Trial by Fire

Chapter 12

Dahlia had the driver stop at a pet supply store that was still open when they got back to the city. It was a huge place with everything one could need for any kind of pet. Dahlia found the dog section and bought Francisco a bed. It was a cozy little blue igloo with teddy bears on it, and plush fur inside. She bought him red and blue dog bowls, some toys, chew bones, and a nicer collar and leash than the one he was wearing, and a carrier for him to travel in when she went back to Paris. He was fully equipped for his new adventure, and a boy at the checkout stand carried it all to the car for her. She noticed that Francisco was steering clear of her crutches, either because he was afraid of them, or sensed that he had to be careful for her. His tail was wagging the entire time. She had bought some dog treats too, and when she got in the car she opened the package and gave him one. He gobbled it up immediately and sat waiting for more, and handed her a paw.

“You know tricks too?” she said with a grin, and he politely shook her hand. Someone had obviously cared about him, and he looked healthy and well fed. She was sad for the owners who had lost him, but it was obviously a match that was meant to be. He trotted into the hotel next to her, as though he felt entirely worthy of his fancy new home. And the minute she let him off the leash in the suite, he ran from room to room in ecstasy, and rolled on his back on the soft carpet, and then jumped on a chair to reach the bed and barked at her once he was on the bed.

“Are you supposed to be up there?” she asked him, and he cocked his head again and dove under the pillows and peeked out at her. She laughed as she watched him. He was exactly what she needed. He was the antidote to misery and pain, physical or emotional. She hadn’t had a dog since she was a child, since Charles was allergic to them, and had had asthma as a child. But she could have one now. The girls had always wanted one, but they couldn’t because of Charles.

She fed Francisco and put water in one of his new bowls, and when she turned the TV on to watch the news, he jumped onto her lap and stared at the television intently. He had obviously done that before with his previous owner. A little while later, she asked for a bellman to come upstairs and take him for a walk, since she couldn’t do it herself. She put his leash on, and he hesitated with a worried look, she gave him a treat, and he trotted out on his fancy new black leather leash. She had gotten him a red collar and replaced his old one. And he went crazy when he saw her again when they came back. He was ecstatic that she was still there. He dove into his pile of toys then, and dragged them all over the room, hid a small squeaky toy under a pillow, and then brought her a ball, looking expectantly at her. She threw it and he brought it back and put it at her feet to throw again. She was playing with him when Mark called to see how she was.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I had a long day playing catch-up. How are you?” he asked with concern. She’d been through a lot with the hearing and now the trial looming.

“Very happy,” she said with a light tone. “I have a new friend.” He was surprised to hear it, but relieved that she wasn’t too depressed about their going to trial and getting stuck in San Francisco. He had worried about her all day and wanted to call, but he hadn’t had five free minutes to call. “Do you want to come for a drink and meet him?” It sounded like a slightly odd invitation, and he wondered if she’d been drinking. He had no idea who she was entertaining. But she was a beautiful woman and might have met someone at the hotel.

“I can stop by for a few minutes on my way home.” He was curious who was with her. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen before, but he hardly knew her, so anything was possible. “I’m just leaving now.”

“Terrific, see you soon,” she said, and hung up.

She and Francisco continued playing. He loved his new ball and the other toys, and ten minutes later, the doorbell of her suite rang and she went to open it, and was smiling when Mark saw her poised on her crutches, holding a ball and an elephant toy, with Francisco standing next to her, wagging his tail, as though he remembered Mark. Mark laughed as soon as he saw them and the toys all over the room as he followed her in.

“Is this your new friend?” he asked her, relieved that there wasn’t some strange man sitting on the couch, drinking a martini.

“Of course. This is Francisco de Beaumont. I couldn’t resist. I went to get him this afternoon. I’ve wanted him since I first saw him. And Jeff says hello.” Francisco dropped his ball at Mark’s feet and he threw it, and Francisco brought it back. “Would you like a drink? He plays ball and he shakes hands, and he likes to watch TV,” she said, and it made Mark happy just seeing how elated she was. The little dog was sweet, and about to have an extremely nice life with his new owner, who was visibly enamored with him. He jumped up on her bed then, and lay on his back, suddenly exhausted by all the new excitement in his life. It was a long way from being cooped up in a crate in Napa in the rescue shelter. He had won the lottery that day.

