The Woman from Paris Page 14

  “David, I feel you’re making fun of me,” Roberta said tightly.

  “Not at all. I’m speaking the truth. You’re one of those people who look the part wherever they are. Don’t you agree?”

  “I take trouble, certainly.”

  “There, you see? I’m not making fun of you. Josh is lucky to have a wife he can take anywhere and know she won’t let him down. Appearances are important to Josh.”

  “What’s that about me?” Joshua cut in.

  “I’m just saying you’re lucky to be married to Roberta.” Tom suppressed a chortle, Antoinette looked baffled, Rosamunde watched Roberta’s mouth twist into a small smile. Phaedra was pleased to see that David didn’t flinch.

  “You’re right,” said Joshua. “I am lucky to have her.”

  Roberta looked embarrassed. “Thank you, Josh. That’s very sweet. Now let’s talk about something else; I’m not used to getting so much positive attention! I could get used to it and then demand it all the time.” The whole table laughed, and for once, Roberta laughed with them.

  After lunch Antoinette went upstairs to check on her mother-in-law. She tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack. It was dark, and there was no noise coming from within. She peered inside, but Margaret was facing the other way so she couldn’t see whether or not she was breathing. For a dreadful moment she feared she might be dead. Quietly, she trod across the carpet and around the bed. Margaret lay on her side with her eyes closed, but Antoinette could tell from the rhythmic expansion of her chest that she was breathing.

  She was about to leave the room when the old woman woke up. “Is that you, George?”

  Antoinette’s heart buckled. “Margaret, it’s me, Antoinette,” she said, returning to the bedside.

  “I thought you were George.”

  “No, I’m sorry. Just me.”

  “George is dead, isn’t he? I quite forgot.”

  “I do that, too. I wake up and think that everything is as it should be. Then, as I slowly come to my senses, I realize that nothing is right anymore and never will be.”

  “But Phaedra is here?”

  “Yes, she’s downstairs.”

  “Bring her to me. I want to meet her.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I’m the only one in the family who hasn’t met her, and by rights, I should have been the first.”

  Antoinette left the room, relieved not to be needed. Margaret had seemed so benign while she slept that Antoinette had almost felt sorry for her. But the old dragon was as fierce as ever when awake. Poor Phaedra, she hoped David had prepared her.

  “She’s herself again,” said Antoinette, entering the drawing room.

  “I’m so relieved,” Rosamunde replied. “I was very worried. It really was unlike her to be so quiet.”

  “Well, she’s not quiet now, and you might regret being relieved,” Antoinette added. “Phaedra, she wants to see you.”

  “Sure.” Phaedra got up good-naturedly.

  “Into the witch’s cavern,” said Tom.

  “Don’t listen to Tom, Phaedra. She’s a little brisk, but her heart is in the right place,” said Roberta.

  “I’m not worried. Of course she should want to meet me. I’m very happy, actually.”

  “Shouldn’t I go with her?” David asked his mother.

  “She didn’t demand your presence as well,” Antoinette replied.

  “What are you, her shadow?” asked Tom.

  “I feel responsible,” David replied. “It was I who convinced Phaedra to come and stay. I’ll feel very bad if she gets a mauling from Grandma.”

  “Why would she?” Roberta asked.

  “You’re right, why would she?” David replied. “You and she get on extremely well, there’s no reason Phaedra won’t, too.” He smiled at Roberta, who gazed back suspiciously.

  “She’s really very sweet underneath,” Roberta added.

  “I don’t doubt it,” said David. “None of us has ever tried to look underneath.”

  “Now would be a good time to start. She needs her family more than ever.”

  David listened as Phaedra had told him to do, and to his surprise he found that on this occasion, at least, Roberta did make sense.

  Phaedra followed Antoinette up the stairs. She gazed at the wall where the Frampton suite of sapphires and diamonds shone out from its oily canvas. “You have a beautiful house,” she said.

