Chapter 12

Pascal repeatedly tried to get Amanda to see Olivier, even for a walk, a cup of coffee, a glass of wine, a meal, something, but her refusals were constant.

She was trying to get over him and convinced she was doing the right thing, for both of them and for his wife.

"He says he's not going to stay with his wife when this is over.

He'll move out.

He sounds definite about it,"

Pascal assured her.

"I believe him."

"That's what he says now.

He's running a nursing home for her.

He wouldn't do that if he didn't love her.

He probably doesn't realize he does.

He'll figure it out when the crisis is over.

He wouldn't have stayed married to her for twenty-six years if he didn't."

"Some people are just stubborn.

He's an honorable, decent guy.

He's trying to do the right thing.

That doesn't mean he wants to stay married to her."

"I think it does,"

Amanda insisted.

"I was blinded by his charm.

I should have known better.

It's not right.

I'm not going to get in the way of his marriage."

"He says his relationship with her is dead."

"So is ours,"

she said firmly.

Pascal didn't believe her.

He noticed that she wasn't accepting any social invitations.

She was mourning Olivier, and spending quiet evenings at home with Lulu, insisting the little dog was enough company for her for now and all she wanted.

What she really wanted was Olivier, but he was married.

Amanda had made a decision not to continue their relationship and was sticking by it, no matter how painful it was for her.

She thought she was doing the right thing, whatever it cost her.

Tom called Amanda to tell her he had almost finished the book.

He only had a few more chapters to write and was enjoying the warm late spring weather in Paris.

He invited her to lunch, and she was going to turn him down, but on the spur of the moment, she decided not to.

She hadn't been anywhere in weeks, and it was a beautiful sunny day, flowers were in bloom, the trees were blossoming.

In a way, the abundance of nature made her even sadder.

She would have liked to be sharing it with Olivier, but had decided that that was not her destiny.

Nor was Tom, but lunch on the terrace of the Grand Palais sounded appealing.

He was loving all the Paris museums, whenever he took a break from the book.

She met him at the restaurant on a slow day at the gallery, and Pascal said he'd cover for her.

His own romance with Delphine was going well, and he was seriously smitten with the young artist.

She was proving to be a match for him, as Amanda had said.

"So, did you figure out the ending of the book?"

she asked Tom after they ordered lunch, and he looked pleased when he answered.

"Yes, I did."

"How does it end?"

"He kills her."

She was surprised.

The heroine was the main love interest throughout the book, and he'd been in love with the character since the beginning.

"That's a little harsh, isn't it?"

"Not really.

He loves her so much, he can't bear to think of their love affair ever ending and someone else having her, so he kills her."

It was definitely a dark twist to the plot.

"And then what? He goes to prison, or he gets away with it, or you leave the reader hanging?"

"He gets away with it.

They never figure out who did it."

"Well, it sounds exciting.

How are you doing finding an agent?"

"I found one in New York I like.

I'm going to send him the manuscript as soon as I finish it.

I told him about the ending, and he likes it.

He said there's a market for that kind of dark book."

"Well, that's good."

Amanda didn't want to discourage him.

She generally didn't like thrillers anyway.

They made her anxious.

"What about you? Still seeing Olivier the Magnificent?"

She was amused by the name and shook her head.

"No, not really."

"A big nasty breakup?"

"No, his ex-wife had a terrible accident, and he's taking care of her.

It seemed like a good time to make my exit."

Tom nodded, looking pensive.

She didn't want him to know that Olivier was still married.

It was none of his business.

"I think I might use that.

She has an accident.

He nurses her tenderly.

And then he kills her, so he's sure she knows he loves her before he does."

"That sounds a little complicated.

I won't suggest it to Olivier,"

she said, as their lunch arrived.

She had lost weight, as trying to get over Olivier had taken a toll.

Tom had commented that she looked thinner.

He did too, and his hair was longer.

He was wearing jeans instead of khakis, and he looked a little less like an American college boy.

It always struck her that his appearance and style really hadn't changed in twenty years, since they'd dated.

But he seemed just a bit more European than he had when he arrived.

And he had accomplished what he had come to do, write his book.

"So, what are you going to do when you finish the last chapters?"

she asked him.

"Get drunk and celebrate,"

he said with a boyish grin.

"And travel around Italy for a while.

Italy, Spain, maybe Copenhagen and Prague, Vienna, Venice."

"That sounds fun."

Amanda smiled at him.