Mark sat down on the couch, and Dahlia sat next to him and left her crutches on the floor at her feet. “Help yourself to a drink,” she said, still smiling. Francisco had turned the day around from one of sorrow to one of joy. “Do you want something to eat?” she asked Mark, as he opened a bottle of wine from the minibar.

“To be honest, I haven’t had time to eat all day. I’m starving. Have you eaten?”

“I’ve been too busy playing with Francisco. Do you want to order something from room service? It’ll be faster and easier than going out.”

“That sounds fantastic.” They ordered burgers and he poured Dahlia a glass of wine too, as he relaxed and took off his jacket. It was nice seeing her at the end of a long day. He hadn’t seen her or talked to her since he came for a sandwich the day before to discuss the trial schedule. She’d obviously been busy, if she’d gone to Napa to get the dog. “Was that a spur-of-the-moment decision?” he asked her. “Or had you planned it?”

“He was the first dog I helped bandage when I volunteered there. I fell in love with him. It was love at first sight.” His paws were already healed. “I haven’t had a dog since I was a little kid. My mother had a pug, but it died years ago. And my son is allergic to dogs, so we never could have one.”

“He’s going to be the most spoiled dog in Paris from what I can see.” His bowls, bed, and toys were all over her suite, and it warmed his heart to see her happy. She was going through a hard time, and she deserved some pleasure in her life. Mark’s face grew serious then. “Did you talk to your children yesterday about having to stay for the trial?”

“Yes, two of them,” she said, with a sad look in her eyes.

“What did they say? Especially the daughter who’s getting married.”

“She reacted as I expected her to,” she said quietly. “I talked to Delphine first, who works with me. She was wonderful and sensible and helpful as always. She manages two children, a husband, a big job, her employees at home, and my staff, and does it all with grace. She wants to introduce a new product line for a younger market, which is brilliant. She told me about it yesterday. She’s going to run Lambert beautifully one day.”

“She sounds like you,” he smiled at her.

“She’s better than I am. She has more contemporary ideas and is always looking for ways to expand. I try to improve on what we have. She always comes up with something new I never thought of. She is a great asset to the business. And then I spoke to my other daughter, Alex, the future bride, and predictably, she went crazy. Insults, accusations, anger, raging at me. She blames me for everything wrong in her life. She acts as though I do it to her on purpose if something goes wrong. I explained to her about the trial and what’s at stake here. She doesn’t care. It’s all about her. She doesn’t give a damn what happens to me, or how I feel. I gave her the choice of postponing the wedding or doing it without me. She’ll have my blessing either way. After a great many nasty accusations and insults, she hung up on me, and she sent me a text later. She’s going to postpone, but only until September first. It’s inconvenient for her after that. You said the trial would take five days, so if it starts on August twentieth, it should be over by the twenty-fifth. That gives me exactly a week to get home and be at the wedding. It’s tight but it should work.” He nodded, listening carefully to what she was saying and feeling sorry for her. It sounded like her about-to-be-married daughter did everything she could to make her mother’s life difficult, in already hard circumstances for her.

“She doesn’t give you much of a break,” he said cautiously.

“She never has—she blames me for anything that goes wrong in her life, whether my fault or not.” And in this case it certainly wasn’t Dahlia’s fault. “She’s always blamed me for her not having a living father. I didn’t kill him. Her list of grievances is endless—this is just one more, the list is long.” She hated airing their family’s dirty laundry and giving Mark such a negative description of one of her children, but it was true, and she had no one else to talk to, except Delphine, and she didn’t want to burden her any more than she already was, with a very full plate and a million balls in the air at work and at home. “I’m sorry to tell you all this. It isn’t very gracious of me. She’s hard to deal with sometimes, and she ran over me like a bus yesterday. She never apologizes, and she always does it again. At the first opportunity, she throws everything at me that she hates about me or thinks I’ve done wrong. It’s impossible to win with her, and this is a huge deal to her, having to postpone her wedding. It would be to anyone, but she manages to make it worse by attacking me. My secretary and I will get everything done as seamlessly as we can, but her attack yesterday was a little too much on top of everything else happening here.” She sighed wistfully. “Francisco was the only antidote I could think of. And he did a very good job of cheering me up.”

