Trial by Fire

Chapter 10

Mark picked Dahlia up on Saturday morning at the hotel at ten o’clock. She was standing in front of the hotel on her crutches to get some air. The smoke was still hanging over the city, and there was a haze on the bay but the smell wasn’t as strong as the fires moved away, carried north on the wind. The fires were just as fierce and as dangerous, but they weren’t as close to the city as they had been for days. It allowed one to believe things were getting better, but they weren’t. Nothing had changed except the direction of the wind. The fires were still raging out of control. It was a catastrophic event.

“What do you do on weekends in Paris?” Mark asked her as they headed east across the Bay Bridge. They would head north after that. He drove an Aston Martin, and had fit her crutches in behind her. Getting into his car was an acrobatic feat which took both of them to get her into her seat. “I’m sorry, I should have brought my SUV, I thought this would be more fun.” He drove smoothly through the traffic, and obviously enjoyed driving.

“It depends,” she said in response to his question. “I go to the country sometimes with friends. I don’t have a country house near Paris anymore. I sold it when the children grew up—it was too lonely being there alone. If I’m in the city, I have dinner with friends, go to galleries. A lot of the time, I bring work home on the weekends.” She never saw Philippe on weekends, only Monday and Thursday nights, or on other days if they had an event or a party to go to together. “What do you do?”

“The same thing you do. I catch up on work or have dinner out. I have a house at a place called Stinson Beach. It’s a long, beautiful beach of white sand. I love going there, sometimes just for the day. It’s half an hour out of the city on a winding road. Driving there is fun, and walking on the beach. The weather usually isn’t great. It’s cold and windy a lot, but it’s a special place. I’ll take you there when you can walk in the sand or sit on the deck in the sun. San Francisco isn’t known for its warm, sunny weather. Summers are usually windy and cold. You can always spot the tourists. They’re the ones shivering in their T-shirts and shorts, wishing they’d brought a coat. In the winter, I go to Lake Tahoe to ski, my favorite sport. We had a house in Vermont when I was a kid. We spent Christmases there.”

“I used to ski with my kids. I haven’t done that in a long time.” He was impressed by how much of her life was interwoven with her children, unusually so, given how old they were.

“I get the feeling that you spent a lot of time with your kids when they were growing up and still do.”

“That’s true. My youngest still lives at home, that’s more common in Europe than here. I hardly see her. She’s always busy, at a gallery show, or an art class. Or in her studio painting. I visit my grandchildren sometimes on the weekend too, but not often. Since their mother works with me, I don’t like to intrude on her on the weekends. It’s hard to know when to let go.” She smiled at him. “I’m not good at it. Probably because I didn’t remarry. So, I filled my time with them. I’m still solving their problems, doing errands for them, more than I should. But they’re used to it now and so am I. I’m trying to learn how to let go, not too successfully,” she confessed.

“I never got to spend that much time with my girls, except in the summer, since they didn’t live in the same city, but I enjoy them now, as adults.” He seemed as though he led a very grown-up life, and spent most of his time working, as she did. He looked at her cautiously then and asked her a question she didn’t expect. “Is there someone waiting for you in Paris?” he asked her. “Is there someone in your life?”

“Sort of. In a way. On a very limited basis. It’s a very French arrangement. He’s not interested in being very close, and that suited me too. I have my work and my kids. I’ve been seeing him for six years. It’s not a passion or a great love, it’s more of a friendship. And to be honest, he’s married. I never wanted to be involved with a married man. It’s comfortable companionship some of the time. But I know it’s not right, and it’s not enough. It works better for him. He’s not ‘waiting for me’ as you put it. He’s on holiday with his wife and son in the south of France. He has a bad marriage, and I’m the solution. I add color to his life, and he adds some warmth to mine, and a distraction from work.” She was painfully honest about it, with Mark and herself.

Mark nodded, thinking about it. “You’re right. It does sound very French. There are situations like that here too, but probably more so in Europe. Americans usually just get divorced when the marriage doesn’t work. Europeans don’t seem to. They seem to work around it and get involved with other people. There are other ways not to get close.” He smiled at her. “I’ve had serially monogamous relationships for twenty years. And when they get too close, I find a reason to end it. I think I like my freedom more than a partnership that doesn’t work. I’ve been seeing someone for the last few months. It’s not right, it’s a dead end, and we both know it. We just haven’t said it yet. It is such a chore to be with the wrong person,” he said, and she smiled.

