Three Weeks in Paris

Chapter Three

Seated at the mahogany table in the elegant dining room of her parents’ apartment on East Seventy-Ninth Street, Alexandra was savouring the tomato omelette her mother had just made, thinking how delicious it was. Hers inevitably turned into a runny mess, despite having had her mother, the best chef in the world, to teach her over the years.

‘This is great, Mom,’ she said after a moment, ‘and thanks for making time for me today. I know you like to have your Saturdays to yourself.’

‘Don’t be so silly, I’m glad you’re here,’ Diane Gordon answered, glancing up, smiling warmly. ‘I was just about to call you this morning, to see what you were doing, when the phone rang and there you were, wanting to have lunch.’

Alexa returned her mother’s smile and asked, ‘When’s Dad getting back from the Coast?’

‘Tuesday, he said. But it could be Friday. You know what the network is like. You grew up with networks and their schedules, lived by them when you were a child.’

‘And how!’ Alexa exclaimed. ‘I suppose Dad’s going to see Tim this weekend.’

‘Yes, they’re having dinner tonight. Dad’s taking him to Morton’s.’

‘Tim’ll love that, it’s his favourite place in LA. I guess he’s going to stay out there after all. When I spoke to him last week he sounded very high on Los Angeles, and his new job at NeverLand Productions. He told me he was born to be a movie maker.’

Diane laughed. ‘Well, I suppose that’s true. Remember what he was like when he was a kid, always wanting to go with your father to the television studios, to be on the set. And let’s not forget that Grandfather Gordon was a very highly thought of stage director for many years. Show business is in Tim’s blood, more than likely.’ Diane took a sip of water, then asked her daughter, ‘Do you want a glass of wine, darling?’ a blonde brow lifting questioningly.

‘No, thanks, Mom, not during the day. It makes me sleepy. Anyway, it’s fattening…all that sugar. I prefer to take my calories in bread.’ As she spoke she reached for a piece of the baguette, which her mother had cut up earlier and placed in a silver bread basket. She spread it generously with butter and took a bite.

‘You don’t have to worry about your weight, you know. You look marvellous, really well,’ Diane remarked, eyeing her daughter. She couldn’t help thinking how young she looked for her age. It didn’t seem possible that Alexandra was thirty. In fact, in the summer she would be thirty-one, and it seemed like only yesterday that she was a toddler running around her feet. My God, when I was her age I had two children, Diane thought, and a husband to look after, and a growing business to run. Thirty-one, she mused, and in May I’ll be fifty-eight. How time flies, just disappears. Where have all the years gone? David will be fifty-nine in June. What is even more incredible is our marriage. It’s lasted so long, so many years, and it’s still going strong. A record of sorts, isn’t it?

‘Mom, what are you pondering? You’re looking very strange. Are you okay?’ Alexa probed.

‘I’m fine. I was just thinking about your father. And our marriage. It’s amazing that we’ve been married for thirty-three years. And what’s even more staggering is that the years seem to have passed in a flash. Just like that.’ She snapped her fingers together and shook her head in sudden bemusement.

‘You two have been lucky,’ Alexa murmured, ‘so lucky to have found each other.’

‘That’s absolutely true.’

‘You and Dad, you’re like two peas in a pod. Did you start out being so alike? Or did you grow to resemble each other? I’ve often wondered that, Mom.’ Her head on one side, she gazed at her mother, thinking how beautiful she was, probably one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen, with her peaches-and-cream skin, her pale golden hair and those extraordinary liquid blue eyes.

‘You’re staring, Alexa. You’re going to see all my wrinkles!’

‘Oh Mom, you don’t have one single wrinkle. I kid you not, as Dad says.’

Diane laughed, and murmured, ‘As for you, my girl, you don’t look a day over twenty-five. It’s hard for me to believe you’ll be thirty-one in August.’

‘It’s my new short haircut. It takes years off me.’

‘I guess it does. But then short hair makes most women look younger, perkier. And it’s certainly the chic cut this year.’

‘You once told me short hair was the only chic style, and that no woman could be elegant with hair trailing around her shoulders. And you should know, since you’re considered one of the chicest women in New York, if not the chicest.’

‘Oh, I’m not really, but thanks for the compliment. Although I should point out that the whole world suspects you’re a bit prejudiced.’

‘Everyone, the press included, cites you as a fashion icon, a legend in your own time. And your boutiques have been number one for years now.’

