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  Sander had vanished at noon the following day. From her bedroom, where she had been huddled in misery with the shattered remains of her adolescent dreams, Domini heard his footsteps descending the stairs. There was a short rap at her door, unrepeated, and Domini did not answer. She thought she had learned the meaning of true hatred in the happenings of the previous night. Violated in mind even more than in body, she burned for vengeance, wanting to hurt Sander as much as he had hurt her.

  At the dinner hour, not having eaten for more than twenty-four hours, she rallied enough to brave the trip downstairs. And then came the news of the accident.

  'He was in a rented car,' the landlady explained to the unnaturally hushed group at the supper table after announcing that Sander had been taken to a hospital. 'It happened on the road to Rouen.'

  'Rouen?' puzzled someone. 'Then he must have been on his way to Nicole. Isn't that where her family is from?'

  It seemed that the brakes of a school bus had failed at

  the intersection of a crossroad. To avoid collision, Sander had swerved off the highway, braking hard but still travelling at considerable speed. The rented car had telescoped against a tree. Miraculously, when Sander's unconscious body was finally extracted from the wreckage, no bones had been found broken. But there were severe contusions about his scalp and some damage from shattering glass. A brain operation had been performed to halt internal bleeding. It appeared to have been a success, but he was bandaged and still under heavy sedation. Although groggy, he had been asking for Nicole; the landlady had been able to provide the hospital with her home address in Rouen.

  Numb with shock, Domini felt as if the heavens had opened to wreak their vengeance. And she felt that it was her doing, not only because Sander had been seeking out Nicole and perhaps driving recklessly fast in his despair, but because she knew in her heart that she had wished upon him fates a thousand times worse.

  'Isn't it the way,' sighed one of the boarders. 'And so soon after he started his first important commission. It's going to be good, too, that big sculpture of Nicole in the shed. Such talent!'

  'And half finished already,' said another. 'How he flies at the marble!'

  'Not half as hard as Nicole flew at him,' someone sniggered. 'I wonder what caused the fight?'

  'Who knows?' shrugged someone. 'He was working too hard, probably ... I heard Nicole complain about that. Or perhaps it was her extravagance.'

  'Maybe it's another woman. Yesterday I heard Nicole scream at him that he wasn't the only one whose eyes had strayed. When he was out of town for two days last month, she said, she had done some kissing too. When he got angry at that, she claimed she had gone no further and attacked him about something else.'

  That caused a renewal of gossip about Nicole's various flirtations and whether or not kissing had been the full extent of her straying. At least one young man at the table remained unnaturally silent. So did Domini, who also knew something about the subject. At last someone said, 'Odd that the American was on his way to fetch her back. I would have thought him too proud to put up with that kind of shrewishness from anyone.'

  'I wonder who his other woman was?'

  'I don't believe he's been unfaithful to Nicole. He's besotted with her,' came a disgusted comment from the landlady, who had little love for Nicole. As the only continuing inhabitant of the house, she also knew more about Sander than the transient boarders did. 'For nearly three years she's managed to enchant him, when before that... well, he was not always so patient with others.'

  She sighed, having left the impression that Sander's previous amours had been of short span and no particular consequence. 'Oh, I grant you, Nicole has wiles to make a strong man weak. No doubt he decided he couldn't do without her . . . ah, Didi, leaving the table so soon? And you have not yet tasted my raspberry flan!'

  After what had happened, there was no question of visiting Sander in the hospital; Domini knew he would not be pleased to see her. Her emotions confused her. Hate and hurt were all mixed up, and to add to that there was guilt. Sander had wronged her, she was sure ... but hadn't she wronged him? He had been cruel, brutal even; but surely he deserved no punishment as dire as a car accident!

  The following morning her sense of personal guilt was multiplied a thousandfold. She learned the rest of the news about Sander, the worst of the news, in the worst possible way. She had skipped classes and was lying agonizing on her bed, trying to sort out the tangle of her emotions, when a sharp knock came at her door.

