Vanished

“In 1926 …when I was eighteen …” She looked at him very hard then, and decided that she had to tell him. “My husband doesn't know about this, Inspector. He believes that I 'misbehaved' in Europe when I was eighteen. I think my father implied to all his friends that I had a 'serious flirtation with an inappropriate suitor.' Nothing more. My father was a dreamer. The truth was, as my father well knew, that I was married for five years, and we lived in Europe. I tried to tell Malcolm that when he asked me to marry him, but he didn't want to hear it. He said we each had a past, and it was better left untouched and undisclosed. What he had heard was the story my father had circulated to save himself embarrassment, I don't think he ever admitted to any of his friends that Charles and I were married. We lived in France …” There was a faraway look in her eyes …”And we were very happy.” She looked even more beautiful as she said it.

“And what changed that?” His voice was deep and husky as he asked, trying not to be distracted by her.

“A number of things.” She was evading him and he immediately sensed it. Only one thing had happened to shatter their dream. One thing. One hideous afternoon, from which neither of them had ever recovered.

“Mrs. Patterson …Marielle … I need to know what happened … for your sake … for Teddy's.” What he said went straight to her heart, and tears filled her eyes as she looked at him.

“I can't talk about it now. I never have …” except with her doctor at the clinic.

“You have to.” He was determined and powerful, but she continued to resist him.

“I can't.” She got up and walked around the room, and for a long time she stood and stared out the window. There was darkness outside, and somewhere out in that darkness, there was Teddy. She turned to look at the inspector then, and he had never seen so much pain in his life. More than ever, he wanted to reach out and touch her.

“I'm sorry. I hate doing this to you.” He had never said that to anyone before, but he had never felt like this about any woman. There was a purity and a gentleness to her, and at the same time a fragility that genuinely scared him. “Marielle.” He allowed himself the use of her first name without even asking her, but he had to do everything he could to bring her closer. “You have to tell me.”

“I have never told my husband …perhaps if he knew … if he had known …” Perhaps there would never have been Teddy, or even a marriage.

“You can tell me.” He wanted her to trust him.

“And then? You tell the press?” Her eyes bored into his, but he shook his head slowly.

“I can't promise you anything. But I give you my word. I'll do my damnedest to keep your secrets, unless they mean Teddy's safety. Is that a deal?”

She nodded in answer, and looked away again out into the garden. “We had a son, Charles and I … a little boy named Andre …” She could feel her throat tighten as she said his name. “He was born eleven months after we were married … he had shining black hair, and big blue eyes. He was like a little angel … a little fat cherub, and we adored him. We took him everywhere.” She turned to look at John again, suddenly she had to tell him the story. “He was so beautiful, and he was always laughing.

Wherever we went with him, people knew him.” John was watching her as she spoke, and he didn't like the look in her eyes, or the way she told the story. “Charles adored him …and so did I …and one year we went to Switzerland for Christmas. Andre was two and a half years old, and we had a wonderful time, playing in the snow. We even built a snowman.” There were tears beginning to slide down her cheeks, tears of pain, and he didn't interrupt her. “One afternoon, Charles wanted to go up the mountain to go skiing, but I wanted to stay in Geneva. So Andre and I took a walk around the lake, we talked and we played, and the lake was frozen, and there was a group of women and children, and we stopped and chatted. And I was talking to one of them, about little boys his age …” She could barely speak now, but she still went on, fighting for air as she struggled with each word. “You know how women are, they love to talk about their children, so she and I were talking about how mischievous two-year-old boys are, and as we spoke … as we spoke …” she touched her eyes with a trembling hand, and without thinking, he reached out to her, as though to help her on, and she clung to his fingers “… while we were talking, he ran out on the ice with some other children, and then suddenly, there was this terrible …terrible …” She could barely go on, the room seemed so airless, but John squeezed her hand as tightly as he could and she continued. She was unaware of him now, she was lost in a time that had almost killed her.