“I’m glad he did,” Mark said gently, wishing he could be the one to comfort her.

“It’s odd how children can grow up in the same house, with the same parents, only a year apart, and be so totally different. Delphine is always there to help me and can’t do enough for everyone. Alex does whatever she can to make it harder and hurt me. I always hope that will change, if she’s happy in her own life, but it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it never will. If her wedding turns out well now, she’ll forget all the awful things she said to me, and go on, leaving all the damage she causes in her wake.”

“Some people are that way,” he said quietly, “they’re unhappy, so they want everyone else to be too. Can you really manage the wedding from here?” He didn’t see how she could, but he didn’t know her and what a tornado she was when she had to be. She was efficiency personified. And her assistant was a huge help.

“Yes, I can. My secretary in Paris is a miracle worker, and I can do a lot from here. If the suppliers and venue are available, we can pull it off with ease.” And they had an end point now, as to when Dahlia would be going back to Paris, in about six weeks. It was good to know, and a reminder to Mark, that she wasn’t there to stay. She was going home, and had major responsibilities there, to her business and her family.

“By the way, Nicasio’s lawyer accepted the trial date today, and the mediation. I was sure he would. It means fast money for them if they win.” But it was a relief to know the schedule was set now. And the car rental firm wanted to put it behind them quickly too.

Their dinner arrived then, and the room service waiter set it up on the dining table in the suite. Francisco greeted him and followed the good smells from the rolling table to the dining room, and sat down expectantly next to Mark and Dahlia. Their burgers looked delicious.

She mentioned while they were eating that she felt sorry for Tiffany Nicasio, the plaintiff’s daughter, with her broken nose and arms.

“It must have been a terrible trauma for her too. They talk a lot more about her mother’s injuries than hers.”

“Because her injuries are directly her mother’s fault, since she didn’t make her wear a seatbelt.”

“I wondered if I should send the girl something to cheer her up,” Dahlia said, thinking about it, and Mark stopped her immediately.

“Absolutely not. It’s a sweet thought, but you can’t. They would use it to imply that you feel guilty. You have to stay away from both of them.” He was emphatic about it, and Dahlia nodded.

“I understand,” she said quietly, as they ate their burgers. Francisco was sitting right below them, hoping for manna to fall from the sky. He seemed to be no stranger to table scraps, a habit Dahlia didn’t want to encourage, so she just patted his head under the table.

“You can’t mother everyone,” Mark said gently. “You seem to be very generous about solving all your children’s problems, but you can’t fix things for everyone.”

“Sometimes not even for my own children,” she said sadly.

“It sounds like you’re going to do everything you can for Alex. You have nothing to reproach yourself for. She’s a grown woman. What is she doing to help you?” Mark asked her.

“Nothing. That’s not her style.” He didn’t like what he was hearing about her.

“I was thinking about something. If it’s not too smoky in the area on Saturday, would you like to go to my beach house for the day? It’s such a peaceful place. You can’t walk on the beach with your leg, but you can sit on the deck. If we’re lucky, it might even be sunny. I like it even when it’s windy and cold. It’s beautiful there, and very rugged. You could bring Francisco.” He smiled at her.

“I’d like that. I’m going to miss the beach entirely this summer. I told them to go to the south of France without me.” It struck him again that she was always thinking about others, particularly her children. She never seemed to think about herself.

He left at midnight, which was late for him on a work night, but he always had a hard time tearing himself away from her. There was always more to talk about, discover, and share. He told her too that the private investigator would be working to find out more about Marilyn Nicasio before the mediation hearing, which might affect any settlement they ultimately made. For the moment, Nicasio was shooting for the moon, and had her sights set high, based on what she guessed Dahlia could pay, not on the size of her “crime,” if there was one, which remained to be determined at trial if they didn’t settle before.

He said he had busy days for the rest of the week, but they agreed on their plan for Saturday. They were going to his house in Stinson for the day, for a picnic lunch. It sounded wonderful to her.