  It was Nicole, her eyes full of poison and her arms full of personal possessions. Behind her in the hall was a pile of suitcases, and when Domini appeared at the door Nicole flung her armload of clothes on top of them in a gesture of pure spite. 'Well, are you satisfied with what you've done?' she said.

  'Nicole, I ...'

  'I could kill you,' Nicole interrupted, walking into the bedroom without invitation. Not wanting to be overheard by anyone who happened to be in the house, Domini closed the door behind her unwelcome visitor. Nicole rounded on her furiously. 'He was the only man I ever truly loved. You destroyed him! You destroyed us!'

  Domini learned a swift lesson in lying, although the lies were larded with truth. 'Nothing's happened between me and Sander, Nicole. He's never even looked at me. Why, he asked me to stay away from him the first time we met. There was no truth to the things I said, not a bit. And he ... he despises me for saying them, for coming between the two of you.'

  Nicole's eyes snapped. 'Liar,' she said. 'He made love to you after I left. I know he did, for yesterday at the hospital I accused him of it, and he didn't deny a thing. Besides, do you think there are no signs of you upstairs, signs I have just seen with my own eyes? Or are you too naive to know that a little virgin always leaves her traces?'

  Domini swallowed deeply, remembering how she had fled down to her own room without giving thought to telltale evidence. There was no point trying to continue the lies. 'What happened was all my fault. He tried to resist, but I seduced him. He ... he really loves you, Nicole. He told me so.'

  Nicole's angry gaze narrowed on Domini's earnest face. 'I don't need you to tell me that,' she hissed. 'He's told me often enough himself! But when a man lusts elsewhere, what use are his words of love? I want to hear them no more.'

  'But surely, now that I've told you he never encouraged me in any way...'

  'Pah! Let him rot in his hospital bed! The faithless snake! I never want to see the man again in my life!'

  Domini stared, hardly believing her ears. 'Have you always been faithful to him? I don't believe you have. Last month when Sander was away, I heard the bedsprings creak.'

  Nicole shrugged, a little sulkily. 'What a man does not know, does not hurt,' she said at last. Nicole's double standard, evidently, did not include faithfulness on her own part.

  'Nicole! He loves you. He needs you, especially now.'

  'Needs me? I suppose he does. But even if I could forgive him, do you think I intend to support a blind man for the rest of his life?'

  'Blind,' choked Domini, clutching at her bedpost for support. The world whirled. 'Blind...'

  'Didn't you know?' Nicole retorted, her eyes bright with malice. 'I was told yesterday, when they called me to the hospital. Well, are you pleased with yourself? You took from me the man I loved, and then you took from him his sight! If he hadn't been driving so fast, it would not have happened.'

  Domini shook her head numbly, as if by denying the facts she could change them. 'It can't be,' she whispered.

  'It can't be, but it is. And for that, blame yourself!'

  'But surely... there are operations...'

  'Operations, yes, if he is lucky enough to be helped by such things! But who knows if they will be successful? Even with operations, it will be months without work, months of pain, months of poverty! Half finished in the shed, the big sculpture earns not a single sou. Sander has only the money he makes with his own hands, with his own eyes! And where do you think the mon
ey will come from to pay the doctors, the nurses, the hospital bills? To pay the rent and put food in his stomach? Not from me. I will have trouble enough to keep food ir my own! I am through ... finished! And I hate you for what you have done to me!'

  Domini stared wild-eyed. 'But Sander... you can't walk out on him. Not just like that. Not now!'

  'Watch me,' said Nicole, nostrils flaring. She walked to the door and opened it, but stopped long enough to look back at Domini with poisonous eyes. 'Oh, I almost forgot. I have a message for you from the hospital. Sander asks that you stay away. Perhaps you should listen this time!'

  Domini grew up in many ways during the days that followed. She writhed with remorse. Face-to-face with the terrible consequences of her infatuation and her thoughtless words, she ceased almost overnight to be the joyful, carefree, impetuous person she had been on coming to Paris. Her feelings for Sander were in a state of suspension: it was hard to hate a man for whose blindness she felt responsible.

