The Last Don - Mario Puzo [183]
The doctor seemed ill at ease. “I don’t mean to be offensive,” he said. “But this is in the best interest of your child. I know Mr. De Lena is not your husband, but is it possible he is the father of your child? If so, I would want to test him.”
Athena said, “I did not know him when my daughter was born.”
“Bon,” the doctor said. He shrugged. “Such things are always possible.”
Cross laughed. “Maybe the doctor sees some symptoms in me.”
The doctor’s thick red lips pursed as he nodded and smiled amiably. “You do have certain symptoms. So do we all. Who knows? A centimeter either way, all of us could be autistic. Now I must make a thorough examination of the child and run some tests. It will take at the very least four hours. Why don’t the two of you take a stroll through our lovely Paris. Mr. De Lena, your first time?”
“Yes,” Cross said.
Athena said, “I want to remain with my daughter.”
“As you wish, madame,” he said and then spoke to Cross. “Enjoy your stroll. I detest Paris myself. If a city could be autistic, it would be Paris.”
A taxi was called, and Cross went back to the hotel room. He had no desire to see Paris without Athena and he needed rest. Besides, he had come to Paris to clear his head, to think things out.
He pondered what Falene had told him. He remembered that Losey had come to Malibu alone, detectives usually worked in pairs. Before leaving Paris he had asked Vazzi to look into it.
At four, Cross was back in the doctor’s sitting room. They were waiting for him. Bethany was poring over the book of painting, Athena was pale, the only physical sign that Cross knew could not be acting. Bethany was also gobbling a plate of pastries, and the doctor took it away from her, saying something in French. Bethany did not protest. A nurse came then to take her to the playroom.
“Forgive me,” the doctor said to Cross. “But I must ask you some questions.”
“Whatever you like,” Cross said.
The doctor rose from his chair and strode about the room. “I will tell you what I have told madame,” the doctor said. “There are no miracles in these cases, absolutely none. With long training there could be enormous improvement, in some cases, not many. And with Mademoiselle, there are certain limits. She must stay in my institution in Nice for five years at least. We have teachers there who can explore every possibility. In that time we will know whether it is possible for her to live a nearly normal life. Or whether she must be institutionalized forever.”
Here Athena began to weep. She held a small blue silk handkerchief to her eyes and Cross could smell its perfume.
The doctor looked at her impassively. “Madame has agreed. She will join the Institute as a teacher. . . . So.”
He sat directly across from Cross. “There are some very good signs. She has genuine talent as a painter. Certain senses alert, not withdrawn. She was interested when I spoke French, a language she cannot understand but intuits. That is a very good sign. Another good sign: The child showed some signs of missing you this afternoon, she has some feeling for another human being and that may be extended. It is highly unusual, but can be explained in not so mysterious a way. When I explored this with her she said you were beautiful. Now, you must not be offended, Mr. De Lena. I ask this question only for medical reasons to help the child, not accuse you. Have you sexually stimulated the girl in any way, perhaps unintentionally?”
Cross was so startled he burst out laughing. “I didn’t know she responded to me. And I never gave her anything to respond to.”
Athena’s cheeks were red with anger. “This is ridiculous,” she said. “He was never alone with her.”
The doctor persisted. “Have you at any time given her physical caresses? I don’t mean clasping her hand, patting her hair, or even kissing her cheek. The girl is nubile, she would respond simply out of physicality. You would not be the first man tempted