—

As soon as Mark left, Dahlia called her office in Paris, to speak to Agnes. It was nine a.m. there, and they discussed the wedding at length, everything that needed to be handled for the postponement. Dahlia had made a list, and so had Agnes, and she promised to check in at the end of her workday once she knew more about the venue and suppliers.

“I’m so sorry that you’ve been delayed,” Agnes told her. “Is your leg okay?”

“It will be.” And her ribs were slowly healing too. She could breathe more easily now, but laughing or coughing still hurt.

“How did Alex take the postponement?” she asked her, and Dahlia sighed.

“As you can imagine. You know how she is.” Agnes certainly did, firsthand, having been the target of Alex’s rages and her razor-edged tongue more than once. She felt sorry for Dahlia, imagining what it had been like. Agnes spent an inordinate amount of time trying to protect her employer and help her in every way she could. It infuriated her when her family didn’t do the same, weighed on her, expected too much, or actively made her miserable, like Alex. It was so unfair and Dahlia didn’t deserve it.

By the end of the conversation, they had matters in hand, and everything they needed to do mapped out. And as efficient as they both were, Agnes had no doubt that they could pull it off.

Dahlia got ready for bed then, and Francisco watched her and jumped onto the bed, via his usual chair. He gave her a quizzical look, as though to ask if it was okay, and she smiled and patted the bed next to her. He lay down beside her with a little sigh, and then sidled up and put his head on the pillow next to her, and rolled over on his back, which made her smile. He was snoring a few minutes later, and then she fell asleep. Adopting him had been the best thing she’d done in years.

She slept later than usual, and called Agnes while Francisco went for a walk with one of the bellmen. They were going to walk him four times a day since she couldn’t do it herself. It was seven p.m. in Paris by then, only ten a.m. in San Francisco, and true to form, Agnes had all the answers they needed. The chateau was free on September first, which was essential, and so were the caterers, the photographer, the videographer, the hair and makeup people, the car parkers, the wedding cake baker, the florist. Every one of the suppliers was able to make a switch. It was a miracle.

“Then it’s a go. Will you send Alex an email and let her know? We need to send emails to all the guests, so you need to clear it with her.” Dahlia was still smarting from the blows Alex had inflicted on her, and she wanted to keep her distance for a while, while making sure that everything was locked in. “She can make her own appointments for the final fittings of the dress, and this gives her time to get it just right,” Dahlia said.

“She’s a lucky girl,” Agnes said in a terse tone, and Dahlia didn’t disagree. Luckier than she deserved sometimes, but she was her daughter after all, and Dahlia loved her, no matter what.

—

Mark came to pick Dahlia up on Saturday in the SUV. He thought she’d be more comfortable on the drive, and she had Francisco with her. And there were a lot of hairpin turns on the road to Stinson. He loved driving it in his Aston Martin, and felt like a racecar driver, but for her first visit, he didn’t want to scare her, or the dog.

As he had promised, the drive took thirty-five minutes, and it was early. There was still a haze over the city from the fires, but there was a brisk wind, which kept the air cleaner than it had been in weeks, and they didn’t have to wear masks.

She was surprised by how quickly the drive became rugged and there were no houses except in small clusters on cliffs, with fantastic views of the ocean ahead of them, and the skyline of the city behind them. Just driving there felt peaceful.

“Sorry about the winding turns,” he said.

“I love it.” Francisco was asleep in the backseat.

They drove through a small village with half a dozen tiny shops, a grocery store, and a sleepy little restaurant, and a few miles down the road, there was a gated community. A guard let them in, and they drove down a road to a neat-looking white house with hedges around it. The smell of the ocean was strong, the air was brisk, and seagulls were calling to each other. Everything about it felt peaceful as Mark stopped the car, and Francisco woke up, stretched, and sat up to look around. Mark had brought a few groceries with him for lunch, and he had warned Dahlia to wear jeans and bring a sweater in case it got chilly.

She followed him to the front door on her crutches, while Francisco checked out the sandy garden, and they went inside. The décor was simple and tasteful. The paintings were mostly beach scenes or large Richard Mizrach photographs of the ocean. The furniture was inviting in beige and white fabrics. Everything about it was peaceful and appealing. The living room was large with a perfect view of the ocean and the beach, and there was a bigger-than-life driftwood-and-bronze sculpture of a horse by Deborah Butterfield. Mark said it was his favorite piece. The kitchen was simple and modern. There was a long dining table in the living room, and a wide handsome deck with the same splendid view. The master suite was on one side of the house, and four guest rooms on the other for when his daughters visited. And there was a big cozy fireplace where he lit a fire on chilly afternoons and evenings.

