Beyond Eden (7 page)

After all, Royce had said what was true; he'd said what he wanted to say, what had needed to be said. He didn't look again at Lindsay, merely turned on his heel and left the room.

The inspector was silent as he looked down at
Lindsay. He felt very sorry for her. He'd wanted to slug Royce Foxe in the face. Instead, he said in his soft voice, resisting the impulse to hold her hand and soothe her, “I have a daughter who is just your age. Just like you,
mademoiselle.
Her name is Felice. Last year she got this crush—that's the American slang, isn't it?—yes, this crush on an older man and she acted so foolish and so silly that we all of us were equally annoyed and despairing. But this man, he was a normal adult, you see, with no sickness in his mind, and thus it was that he understood she was merely a young girl in the agony of infatuation. He was kind to her, but nothing more. He didn't take advantage of her. No normal man would. Do you understand?”

She stared up at him, her eyes dull, not caring about his wretched daughter. “Yes, I understand.”

“Good. Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

Her voice was as dull as her eyes, and it worried him. “My father told you what happened. It's true what he said, only it isn't, not really. The prince wrote to me that both he and Sydney wanted me to visit them here in Paris. I wanted to see him, it's true. I thought he was the most wonderful man in the world. I worshiped him. I thought my stepsister wasn't right for him, wasn't worthy of him—”

“Ah, and you,
mademoiselle
, were the only one who was right for him?”

“Yes. I believed she mistreated him, that she didn't give him what he needed, what he wanted, what he deserved. Of course he told me of the bad things she'd done to him.”

“So you stayed when you saw your sister wasn't there?”

“Yes. It seemed so natural, you see. He told me Sydney didn't like him and had left. He told me not
to blame myself. I felt so badly for him. I was so angry at my sister for hurting him. He was wonderful and so nice and he took me everywhere, showed me all through Montmartre, told me old stories. It was just like all my daydreams coming true. And then that night, he came in my bedroom and started asking me questions about what I let boys do to me and he told me he wanted to teach me all those things. He told me how he'd had to wait for me. And then I really saw him. He wasn't handsome anymore or charming or kind. I was so afraid of him, and then, finally, I realized that he wasn't what I'd believed him to be. He hurt me but I fought him, and I screamed and screamed like they taught me to do in my self-defense classes, and then he hit me and hit me and then—”

The inspector waited. He saw she couldn't get the words out and said gently, “Then your sister came and she shot him. He had already ejaculated in you?”

She looked at him.

Galvain searched his mind for another word, saying finally, “He came inside you? He had come?”

She nodded, a spasm shaking her body.

“Your sister fired the gun again?”

“Yes, she had to. To protect me. He fell off me onto the floor. We thought he was dead, but then he groaned.”

Galvain patted her hand, unable to keep himself from making this bit of human contact with her. He wasn't particularly surprised when she jerked away. Poor girl, he thought, poor girl. “You rest now,
mademoiselle
, and you get yourself strong again. All this will fade, you will see.” He prayed it would be true, but he doubted it. Fade, yes, but she would never forget, never. He wondered what
she would be like in five years, in ten. He added, “Your father has hired two guards to keep the paparazzi away from you, those vultures, and the other media people as well. They will lose interest soon enough. I will talk to you again. Rest,
petite.
”

 

Royce Foxe's voice was heavy with fatigue, his eyes rheumy and burning with grit as he opened the suite door. He stared at the same inspector who'd been in Lindsay's room at the hospital. “What the hell do you want? Is it the damned prince again? I thought you said he was improving by the hour?” Royce hadn't slept much during the past three days. Even now he knew there was much to do. And now this French police inspector was here again, at Royce's suite, this calm little man Royce was beginning to reassess. Perhaps the little man wasn't quite so insignificant after all. But nonetheless, he didn't stand a chance with him, with Judge Royce Foxe. “I've been assured that my daughter won't be charged with attempted murder. She won't be charged with anything. She acted in defense of her sister. I'm an attorney and an American federal judge, and surely you must know that you can't prey on my ignorance, because I don't have any.”

“Yes, I know you are a judge,
monsieur.
”

“The bastard will live. So what do you want now?”

“It is a relief,” Galvain said, looking around. “No, your daughter won't be charged with attempted murder. That has never been an issue. That is not why I'm here,
monsieur.
I want to know if the young
mademoiselle
Lindsay Foxe will be pressing charges against the man. The hospital told me you'd brought her here yesterday.”

