“That’s why I could never have been with you. It always has to be about the truth. The whole goddamned truth.”
Simon leaned closer. She was right. All he wanted was the truth. “Tell me one thing. Why didn’t you go to the premiere? You were there at the hotel. It was you London Li saw in the shower. So why? It was your movie, after all.”
Delphine didn’t answer. For once, she was at a loss for words. He could see it made her angry.
She eyed him smugly, sliding to the edge of her chair. “You want the truth. It wasn’t Daddy’s idea to make you leave me. It was mine. I knew I could never be with someone like you. Someone who saw the world in black and white, when I saw it in a continuum of grays. Someone so…souncomplicated. I told Daddy that you’d treated me badly, then let slip that you’d been in prison in France. A bank robber, no less. I pleaded with him not to say anything. I told him that I still loved you. But I knew him. Just like I know you. I knew that he’d do everything in his power to protect his only daughter.”
Delphine folded her napkin, set it neatly on the table, then rose. Her step as she left the restaurant was not the least bit hurried. As always, she refused to live life on anyone’s terms but her own.
The black Rover idling at the curb across the street from Bibendum pulled a sharp U-turn as Delphine left the restaurant. The car’s driver was a woman, fortyish, fit, with raven hair and glacial-blue eyes, though both were concealed by a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses. The car was not hers. It had been stolen the day before from a car park in Immingham, several hours’ drive from London. As a precaution, she’d been sure to change the plates. She was nothing if not professional.
The woman followed Delphine for a city block before opening the glove compartment and removing a small pistol with a large noise suppressor attached to its snout. A nine-millimeter hollow-point bullet lay snugly in the chamber. She had been working on her shooting these past weeks and felt confident that one would be enough, especially at close range. The light turned red. The pedestrians stopped at the curb. The woman pulled up alongside Delphine.
“Excuse me,” she called out. “Can you help me with directions?”
Delphine barely glanced in her direction. “I’m sorry, I’m busy.”
“Please. I’d be grateful.”
Maybe it was the foreign accent. Maybe it was her sad, pleading tone. Delphine Blackmon sighed as she approached the car. “Just this once,” she said, lowering her head toward the open window. “What is it, then?”
As the Rover sped away, the driver smiled to herself. She was right. One shot was enough.
“Knock, knock.”
Simon opened the door and poked his head inside the hospital room. “Lucy?”
The bed was empty, sheets thrown back. He had called ahead, as was his custom. The nurse at reception had said she was expecting him.
“Lucy?”
Four weeks had passed since the doctors had removed her from a medically induced coma, judging that her cerebral swelling had decreased sufficiently. Another week passed before she began speaking. Since then, she’d made remarkable progress.
Her motor functions had returned more slowly. Five days earlier she had begun feeding herself. Walking, however, still posed a challenge. Her casted leg didn’t help matters.
A toilet flushed. The door to her private bathroom opened. Out walked Lucy, balancing on a pair of crutches.
“Look at this!” Simon rushed forward.
“I’m fine, thank you very much,” said Lucy, in a proud and nearly polished voice. The accident had somehow robbed her of her Cockney slur. But her eyes remained fixed on the floor, her face a mask of concentration. He stood to one side of the room, ready to help if needed.
“Take them,” she said.
Simon accepted the crutches, setting them in the corner.
“Let me help you get into bed.”
“No, let me!”
Simon turned to see Lucy’s mother, Dora, hurry from the bathroom. She was dressed in a knee-length skirt and short-sleeved blouse, her hair done nicely. Simon was quick to notice the absence of a pall of smoke.
“Hello, Mrs. Brown.”
“Dora, please. And hello to you, Simon.”
Dora Brown lifted her daughter onto the bed. “Would you look at her?” she said, beaming. “Almost as good as new.”
“I’m going to be better than new,” said Lucy, lifting her eyes to Simon.