“That’s so true, but it’s hard to say it. I didn’t have time for serious relationships when the kids were young, and I didn’t want that around them. Now I work almost all the time to fill the void they left.”

“And relationships are so risky,” Mark added. “I’ve been risk-averse ever since my marriage. It wasn’t terrible, but it was bad enough and it wasn’t fun. Short-term mismatches seem to work well for me to avoid serious involvement,” he said, and she laughed.

“I think I might be in that category too, although I’ve been in my current mismatch for six years, which isn’t short-term.”

“No, it’s not. That’s actually a long time,” Mark agreed.

“It’s familiar,” she said, thinking of Philippe. “Sometimes it’s enough, even if it’s not right. And you’re correct about that. You have to be willing to take a risk for love, and be vulnerable, to go with your whole heart. I haven’t been willing to do that since my husband. And that was thirty years ago. That was real love, but we were young. It’s harder to get it right when you’re older. You’re not as motivated to try. Somewhere along the way, cowardice sets in. And habit takes precedence over finding the right relationship.” Knowing she was leaving soon made it easier to be honest with him, they could be friends.

“That sounds like me,” he said, and didn’t seem to regret it. But he hadn’t met anyone like Dahlia in years, if ever.

They chatted amicably as he crossed over from the East Bay to Napa. They arrived by a completely different route than the road where she’d had the accident, and the big army surplus tent, Jeff Allen’s pet rescue field hospital, came into view an hour and a half after they’d left the city. It had been a very pleasant ride, chatting with him about their lives and their children, their college days and their work. It was nice getting to know him. They had similar ideas about a lot of things. And she joked about being a mother hen. She didn’t deny it.

He parked in the field where they’d parked before, next to the tent, and he went looking for Jeff, who was at the far end of the tent with a vanload of new dogs that had been rescued and brought in from the fires farther north, near Calistoga. And Dahlia went looking for her little black friend in the long row of crates. She thought he was gone, and then found him in the last one.

“What are you doing all the way down here?” she asked him, and he went crazy when he saw her, wagging his tail and barking to be let out of the crate. She bent down awkwardly with her crutches, and her sensitive ribs, sat down on the ground, next to the crate, let him out and he ran circles around her, and then climbed into her lap and kissed her face. She was still holding him and they were still having a lovefest when Mark and Jeff came to find her. Jeff had been stunned when Mark said he’d brought her with him.

“How did you pull that off?” Jeff had asked him.

“She had a car accident on the way back to the city the last time she was here. That big mess with the eighteen-wheeler that flipped over when you got evacuated. The driver ran into her and she hit another car and broke her leg. She needed an attorney, so she called me. I had given her my card.”

“You are smooth, man,” Jeff said, half admiring and half jealous. “I should have thought of that. Maybe she could have used a vet.”

“There’s a hearing on Monday about the accident, and she’s nervous about it. I thought coming up here to see you would be good for her.” Mark sounded protective as he said it.

“Are you her lawyer now? Personal injury?” Jeff looked surprised.

“I’m just helping her out. I’m hoping we can get the whole thing worked out and dismissed on Monday. The driver of the car she hit is telling a different story about what happened and causing a problem.”

“I hope it comes out okay. She seems like a good person.”

“Yes, she is,” Mark agreed.

“Where is she?” Jeff asked. “I want to say hello and warn her what a slick operator you are.”

They were both grinning when they found her sitting on the ground with the dog, with her crutches next to her.

“Hey there, Dahlia. I heard about your broken leg. Couldn’t you find a decent lawyer, so you wouldn’t have to use this guy? He doesn’t know squat about personal injury. All he knows about is big corporations.” She laughed and put the little dog back in his crate and he whimpered and barked to be let out. Mark helped her stand and handed her the crutches.

“Hi, Jeff. I’m sorry I haven’t been back.”

“We miss you. Mahala’s going to be sad she wasn’t working today. Why don’t you adopt that little guy? I don’t think his owner is going to show up, if he hasn’t by now. The family may have lost their home and can’t deal with a dog, or they’d be looking for him. We have him on the ASPCA site and no one’s asked.”

“I’d have to take him back to Paris with me,” she said.

“I can think of worse fates for a mutt from the Napa Valley. You can take me instead. Do you guys want lunch? There’s a deli down the road that’s not bad.” Mark had already given him the check, and Dahlia navigated the uneven ground to the opening of the tent as best she could, with Mark ready to catch her if she stumbled.

