The Woman from Paris Page 17

  That moment of consciousness was brief. Afterwards, her attention was distracted by the garden. Although it was dark, she could make out the pair of apple trees and the tops of the avenue of lime trees where they were silhouetted against the sky. She listened to the breeze sweeping through the branches and remembered how Phaedra had imagined George looking out onto that view every morning when he drew the curtains. It was true, George had loved Fairfield, and like a homing pigeon he had punctuated his life with weekends here whenever he had been able to. And yet he had been restless, as if he had expected more from his home and been disappointed. As if, perhaps, the thought of home had exceeded the reality.

  Antoinette considered Margaret and the type of mother she had made. She hadn’t been affectionate, but Antoinette was certain she had thought the world of George—he had been her only son. Yet he had married a very different woman. In fact, the more Antoinette pondered on their differences, the more she realized that he had chosen to spend his life with the total antithesis of his mother. Perhaps he had married a woman whose affection was assured because his mother’s was hard to win. With Antoinette he had been a hero right from the moment she had met him; Margaret was less forthcoming in her praise, which didn’t mean she hadn’t been proud of him, just that she had found it hard to express. But George had been a man who needed both verbal and physical confirmation of his value. Antoinette wasn’t sure that Margaret had ever fulfilled that need.

  Phaedra had had a soothing effect on Margaret, too. From the moment the old lady had come down from her rest, she had been restored. Phaedra hadn’t elaborated on their conversation, but whatever they had said to each other had lifted Margaret out of the quagmire of her suppressed grief, and she had smiled at Phaedra in a way that Antoinette had rarely seen her smile. Only Roberta had remained cold and suspicious. She knew in her heart that Roberta was highly protective of her family, but she also knew how materialistic her daughter-in-law was. Would she have accepted Phaedra if George hadn’t left her the Frampton Sapphires?

  She thought of Tom and David taking Phaedra to stay at Chalet Marmot, and then she turned her thoughts to herself. What was she going to do now that George was no longer around to need her? She had money; she could do anything she wanted . . . but what? The idea of embarking on an adventure of her own was very daunting. She was safe down here at Fairfield. Part of her just wanted to hide away and lick her wounds. She didn’t feel up to seeing anyone outside the family—except Dr. Heyworth.

  She didn’t mind seeing him. He had been so kind and understanding when he had found her in his garden, the first time. He had listened to her as she unburdened herself of her anger towards George, and her resentment of his throwing all caution to the wind and taking unnecessary risks. Dr. Heyworth hadn’t disapproved; in fact, he had told her that it was “perfectly natural” to feel that way and a good thing to talk it through. After her escape to his garden a second time, they were now firm friends. Margaret would highly disapprove, she thought with a smile. But Rosamunde might be a little put out—after all, she had clearly taken a shine to him. She decided she’d ask him up to the house again, for Rosamunde. She pulled away from the window, feeling suddenly more positive. Perhaps she’d ask him for dinner.

  The following evening Julius’s black BMW drew up outside Phaedra’s little house on Cheyne Row, and Julius stepped out with a large bouquet of red roses. He straightened his tie as he stood at the door, about to ring the bell. Phaedra had watched him from the window above, and her heart sank at the sight of the flowers. She consoled herself with the thought of flying to Zurich in a couple of days, grabbed her handbag from the bed, and went down the stairs to open the door.

  “Ah, Phaedra,” said Julius, running his eyes up and down her body appreciatively. “You look very pretty.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, hoping she wasn’t sending out the wrong signals by wearing a dress.

  “I’ve brought you roses. I know girls love flowers, and I thought you sounded rather sad on the telephone last night.”

  “I miss him, Julius.”

  “Of course you do. But time is a great healer; so are distractions. I’m going to give you a nice dinner and try to take your mind off it all.” He handed her the flowers and followed her into the little hall.

  “I’ll just go and put these in water. They’re beautiful, thank you.”