‘We’ve all worked hard to make them what they are, not only me, Alexa. Anyway, what about you, darling? Have you finally finished those winter sets?’

Alexa’s face lit up. ‘I completed the last one of the snow forest earlier this week, on Tuesday actually. Yesterday I saw blow-ups of them all at the photographic studio, and they’re great, Mom, even if I do say so myself.’

‘I’ve told you many times, don’t hide your light under a bushel, darling. It doesn’t do to brag, of course, but there’s nothing wrong in knowing that you’re good at what you do. You’re very talented, and personally I was bowled over by the panels I saw.’ Diane’s pale blue eyes, always so expressive, rested on her daughter thoughtfully. After a moment, she said, ‘And so…what’s next for you?’

‘I have one small set to do for this play and after that my contract’s fulfilled.’ Alexa laughed a little hollowly, and added, ‘Then I’ll be out of work, I guess.’

‘I doubt that,’ Diane shot back, the expression on her face reflecting her pride in her only daughter. ‘Not you.’

‘To be honest, I’m not worried. Something’ll turn up. It always does.’

Diane nodded, and then her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘You said on the phone that you wanted to talk to me. What–’

‘Can we do that later, over coffee?’ Alexa cut in swiftly.

‘Yes, of course, but is there something wrong? You sounded worried earlier.’

‘Honestly, there’s nothing wrong. I just need…a sounding board, a really good one, and you’re the very best I know.’

‘Is this about Jack?’

‘No, and now you’re sounding like all those other mothers, which most of the time you don’t, thank God. And no, it’s not about Jack.’

‘Don’t be so impatient with me, Alexa, and by the way, Jack Wilton is awfully nice.’

‘I know he is, and he feels the same way about you. And Dad.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. But how does he feel about you? That’s much more important.’

‘He cares.’

‘Your father and I think he would make a good–a very nice son-in-law.’

Alexa did not respond.

Half an hour later Alexandra sat opposite her mother in the living room, watching her as she poured coffee into fine bone-china cups. She was studying Diane through objective eyes, endeavouring to see her as clearly as possible. It suddenly struck her, and most forcibly, what a unique person she was, a woman who was savvy, smart, successful, and highly intelligent as well. And she really did understand human frailties and foibles, because her perception and insight were well honed, and she was compassionate. But would she comprehend her dilemma, a dilemma centred on two men?

After all, there had only been one man in her mother’s life, as far as she knew, and that man was her father, who Diane Carlson had met at twenty-four and married within the year; they had been utterly devoted to each other ever since. I know she’ll understand, Alexandra reassured herself. She’s not prudish or narrow-minded, and she never passes judgement on anybody. But how to tell her my story. Where do I begin?

It was as though Diane had read her daughter’s mind, when she announced, ‘I’m ready to listen, Alexa, whenever you want to start. And whatever it’s about, you’ll have all my attention and the best advice I can give.’

‘I know that, Mom,’ Alexa answered, adding, Thanks,’ as she accepted the cup her mother was passing to her. She put it down on the low antique table between them, and settled back against the Venetian velvet cushions on the cream sofa. After a second or two, she explained, ‘Late yesterday afternoon I got an invitation to go to a party in Paris. For Anya. She’s going to be eighty-five.’

A huge smile spread across Diane’s face, and she exclaimed, ‘Good Lord, I can’t believe it! She’s a miracle, that woman.’

‘Oh, I know she is, and aside from looking so much younger than her age, she’s full of energy and vitality. Whenever I speak to her on the phone she sounds as busy as ever, running the school, entertaining and travelling. Only last month she told me she’s started writing another book, one on Art Deco. She’s just so amazing.’

‘I’ll say she is, and what a lovely trip for you. When is the party?’

‘On June second, at Ledoyen. It’s a supper dance, actually.’

‘That’ll be fun, we must find you something pretty to wear. Is it black tie?’

‘Yes, it is, but look, Mom, I’m not sure that I’m going to go.’

Diane was startled, and she frowned. ‘Whyever not? You’re close to Anya, and you’ve always been a special favourite of hers. Certainly more than the others–’ Diane stopped abruptly, and stared at her daughter. ‘But of course! That’s it. You don’t want to go because you don’t want to see the other three. I can’t say I blame you, they turned out to be rather treacherous, those women.’

