The Last Don - Mario Puzo [226]
When she received the call from Cross that he was coming to see her, she felt a surge of happiness and hope. He was still alive and he would help her. Then she had some trepidation. She consulted Dr. Gerard.
“What do you think would be best?” she asked.
“He could be of great assistance to Bethany,” Dr. Gerard said. “I would very much like to see how she relates to him over a period of time. And it might be very good for you. Mothers must not be martyrs for their children.” She thought about his words on her way to pick up Cross at the Nice airport.
At the airport, Cross had to walk from the plane to the low-slung terminal. The air was balmy and sweet, not the scorching sulfurous heat of Vegas. Along the borders of the concrete reception plaza grew masses of luxurious red and purple flowers.
He saw Athena waiting for him on that plaza, and he marveled at her genius in transforming her appearance. She could not completely hide her beauty, but she could disguise it. Gold-framed tinted glasses turned her eyes from brilliant green to gray. The clothes she was wearing made her look thicker and heavier. Her blond hair was tucked under a country-brimmed hat of blue denim that overlapped the side of her face. He felt a thrill of possession that he was the only one who knew how beautiful she really was.
As Cross approached, Athena took off her glasses and put them in the pocket of her blouse. He smiled at her irrepressible vanity.
Less than an hour later they were in the suite of the Negresco Hotel where Napoleon had bedded Josephine. Or so the hotel brochure on the door still claimed. A waiter knocked and brought in a tray with a bottle of wine and a delicate plate of tiny sandwiches. He left it on the balcony table that overlooked the Mediterranean.
At first they were awkward with each other. She held his hand trustingly yet as if she were in command, and the touch of her warm flesh gave him a rush of desire. But he could see she was not quite ready.
The suite was beautifully furnished, more opulent than any of the Xanadu Villas. The bed had a canopy of dark red silk, the matching drapes were studded with golden fleur-de-lis. The tables and chairs had an elegance that could never have existed in the Vegas world.
Athena led Cross out to the balcony, and as she did so Cross blindly kissed her on the cheek. And then she couldn’t help herself, she picked up a wet cotton napkin that was wrapped around the wine bottle and scrubbed her face free of all the disfiguring cosmetics. Her face glistened with drops of water, the skin radiant and pink. She put one hand on his shoulder and kissed him gently on the lips.
From the balcony they could view the stone houses of Nice, tinted the faded greens and blues of paint from hundreds of years ago. Below, the citizens of Nice strolled on the Promenade des Anglais, on the stony beach young men and women, almost nude, splashed into the blue-green water while little children dug themselves into the pebbly sand. Farther out, hawkish white yachts, strung with lights, patrolled the horizon.
Cross and Athena had taken their first sip of wine when they heard the faint roar. From the stone seawall, from what looked like the mouth of a cannon but was really the great eastern pipe of the sewers, a great wave of deep brown water gushed into the pristine blue of the sea.
Athena turned her head away. She said to Cross, “How long will you be here?”
“Five years if you let me,” he said.
“That’s silly,” Athena said frowning. “What will you do here?”
Cross said. “I’m rich, maybe I’ll buy a small hotel.”
“What happened to the Xanadu?” Athena asked.
“I had to sell my interest,” he said. He paused for a moment. “We won’t have to worry about money.”
“I have money,” Athena said. “You have to understand. I’m going to stay here for five years and then I’m going to bring her home. I don’t care what they say, I will never put her back in an institution, I’ll take care of her for the rest