“Sure.” She looked questioningly at Mark, and he nodded. He and Jeff had dinner together from time to time in normal life. Jeff had been on the ASPCA board too, which was how they’d met.

They drove the short distance in Jeff’s van, which was a mess with crates, boxes of dog food, and cartons of medicine and bandages everywhere. Dahlia sat behind the two men, and they had a good lunch at the deli, and Jeff drove them back to Mark’s car. Dahlia didn’t go back to see the dog. She didn’t want to upset him when she left. Jeff gave her a hug and wished her luck on Monday, and patted Mark’s shoulder firmly. The two men exchanged a knowing look and Mark laughed with a guilty smile. Jeff had reminded him earlier that he had seen Dahlia first and been too much of a gentleman to hit on her, and Mark got lucky because of her accident. But he said he was just being friendly. He wasn’t pursuing her. He said as much to Jeff, who hooted at him and didn’t believe a word of it.

“I may look dumb, but I’m not,” he said to him, and then they joined Dahlia and the comments had ended.

“Come back and visit,” he said to them, as he lumbered back to work. They were still getting a steady flow of lost injured pets, and some wildlife that was harder to deal with. Jeff had set the leg of a young deer the day before, and had transported several horses to local vets in horse trailers people had lent them.

Jeff was still smiling when he went back to work. He liked Mark a lot, and he still thought Dahlia was special. He wondered if anything would come of it, even for a short time before she went back to Paris. Stranger things had happened, and he wished them both luck as he thought about them. They seemed good together, and very compatible. He liked the well-bred ladylike quality she had, without ever seeming snobbish or arrogant. She was nice to everyone.

They drove back to the city the way they had come, via the East Bay and the Bay Bridge, and he drove her back to the hotel around four o’clock.

“What are you doing for dinner tonight?” he asked her.

“The usual,” she said, grinning. “Room service and TV. I lead a very glamorous life here.”

“Do you like Chinese food? There are some great Chinese restaurants right below your hotel. Can I tempt you?” It sounded like fun, and she’d had a nice day with him.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Pick you up at seven-thirty? You can rest your leg before that. You gave it a workout in the tent. I was afraid you’d fall.”

“Me too,” she admitted. “I’m getting better at this, and it will be a lot easier when I can put weight on it. And thank you for the dinner plan.” She swung into the hotel on her crutches. Mark was smiling as he watched her disappear. It had been a great day. And it wasn’t over yet.

—

Dinner with Mark at the Golden Monkey was fun that night. They ordered too many dishes, some of which were real delicacies, and tried all of them. They talked for a long time about issues that interested them, and he questioned her about the perfume business. She had a good time, and was happy when she went back to the hotel at eleven. They were among the last people in the restaurant. She asked him if he wanted to come up for a drink.

“I think you’ve seen enough of me for one day. I’ll take a rain check, if you’ll give me one.”

“With pleasure. Thank you, Mark, I had a wonderful evening. And I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much in my life.”

“We’ll do it again soon,” he promised, and helped her out of the car. He walked her to the door of the hotel and left her there, and then drove back to his apartment and stood looking at the view from his terrace, thinking about her. She was an amazing woman, and it was an irony of life that he had met a woman as remarkable as she was, and she was only going to be in his life for days or weeks, and then she would go back to Paris, and they might never see each other again. It made each moment more precious, and he wanted to spend every minute he could with her, without seeming ridiculous about it.

He was still thinking about her on Sunday, when he went to Chrissy Field in the Marina for a run and looked at the smoke-streaked sky farther north. The fires were still burning in the distance. The smell of smoke was a constant now. He cooked dinner for himself that night and called Dahlia, to encourage her for the hearing the next day. He told her he thought it would go well. It was set for eleven a.m. in a courtroom at City Hall.

“Get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow,” he told her. He wondered if she would leave for Paris the next day if the case was dismissed. He didn’t want her to, but there was nothing he could do to stop her. That was where she belonged.

—

Dahlia lay awake in bed for a long time, thinking of what was ahead of her the next day. It would be the first time she would see Marilyn Nicasio, who was determined to blame her for the accident. She hoped that justice would prevail.

