41. Aftermath

"What?" The shriek was immediately followed by Isabelle's shouldering her way into the passage, and charging furiously past Bear and Bonnie. "Where is he? Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" she cried at the sight of Sébastien lying curled in a fetal position on the floor, hands clasped loosely over his eyes and nose. Blood still seeped between his fingers, staining his upper lip and teeth, and dotting the carpet beneath him a brilliant red. She dropped to her knees beside him, and laid a comforting hand on his disheveled head. "Sébastien, mon pauvre ami, talk to me! Tell me, how bad is it?" When he returned no more in answer than a low moan, she swung back to Bonnie, her features contorted in wrath. "Was there really the need for such brutality? What was his offense? An unwelcome pass at you? And for that, you punch his nose? You could not have shown more restraint, more finesse?"

"Isabelle!" Bear objected sharply. "Bonnie's not to blame, here."

"Is she not? She knew his reputation — we made sure of it — and yet, what does she do at the first opportunity but steal away to a secret rendezvous? In his hotel room. Just the two of them. What is one to make of such conduct? She is either unpardonably naive for someone her age, or entirely too sure of herself, take your pick." Turning back to Sébastien, she murmured soothingly, "Can you sit up, chéri? Yes, that is the way. Here, let me help you." She threaded her arm between his torso and the floor, and with an imperious tilt of her head, motioned Bear over. "Take his other side — carefully! We will move him to that chair there. And you!" She shot Bonnie a venomous look. "Fetch some damp cloths, and while you're at it, fill a towel with ice!"

Bonnie was too grateful to Isabelle for having taken matters in hand to resent her scathing tone or blistering accusations. Besides, she thought, as she sped to the bathroom and held first one and then another face cloth under the gushing cold water tap, Isabelle was right: she had behaved with great recklessness, all the while thinking herself so worldly and so wise. She yanked a hand towel, as well, from the rack, and racing back into the main room, heaped it with enough cubes from the ice bucket on the credenza to fashion a good-sized bundle.

Sébastien now half-sat, half-reclined in one of the deep armchairs, his head angled back along the top of the cushion. His eyes were still scrunched closed, but Isabelle had coaxed him into lifting his hands away from his face, and was even now gently pinching her way down the ridge of his nose. She took the items Bonnie held out to her without a word or look of acknowledgement and gingerly set the makeshift ice pack in place. "Here," she said, taking Sébastien's hand and guiding it into position. "Hold that."

"Is it.. broken, do you think, Isa?" Sébastien's voice was pitifully small and pained.

She knelt before his chair, and, picking up a wet cloth, began to dab the blood from his lips and chin. "It appears not, though it would be no less than you deserve, vieux crétin! What were you thinking, making up to a woman young enough to be your daughter? Are you so deluded as to your physical charms and suave address that you thought to lure her into your bed?" She clucked disparagingly. "Playing Casanova is a young man's sport. At your age, you should be well beyond such nonsense by now."

Sébastien jerked the ice pack from his face to glare at her. "This, from you? The most unregenerate flirt who ever lived? Which of us was flaunting a young lover in public, I ask you?"

"Ah! There it is!" Isabelle threw up her hands in disgust and sank back on her heels. "I should have known you would shift the fault to me! That is just your style!"

"And yours is always to bait and provoke me…"

"Only someone of your towering egotism…"

"Enough!" At Bear's sharp command, both antagonists jumped and turned startled faces his way. "If you feel up to arguing, Beaumont, I'm guessing you're not in too tough shape. What about it, Isabelle? You think he needs a doctor?"

Composing herself, Isabelle regarded Sébastien appraisingly. "I do not think the damage serious, but I will stay for a time and keep an eye on him. If the nose, or foot for that matter, takes a turn for the worse, I will see him to emergency care. You need not remain, Rudolph. Only do me the favor of taking that one away with you. She is decidedly de trop."

He hesitated, frowning down at her in concern. "There's nothing more I can do for you?"

"Not at present, no. And Henri is nearby, don't forget. I will call him for help, if necessary."

Bear nodded slowly. "All right, then. I hope your night is uneventful. Not for your sake," he said to Sébastien, his tone hardening. "You've got off too lightly for my liking." He wrapped a hand around Bonnie's elbow, and started toward the door. "Come on."

Bonnie submitted to being drawn away, but could not forbear looking back over her shoulder at the pair and calling out, "I'm sorry! I really am. I didn't want to hurt him!"

"Yes, yes," Isabelle said absently, her attention concentrated fully on repositioning the ice pack where it would do the most good and then holding it in place. A moment later, Sébastien's hand rose and settled tentatively over hers, where it was allowed to remain.

"What is it with those two?" Bonnie asked, once she and Bear were on the hall-side of the door.

"I don't know, and I don't care," he said, turning her to face him. "What I want to know is, what happened in there? Are you all right? How's your hand?"

His eyes searched hers with such intensity and worry that Bonnie lost herself in them momentarily. Then, his last question registering, she said in some confusion, "My hand…? Oh! No! I… I didn't punch him. I… ah, used my knee." While the crisis lasted, she'd been too focused on Sebastien's condition to consider her own, but now she became aware of a distant throbbing in her knee and a certain roiling in her gut. "I'm f-f-fine."