  “When I married George, we lived in the dower house where Margaret lives now. It’s a very pretty Queen Anne house, light and airy, with big windows and high ceilings. There are none of these dusty old portraits and knickknacks collected over generations. I have to admit that I preferred living there. I felt it belonged to me. I don’t feel this house belongs to me. I’m the caretaker, making sure that all these exquisite things last for future generations of Framptons. When we moved in, I wasn’t allowed to change anything. I would have loved to change the dining room and redecorate the drawing room. The only room in the house that I redecorated was our bedroom. I think it’s important to make a house your home. You can’t live in a museum. But George was aware of his heritage and insisted that it remain the same. Now he’s gone I could do whatever I like with it, but I won’t. George wouldn’t like it.” She laughed sadly. “I’ll keep it like this to honor him.”

  “You have to think of yourself, Antoinette.”

  “I can’t change the habit of a lifetime.”

  “You can change a habit any time you want.” Phaedra smiled at her. “You only have to overcome your fears, and that’s not really very hard if you put your mind to it.”

  “I’ve never thought . . .”

  “You lived for George, but now that he’s no longer here, you have to live for yourself. You have to do all the things you wanted to do when you were married, but couldn’t because you were being a good wife and mother. But you’re neither. You’re you. This is the perfect time to do something for your own selfish pleasure; otherwise, you’ll get lost in memories and duty and you might never find yourself again.”

  “I’m not sure Margaret would be happy for me to change the place.”

  “Have you ever asked her?”

  “No. But she didn’t change a single thing when she lived here.”

  “But it’s your place and you have to live in it. I think George will think very differently now he’s in spirit. Things that seemed so terribly important while he was down here will no longer hold any importance at all, because material things only have value in our material world. I’m sure he’ll be delighted with whatever you choose to do, so long as it makes you happy and doesn’t hurt anyone.”

  “You’re very sure he’s in . . . in spirit.” That word felt strange to Antoinette.

  “Oh, I know he is.” There was no quiver of doubt in Phaedra’s voice.

  Antoinette stopped just outside Margaret’s bedroom door and sighed. “I wish I had your conviction.”

  “It’ll come if you want it to. Just focus on something beautiful, like a flower or the stars at night, and you’ll feel a sense of something greater than yourself.”

  “Really? Is it that easy?”

  Phaedra nodded. “It really is.” She was so convincing, Antoinette found herself ready to try.

  11

  Phaedra knocked on the door. “Come in,” Margaret called out. Antoinette hesitated as Phaedra entered and closed the door behind her. She felt a wave of apprehension, as if by allowing Phaedra into Margaret’s clutches she might lose her. Antoinette stood a moment, listening through the wood, but the voices were so low she heard nothing but the thumping of her own fretful heart.

  Margaret had turned on the bedside lamp, but the curtains were still closed. “Open them, will you? Then I can get a good look at you,” Margaret demanded, propping herself up with pillows. Phaedra did as she was told. The light spilled into the room, transmuting the heavy atmosphere into sunshine. She turned to the old woman in the bed. Margaret Frampton was round and ruffled li
ke a fat hen on her nest. Grief pulled her mouth down at the corners and her pale-gray eyes were glassy and bloodshot. Phaedra was struck by an unexpected wave of compassion, for it was plain to see that George’s mother was a hard knot of unhappiness.

  Margaret’s formidable gaze scrutinized her, but Phaedra didn’t avert her eyes. This small act of defiance won Margaret’s admiration, for she was used to people shrinking in her presence. “Ah, now that you have inherited from me,” she said triumphantly. “Come closer.” She patted the bed. Phaedra sat down. “Yes, I was a beauty in my day, just like you. It’s all in the eyes, you know. You have lovely eyes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, you inherited them from me, of course.” Margaret smiled, and Phaedra laughed, more out of relief than joy.

  “Are you feeling better?” she asked.

  “I just needed to lie down. I suppose Antoinette thought I was dying.”

  “Well, she was very worried.”

  “Sometimes I think she’d rather like me out of the way.”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t, not in her heart.”

