hardly contain herself on the flight. She had no idea how to see him, or what to say to him when she did. Maybe he'd be furious with her for finding him out and hunting him down. If he had wanted to be with her, she told herself, he would have been. He had made himself perfectly clear, she argued with herself all the way across the Atlantic. But he was wrong. That was the whole point. He was entirely, totally wrong. He didn't have to do that for her, didn't have to sacrifice himself. She didn't give a damn if he never walked again, except for his sake, but not for her own. All she could do now was find him, and tell him that. But she knew it would be no easy thing. He was a very stubborn man. She remembered all too vividly his many objections to Joe marrying Jane.
As the plane landed at Dulles Airport, Isabelle closed her eyes and said a silent prayer that he would listen to her. She had no idea if he would. But she was going to give it one hell of a try.
She had his office address in her pocket, and trembling in the chill air, she stepped into a cab, and gave the driver the address of the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown, where she'd made a reservation the night before. All she had to do now was find out where he was.
Chapter 18
It was nearly four o'clock when Isabelle settled into her room at the hotel. And she knew she had to call his office soon if she was going to find out where he was going that night. Or maybe she should just walk in on him in the office. Maybe she was totally crazy to have come. There were a thousand scenarios in her head, and she had no idea how any of them would work out. And as she stared at the phone, she was beginning to think she'd made a terrible mistake. Maybe he had just fallen out of love with her. Finally, after another half hour of total terror, she picked up the phone.
A receptionist answered, and Isabelle made herself sound busy, crazed, and stressed.
“Hi, I'm with security for tonight. What time will Mr. Robinson arrive?” She forced herself to sound American, so the woman wouldn't know she was French.
“God, I don't know,” the girl said, sounding even more stressed than Isabelle could pretend. “They're going to six different events. Who is this again?”
“Security. You know, for the dinner.”
“Oh, of course … damn … I thought he canceled that… no, that's right… okay … he's coming to you at nine o'clock … he's sorry to be late, but he just can't get there any sooner. You'll be his fourth event. And he can't stay long … now, you know he's in a wheelchair, right?”
“Right. I've got that in my notes,” Isabelle said, sounding official and informed.
“You need to take away the chair at the table so he can wheel himself in. He doesn't like to make a fuss. And he doesn't want to be photographed in the chair. Very low profile. He and Senator Johnson want to come in a side door, and they'll leave the same way.”