  Julius’s BMW was the latest model and immaculately clean. Fine leather seats, shiny wooden dashboard, not a fleck of dust to be seen anywhere. The interior smelled of polish and Julius’s heavy-handed use of cologne. He started the engine and classical music at once filled the car. Phaedra belted up, and Julius swung out into the street and sped down towards the Embankment at high speed. It was dusk. The sky was a gentle, muted pink, the light turning the wheeling seagulls into small flamingos. As the car swept across the city Phaedra felt uplifted by the swathes of crocuses and daffodils in Hyde Park. Candy-colored blossoms floated on the breeze, and flocks of pigeons gathered on the pavements and around bins, where there was food to be scavenged. “I like London at this time of year,” she said.

  “Very pretty,” Julius agreed, but it was clear that he didn’t really notice.

  “Fairfield was so beautiful. The leaves just beginning to unfurl, the blossoms flowering on the apple trees, hundreds of tulips peeping out of the earth. It’s a very special place.”

  “Did you see the paintings? They have some very valuable works of art.”

  “I saw them, but I wouldn’t know their value.”

  “Did Antoinette show you the portrait of Theodora in the Frampton Sapphires?”

  “No,” she lied; she didn’t want to look like she’d been snooping.

  “Really? It’s hanging on the stairs. You know, beside the big one of Algernon Frampton. Check it out next time you go. That one must be worth a small fortune.”

  “I might have seen it and not realized. I haven’t been shown the sapphires.”

  “They’re as big as sweets.”

  “I’m sure they’re lovely.”

  “You’ll be wearing them soon enough.”

  Phaedra laughed. “I don’t think so! When am I ever going to have the opportunity to wear jewels? You know I don’t lead that kind of life.”

  “You could do, if you wanted to.”

  “But I don’t want to. I’m very happy with my life just as it is. I’m a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl.”

  He gave her a sideways glance and grinned, as if to indicate that he knew better.

  The Ivy was warm, dimly lit, and packed with diners. Julius was made a great fuss of by fawning staff, which he clearly enjoyed, having been a frequent guest of George’s. The manager offered his condolences as they were escorted to George’s regular table in the center of the room, and Julius looked suitably solemn as he accepted them. Phaedra sat on the red leather banquette and glanced around at the other guests. By the time Julius sat down she had already spotted three famous actors and one celebrity chef.

  “We’re in good company,” said Julius happily.

  “It’s a lovely restaurant.”

  “George’s favorite. He used to come at least three times a week.”

  “No wonder they treat you like royalty.”

  “We had our lunch meetings in here, dinner meetings at Mark’s Club. George was set in his ways in that respect.” He ordered a bottle of wine without looking at the menu. “We’ll start with white, then we’ll see.”

  “I’m happy with white.”

  “Depends what you have for dinner.”

  “I’m not fussy. What would you recommend?”

  “I’ll order for you.”

  She watched Julius as he scanned the menu with his incisive gaze. He had small eyes, the color of gunmetal, but she guessed they missed nothing. It didn’t take him long to decide, and he summoned the waiter with a snap of his fingers. “I think you’ll be pleased,” he said once the waiter had moved away. “I know you better than you think.”

&nbs
p; “We’ll see about that,” she said with a smile, certain that he didn’t know her at all.

  “Now you’re a rich woman, what do you plan to do?”

  “I’ll do exactly the same as I have always done. Return to Paris, finish my book . . .”

  “Your photography’s a charming hobby, Phaedra, but don’t you think you could better use your time on the board of charities? I know some key people who would happily put you forward.”

  “You mean charities that were close to George’s heart, like Tibetan children . . .”

  “No, I mean high-profile London charities.”

  “Why would I want to do that? I mean, I’m happy to help if I have an interest in the charity, but I don’t want to get involved for the sake of social climbing.”

  “I’m not suggesting you social climb, just that charity is the classic way foreigners like you meet the right people.”

  “I know enough people in Paris.”

