Eleventh Hour

“After speaking to each of us extensively, we figured out that only you had the raspberry vinaigrette dressing.”

“Dressing can cause food poisoning?”

John shrugged. “Would you like me to come back and take you home?”

Before she could say anything, one of John’s aides appeared in the doorway. “Senator, excuse me, but there’s a call from the mayor. He’s looking to speak to you.”

“Go, John. I’ll be all right.”

He leaned down, kissed her cheek. “You’re so pale,” he said, and lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek. “Shall I get you a bit of lip gloss from your purse?”

She nodded.

She watched him walk to the small table on the opposite side of the hospital room, open her purse, and pick up the lip gloss. He looked at it, frowned. “It’s really light,” he said. “You need something to make you look healthier.”

“I’ll put on some colorful stuff when I get home. Will I see you later?”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got a meeting with a very important lobbying group tonight. I put off my lunch with the mayor so I could grab a little time to come see you. Albia is coming by to take you home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She watched him walk out, tall, slender, so very elegant. Interestingly enough, he ranked nearly as high with male as with female voters. She heard the buzz of voices surrounding him, disappearing finally down the hall.

Albia arrived two hours later, sweeping into her room, two nurses behind her, not to chastise, but to bow and scrape and give her anything she asked for. Albia had that effect on people. She was a princess, well, perhaps now that she was in her fifties, she was a queen. She was regal. She was so self-confident, so self-assured, that sometimes even John would back down in the face of a single word from his sister’s mouth. She had been his hostess before he married Cleo, and then after she ran off with Tod Gambol. She was an excellent campaigner. It was rare that a reporter would ever ask her an impertinent question.

“Albia,” Nicola said.

Albia Rothman leaned down, kissed Nicola’s cheek. “Poor little girl,” she said. “This is so awful. I’m so very sorry.” She ran her finger over Nicola’s cheek.

“It was hardly your fault, Albia.”

“That doesn’t lessen my being sorry that it happened during my birthday di

“Thank you.”

Albia straightened, walked to the window, and looked out toward Lake Michigan. “This is a very nice room. John didn’t even have to insist. You were brought here right after they released you from the emergency room.” She looked at Nicola, then away again. Albia was a very tactile person, and now she was ru

“I’ve had food poisoning before, Albia. This wasn’t like that other time.”

A sleek eyebrow went up a good inch. “Oh? How very odd. I suppose this sort of thing can affect a person in different ways.”

“I’m just having trouble understanding what I ate that could have caused it.”

“I see. Do you wish to pursue it any further then?”

Nicola wanted to pursue it all the way to the moon, if necessary, but she knew when something simply wasn’t possible. She shook her head.

Albia pulled a chair close to Nicola’s bed and sat down. She crossed her legs, quite lovely legs, sheathed in stockings and three-inch black Chanel heels.

“John tells me that he wants to marry you as soon as possible. He reminded me about that car that almost hit you, and now this. He wants you safe and sound, and to a man-to John-that means you’re in his house, in his bed, and he’s looking after you. When he’s there, that is.”

And Nicola said, without hesitation, “I don’t know, Albia. I don’t think I’m ready to rush things.”

“What is this? John is an excellent catch. He has more women chasing him-both here and in Washington-and he is charming to all of them, but it’s you he wants. And that is a miracle, to my mind.”

“A miracle? Why?”

“He loved Cleo so very much, loved her nearly to the point of obsession. When she ran away, I thought he would simply shut down he was so devastated. I was very worried about him, for months on end.”

“I remember. I felt so very sorry for him, all of the staff did as well as the volunteers.” Nicola remembered how stoic he appeared whenever anyone mentioned his wife’s name, how stiff and remote he became.

Albia said, shaking her head, her voice incredulous, “To think that Cleo actually ran off with Tod Gambol. Sure, he was something of a hunk, a lot younger than John, but for her to want him more than John, well, it still doesn’t seem possible to me.”

“I wonder where they are,” Nicola said. “It’s been three years and still no word?”

“No, not a thing. I’ll never forget how he met her. He was taking one of his very rare vacations, a long weekend really, and she was there at the hotel, some sort of manager, and there was the fire in his room and she came to apologize. And, well, they were married one week later. I was very surprised, as was the rest of the world. They kept it all very private.”

“They were together for five years,” Nicola said, remembering Cleo Rothman’s voice, her incredible talent for organization and management. The staff had loved her.

She said, “I remember wondering why John hadn’t married until he was, what? Nearly forty?”

“That’s right. He and Cleo were married when he had just turned thirty-nine. Didn’t he tell you? Well, he fell in love with a girl in college-this was at Columbia. Her name was Melissa and they were going to get married when they graduated. Our father was against it, of course, because John’s life was pla

“What happened?”

“She died in an auto accident at the end of her senior year. John was distraught, didn’t recover for quite a number of years. Actually, I don’t think he recovered until he met Cleo. But look, Nicola, it’s only been three years, and he wants to marry you. That is a miracle. He is very much in love with you, don’t you think?”

“So much tragedy,” Nicola said, aware that she wanted to cry, that her throat hurt so badly she didn’t think she could speak another word. She was so hungry she wanted to gnaw her own elbow. She wanted to get out of there, she wanted to go home and curl up in her own bed. And she didn’t want anyone at all to come into her condo and see her naked in the bathroom.

“I’m so tired, Albia. I believe they’re going to release me soon.”

Albia rose. “Yes, I’ve taken care of it. If you’d like to dress now, I’ll take you right home.”

“Thank you. I would like that very much. But, Albia, I want to go to my own place. I’m just not ready to move in with John.”