"No, you're not," he said firmly, extricating her wrap from her arms and draping it over her shoulders. "You're white as chalk, and shaking like a leaf." He slipped an arm around her waist, and propelled her with him toward the elevator. "You're coming down from the adrenaline rush, and need to take a seat till it passes. We'll find you a chair in the lobby, and then, you can tell me what insanity possessed you to go to Beaumont's room tonight."

Bonnie's familiarity with reaction having been until that moment purely academic in nature, she was extremely grateful not to find herself in the position of having to weather the distressing nausea and tremors on her own, as would have been her lot had Bear and Isabelle not appeared in so timely a fashion. Her relief at the sight of him had been so great, initially, as to overwhelm every other emotion, but it occurred to her, in retrospect, that she ought to have been surprised. Her teeth had begun to chatter ever so slightly, but she managed to get out, "Why did you come? To the room?"

"Isabelle said something when just the four of us were left about how completely hopeless you are at charades. She explained about finding your behavior suspicious, and how she'd followed you out and seen you take the express elevator up instead of leave. She drew the obvious conclusion, but Madame Vincent wasn't buying it. She said you told her flat out you're not interested in Beaumont, so something else had to be going on, and she didn't like the sounds of it. That was enough for me."

The elevator doors slid open, but before Bear could hustle Bonnie into the car, Madame Vincent stepped out, with Henri Perrin close behind. Seeing her young friend's pallor and disordered coiffure, Madame's face fell in dismay. "My dear, are you all right?" she said, hurrying to Bonnie's side. "You look ready to sink! You're not hurt, are you? Only a little frightened? Bring her this way, Dr. Baer. That's right. My suite's just here, on the left."

In a matter of minutes, Bonnie was installed on a comfortable sofa in quarters that more closely resembled a small apartment than a hotel accommodation. Madame Vincent — or Rosa, as she now insisted on being called — sat beside her, holding her in a loose, one-armed hug, while Bear sat forward on the edge of the couch opposite, and Henri quietly paced the room. Bonnie made a clean breast of everything: the Blanchard paintings, the Lavallières photos, and her impatience to see them which had led to her disdaining good counsel and good sense. "There were plenty of warning signs," she admitted, "but I was so fixated on those pictures, I ignored them all."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Rosa said, chafing Bonnie's arm encouragingly. "You paid Sébastien the ultimate compliment of trusting him. That he abused your trust, willfully and for his own selfish purpose, is his shame, not yours."

"I am entirely of Rosa's opinion," Henri put in, gravely. He had listened to the give-and-take of questions and answers without contributing anything of his own, his demeanor troubled and contained. "I cannot express how very sorry I am that this should have happened. You have my most sincere apologies. I, too, was mistaken in the man. I thought, after all this time, I could rely on him to set aside his lascivious ways and behave like a true professional, but my optimism was, plainly, unwarranted." He heaved a weary sigh. "If you'll excuse me, I will just look in down the hall to see how matters stand. Rosa, I shall report back when I know something." He executed a small, formal bow, and let himself out, leaving the door slightly ajar.

"Pauvre Henri," Rosa said, with a sorrowful shake of her head. "He will be kicking himself six ways to Sunday now over inviting Sébastien to join the delegation. I confess I wondered at his choice, myself, at the time. Not that there is any question of his expertise! He is at the forefront of French Rococo connoisseurs. But it is no secret he cannot work with Isabelle. She brings out the absolute worst in him." She scrutinized Bonnie's face, and, reassured by what she saw, smiled warmly, and gave Bonnie's thigh a congratulatory pat. "You have roses in your cheeks again. Feeling better? A little something to drink, perhaps? A wee pick-me-up?"

Bonnie's mouth was, indeed, dry from so much talking. "Some water would be good."

Bear did not wait for more; he went to a corner table where a selection of wines and liqueurs stood ready for guests who were no longer likely to stop by, and poured her a tumbler-full of water from a carafe. He stretched his amiability even so far as to fulfill Rosa's request for a small glass of Calvados. Having delivered their drinks, he returned to the drinks tray to help himself.

Having downed a refreshing swallow, Bonnie turned back to Rosa. "You said, just now, that Isabelle brings out the worst in Sébastien, but I've noticed he rubs her the wrong way, too. She's all poised and pleasant when he's not around, and then all snippy and snide when he is. Why can't they get along?"

"Do you really not know?" There was an odd mix of humor and pity in Rosa's expression. "I thought it must be evident to anyone with eyes: they are crazy for each other, those two, and have been since they met at university. Oh, they deny it to high heaven, of course, but you have only to see how they torture each other to see the truth."

Bonnie saw again, in her mind's eye, Isabelle leaning tenderly over the semi-recumbent Sébastien, their hands joined in securing his ice pack. "But, I don't understand… If they love each other, why do they act like they do?"