  More news came through the landlady, and none of it was particularly good. Sander would be in the hospital for some time. Though the accident had not disfigured him, severe inflammation from his injuries made it difficult as yet to determine the precise cause of his blindness. The doctors were watching and hoping that it might be a temporary condition, due to traumatic shock. And if not, new techniques of laser and microsurgery held out considerable hope; but no thought of performing any operation could be entertained until the exact cause had been pinpointed.

  After an inspection of the third floor, the landlady had more to report. Nicole had indeed cleared out all of her possessions, and some of Sander's too.

  'Money grubber,' she muttered. 'Would she have left so fast if there were still money under the mattress? She is a sharp one, that one, and make no mistake!'

  As time went on, the subject of Sander's mounting financial problems came up for discussion at the pension table. There were bills to be paid, too few cheques from his dealer, even a request that the advance on the commission of the unfinished sculpture be returned, as he could no longer meet the deadline. As for the eye operation, a necessity as it grew apparent that the loss of vision was not going to cure itself, how would Sander pay for that? The doctors had advised a clinic in Germany, and such things cost money. Moreover his rent was overdue, and although the landlady was sympathetic, she was in need of the income and could not hold his rooms empty forever...

  On her next visit to the now wintry Pyrenees, over the Christmas holidays, Domini asked her father for a large sum of money, so large that he stared at her in disbelief. When she tried to explain, he interrupted, 'Do you love him?'

  Guilt had caused her to be unsure exactly what her feelings were, but she was sure of one thing. 'No, Papa,' she said honestly.

  'Has he been your lover?'

  Domini's eyes were cast downward. She had expected to be truthful about such things, and perhaps if the man had been anyone but Sander Williams she would have been. But she found herself saying. 'No, Papa, he hasn't. But it's very important. I couldn't bear to stand by if there's something that can be done to help.'

  Le Basque heaved a great weary sigh. 'Yes, it is hard sometimes to stand by and let people help themselves. But it must be done. Why do you think I let you go to Paris? Not because I wanted to, but because I knew you must start finding your own way in the world.'

  'But, Papa, he could be a great sculptor. If you could only see his work, you'd understand. Besides, I feel . . .' She had been going to say responsible, but because that entailed many explanations she did not want to make, she changed it to something else. 'I feel sorry for him, she said.

  'Then I want to hear no more of this! You are past the age of taking in stray cats and birds with wounded wings, as you used to do when you were little. You asked to learn life, and life is hard. The world is hard! Perhaps I made a mistake by not letting you learn of it sooner.'

  'I've learned of life now,' said Domini steadily, and her father looked at her sadly. For the first time she became conscious of how much he had aged, a slow, natural process that had not been so apparent to her while she was living at home.

  'Have you?'he muttered. 'I wonder.'

  'Please, Papa.'

  Once, her pleading might have softened her father, but now his expression only became more stern. 'Berenice is right, it's time I let you grow up. You have chosen to be an artist, and art is a hard master. Artists suffer! Will you help every painter, every sculptor, who tells you a sad story? If you want to help them, first learn to help yourself!'

  'I promise I'll pay you back when I start selling paintings. I'll be doing that soon. I know I will!'

  Le Basque took a deep breath as if about to say a good deal on the subject, but instead closed his mouth firmly over the single word, 'No.' He turned his back on Domini to return to the painting he was executing, dismissing her with a curtness he had never shown before. And because Domini was not quite the same person she had been a few months before, she pleaded no more. Help herself? Indeed she would!

  Back in Paris, on the same day that she learned of her pregnancy, she gathered together a portfolio of the work she had done since her arrival at the pension and called for a taxi to take her to the Right Bank. She wasn't sure her paintings were quite ready to be shown to the world, but she was strongly motivated by her determination to solve Sander's problems and assuage her own guilt. And if Sander was too proud to accept … well, that was simply cured. The money would go to him through his dealer, and Sander would believe it came from the sale of his own sculptures.