It had seemed so odd to her when he had surfaced, around the same time Olivier did, but now it just seemed like a moment of nostalgia from their youth.

And he seemed to have gotten over his romantic illusions about her.

She just wanted to be friends, and he appeared to have understood.

He told her about a movie he'd seen and loved, and she said she hadn't seen it.

She hadn't been in the mood to do anything since Olivier had become Stephanie's head nurse and she'd stopped seeing him.

But she was starting to get used to his absence, and trying to be philosophical about it, but she was still sad and she missed him.

"When are you going back to L.A.?"

"I'm not sure.

I think I'll travel all summer, and figure it out in September.

I'm in no hurry to go back.

I want to see if I can sell the book.

That might be a whole new career for me.

The law gets tedious at times."

"That's impressive."

Talking to him, she realized that she felt older than he was.

His youthful appearance made him seem years younger to her.

"Do you want to see the movie with me? I think you'd love it.

I wouldn't mind seeing it again.

It's beautifully written, and the photography is incredible."

"Maybe I should,"

she said, thinking about it.

"I haven't been out much recently."

"What about tomorrow? I'm going to start writing again this weekend."

He was very disciplined about his writing.

He had been that way in college too.

And in law school.

His magna cum laude was well deserved.

"Why not? I have nothing else to do, if it's as good as you say."

"It is."

Even though she wasn't interested in a romance with him, it was nice having a friend to do things with.

She had always enjoyed her male friends.

Pascal had been her movie buddy, but ever since he got involved with Delphine, he had no time to do things with Amanda.

Tom was perfect for that, and it sounded as though he'd be leaving soon to travel.

"I'll meet you at the theater,"

she suggested, as they left the restaurant.

It had been a perfect lunch on a sunny day.

"I can pick you up,"

he offered.

"I bought a beaten-up old Fiat.

My chariot."

"Okay."

She thanked him for lunch, kissed him on the cheek, and walked back to the gallery in the sunshine.

"How was lunch?"

Pascal asked her when she got back.

"Nice."

She smiled for the first time in ages.

"We can actually be friends.

He finally got the message."

"I'm glad.

I'm sorry I've been so busy lately."

"I'm going to a movie with him tomorrow.

It's some Hungarian movie he says is fabulous."

"It already sounds awful,"

Pascal said, laughing.

"Enjoy it.

You're not interested in him again?"

"Definitely not.

I'm not ready for that yet anyway.

I'm still nursing my broken heart,"

she said with a wistful smile that made Pascal's heart ache for her.

Married men were just never a good idea, no matter how unmarried they said they were.

They were never as free as they claimed.

She'd learned that lesson now for good, the hard way.

—

Amanda was ready when Tom came to pick her up at her place the following evening after work.

She was wearing jeans, a crisp white shirt, a pink sweater over her shoulders, and pink espadrilles.

She looked almost as collegiate as he did.

He was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, an old varsity jacket from Stanford in the school colors, and high-top Converse.

The Fiat 500 he was driving was as beaten-up as he'd said.

It made her feel young again.

Her college boyfriend, a tiny battered student car, and going to a movie.

They bought popcorn at the theater, and she didn't love the movie as much as he did, though she could see why he would.

The cinematography was excellent, but the storyline was a little too intellectual and seemed more like hard work.

But it was nice to be out with a friend, doing simple things.

"Are you hungry? Do you want dinner?"

he asked her as they left the theater.

"I had too much popcorn,"

she said.

"I couldn't eat a thing."

"Yeah, me too,"

he agreed. "Home?"

She nodded with a smile, and he headed toward her apartment.

It had been a pleasant evening even if the movie wasn't great.

It didn't really matter.

She was coming back to the surface slowly, after Olivier.

It was a hard recovery for her.

Tom parked his tiny car, and she turned to thank him before she got out, and before she could say a word, he grabbed her, kissed her hard on the mouth, and squeezed her breast.

She was so startled she didn't know what to say for a minute, and he had been rough.

Her breast still hurt.

"Tom, what are you doing?…Don't! No!"

she said clearly, and she saw a look of fury in his eyes.

"Why not? Isn't that what you did with that pompous asshole you were so crazy about?"

She opened the door to make a fast exit and he grabbed her again and pulled her back.

He used both hands this time and tore her shirt open, ripping off all the buttons and grabbing both her breasts.

He plunged his mouth onto hers and bit her lip, and then slid one hand from her breast to her crotch and grabbed it hard.

"Come on, Amanda, I remember that virgin game you used to play.