  “Oh, I’m an irritation, you know. When George was alive, I used to come over all the time. He was my only child, and we were very close. My husband died a long time ago, so for years it was just George and me. But now he’s gone, I find I still need that diversion. Fairfield Park has been my home for most of my life, you see. It’s a frightful bore for Antoinette as I pop in daily. I’m a bit like a homing pigeon. I came for George, but now . . . I don’t know.” She looked confused, and her voice trailed off. “I’m drawn here . . .”

  “This is a very pretty room,” Phaedra mused, sweeping her eyes over the blue floral wallpaper and bedspread.

  “I like the color blue. It’s very restful, don’t you think?”

  “Blue can be a cold color, but it feels warm in here. Not cold at all.”

  “This house is a nuisance to keep warm because it’s so big. I didn’t feel the cold when I lived here. When George was a boy, he used to run about in short sleeves even in winter. But I feel the cold now. It’s age, I’m afraid. One can’t fight it. I don’t think I have the energy to fight anything anymore.” She sighed, and for a moment she looked a little lost, as if her mind were being pulled in an unfamiliar direction.

  “Resistance only brings unhappiness,” Phaedra said wisely. “It’s through acceptance and letting go that one finds peace.” Margaret’s gaze fell away. “I miss George terribly, all the time, but I have to let him go, because holding on to pain will only make me miserable, and it won’t bring him back.” Phaedra noticed the old woman’s mouth twitch, like the minute cracking of a great dam. “I went to his grave today, and we laid daffodils. I know he’s not in there, but it felt good to pay my respects and to feel I was doing something. I don’t need to visit his grave to feel close to him. He’s around us all the time, I’m sure. But I needed to see where his body was laid to rest, for my own peace of mind, and to give me a sense of closure. I have to accept that he’s gone—and to let him go.”

  The twitching of Margaret’s mouth grew more intense. Suddenly, she grabbed Phaedra’s arm and stared at her with large, frightened eyes. “It’s my heart again. I think I’m having a heart attack,” she gasped. But the fire that had once again started in the pit of her belly rose past her heart and into her throat, where it rolled about as if desperately trying to find a way out. Margaret resisted, tightening the muscles there, holding it in for fear of what might happen if she let it escape. Phaedra stared back in alarm as Margaret’s face turned the color of a pepper. Then, just as she was about to leap up and raise the alarm, Margaret let out a loud wail and her whole body heaved as her grief was ejected in one giant sob.

  Phaedra recognized her anguish and put her arms around her. Margaret didn’t pull away. The crack in the dam was now a gaping hole, and the old woman’s grief poured out like water. She sobbed and sighed, and tears tumbled down the lines in her skin. She looked appalled, as if such a release of emotion was an unwelcome novelty, and quite horrifying. “It’s okay to cry,” said Phaedra, feeling the tears stinging her own eyes. “You’re going to set me off, too. But it’s okay. We’ll cry together.” She smiled as Margaret slowly calmed down, leaving her body trembling with the aftershock. Phaedra pulled away but kept a reassuring hand on her arm.

  “Good God!” Margaret exclaimed, finding a space between shuddering breaths. “I don’t know what’s come over me today.”

  “Lady Frampton . . .”

  “After that shameful display I think you should call me Margaret.”

  “Margaret, you mustn’t be ashamed. You’re a mother who has lost her only child. I know it’s very British to hold it all in, but it’s unhealthy. And it’s not natural. We’re given tears and the ability to cry for a reason. It releases the tension and allows us to heal. How can we possibly heal if we don’t acknowledge we’re hurt?”

  Margaret stared at Phaedra in surprise. “My dear child, I don’t know from whom you inherited your wisdom, because George was never wise like you.”

  “I’m not wise, Margaret, I just know a little about unhappiness.”

