Oh. That was...nice of them?
“Can you really not look at me? I am sorry, Dieter. I’m so, so sorry.”
He puts up his hand and shakes his head. The gesture is so dejected that it frightens me. “No, no. It’s not your fault.”
It is my fault. I was angry when I left my mother, and I think I wanted to make Dieter angry, too, just like I did after I overheard that girl making snide comments about me at the Slade. I wanted him to scold me, discipline me, make the pain go away, but I’ve pushed him too far and now he thinks he’s failed.
After a few moments I give a short, forced laugh. “You’re supposed to give me platitudes about how you’re just glad I’m all right. Or take my hand and confess your undying love because you’ve realized what your life would be without me.”
But my jokes fall flat.
“Please, Dieter. Can’t you just be glad I’m all right?”
He stares at the ground a moment as if he’s trying to think of the right words to say, but then changes his mind. “I’ve given my report to the police. They’ll be in to take your statement shortly, too. I’ve arranged for a new security officer for you.”
“Another bodyguard? What are you talking about? You can’t resign.”
He finally looks at me, and his eyes are bleak. “Don’t you see that I have to, Adrienne?”
I grab the sheets with both hands. “
Are you kidding me? I’m the one who screwed up. All you’ve done is keep me safe.” He’s shaking his head so I try another tack. “Tell me which of your rules I’ve broken and I’ll take my punishment.”
He winces, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. The magnitude of what I’ve done finally hits me. I persuaded him to let me go out alone against his better judgment and I wound up in hospital. His professional instincts told him not to agree to it, but I used our arrangement to get my own way.
I just have to make him see that this is my fault, not his. “I’m the one who didn’t call. I’m the one who broke the rules.”
“Don’t you see, it started before today? I was supposed to put that tracker app on your phone. You refused the first time, which isn’t unheard of from a principal, but it was my job to insist, and insist, and insist, until you agreed. I started thinking of you as something other than my principal, something... And so I didn’t insist, and I failed you.”
I’m opening my mouth to tell him that he’s being a complete idiot, but just then my mum bustles in with the doctor. Perfect timing.
While the doctor is checking my vitals and my mother stands at my other side, I lock eyes with Dieter across the room. He gives a tiny shake of the head, part hopelessness, part apology. And then he heads for the door. I open my mouth to call after him, but it’s too late.
When the doctor is gone and we’re alone again my mother looks around the room and says, surprised, “Oh. Mr. Vanderbroeck’s gone. I wanted to thank him. He’s the one who found you in time and called the ambulance.”
Two uniformed officers come to the hospital to take my statement, and I’m discharged late in the evening. The new bodyguard is with us. His name is Martin and he showed up an hour before we left. He’s young and blond and blue-eyed and has a pretentious David Beckham—style haircut. My mother liked him immediately.
“Isn’t he handsome, darling,” she whispers as we wait for him to hail us a cab.
“I suppose, in a totally obvious way,” I mutter, recalling Dieter’s less flashy attractiveness. But I quickly squash this as thinking about Dieter makes my throat close up.
He’ll come back, I tell myself, staring at the lights of Oxford Street as they slide past the car window. But will he? I’ve rattled him to his very core, both professionally and personally. Tears fill my eyes. I’ve really hurt someone with my behavior. I’m filled with remorse, but it’s not good enough.
When we get inside Mum looks around the hall as if she’s been away for years and years and has forgotten what everything looks like. Martin goes upstairs to check out the house’s security, and I can tell without looking that all of Dieter’s things will be gone from his room. He feels gone.
Mum offers to make tea or fix me some dinner, but I shake my head. “I’m just tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”
She gives me a watery smile. “Of course.” But a moment later she calls me back. “I—I’ve been doing some thinking today at the hospital and I thought I might come home. For good. I’ve been in that place too long. What do you think?”
Despite the argument we had in the café earlier, it’s good to see her at home once more, and I nod. Something penetrates my misery and I say, “I don’t think I said I was sorry about you and Dad. The divorce.”
She comes forward and enfolds me in a hug. “I’m sorry too, darling. And I’m sorry about Dieter. Will he call you?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think he will.”
“But why?” she asks, genuinely surprised, and tears prickle my eyes. “He knew you were a...” She searches for the right words. “A challenging woman from the beginning, didn’t he? Why should he run off now when you really need him?”
But I’m too ashamed to speak, and I go upstairs before she can ask me any more questions about him.