Tracy had been affected by it too. “I don’t remember,” she told him. But her blushes told a different story.
She loves me, Cameron thought. She’s too scared to admit it yet. But she does.
AFTER CAMERON LEFT, TRACY stared at the ceiling above her bed for a long time.
Stop feeling guilty, she told herself sternly. It’s ridiculous to feel gu
ilty.
You can’t control your dreams, Tracy.
No one can.
She did remember smiling. She remembered looking into those loving, familiar eyes and saying “it’s you!” and feeling profoundly happy.
But the eyes weren’t Cameron’s.
They were Jeff’s.
And yet Jeff hadn’t visited her in the hospital. Cameron had.
Jeff hadn’t checked up on her and flown thousands of miles to keep a constant vigil by her bedside.
Cameron had.
What Cameron offered her was something real. Something she could touch and hold on to and rely on. Something she could trust.
Jeff, on the other hand . . .
Jeff was just a beautiful dream.
JEFF LANDED AT CHARLES de Gaulle red-eyed and exhausted. He’d had to change planes in New York, but he barely remembered being at JFK. Everything that had happened since Frank Dorrien called him was a blur.
Getting to Tracy. That was all that mattered now.
The rest of the world had faded to gray.
“Jeff.”
Frank Dorrien was waiting as soon as Jeff stepped into the arrivals hall. Clean-shaven, apparently well rested, and sporting his usual civilian uniform of dark blue corduroy trousers, a perfectly pressed cotton shirt, tweed sports jacket and brogues, the General was like a creature from another planet.
“How is she?” Jeff blurted, pushing past him. “I have to get to the hospital.”
Frank Dorrien grabbed his arm. “She’s not there.” Seeing Jeff’s eyes widen in horror, he quickly explained, “She’s not dead. Don’t worry. About an hour after I spoke to you, she woke up.”
Jeff felt his knees begin to buckle beneath him. The relief was so overpowering, he thought he might be sick.
“I have to see her.”
Frank said stiffly, “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
Jeff turned on him. “What are you talking about?” Shrugging off the general’s hand he began walking towards the taxi rank. The general followed.
“This isn’t my doing,” he told Jeff. “If you want to blame someone, blame Cameron Crewe.”
The mention of Crewe’s name stopped Jeff in his tracks.
Frank explained that Cameron had flown in to see Tracy and promptly banned everyone from her bedside. That Tracy had been voluntarily released into his charge and was now recuperating at one of Cameron’s countless luxury properties, about an hour south of Paris.