The Woman from Paris Read online

  There was also a musty smell, for no one had been in to clean since George died, and the old house accumulated a great deal of dust. Phaedra walked over to the window that looked out onto the front lawn and was startled to find clusters of ladybugs basking in the sunshine in the corner against the glass.

  “I think I should set these small creatures free, don’t you?” she asked, lifting the stiff leaden latch to open it. She noticed that her hands were shaking. She flicked the ladybugs out with her fingers and allowed the fresh air to rush into the room. The light, tinkling sound of birdsong was carried on the breeze, and Phaedra breathed it in, restored a little by the beauty of the sun-drenched gardens. “Come, Antoinette. Have a look out of here,” she said. Antoinette joined her at the window. “It’s so lovely I just want to stay here a moment and enjoy it.”

  Antoinette let her gaze wander over the view. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  “George would have looked out, perhaps every morning when he opened the curtains. He would have taken a long breath, savoring the sights. He must have loved it here.”

  “He did. Fairfield was always home. But in a funny way, he ran from it, too.”

  Phaedra looked at her quizzically. “Do you think?”

  “I’m sure of it. He never spent more than a couple of days in a row down here, then he was shooting back up to London, or off to do something silly like climbing Everest or skiing.”

  “Yes, he seemed a restless man, always having to push himself to the edge,” Phaedra agreed.

  “Until he fell off,” Antoinette added sadly.

  “He didn’t mean to fall off.”

  “Of course not. But if you always push your limits, you’re bound to break.”

  They drew away from the window. “Now, where to begin?” asked Antoinette with a sigh. The quantity of belongings was overwhelming.

  “Let’s start with the drawers,” Phaedra suggested, pointing to the bedside tables.

  “Let’s take them out and put them in the middle of the room. Then we can go through them methodically. We’ll have a pile for rubbish and a pile for things too sentimental to chuck out—and darling, if you want to keep anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Phaedra suddenly felt nauseous. She wished she was anywhere but here, about to go through all George’s private things. “Thank you. I shall,” she replied weakly. She pulled out the top drawer of the right-hand cabinet and put it down on the rug. It was filled to the brim with papers, photographs, shooting cards, and itineraries. One by one, the two women lifted out the contents, both nervous of what they might find. If he was capable of keeping Phaedra a secret, what else might he have hidden?

  “Ah now, I remember this,” said Antoinette, showing Phaedra a handwritten dinner menu, decorated elaborately in gold, pale pinks, and blues. “This was for George’s fiftieth birthday in Paris at Le Moulin Rouge.” Her eyes glittered at the memory. “We had tremendous fun. I think I’ll keep that.” And she put it to one side with notes for a speech and a diary he wrote on safari a few years before.

  “He’s kept a record of everything. It’s incredible,” Phaedra mused, pulling out old black-and-white photographs of his school friends at Eton. Each one had written a personal message on the back. “I wonder what’s happened to all of these young men. I wonder how many he kept in touch with.”

  Antoinette glanced over their young faces. “I recognize a couple. Goodness, wasn’t Henry Patterson handsome then.”

  “What became of Henry Patterson?”

  “He married twice and divorced twice and grew red-faced and as fat as a toad. I haven’t seen him in years.”

  Phaedra laughed, feeling a little better. “Life is wonderful, isn’t it? So many different chapters, like lives in themselves.”

  “Look at this!” Antoinette exclaimed. “Talking about chapters. This is a chapter I knew nothing about. Wasn’t George a dark horse?!” She studied a photograph closely, a deep frown lining her brow.

  She handed Phaedra a pile of photographs of George standing by what looked like ruined forts and castles in the desert. He was grinning raffishly, clearly playing the fool. “They look recent, don’t they? I mean, this must have been taken in the last year. Where do you think he was?”

  Phaedra looked carefully at each one. For a while she said nothing. Antoinette noticed her blanch, and her own eyes welled again with tears. It was the first photograph of George they had come across, and he looked so happy, with everything to live for. Antoinette was grateful for her stepdaughter’s company. It made it easier having someone with whom to share her grief. “They’re old Crusader castles,” said Phaedra at last. “Probably in Syria or Jordan.”

  Antoinette was impressed. “How on earth do you know about Crusader castles?”

  “I love ruins, though Irish ones are my favorites. Probably because we don’t have much history in Canada.” She leafed through them with haste, and Antoinette wondered whether she found it too painful to take her time. After she’d gone through them once, she looked at them again, this time more slowly. The color returned to her cheeks, and her hands stopped trembling. “They’re breathtaking, aren’t they? To think people lived in these nine hundred years ago. I think this one is Shobak in Jordan.” She handed them back to Antoinette. “Shobak is famous and incredibly beautiful.”

  “Why don’t you keep one or two?”

  “May I?”

  “Of course. I have so many. It’s strange, but sometimes I think that George had a whole other life besides the one we shared. He never even told me he went to Jordan. Do you think that’s odd?” She shrugged. “I mean, you think you know someone.”

  “I don’t think we ever really know anyone,” Phaedra replied. “I’m not sure we even know ourselves.”

