Five Days in Paris by Danielle Steel Page A

Peter asked curiously. The only thing that seemed lucky to him just then was having been with her all night, emptying their souls in each other's hands and sharing their secrets.
    “Because you're content with your life, you believe in what you've done, and you still believe in the decency of the human race. I wish I still did, but I haven't in a long time.” But she hadn't been as lucky. Life had been kind to him for the most part, and extremely hard on Olivia Thatcher. She didn't tell him she suspected his marriage was a lot less fulfilling than he told himself, because she thought he didn't even know that. In some ways, he was lucky because he was still so blind, but he was sincere and caring and he had worked hard, and he was willing to close his eyes to his wife's indifference to him, and her involvement in her own life, and his father-in-law's outrageous invasion of what should have been their life. He was fortunate in Olivia's eyes, because he saw none of the emptiness around him. He sensed it perhaps, but he didn't really see it. And he was basically such a kind, decent, loving person. She had felt so much warmth from him that night, that even now, just before dawn, she didn't want to leave him.
    “I hate to go back,” she whispered sleepily into his white shirt, nestled against his shoulder in the back of the cab. After all their talking, they were both spent, and she was beginning to fade now.
    “I hate to leave you,” he said honestly, trying to force himself to remember Kate again, but it was this woman he wanted to be with, and not Kate. He had never talked to anyone as he had talked to Olivia that night, and she was so giving and understanding. She was so lonely and so hurt and so starved. How could he make himself leave her? It was hard to remember why he should now.
    “I know I'm supposed to go back, but I can't remember why.” She smiled sleepily, thinking of what a heyday the paparazzi would have if they could have seen them for the last six hours. It was hard to believe they had been away for that long. They had talked for hours in Montmartre, and now it was agony going back where they belonged, but they knew they had to. Peter suddenly realized he had never talked to Kate the way he had talked to Olivia that night. Worse yet, he was falling in love with her, and he had never even kissed her.
    “We both have to go back,” he said mournfully. “They must be half crazy with worry about you by now. And I have to wait to hear about Vicotec.” If not, he would have loved to run away with her.
    “And then what?” She was referring to Vicotec. “Our various worlds fall apart, separately, and we keep on going. Why do we have to be the brave ones?” She looked and sounded like a petulant child, and he smiled as he looked at her expression.
    “I guess because that's what we got picked for. Somewhere, sometime, someone said, 'Hey you, get on this line, you're one of the brave ones.' But actually, Olivia, you're a lot stronger than I am.” He had sensed that that night, and respected her a great deal for it.
    “No, I'm not,” she said simply. “I never volunteered for all this. This wasn't multiple choice, and I picked it. It just happened. That's not brave, it's just destiny.” She looked up at him silently then, wishing that he was hers, and knowing he never would be. “Thank you for following me tonight …and for the cup of coffee.” She smiled, and he touched her lips with his fingers.
    “Anytime, Olivia …remember that. Anytime you want a cup of coffee I'll be there …New York …Washington …Paris …” It was his way of offering her his friendship, and she knew it. Unfortunately for both of them, it was all he was able to offer.
    “Good luck with Vicotec,” she said as they got out of the cab, and she looked up at him. “If it's right for you to help all those people, Peter, it'll happen. I believe that.”
    “So do I,” he said sadly, missing her already. “Take care of