She got up early the next morning, so she’d have time to compose herself. It was only ten o’clock at night in France when she got up and she was tempted to call Philippe, but she didn’t want to have another stilted conversation with him, when he tried to make it sound like a business associate was calling at that hour. She sat quietly trying to mentally prepare for the hearing, and her phone rang just after nine a.m. It was Mark. She was happy to hear his voice. He sounded serious.

“I just heard from our private detective. Marilyn filed a civil lawsuit ten minutes ago. She’s suing for five million dollars for negligence, damages, and emotional damage inflicted on her and her daughter. I’m sure she knows exactly who you are, and now we know why she’s in this. I assume she’s going to ask the car rental company for the same amount or more. She’s out to win on a lottery ticket. That was her lucky day when you hit the back of her car, if she wins this.”

“Do you think she will?” Dahlia asked him in a subdued voice.

“No, I don’t. Even if we win at the hearing today, there’s nothing to stop her from suing you. But no jury and no court is going to give her five million dollars for a broken arm and a broken ankle. This is all a ploy for a big settlement. She probably wants a million from you, and another million from the car company. She’ll be lucky if she gets fifty thousand. It was an accident, however you look at it. You didn’t run her down with your car, trying to kill her. We’ll see where it goes today. Don’t let this shake you up, Dahlia, it’s just noise. I’m sorry to tell you before the hearing, but I didn’t want someone else to broadside you with it and shock you. I’m not impressed,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the courthouse as planned, at a quarter to eleven.”

She was wearing the black linen suit she had worn in New York. It had a skirt so she could wear it with her cast. She looked elegant and serious when she left her hotel room and went downstairs to the car and driver the concierge had gotten her. It was ten-thirty, and she felt emotionally prepared to deal with the hearing. Her nerves calmed immediately when she saw Mark waiting for her on the sidewalk.

He helped her out of the car and up the ramp on her crutches. He looked as distinguished as she did in a dark suit, light blue shirt, and light blue tie. They made a handsome couple, with his dark hair with very little gray, and her blond hair in a neat bun, like a ballerina, and simple pearl earrings on her ears. She had to wear a flat black shoe, for her crutches.

They took an elevator to the second floor, and Dahlia walked into the courtroom with him. The previous hearing was just finishing, and there had been couples downstairs, waiting to get married.

The courts were overbooked, and they had been assigned one of the old courtrooms at City Hall. The judge was one of a list of retired judges the city hired and jokingly called “Rent-a-Judge,” but they were competent, experienced Superior Court judges with years of trial experience behind them.

Dahlia’s back was straight and her head held high, as she took her place next to Mark at the defendant’s table and saw Marilyn Nicasio walk in. She was wearing a tight white dress that outlined her figure, and a silver sneaker. Her ankle was in an orthopedic boot, which looked incongruous with her dress, and her arm was in a sling. Her hair was long and curly, dyed a reddish brown. She gave Dahlia a victorious look, as though she’d already won. She wanted to unnerve her. Dahlia looked unmoved when she saw her. She looked calm and businesslike seated next to Mark.

The judge disappeared from the bench for a few minutes, and the clerk announced him when he returned. Everyone stood up, and court was in session. Dahlia recognized the two police detectives who had interviewed her, and the rental car company’s three insurers. The judge respectfully called the senior detective as his first witness, to read the police reports of the accident. Copies of the documents were handed to the judge. He had already seen them and thanked the officer.

The conclusion of the police was that at the moment it was impossible to determine in what order the two vehicles had been impacted, because of the contradictory statements of the two victims, which were in direct opposition to each other, although the logical order of events would have been that the truck hit Dahlia first, but there was no way to prove it.

Dahlia was then called as the next witness. She was calm, clear, coherent, polite, and sure of her testimony. She said there was no doubt in her mind that her car had been hit first, and then she hit the car in front of her. Her testimony appeared to be honest, and was convincing. The judge asked her a few questions, and then thanked her and dismissed her. He smiled as she left the stand, which Mark thought was a good sign.

Marilyn’s testimony was emotional and argumentative, and nearly hysterical at times. She said how her daughter had been suffering from the trauma, the nightmares she was having. She burst into tears when the judge asked why neither of them were wearing seatbelts on a night when they couldn’t see beyond their windshield because the smoke was so thick, and amid sobs, she never answered the question of why they weren’t. Without actually saying it, she did everything to convince the court that Dahlia was lying and behaving irresponsibly, trying to avoid paying a settlement to her and her daughter, when the subject of settlements hadn’t been raised yet, but it was clearly foremost on her mind. She was still sobbing when she left the stand and gave Dahlia an evil look, which Dahlia ignored, looking straight ahead at the judge.