  Margaret narrowed her eyes. “You know, I feel I can confide in you, Phaedra.” Her face tightened, and she dropped her gaze into her hands. “I saw George’s grave today for the first time. I hadn’t dared go before. I couldn’t bear to see it. I couldn’t face the loose ground and the thought of his coffin . . . it was all too much.”

  “It’s good that you went. You said good-bye. You can now take the first step out of your grief.”

  “It cuts me to the quick.” She put her hand on her heart.

  “I know it does.”

  “Antoinette cries all the time. It makes me so cross because I can’t.”

  “You can now,” Phaedra replied, watching the knotted woman slowly untangle and feeling a sense of pride that she had helped her do it.

  “Tell me, Phaedra, do you have a grandmother?”

  “No. I have no one.”

  “What about your mama?”

  “She’s in Canada. We’re not close.”

  “So George was the only family you had?”

  “You can imagine how happy I was to find him and that we got along so well.” Margaret smiled as Phaedra’s face lit up. “He gave me such wonderful opportunities. I wouldn’t have had the courage to do my book if he hadn’t taken me trekking with him.”

  “Yes, you’re a photographer, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I love to photograph life from a distance—you know, observing it the way it is, without manipulating it. I started photographing families and children, mostly, because that paid the bills. But then I decided to do something more adventurous. George inspired the idea.”

  “Did he?”

  “I’d like to take your photograph, if you’ll let me.”

  Margaret pulled a face. “I’m not photogenic, though in my day the camera loved me.”

  “You have a strong face. Such an interesting face, full of contradiction. I think you’ll take a very good photograph.”

  “Well, if you insist, although at my age there’s no point in being vain, one would be so disappointed.”

  Phaedra laughed. “You’re not so old, Margaret, and you’re plump, that makes you look a lot younger than your years. Skinny old ladies look half dead, if you ask me.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “It was certainly meant that way.”

  “Well, I suppose we should go downstairs. If I keep you much longer, they’ll think I’ve eaten you for lunch!” Margaret threw back the bedclothes. “You’re a good girl, Phaedra. I’m happy you found us. Though I don’t like that Julius Beecher one bit. Frightfully arrogant man, up to no good, I fancy. I always told George to watch out for him, but he wouldn’t hear a word against him. I suppose Julius did a good job, running George’s businesses while he was off somewhere, pleasing himself. So you be careful, Phaedra. He’s not a man to be trusted.”


  “Julius has been very good to me.”

  “I’m sure he has, my dear. But as your grandmother, I feel I must warn you. He’s not an honorable man, and money is his god.”

  “I’ll take your advice on board.”

  “Now, I’m going to freshen up. Why don’t you go downstairs and show them that you’re still in one piece. I know I can trust you to keep our conversation private.”

  “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” Phaedra replied.

  Margaret frowned. “I suppose that’s how they say ‘yes’ in America.”

  Phaedra wandered downstairs, feeling a little light-headed. One thing life had taught her was that mean people are unhappy people. She had yet to find a genuinely contented person who was unkind. So according to that rule, Margaret was simply miserable. She walked across the hall where Bertie and Wooster lay sleeping on the rugs with Basil, a warm sense of achievement giving her step a gentle bounce. It felt wonderful to have done something good.

  “Ah, Phaedra!” Rosamunde exclaimed when she saw her.

  “Are you okay?” Antoinette asked, pleased to see that she was smiling.

  “Margaret’s feeling better,” Phaedra announced.

  “How are you feeling?” Tom asked from the club fender.

  “Fine, thank you. She’s a lovely woman.”

  They all stared at her in astonishment. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?” asked David.

  “Look, I don’t know her like you do, but she was very charming to me.” She went and sat down beside David on the sofa.

  “They make a lot of fuss,” said Roberta. “Personally, I find she has a very soft center.”

  “She’s just unhappy,” Phaedra continued. “Anyway, she’s coming down, so you can see for yourselves. She’s perfectly well.”

  “I am relieved,” said Antoinette.

  “I suggest we all go for a walk,” said Joshua. “Are you going to get Amber up?” he asked his wife, glancing at his watch.