  “That’s Paris. I mean London and the right people in London. You’re a wealthy young woman now. It’s time you mixed with other wealthy people.”

  “Julius, let me stop you right here. I don’t want the money.”

  Julius looked horrified. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “I’m being serious. I don’t want it. I won’t touch a penny.”

  “You will when it’s winking at you in a bank account with your name on it.”

  “I haven’t given you my bank details, and I won’t. I told you, I don’t want the money. It’s tainted.”

  He laughed and patted her hand. “You’ll see sense in the end and embark on a whole new life. New friends, new—”

  She cut him off. “I know my friends, and I trust them. I don’t need to start making new ones. Besides, I feel more comfortable lying low. I’m not a party girl.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to decline my invitation to Annabel’s after dinner.”

  “You want to go dancing?” She was appalled.

  “Absolutely. I have a beautiful girl on my arm tonight. I want to show her off.”

  “Oh, Julius, I’m tired. I don’t think I have the energy to go dancing.”

  “Wait until you’ve had a few glasses of wine. You might feel differently.”

  But at the end of dinner Phaedra still felt the same. Julius was disappointed, but he didn’t try to change her mind. She congratulated him on the choices he had made for her dinner; the fish was tender and light and the lamb perfectly pink. Then he drove her back home, hitting the Embankment as early as possible so that she could see the Thames at night. He knew girls liked the romance of the lights reflected on the water. By the time they reached Cheyne Row it was eleven thirty.

  “You’re looking a lot perkier now,” he said as he opened the passenger door and watched her step out.

  “I’ve had a really nice evening, thank you.”

  “I’m happy, because I know George would approve of my keeping an eye on you, and I owe him everything.” Phaedra imagined it must have been very lucrative being George’s lawyer. “So, you’re off on Wednesday.”

  “Yes.”

  “Chalet Marmot is ravishing. Antoinette has beautiful taste; shame she can’t ski.”

  “Did you ever go and stay with George?”

  “Yes. I’m an excellent skier. The off piste in Murenburg is phenomenal. You know, I have some good footage of George and me skiing together.” He grinned. “One of the best days we had was the week before he died.”

  Phaedra paled. “You were with him the week before he was killed?”

  “I had to return to London to sort out a few things for him. George couldn’t resist the fresh snow and stayed on. I’m sure if I’d been there I’d have dissuaded him from going off piste that day.”

  “Why?”

  “It was way too warm. The conditions were dangerous. But George thought he could do anything. He thought he was immortal.” He shook his head dolefully. “I thought he was immortal.”

  Phaedra suddenly felt sorry for him and put a hand on his shoulder. “We all did, Julius.”

  He looked at her seriously. “I hope those boys are going to look after you.”

  “I’m sure they will.”

  “I don’t hold out much hope for Tom. If he manages to organize himself to wake up in time to ski, I’ll be very surprised.”

  “It doesn’t really matter. David’s very reliable.”

  Julius pulled a face. “None of them have George’s drive, though, do they?”

  Phaedra put the key in the lock. “I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. I mean, George had something to prove. He was more complicated. David’s happy in his skin.”

  “Joshua would be the one to watch; he’s making good money in the City, but he’s dominated by his greedy wife. George wasn’t weak. Tom runs a nightclub: What sort of a job is that? I don’t think he makes much at all, and he drinks too much ever to make a success of anything. What a family!”

  Phaedra was shocked and withdrew her hand. “I thought you liked them.”

  “It paid well to like them.” He laughed at her expression. “Don’t look so alarmed. Of course I like them. As families go, they’re not bad. It’s just not usual that apples fall so far from the tree, and I had enormous admiration for George.” He sighed heavily. “None of them are a patch on him.”

  Phaedra pushed open the door and stepped into the hall. “Thank you for dinner, Julius. And I’m sorry I didn’t go dancing with you.”

  “Next time. Call me.”