You were hot! And you still are.

Are you still pining for that jerk? I bet you didn't play the virgin game with him.

You were the hot little French girl with me then.

Let's go upstairs and play that again."

He looked like a madman as he leered at her, and she yanked herself backward, leapt out of his car, ran to the door of her building, and punched in the code.

She shoved her way through it and slammed it, just as he got to the door and kicked it hard.

He was shouting at her as he tried to force the door open and couldn't.

He was yelling "Bitch!"

as she ran up the stairs and let herself into her apartment, turning off the alarm and setting it again.

She was shaking violently and felt like she was going to faint.

He was insane.

She had never seen that side of him before.

It was a jealous rage, a thousand times more violent than he'd been in college.

She had been sure for a minute that he was going to rape her.

The front of her blouse was torn, the buttons had flown off, her bra was exposed, and she could still remember his grabbing her crotch after he brutalized her breasts.

And she had thought they could be friends.

It took her an hour to calm down and stop shaking.

He had yelled "You bitch"

at her windows from the street and had driven away.

He seemed dangerous to her.

She was just grateful that she could get out of his car, and that he hadn't overpowered her.

Did he really think that violence was going to work? He had looked like a madman while he mauled her.

No one had ever done that to her before.

In the end it wasn't just frightening, it was depressing that he thought he could treat her that way.

And he clearly hated Olivier too, and was wildly jealous of him.

She lay awake for hours that night, clutching Lulu, and she had a bruise on each breast the next day.

She was still looking pale and shaken when she got to the gallery and told Pascal about it, and he was horrified.

"So much for old college friendships,"

he said, outraged.

She nodded, and something else had occurred to her during the night, which was even more frightening if it was true.

"I know this sounds crazy.

But do you think he could have been the erotomaniac who climbed the wall to my apartment, broke in, and stole my things?"

It sounded far-fetched when she said it, even to her, and Pascal shook his head.

"It does sound crazy,"

he confirmed.

"The guy has some impressive degrees.

He's smart, educated, went to one of the best colleges in the States, he's an attorney.

He may be a pig the way he treats women, but a guy like that is not going to climb up a building, and risk killing himself, to steal your underwear.

He could have come for a drink and stolen it while he used your bathroom.

He's not a cat burglar or a pervert, he's just a shit,"

Pascal said with utter contempt.

"If I ever see him again, I'm going to kick his ass,"

he said with a look of fury.

"Do you want to call the police and file a complaint?"

"No, I don't.

I never want to see him again.

And what's the point of filing a complaint? They won't do anything to him.

You're right, he wouldn't climb up the building for my underwear, he attacked me right there on the ground.

Thank God I got into the building faster than he could.

I think he might have raped me,"

she said seriously.

"Be careful coming in and out of your building for a while.

Be sure he's not hanging around.

And if he shows up here, I will call the police.

I don't care if he is a lawyer.

He's an asshole of the worst sort."

"He left bruises on my breasts,"

she admitted to him.

"That's awful.

Do you want me to take pictures of them?"

he offered.

"Or one of the women can do it.

Sorry, I didn't mean to sound like a voyeur.

I hate the guy for doing that to you."

"Yeah.

Me too.

I don't want pictures taken.

I'm not going to press charges.

I just want to forget him.

This isn't my year.

A married man, a stalker, and a would-be rapist, all within a few months.

I think I'll forget about dating for a while, even old friends.

And the movie sucked, by the way,"

she said with a rueful grin.

"Just keep an eye out for him, and make sure he's not lurking around when you leave the gallery or go home at night.

He probably won't bother you again, the rejection is too humiliating.

But I do think there's something wrong with him to go around treating women that way."

Pascal gave Amanda a hug and she got to work at her desk, but it had been a horrible night and a terrifying scene she knew she would never forget.

—

It took Amanda several days to calm down after Tom Quinlan's violent attack on her, and she had nightmares about him a few times.

She told Pascal about it, and he said he didn't blame her.

He took her out to dinner one night just to help her forget it and relax.

He made fun of her because she brought Lulu with her.

She had been taking her everywhere as her "emotional support dog,"

but she was so cute everyone loved her.

Pascal drove Amanda home that night after dinner, not letting her take an Uber.

He wanted to be sure she got home safely.

It was the first time she had gone out to dinner since Tom manhandled her, and she still seemed a little skittish and on edge.

He walked Amanda to her apartment door, and she opened it, turned off the alarm, and turned on the lights, and when she did, she gasped.