  “I understood that he needed time on his own, you see,” Antoinette continued.

  “You don’t think he ever got lonely?”

  “No, he made friends wherever he went, and he was a bit of a lone wolf. He needed his time by himself.”

  “You never felt marginalized?”

  “Not at all. I was so busy down here and in London. Frankly, he was so demanding, I needed the rest.” But her face crumpled into a frown. “Well, perhaps a little marginalized, now you mention it.” She wiped her nose with her handkerchief. “I think sometimes one gets so used to a certain routine that one doesn’t question how one feels about it. George and I were like that. I never questioned the way we lived.”

  Phaedra smiled at her kindly. “But you are now.”

  “I am now.” She put the photographs in her “to keep” pile. “He kept you secret; it’s made me question his integrity.”

  “Oh, Antoinette . . .”

  “No, it’s not that I think ill of him, it’s just that I feel less secure about us as a couple. I can confide in you, I know you won’t tell the boys. I’d hate them to feel I’m in any way criticizing their father. I’m not; really I’m not. I just wonder what else he might have kept from me, that’s all, and I ask myself, didn’t he trust me enough to share?”

  “He was only trying to protect you . . .”

  “Yes, yes, but he knew me better than that. It’s very out of character for him not to confide in me, you see. Perhaps he was hiding you for another reason . . . I don’t know what that was, but I can’t believe it was simply because he was afraid I would disapprove or be hurt. He knew I would have supported him.”

  “Had he lived, I’m sure he would have introduced me to you in time,” Phaedra suggested gently.

  “Perhaps. He just wasn’t given time.” She dismissed those thoughts and returned to her task. Little by little, they made their way through George’s drawers and cupboards.

  * * *

  “Phaedra, will you come back soon?” Antoinette asked when they felt they had done enough for one afternoon. “I really need you. There’s still so much to do, and I feel comfortable doing it with you.” Antoinette smiled bashfully. “You really understood George, even tho
ugh you knew him such a short time.”

  “I’ll come whenever you need me. I like going through his things; it makes me feel close to him.”

  “You know you said he wasn’t in the ground, but around us in spirit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think he’s here now?”

  Phaedra let her eyes float about the room. “I’m sure he is. Perhaps that’s why we both felt him so strongly when we came in.”

  “It’s a comforting thought.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “I envy you. It must be nice not to doubt. What must he think, watching us going through all his accumulated rubbish?”

  “Just that, I imagine. That it’s all rubbish. Things that seemed very important in life are suddenly worthless to him in death. These sentimental keepsakes only matter to us now. He’s probably laughing at the importance we’re giving them.”

  “Like the Frampton Sapphires,” Antoinette said with a chuckle. “I’ve never really cared for jewelry, not like Roberta, who’s a magpie.”

  “Me, neither. I’m flattered that George left them to me, but I can’t imagine I’ll ever wear them. I don’t have that kind of life.”

  “You’ll look beautiful in them. The sapphires will bring out the blue in your eyes.”

  “I’ll feel like a Christmas tree.”

  Antoinette laughed. “I know what you mean. Jewelry never suited me, either. I’ve always been too ordinary for diamonds! But you’re not ordinary. You just shine all on your own.”

  “What will George think, seeing us together discussing the Frampton Sapphires?”

  “He’ll be pleased that we’re friends, I think,” Antoinette said softly.

  Phaedra picked up one of the photographs from her pile and studied his face pensively. “I think nothing matters in heaven but love. If a person’s actions are motivated by love, it has to be good. I came here with a big heart, Antoinette. I know it hasn’t been easy for any of you. But I hope you now realize I don’t want anything from you.”

  Antoinette laughed. “Oh, Phaedra, darling, you’ve brought a breath of fresh air into the family. If George is looking down on us all, he can only be happy.”

  “I hope so,” Phaedra replied with a shudder.

  13

  Phaedra arrived back at Cheyne Row at seven o’clock in the evening with a heavy heart. Saying good-bye to her new family had been tempered by the promise of four days in Murenburg with David and Tom and the open invitation to return to Fairfield whenever she wanted, and yet she had hated leaving George’s home, as if his spirit lingered there and it was him she was leaving . . . or was it David whom she hated leaving the most?

  They had all waved her off on the steps. Even Margaret had come for tea and stayed until five-thirty, when Phaedra had reluctantly stood up to leave. They had accompanied her outside where David had hugged her affectionately, wrapping his strong arms around her and squeezing her a little too hard. She had caught her breath and pulled away, conscious of the blush in her cheeks. The sudden frisson of attraction had taken her by surprise, and she had felt dizzy with uncertainty.

  Antoinette, her eyes full of anxiety, had advised her to take care in Murenburg, and Rosamunde had suggested she wear a helmet, which indicated how little she knew of modern skiing because nowadays everyone wore helmets as a matter of course. But Phaedra had barely heard them. She was aware only of David standing on the second step, watching her with a strange look on his face. Confused by the unexpected dawning of desire, she had hastily kissed Roberta’s cold cheek, feeling her sharp bone like metal against her skin, and said good-bye to Joshua, who had beamed with pleasure as she reached up to kiss him, too. She didn’t dare look at David again, but in her peripheral vision she could see that he was still watching her, hands in pockets, his face now long and serious.