"Ah, thereby hangs a tale, my dear! I expect, at bottom, it all boils down to fear — of rejection, of inadequacy — on the one hand, and injured pride on the other. I know he has never felt quite in her league — she comes from a well-heeled, intellectual family, while he is of much humbler, bourgeois stock — and, for her part, his good looks made him such a favorite with the ladies, she never felt completely sure of her hold on his affections. So, what does she do but try to test his attachment by taking up with man from her own milieu, an innocuous fellow called Albert Auteuil."

"Her husband?"

"Eventually, yes. Sébastien, you see, thinking Auteuil more her equal, did the handsome thing, and let her go without a fight, a sacrifice Isabelle construed as indifference. And so it began, the endless cycle of her hitting out at him, and him retaliating, over and over. I cannot count the times I have been tempted to knock their fool heads together! They are utterly exhausting."

A sharp rap on the door announced Henri Perrin's return with the good news that Sébastien appeared to have taken no lasting harm, and, having been liberally dosed with painkillers, was resting comfortably enough. Invited in for a night-cap, Henri begged to be excused, citing the lateness of the hour and a strong inclination for his bed. He wished all a good night and a happier tomorrow, and retired to his room.

At an inquiring look from Bear, Bonnie nodded and rose, happy to note she was once again steady on her feet. "I think we'd best be going, too," she told Rosa.

"You're sure you're up to it? You are welcome to spend the night here, if you like. There's a second bed, and I have a nightgown to spare."

"No, thank you, Rosa. You've already been more than kind."

"I'll see Bonnie safely to her cousins," Bear promised, and then, to Bonnie, "Where do they live? Not that it matters…"

"In Georgetown."

He nodded. "That's on my way."

Rosa seemed to find this arrangement satisfactory, but still she stood irresolute a moment, her eyes on Bonnie. "Before you go, my dear, may I suggest you touch up your lipstick, and run a comb through your hair? You look less than your usual impeccable self."

Bonnie raised a self-conscious hand to the tendrils trailing loosely over her ear. "Oh! Yes, of course. Thank you, Rosa."

The woman who stared back at Bonnie from the brightly-lit mirror in the hotel bathroom was not the polished version who had critically assessed her appearance in the Jeffersonian washroom what felt like several days before. She made a few quick repairs to her make-up, and then shook out, combed and pulled her hair back in a fresh ponytail. Finally, deeming herself presentable enough to walk through a lobby without creating a stir, she returned to the main room to say her goodbyes.

She was just crossing the bedroom threshold when the sight of Bear and Rosa engaged in what appeared to be some kind of confrontation made her catch her breath and draw back out of view. Bear had been looming over Rosa, crowding her, and now his voice, as tight and hostile as his posture, carried across the room. "This doesn't change anything. Stay away from me, and stop trying to get to me through her."

Rosa managed only one word of entreaty before Bear erupted, "Don't call me that! Whatever right you had, you gave up long ago."

Bonnie held very still, apprehending more, but the only sound to disturb the fraught silence was the rapid tattoo of her racing heart. She inhaled deeply for courage, straightened her shoulders, and, holding her clutch open before her, entered the room at speed rummaging through its depths. When she lifted her head, it was to find Rosa attempting a smile for her, and Bear at his most impassive. She did her best to summon an answering smile, and hurrying forward, said over-brightly, "There! All ready to face the world again!" She did not leave Rosa the opening for a reply, but leaned in and saluted her briskly on both cheeks. "Thank you again for everything." The words tumbled out of her mouth, too quickly. "I'll… ah, call you. About this weekend. Tomorrow."

Rosa's smile never wavered, but her eyes were sad. "I'll look forward to it. Good night, brave girl. Safe travels."

And then, mercifully, she and Bear were in the hall once more, the door closed at their backs. They moved off toward the elevator together, Bonnie, for lack of knowing what to say, saying nothing at all. It wasn't until Bear had pushed the call button, and they were standing side by side, waiting for the car, that he said calmly, "How much of that did you hear?"

She wished, then, with all her heart she was a better liar. "Some." Enough; it had only needed one word.

He nodded, resigned. "My middle name. It's Finn."

She spared a glance at him: he was intent upon the number line above the elevator. "I wasn't going to ask."

"You don't have to." The number 20 winked on, and then out; the light shone through 22. "My parents didn't hyphenate their names like yours did, but they still saddled me with both of theirs: Rudolph Finn Baer. Got quite the ring, hasn't it?"

That one word, said in heartfelt supplication: Dolphin. "It's you in the painting. You're the baby sandcastle architect, all grown up." He didn't deny it. Number 27 brightened, and the elevator doors slid open, revealing an empty car. Bonnie preceded Bear inside, saying over her shoulder, "So, Rosa was — what? — your babysitter? Your nanny?"

He let out a bark of bitter laughter, and stepping in beside her, jabbed the button for the lobby with unnecessary force. "Rosalie Vincent, aka Rosa Mundy, was, in fact, my caretaker for a while. Only she was Rosalie Baer, née Finn at the time." The elevator doors glided slowly inward and met with a muted crash. "She's my mother."

A/N: with Thanksgiving on the horizon, I don't anticipate being able to post a new chapter next week. Apologies, and best wishes for a Happy Holiday.