  She frowned as an uneasy feeling crept over her. “Listen, Julius, you’ve been wonderful. You’ve helped me get through a really tough time; I don’t know what I would have done without you. But you can let me go now. I promise I can manage on my own.”

  She winced as he put his hands on her waist and leaned across to kiss her cheek. “Don’t be silly, Phaedra. We’re in this together, you and I—and you know you need me. I’ll call you when you’re in Murenburg, just to make sure you’re all right.”

  “Oh, I will be. I’ll be with my brothers.” It sounded absurd.

  “Brothers are good only up to a point. You need a man.”

  “I had one.”

  “So you need another. Broken hearts mend, Phaedra, and life is more fun as a pair. Now go to bed and have a good night’s sleep.”

  She closed the door, her heart beating frantically behind her rib cage like a frightened monkey. She could smell his cologne on her skin, and she recoiled. Oh, George, look at the mess you’ve got me into!

  * * *

  A couple of days later Phaedra, David, and Tom met at Heathrow Airport to fly to Zurich. There was an air of excitement about their trip, in spite of the solemnity of the mission. The boys had small suitcases, for their ski clothes were already in Murenburg, while Phaedra had a very large and heavy one. “Are you planning on staying there until summer?” Tom quipped when he saw it.

  “I know, I’m sorry; it’s ridiculously large, but my helmet takes up half of it.”

  “Aunt Rosamunde will be happy to know you packed it,” said David, pulling it across the floor towards check-in.

  “She’s a character, your aunt Rosamunde,” Phaedra laughed.

  “Is she ever going to leave?” Tom wondered.

  “She’s thrilled to be of use,” David replied. “Mum will get fed up with her in the end.”

  “You know what they say about guests, that like fish they begin to smell after a few days,” said Phaedra.

  “Well, Aunt Rosamunde has been there for a couple of weeks now: she must be really stinky!” said Tom.

  “Oh really, Tom, that’s very unfair.” Phaedra smacked him playfully on the wrist. “Why has she never married, do you think?”

  “Bad timing, bad choices,” David began.

  “If you were a man, would you want to marry her?” asked Tom.

  “She might have been pretty as a young woman,” Phaedra mused.

  “She’s never been pretty, and she’s always been keener
on horses than men.”

  “Ah well, there’s the flaw,” Phaedra said.

  Tom snorted with laughter. “No man can compete with a horse!”

  They reached the front of the queue, and David lifted Phaedra’s suitcase onto the conveyor belt. “Passports,” he said, holding out his hand. “I can see I’m going to have to organize the two of you,” he added, watching Phaedra delve into her handbag and Tom reach into every pocket. At last Tom found his in the back of his jeans and Phaedra fished hers out from the clutter.

  “You have a British passport?” he asked when he saw Phaedra’s.

  “Yes, I’m a British citizen,” she replied proudly.

  “How come?”

  “Well, you might as well know: I was married to a Brit.”

  Tom and David stared at her. “You were married?” David exclaimed.

  “You’re a hot divorcée,” said Tom with a smirk.

  “Will you behave, Tom—and do hand them over, David. The poor lady has been waiting patiently, and there’s a queue behind us.”

  David gave the Swissair attendant the passports then turned back to Phaedra. “Was he the one who broke your heart?” he asked quietly.

  “Now isn’t the time or place to discuss my ex-husband,” she replied, and an invisible but tangible gate closed out her past.

  “Your bag is like the TARDIS,” said Tom, peering inside.

  “It’s like a bucket,” she replied. The attendant handed the passports back to David, and while Phaedra was talking to Tom about her handbag, he stole a peek at her photograph. It was a good representation. His eyes wandered to the right, where her birthday shot out at him like a bullet. February 9, 1984. He stared at it in astonishment. If she was thirty-one, as she claimed, she would have been born in 1981. This meant she was really twenty-eight, a year younger than him.

  “Hey, you’re not looking at my photograph, are you?” she laughed, grabbing it out of his hand.

  “You look exactly the same,” he replied, covering his confusion with nonchalance.