  Tom had decided to leave at the same time. His Aston Martin had roared out of sight as soon as they hit the open road, and Phaedra had been left with the wistful sound of Sarah McLachlan and her own muddled thoughts.

  Back at home she carried her weekend bag up to her bedroom and turned on her mobile telephone. Just as she went to run the bath, it rang with an incoming call. For a moment she thought it might be David, and her heart gave a little flutter of anticipation; but when she looked, she saw to her disappointment that it was Julius’s name displayed in the glass.

  “Are you home?” he asked, without even saying hello.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “How did it go?”

  She sat on the bed. “It was great,” she replied.

  “Roberta didn’t eat you alive, then?”

  “Not quite, but she was very unfriendly.”

  “Remember, she has only one thing in mind: the Frampton Sapphires.”

  “Oh, I’ll give them to her,” said Phaedra wearily. “I really couldn’t care less about jewelry.”

  “You will do no such thing, Phaedra. They’re yours. George gave them to you, and if you respect his wishes, you will keep them.”

  “Of course I respect his wishes. But if they’re going to drive a wedge between us, I’d rather not have them.”

  “Don’t be silly, she’ll get over it.”

  “I feel such a fraud.”

  “Don’t let me ever hear you say that again. George wanted to take care of you. He was very aware that he would die before you and was anxious for you to be looked after.”

  “They’re a very nice family,” she said dreamily.

  “So are you still planning on returning to Paris?”

  “Of course. This changes nothing, Julius. It just delays it a little.”

  “Shame. Sounds like you all got on very well.”

  “We did.”

  “Then they’ll invite you again.” He chuckled. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy being part of their family.”

  “I won’t pretend. I did enjoy being a Frampton,” she confessed.

  “You are a Frampton, my dear,” he exclaimed triumphantly.

  “Don’t kid yourself, Julius. I’m a Chancellor.”

  “It’ll take a bit of getting used to, but in time you’ll feel like a Frampton, trust me.”

  “I’m going to Murenburg next week with David and Tom.”

  “Good. A bit of family bonding.”

  “We’re going to see where George died.”

  “Then you can put him behind you and move on.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put George behind me, Julius.” She felt a swell of unhappiness in her chest. “I’m so confused.”

  “How about dinner?”

  “Dinner?”

  “You sound down. I’ll cheer you up. Tomorrow night?”

  “Well, I . . .” But she couldn’t think of an excuse.

  “I’ll get my secretary to book the Ivy. I’ll pick you up around eight? How does that sound?”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  “We’re a good team, you and I. George would be very happy to know that I am taking care of you.”

  “I really don’t need taking care of, Julius. I’ve spent most of my life taking care of myself, and I’ve got along just fine.”

  “Not in the way that George wanted to take care of you.”

  “Money isn’t everything, Julius.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Now you’re rich, you’ll discover that money is the key to happiness.”

  Phaedra hung up and remained on the bed, staring into the half distance. She felt ashamed. George had left her a fortune as well as a very valuable suite of jewelry she didn’t even want. Before he had died, he had spoiled her, but his gifts were easier to accept when given with warm hands. Now he was dead, it seemed somehow avaricious to accept them. It wasn’t right that she should own the Frampton Sapphires, and yet Julius had made her feel ungrateful when she had suggested she give them to Roberta. Why all the fuss about a few pieces of gold, diamonds, and sapphires? Julius wasn’t right: in the grand scheme of things, money had no real value; she h
ad learned that from watching her mother. Only love had any value—and she missed George with all her heart.

  However, it wasn’t long before her thoughts sprang back to David. She stood up and wandered into the bathroom to run a bath. While it ran she flicked through the photographs she’d taken at the folly on her digital camera. She paused on David’s face and felt the familiar warmth spread across her chest, followed by a gnawing sense of shame that induced her hastily to put him away like a forbidden toy. George was barely cold in his grave, and she was already feeling an inappropriate desire for his eldest son. She undressed and stepped into the bubbly water, allowing it to wash over her. Perhaps she shouldn’t go to Murenburg. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t see them all again. Spending time with David might just lead her into terrible trouble—and she’d only have herself to blame. She should return to Paris and forget about Fairfield and the Framptons. She closed her eyes and sank her head beneath the water.

  * * *

  Antoinette was sorry to see Phaedra go, but happy that they had become friends. In one weekend, they had achieved more than she could possibly have hoped for. Not only had they spent time together, but they had really enjoyed each other’s company. If she had been blessed with a daughter, she would have liked her to be just like Phaedra.

  She wandered into George’s room and looked out of the window. The sky was cloudy, but for a few clear patches where the stars were able to shine through. She remembered Phaedra’s advice to focus on the stars in order to sense a higher power, so she gazed up through an opening and lost herself a moment in the eternal space beyond. She felt very small, and yet at the same time, somewhere in the region of her chest, she felt a part of that mysterious expanse, as if she were more than just skin and bone; part of the everlasting current of Life.