Dahlia looked around with admiration. It was the perfect beach house, and she could see why he loved it and went there often. It was completely different from her house in Saint-Paul-de-Vence, which was so typically French, with a mixture of antiques and bright colors, and she loved filling it with flowers. Everything about Mark’s universe at the beach was pale and soothing. It suited him, and made her feel calm, just being there.

“I love it,” she said warmly, and he looked pleased. “And I love the Mizrach photos.” There was one of a beach that was almost as large as the picture window. His living room was floor-to-ceiling glass, and it was almost like being on the beach, with sliding doors that opened the whole room to the deck for warm days.

“It’s my refuge from a chaotic world when I get too busy with stressful cases. It’s the best part of my life in San Francisco. I love my apartment, but it has a whole different feeling, up in the sky above the world. I love the way this house makes me feel as though I’m lying on the beach with my feet in the ocean.” It was the perfect way to describe it. Just being there was calming, with the sound of the ocean outside. And then they both laughed as they saw Francisco on the deck, leaping into the air trying to catch a seagull who had just squawked at him and flew by, while he had a fit barking at it. “That’ll keep him busy,” Mark said, smiling at her. “I wish you could walk on the beach. It’s three miles long. It always clears my head.” But there was no way she could with her cast and crutches. He took a heavy beige cashmere blanket out of a concealed cupboard and set it up for her on a deck chair. The air was decidedly cool even though it was July, and the sun was dimmed by the haze from the fires, although the ocean breeze swept most of it away. It was a relief not to smell smoke in the air.

He put the groceries in the kitchen and came to sit with her on the deck. The sun was warm, what there was of it. “This is my perfect hideaway when I want to be alone,” he said, “but I like sharing it with you. It’s like showing you my secret place. I feel safe here, from all the pressures in my life.” It was obvious being there that he had kept a distance between himself and the world for a long time. Dahlia had the sense that he was inviting her into his private world. She led a much more populated life than he did, with four adult children she was close to. His lived far away, and he admitted that they seldom visited him in California. He went to visit them. She kept “outsiders” at arm’s length. Even she and Philippe didn’t have a close relationship. They had one that was easy for both of them, at a safe distance. And Mark had already admitted that he wasn’t close to the women he went out with, and his romantic relationships didn’t last long. There was always some valid reason to end them before they got too close.

They sat on the deck together, talking for a while, and then Mark whistled to Francisco, who came running, and took him down on the beach where she could see them. He threw some sticks for the dog and let him chase the birds. He took his running shoes off, rolled up his jeans, and waded into the water with him. When he came back to Dahlia, who had enjoyed watching them, Francisco sprawled out on the deck in the sun, exhausted. It was hard work chasing birds and fetching sticks. Mark handed her a perfect sand dollar and she smiled up at him.

“I wish I could walk on the beach with you,” she said, and he sat down on the deck chair, next to her broken leg.

“If you get your cast off before you leave, we will,” he said, and looked out to sea, at the fishing boats in the distance. “We get sharks here sometimes, attracted by the chum off the fishing boats. And the water is ice-cold. I wear a wetsuit when I swim here.” It was all so different from the Mediterranean that she was used to. It was a whole way of life there that was hot and lively, and sunny in the south of France, with lots of people all around. It didn’t have this quiet, peaceful feeling that Mark’s beach did. There were a few people walking on the beach, but not many. He reached over and took her hand as their eyes met when she looked at him. There was something very deep there. He was usually uneasy with the women he went out with, protecting himself, and careful to keep his distance. With Dahlia he wanted to throw the doors open wide and let her in. “Thank you for coming here,” he said softly. She saw a whole different side to him here from the tough successful lawyer dealing with major corporations every day. The time he spent at the beach gave him the inner strength to fight his battles. He was a man of interesting contrasts, both warm and distant, just as she was strong and vulnerable. As he sat there with her, he leaned toward her and kissed her. She didn’t expect it, but she was irresistibly drawn to him, as though they fit together perfectly, and he was what had been missing in her life and she didn’t know it.