“What did you say?”

The inspector remained calm and still and patient, saying, “The Prince di Contini raped her. He brutalized her. Is your daughter here,
monsieur
? I must speak with her.”

“No, you won't speak to her, there's no need. Do you think I'm mad? There will be no charges against the prince. Good day, Inspector.”

“I must hear this from
mademoiselle.
”

Royce didn't know what to do. Damned little man with the power of the police behind him. Royce hadn't, quite simply, thought through the consequences. “I will have my daughter get in touch with you tomorrow, Inspector. I thought you were so concerned about her health. Well, prove it, and go away. She is resting now.”

“No, I'm awake.” Lindsay came slowly into the living room, wearing a nightgown and bathrobe, her feet in soft flat slippers. Her curly hair was tangled around her face, thick and wavy. She looked sixteen years old, except when one noticed the fading bruises and the weary eyes that held too much knowledge for a young girl of her age.

“Go back to bed, Lindsay,” Royce said. “Now. You're not needed here.”

Inspector Galvain was pleased when she turned to him, ignoring her father. “Hello, Inspector. Is everything all right? Sydney isn't in trouble, is she?”

“No, there is nothing to worry about with your sister.”

“Her concern for her sister comes a little late, I should say.”

Galvain watched the girl shrink away at the blast of her father's words. The damned bastard, as cold and brutal as the prince had been. Words or fists,
it didn't matter. The soul was still shattered. Inspector Galvain wished he could take her home with him, to his wife, Lisse, who would smother her with love and reassure her that she hadn't been to blame.

He said to her now, formality deepening his voice, “I must ask you a question,
mademoiselle.
I must know if you will press charges against the prince.”

Her face went slack.

“I told you, Inspector, she won't!”

“
Mademoiselle?
” Even as he looked at her, his expression as neutral as he could make it, he knew it was impossible for her. But he wanted to try. He wanted to see what the girl was made of. If only he could get her father out of the room, but then, the man would still have a chance at her, to batter her even more than the prince had, only his abuse would be emotional, and the good Lord knew that he'd had years upon years to build weapons for his arsenal.

Lindsay didn't look at her father. Suddenly she looked very old and immeasurably tired. To Galvain's surprise, she said in a very calm voice, “If I press charges, Inspector, what exactly would happen?”

He waved his hand to keep her father silent and said gently, “I am proud that you don't immediately dismiss the idea of bringing this man to justice. You are a smart girl.”

“I would like to press charges against him. He hurt me badly. He raped me. He isn't normal. I wish I could be sure that other girls who are fool enough to fall for his charm and good looks won't be hurt. He should be forced, at the very least, to have treatment.”

“Excellent,
mademoiselle.
I applaud what you say. It is exactly right.”

“It makes no difference,” Royce yelled. “She won't press charges, damn you.”

Galvain ignored Royce Foxe. “As I said,
mademoiselle
, you are a smart girl. You show courage.” He hadn't expected this much from her, he really hadn't. But now he had to put a stop to it. He couldn't let her go through with it. Perhaps, just perhaps, her bastard of a father had learned something about his daughter. But he doubted it. He said to her, his voice very gentle, “You wanted to know exactly what would happen. I will tell you the truth that is unvarnished. A trial would mean an international scandal. Your family is well-known in America and the prince's family is equally well-known in Europe. You would be butchered by the press and in the courtroom. Your family would be harassed and hounded to a most painful extent. Your sister would possibly be charged with attempted murder if the rape charge failed to stand in court. Do you understand me,
mademoiselle
?”

She stared at him. He hated to see the brief flash of spirit disappear from her face. He hated to see the dullness return to her eyes.

“Please don't misunderstand me. It would be right to press charges. I am very pleased that you want to consider it. But I also must be very honest with you. By the end of it, you would be destroyed. Your sister would be destroyed. I am truly sorry, but I cannot lie to you. It is what would happen. There is no mercy for a young girl who is unfortunate enough to find herself raped, particularly by a member of her family. Justice doesn't serve us in these cases, unfortunately. I am very sorry for it.”

“I would have told her all that.”

Lindsay said nothing for a very long time. She looked at the floor at her feet. Finally, her face and voice expressionless, she said, “Thank you, Inspector. You've been kind to me. You told me the truth. I guess I should also thank you for making me face up to what he did to me even though I know if I hadn't been so silly about him it never would have happened. I had thought only I would be attacked if I pressed charges against him, not my entire family. I had thought about it, before you came, because the prince is a horrible man, but now, now that I understand—” She stopped, shaking her head.