The testimony took a little over an hour, and the judge spoke to the assembled group in the courtroom in a calm, clear voice. He seemed young to be retired, and was respectful to both sides.

The judge explained to them that from the evidence there was no way for him to determine whose car had been impacted first. And he reminded them that the purpose of the hearing was to determine if Dahlia was guilty of criminal negligence. The question did not arise for Marilyn Nicasio since her car was first on line and had hit no one, although he admonished her for not wearing a seatbelt, nor her daughter, in such dangerous conditions. Her face turned bright red when he said it.

But he said that whoever had been impacted first, it was clear to him that Dahlia was in no way guilty of criminal negligence and was certainly not responsible for the trucker’s death. His only mission in court that day was solely to determine if there was criminal negligence on Dahlia de Beaumont’s part, and he was confident there was not. She met none of the criteria for criminal negligence. He had the lab report from when she was admitted to the hospital, and there had been neither alcohol nor substances in her blood at the time. She had taken no undue risks and had done nothing reckless. She was a victim of the accident, just as Ms. Nicasio and the driver of the truck had been, with none of the criteria for criminal negligence met on Dahlia’s part. And which car had been impacted first would have to be determined in civil, not criminal, court, by a jury trial, since that was the plaintiff’s right to request, which she had in the lawsuit she had filed in civil court that morning. The decision of the criminal court was that Dahlia was not guilty of criminal negligence. He rapped his gavel sharply after he said it, stood up, and left the courtroom, as Mark smiled at Dahlia and Marilyn Nicasio glared at her and rushed out of the courtroom. Her civil suit would have been almost a sure win if Dahlia had been charged with criminal negligence. Dahlia looked at Mark with relief, and one of the insurers approached them and asked to speak to Mark. He stepped into the aisle to confer with him in whispers. Mark nodded, and after ten minutes, returned to Dahlia.

“What did he say?” she asked him with a worried look.

“You’re free to go now. The risk of criminal charges is no longer an issue, but they’d like you to stick around for the next few weeks, to see if they can settle the case with you here, and they want to depose you while you’re here in case there is a trial. There won’t be, but it probably won’t settle till hours before the trial date.”

“How long would I have to stay?” Dahlia looked worried.

“At a guess, three to six weeks. I’m going to make a motion for a speedy trial, on the basis that you have to get back to Europe.”

“Mark, I can’t stay—my daughter is getting married in two weeks.”

He already knew that and looked concerned. “I think it’s important that you stay and cooperate with them, to settle it out of court. It’ll happen faster and probably better if you’re here, rather than letting it drag out by dealing with it long distance.”

They walked out of the courtroom together then. They had cleared the first hurdle but now there were others to deal with, and Alex was going to go crazy if her mother didn’t go home for her wedding, or if she had to postpone it.

“There will be a mediation hearing,” Mark explained to her at the top of the steps of City Hall, “and you’ll need to be here for that. I’ll try to get it set as soon as I can, when I ask for a speedy trial.”

He helped her down the ramp then, back to her car. She barely had time to celebrate being relieved of any criminal charges when she had the next steps to worry about.

She went back to the hotel, and Mark went to his office, to start making calls.

He called her at the hotel that afternoon. He knew the judge they’d been assigned to for the pretrial hearing and had requested a meeting in his chambers the next day.

“What if I leave for the wedding and come back the day after?” she asked Mark on the phone.

“Technically, legally you can leave now, but let’s see what date the judge gives us for the mediation hearing. You need to be here for that.”

Mark was meeting him in chambers at nine o’clock the next morning. Dahlia worried about it all night.

Mark called her at exactly ten o’clock the next morning. He had thought about it all night too. And had called in every favor he had to get the meeting in chambers with the pretrial judge. He knew him slightly, and he explained Dahlia’s circumstances to him as compassionately as he could, the trauma of the accident she’d been through, her injuries, a business that depended on her in Paris. He didn’t mention the wedding, because it sounded frivolous. By some miracle, he convinced the judge to give them a speedy trial, and an early mediation date.

“Plaintiff’s attorney will have to agree to the dates,” the judge told Mark, which Mark already knew. “It’ll never get to trial anyway. The insurers will settle,” he said cynically.