  Monsieur D'Allard, Papa's dealer, had continued to take a benign interest in Domini over the months. There had been no problem arranging for a personal appointment: Le Basque was not the only well-known artist in D'Allard's stable, but he was by far the most important. On the telephone Domini had not explained the reason for her request.

  His gallery was discreet and exclusive, the kind of establishment where the clientele seldom asked the price until after the decision to purchase had been made. Domini was ushered into an inner office with no waiting. D'Allard, a bald, beaming man who had made himself prosperous by knowing exactly what wealthy people would pay for, gave her the warmest of receptions. His eyes narrowed fractionally when Domini explained her purpose, but he made no objection when she began to lay out her offerings for his inspection. He regarded them intently, pursing his lips and stroking his chin, giving them serious thought.

  'Mmm,' he said at last. 'Yes, I think these would be of interest to some collectors. You'd have to sign them, of course. You can do that right here. And then we shall see...'

  When she started to scrawl a signature over the first painting, he instructed her suavely: 'No, no. Print it, please, as your father does, nice round printing so people can read with ease. What collector will buy if he cannot see the name? A simple D. Le Basque, I think, will do. Or Didi might be better ... it is more memorable, hmm? For who is not familiar with your portrait in the Louvre?'

  Domini had been too naive in those days to know of the importance of trivia to collectors. Delighted with her instant success, and not realizing that D'Allard would have willingly accepted Le Basque's palette or Picasso's old paint brushes, she signed as she was told. And then, with buoyed confidence, she asked for a large advance and got it, mostly because she was her father's daughter and D'Allard knew better than to say no; he would more than make it up on the sale of his next real Le Basque. The transfer of money to Sander's dealer was also smoothly arranged. D'Allard agreed to negotiate with the man, a friendly rival among the exclusive galleries of the Right Bank, and if he raised his brows slightly at the oddity of the request he was too polite, or too urbane, to probe.

  A short time later she heard that Sander was soon to be transferred to the clinic in Germany. 'Such a nice man,' the landlady beamed to the supper table at large. 'It will be good when he comes back, with his sight restored.'

  'What luck he made those sales,' someone commented.

&nb
sp; 'Yes,' said the landlady. 'And just in time. Today a man came to take out his telephone, and I was able to send him away. Monsieur Williams sent me enough money to pay all his bills. And three months' rent in advance!'

  'In that case I shouldn't wonder to see Nicole back too,' laughed one of the boarders. 'When she hears of his new success, there'll be no keeping her away!'

  The landlady sniffed. 'Well, I for one would not be glad to see her. Scum of scum! And why would he take her back? In two months she has not been to the hospital.'

  'Excuse me, I'm not feeling too well,' Domini said and left the table although the meal had barely begun. She needed desperately to be alone with her thoughts. Too driven by self-recrimination since Sander's accident, she had not been able to examine her own situation or her feelings with any degree of rationality. But now, with the relief of knowing that she could start putting guilt behind her, it was time to come to grips with herself. In her room she sat down at her dressing-table and stared into her mirror, suddenly realizing how pinched and pale her face had become. It was not the first time she had had to leave the meal table recently, although usually the excuses were made at breakfast.

  Pregnant. The suspicion that there was a life growing inside herself, and then the confirmation of it, had shaken her more than she had allowed herself to acknowledge until this moment. But through all the worry about Sander, there had been that undercurrent of concern, a river running deep through her days.

  Pregnant! And by a man who didn't love her! But what did she feel for him? Clearing guilt away had helped clear her eyes in other ways, and she began to explore her feelings for Sander, starting from the first moment they had met. First there had been sexual attraction; that had been real enough. Then infatuation, not so real and probably induced in large part by his rejection. Had it ever been love? No, she decided; she had grown up enough to know that.

  And hate. That had been very real, an emotion that had choked her with its strength. He had hurt her, humiliated her, taken her without compassion for her youth and inexperience. He had destroyed a part of her ... a trusting, special part that Domini knew would never exist again, except on the sunlit canvas of a painting in the Louvre.