Her apartment had been broken into again, only this time, it had been vandalized.

Her white mohair couch had been slashed with a knife, and three of the paintings.

They weren't her best ones, but they were valuable and she loved them.

Her father's Picasso hadn't been touched, fortunately.

She and Pascal walked into her bedroom together, and the canopy over her bed had been slashed to shreds, and over the painting of a ballerina who looked like her, the vandal had written "Bitch"

in black marker in big letters.

She started to cry when she saw what had been done.

Pascal called the police for her.

She didn't call Olivier this time.

She wasn't his problem now, nor was he her protector and savior, or even her friend.

"Do you still think it wasn't Tom?"

she asked Pascal while they waited for the police.

"I don't know,"

he said honestly.

"Who would do something like this? A lunatic.

A savage.

He's neither one.

He's an educated person."

But the word "Bitch"

certainly led one to wonder.

The vandal had used the same method of entry, scaling the building again and coming in through the bedroom window, despite the new security device she'd installed.

He disabled it and came right over it, through the window.

The police took it seriously when they saw the damage.

She had insurance for the paintings and the couch, but the wickedness of the destruction and the sheer violence of it was alarming.

The officers took photographs, and she raised the question about Tom, described the incident in the car, and gave them his name and address.

Amanda and Lulu stayed at Pascal's that night, and he helped her clean up the mess in her apartment the next day and called the insurance adjuster for her.

She picked three new paintings at the gallery to hang in the place of the ruined ones.

And she was sad about the beautiful Italian couch too.

Whoever had done this was a madman, whether Tom or a stranger.

The police reported to her at the gallery the next day that they had interviewed Mr.

Quinlan, and he had been very calm and polite and sympathetic.

He was very sorry to hear about the incident, and gave them his card from the law firm.

They assured her that they had no reason to suspect him, and he denied ever manhandling her.

He said they had been lovers in college and recently renewed their romantic relationship.

It hadn't worked out and she was angry at him, so he said she had cooked up the story against him, and it was all a lie.

He discreetly suggested that she might even have done the damage herself for the insurance money.

The police withdrew immediately after that and did not fingerprint him.

It was her word against his, and his had been more convincing.

She was in tears at the humiliation when the police left the gallery.

Pascal found it hard to believe that the officers were so gullible.

"Do you believe me?"

she asked Pascal, and he walked over and hugged her.

"Of course I do.

The guy is a practiced liar, and maybe he didn't vandalize your apartment, although I think he could have, but I fully believe that he tried to rape you.

There's a screw loose in there somewhere.

And the police officer who interviewed him just isn't as smart as he is.

I want you to be even more careful now going out, or I'm going to get you a bodyguard.

I'm beginning to think you need one, at least until your stalker is found.

Somebody is committing these attacks on you.

We have to find out who, and protect you in the meantime."

Amanda was just grateful she hadn't left Lulu in the apartment, because with a slash of his knife he might have killed her.

Lulu was the only thing she cared about now.

Paintings and a couch could always be replaced.

Lulu couldn't.

—

Amanda went back to her office after the police left, to try to get some work done.

And Pascal did something he normally wouldn't have done.

He never meddled in other people's relationships.

He figured it wasn't his business.

But this time, he felt that Olivier deserved to know what was happening to Amanda.

The attempted rape by Tom Quinlan, the second break-in, the destruction of her property and invasion of her home, and the fact that she was still pining for him.

There was nothing Olivier could do about it either, but Pascal thought he should be aware of what she was going through and that she still loved him.

And she needed safety and protection more than ever.

Olivier promised Pascal that he wouldn't tell Amanda he'd called, and when he hung up, he had tears in his eyes thinking of her.

She clearly didn't want his help, or she would have called him.

Instead, she was facing it alone.

He sat for a long time with his head in his hands, trying to figure out how to help her and what to do next.

He had some ideas, but she wouldn't take his calls.

And he felt sick when he thought of Tom and what he had tried to do.

Amanda didn't deserve any of what was happening to her, and he was powerless to stop it.

In her eyes, he was just another married man, and she wanted nothing more to do with him.

It made his heart ache, knowing how alone she must feel, and how frightened.

He had asked Pascal to do all he could to help her and Pascal had assured him he would.

Olivier was grateful he had called, and Pascal could hear that Olivier was on the verge of tears when he hung up.

He felt terrible for both of them.

Amanda was frightened and alone.

And Olivier was powerless to help her. Amanda wouldn't let him.