“I’m sure you’re right, Your Honor,” Mark said respectfully. The case was a blatant shakedown for money from the car rental company and Dahlia. The judge saw cases like it every day. They very rarely went to trial and this one wouldn’t either.

“The judge is a decent guy,” Mark told Dahlia when he called her. “He granted us the speedy trial so you can get back to France. He set mediation for August third, and the trial to begin on August twentieth. That’s the best I could get. Nicasio’s attorney will have to agree to it, but if he’s a contingency lawyer, he’ll like it, and so will she, because they’d get the settlement money soon. That means the trial is in five weeks. And Dahlia, I’m sorry about the wedding. I hope your daughter will understand that you need to take care of this and get it behind you before you go home. I’m glad he granted us the speedy trial.” So was she, and she was grateful to Mark, but dealing with Alex would be another story. The word “reasonable” was not in her vocabulary. The wedding would have to be postponed, or she’d have to get married without her mother there. Dahlia wasn’t sure which she would do. Alex was hard to predict, and whatever she did, it would include some form of punishment for her mother for the change. She was punitive and could hold a grudge longer than anyone on earth. In Alex’s mind, Dahlia would be entirely to blame.

Mark assured her that the trial would take five days. So presumably, if there was a trial, she could leave San Francisco around the twenty-sixth or twenty-eighth of August, after the verdict. The wedding would have to be postponed by a month if Alex wanted her mother there. She felt sick thinking about it.

“Can I come to the hotel for lunch and we can talk about it?” Mark asked her.

“Of course,” she said, grateful for all the time he was spending with her to help her.

He came at noon and they ordered club sandwiches, which were good at the hotel. She knew the room service menu by heart now, but it was peaceful talking to him in her suite.

The bottom line was that she had to stay in San Francisco for the next six weeks, till the end of the trial, for her deposition, mediation, and all the meetings required to negotiate a settlement or prepare for trial, if there was one. If they reached a settlement before that, she could go home sooner, but it wasn’t likely.

“You’ll be back in France by the end of August,” he assured her while they ate lunch. She would be missing her annual vacation with her children in Saint-Paul-de-Vence, but they could all go to the house without her. The problem was Alex and the wedding.

“She’s not my most reasonable child,” she explained to Mark. From his perspective, if Alex was getting married she wasn’t a child, and her mother was facing a trial and possibly punitive damages. The wedding could wait.

“Fortunately, there won’t be a lot of evidence to gather to prepare for the trial. It’s your word against hers, and it will all boil down to what the jury believes and which of you is most credible. I would cast my vote for you, particularly after what I saw of her on the stand yesterday. She was openly hostile to you, and she marched down the steps of City Hall like a soldier. She claims she’s too injured to work and can hardly stand up, but she looked like she could do jumping jacks in that boot. You’re going to get the sympathy vote at the trial. You’re a lot more respectable than she is, to say the least, and when they see the photographs of the car you were driving, after the accident, no one is going to believe a word she says, if they’re crazy enough to go to trial. Her lawyer is suicidal if he does, or they’re both blinded by greed. This is all about the biggest settlement she can get, not justice or truth. They’re going to hope we won’t want to take it to trial. I would love to get my teeth into her on the witness stand,” he said, and Dahlia smiled. Then he turned to her with a gentler look. “Are you very upset about being stuck here for another six weeks? You can be on the next plane after the verdict.”

“I’m very grateful they didn’t charge me with criminal negligence.” They hadn’t even had a chance to celebrate their victory yet. “But I am upset to have to tell my daughter she has to postpone her wedding. It’s not going to go over well.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-nine. But she’s difficult, and its a big deal.” He nodded. He understood by now how hard she tried to please her children and make them happy.

“It’s not your fault, Dahlia,” he said gently.

“Thank you for doing such a good job for me and getting the judge to set the trial in August,” she said gratefully. “No one in France does business in August, so my being here won’t have an impact on my work. And I would have been away anyway.” When they finished lunch, he went back to his office. It was after two o’clock by then, after eleven p.m. in France, and too late to tackle Alex then. She’d have to wait until the morning in Paris to tell her.

Mark had wanted to invite Dahlia to dinner, but decided to let her deal with her family dramas. They could have dinner another time. The judge had given him a six-week reprieve. Dahlia was going to be in San Francisco for another six weeks, until the end of the trial. He knew it made no sense, and it was crazy, but privately he was thrilled. He had six more weeks to spend time with her and get to know her before they had to say goodbye.