She walked slowly from the room, her last words hanging sadly in the air, the belt of her robe dragging on the floor. Galvain stared after her, feeling such pain he doubted he would ever forget.

Royce was pleased. He smiled after his daughter, then turned to smile his triumph at the inspector. “Are you now quite through with us?”

“Oh, yes, quite. But the paparazzi will be very busy. They are like the rutting little pigs, are they not? You have already read the papers and seen the television. I would recommend that you take your daughters and leave Paris as soon as possible. Flee the arena, as it were.”

“I would agree. However, the prince's family is here, in seclusion now, of course. They've had the prince moved to a private hospital outside Paris, and the place is guarded like a fort. But I can't be sure they'll keep their mouths closed. His mother has informed me, the patronizing bitch, that she is displeased with Sydney. Imagine, she's blaming Sydney! I must remain and guard my daughter's reputation, her interests, see that they don't try to harm her through the press.” Royce raked his
fingers through his hair, and for a moment he looked vulnerable and overwhelmed. “Tell me, Inspector, what am I to do about the damned bastard?”

“You ask me,
monsieur
? Well, then, I will tell you. I would secure another gun and shoot his balls off.”

Galvain gave Royce a small salute and left the suite.

P
RESENT
:
New York City

 

Taylor

 

Taylor ran into the emergency room, pale and looking more terrified than a man should ever look.

The head emergency room nurse, Ann Hollis, was sixty, tough, and more seasoned than a four-star general. She saw the man coming toward her, saw his fear, and readied herself for the outbreak. Screaming, raw and impotent anger, outward fury, the rage brought on by the helplessness of it all. To her utter surprise, when he spoke, his voice was calm and low.

“I would appreciate your help—” He looked at her name tag. “Yes, Ms. Hollis. Lindsay or Eden is her name. I understand there was some sort of accident and she was hurt and now she's here, being treated. I'm her fiancé. Please tell me what's going on. This is very difficult.”

And Ann Hollis responded to him with the truth. “I will tell you what I know. First of all, stop worrying. You stay here and I'll go check and find out exactly what's happening. All right?”

Taylor nodded and she left him. He didn't move. He waited, knowing that everything that mattered
to him, everything that was deeply inside of him, deeply a part of him, hung in the balance.

Nurse Hollis touched his arm. “Two broken ribs, a collapsed left lung, which they're reinflating.”

“How's that done?”

“A small incision between two ribs and a tube is inserted that's in turn connected to a lung machine. It makes breathing easier for her.”

“Thank you.”

“Contusions and lacerations, but those aren't all that bad.” Ann Hollis paused, then drew a deep breath. “Then there's her face.” Again she touched her hand to his arm. “It's impossible to say right now because Dr. Perry has just gotten to her. He's got examinations to make. He's got to get CT scans before he can make a determination.”

“What exactly happened to her face?”

“It was badly smashed.”

He flinched from the baldness of the image that word brought to his mind, but nonetheless he was grateful to her.

“However, Dr. Perry is one of the best reconstructive surgeons in New York City. He probably won't wait to operate. There's the problem of swelling, you know.”

Taylor didn't say anything. He was trying not to shake. Nurse Hollis patted his arm again. Touch was very important, she knew that, it comforted, it reassured, it gave human connection and warmth. With a touch, the other person was no longer alone.

“As soon as I can find out any more, I'll call you. Please go sit down. I know it's hard, but you must try to stay calm. She won't die. Her face will heal. As I said, Dr. Perry is one of the best in facial reconstruction.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hollis.”

She watched him walk slowly away from her. She'd seen the young woman's face. They hadn't cleaned it yet, and there was nothing but dried blood and bits of bone and matted blood-dried hair. Yes, it would be difficult to be beautiful when your face was smashed.

Taylor felt the weight of helplessness. And suddenly he remembered how he'd failed her in Paris, the crying young girl who didn't understand what was happening to her, the young girl who'd been raped so brutally, struck repeatedly, and yet she was at a hospital but the hurt was continuing and she was unable to grasp any of it. And he'd been unable to help her. Just as he'd not helped her this time either.

Her face was smashed. Dear God, what had happened? But all he could think of was the eighteen-year-old Lindsay in Paris, hurt and scared and beaten. And none of it her fault. Just as none of it this time was her fault. And he'd been unable to help her this time, just as he'd been unable then. . . .