“You make me want to throw caution to the winds,” he said in a deeply moved voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way before.”

“What are you afraid of?” she asked him gently.

“Myself…getting too close,” he said, honest with her.

“Me too,” she admitted, but she wasn’t afraid of him, and wondered if she should be. Something about him reminded her of Jean-Luc so many years ago, and how devastated she had been when he died. She had guarded herself against those feelings ever since then. “Maybe love isn’t possible unless you’re willing to take a risk,” she said softly, as she looked at him. “Maybe that’s what makes it worthwhile. You can’t love someone unless you put all the cards on the table, and all the chips, and you’re all in.”

“That sounds terrifying,” he said, but he didn’t look terrified. He looked happy and he kissed her again, and she responded. Afterward, he smiled. “This is very unprofessional. I could be disbarred for this,” he said, and she laughed.

“I promise I won’t tell,” she whispered, kissed him again, and made room for him next to her on the wide deck chair. He lay next to her, with an arm around her, feeling her warmth next to him, and breathing in the faint scent of her perfume, which was delicate and exotic at the same time. “What is it?” he asked her, and she smiled.

“It’s one of mine. They make it specially for me, so no one else has it. They just call it 814, which is the reference number. It doesn’t have a name.”

“I love it. And I think I agree with you about risk. It’s what I’ve been afraid of all my life. I pick women who aren’t challenging for me because I know I won’t love them. The trouble is I married one of them,” and now he had met Dahlia and she was everything he had feared all his life, a woman he could love, and was already falling in love with. And she was leaving in six weeks and lived halfway around the world.

They sat on the deck chair together for a long time, and then went to make lunch when they were hungry. He had brought enough food to make sandwiches, and some cheese and foie gras. It made a very adequate lunch they took back out to the deck to eat. Francisco followed them, and then went back to chasing birds for a while and digging in the sand.

At the end of the day, Mark looked at Dahlia. It had been perfect being there together, and they had opened a door they had both been afraid of. He held her most of the time and they couldn’t stop kissing. And they had dozed off to sleep in each other’s arms for a while, and nestled closer when they woke up.

“How dangerous could this be?” he said, looking at her. “You’re leaving in six weeks. We know when this has to end, and we can’t do anything about it. How risky is that? We can’t get in too deep in six weeks. Why not seize the moment while we have the opportunity? This time will never come again. This moment belongs to us. You’re alone here. We can savor every minute of it and remember it forever when you leave. Are you willing to risk six weeks of your life? That’s all it’s going to cost either of us. It doesn’t sound that dangerous to me,” he said, trying to convince himself as well as her.

“And when I leave?” she asked him. “Then what?” It was an honest question, as she thought about what he’d said.

“We kiss goodbye, we cherish the memory, and it’s over, but we live it fully for those six weeks, and no one gets hurt in the end. There’s no risk, no danger, no expectations, no disappointment, no reproaches or broken hearts later.”

“Are you sure you can measure out love that way?” she asked skeptically. “I’m not sure human hearts open and close like that.” It was how he had always lived before, to a much lesser degree, since he was never in love with the women he dated, was attracted to, amused by, or infatuated with briefly. He had loved by drops before. Dahlia was like a flood to his senses, and he was underestimating the force of the tide rushing in, and confident that he would know when to stop it. What he was offering was tempting, to seize these six weeks fully, and then go home and cherish the memory, put it in a box with the scent of summer, to dry silently like shells when they left each other.

He kissed her again, hoping to convince her. It was a searing kiss and what he was offering was too intoxicating to decline. She nodded assent, and gave him a kiss he would long remember, with her whole heart and soul, and then he helped her out of the deck chair. She took her crutches and smiled at him. There was mischief in her eyes, ready to accept the challenge.

“You’re a dangerous man, Mr. Hamilton,” she said, in a soft, sensual voice. They had much to look forward to. They had six weeks. No one would ever know. He had not expected to propose that to her when he brought her there. He just wanted to show her his beach house. But he had shown her a great deal more. He had let her peek into the depths of his soul, and after what she’d seen, there was no way she could resist him, and didn’t want to.