With a small jolt, Alexandra realized that she hadn’t even thought about her former best girlfriends, who had ended up her enemies. She had been focused only on Tom Conners, and her feelings for him. But now, all of a sudden, she realized she must throw them into the equation, along with Tom. Her mother was quite right, they were indeed an excellent reason she should stay away from Paris. They were bound to be at the party…Anya would have invited them as well as her…together the four of them had been her greatest pride the year of their graduation…her star pupils. Of course they’d be there…with bells on.

‘You’re right, Mom, I have no desire to see them,’ Alexa said. ‘But they’re not the reason I don’t want to go to Paris. It’s something else, as a matter of fact.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘His name’s Tom Conners.’

Diane was momentarily perplexed. The name rang a bell but she couldn’t pinpoint the man. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing. ‘Tom Conners. Do I know him? Oh yes, now it’s coming back to me. Isn’t he the Frenchman you introduced to us a few years ago?’

‘That’s right, but Tom’s half French, half American. If you remember, I did tell you about his family. His father’s an American who went to live in Paris in the early fifties, married a French girl and stayed. Tom was brought up and educated there, and he’s always lived in France.’

‘Yes, so I recall, darling. He’s a lawyer, if I remember correctly, and very good-looking. But I didn’t realize there was anything serious between the two of you. I thought it was a brief encounter, a sort of fling, if you like, and that it was over quickly.’

‘It lasted almost two years, actually.’

‘I see.’ Diane sat back, wondering how she had missed this particular relationship. On the other hand, that was the period Alexa had lived in Paris, working with Anya’s two nephews in films and the theatre. However, her daughter had certainly kept awfully quiet about Tom Conners, had confided nothing. Odd, really, now that she thought about it. She said slowly, ‘Somehow you’re still involved with Tom Conners, I think. Is that what you’re trying to say?’

‘No…Yes…No…Look, Mom, we don’t see each other any more, and I never hear from him, he’s never in touch, but he’s sort of there…inside me, in my thoughts…’ Her voice trailed off lamely and she gave her mother a helpless look.

‘Why did you break off with him, Alexa?’ Diane asked curiously.

‘I didn’t. He did. Three years ago now.’

‘But why?’ her mother pressed.

‘Because I wanted to get married, and he couldn’t marry me.’

‘Is he married already?’

‘No. Not now, not then.’

‘I’m not following this at all. It doesn’t make sense to me. I just don’t understand what the problem is,’ Diane murmured, her bafflement only too apparent.

Alexa hesitated, wondering if she could bear to tell her mother Tom’s story. It was so painful, harrowing. But when she glanced at her mother’s face and saw the worry settling there, she decided she had no option. She wanted her to understand…

Very softly, Alexa said, ‘Tom was married very young, Mother, to his childhood sweetheart, Juliette. They grew up together, and their parents were friends. They had a little girl, Marie-Laure, and seemingly, from what he told me, they were an idyllic couple…the poster couple, I guess. Very beautiful, very happy together. And then something bad happened…’

Alexa paused, drew a deep breath, and continued, ‘In July of 1985 they went to Athens. On vacation. But Tom also had to see a client from Paris, who owned a summer house there. Towards the end of the vacation, Tom arranged a final meeting with his client before he took his family back to Paris. That morning he told Juliette he would meet her and Marie-Laure for lunch at their favourite café, but Tom was delayed and got there a bit late. It was chaotic when he walked into the square where the café was located. Police cars and ambulances were converging in the centre, and the human carnage was horrendous. People were dead and dying, there was blood and body parts everywhere, as if a massacre had taken place. The police told Tom that a bomb had exploded only minutes before his arrival, more than likely a terrorist’s bomb that had been planted on one of those big tour buses, this particular one filled with Americans from the hotel in the square. About sixty people were on the bus, and they all died.

‘As the bus was leaving the square it suddenly blew up, right in front of the café where Juliette and Marie-Laure were waiting for Tom. The impact of the blast was enormous. People sitting at the various cafés around the square were blown right out of their chairs. Many were killed or injured…’ Alexa stopped, and it was a moment before she could continue.

After taking several deep breaths, she went on: Tom couldn’t find Juliette and Marie-Laure, and as you can imagine he was worried and frightened, frantic as he searched for them. He did find them eventually, under the rubble in the back of the café…the ceiling had collapsed on them. They were both dead.’ Alexandra blinked, and her voice was so low it was almost inaudible as she finished, ‘Don’t you see, he’s never recovered from that…that…nightmare.’

Diane was staring at Alexandra in horror and tears had gathered in her light blue eyes. ‘How horrendous, what a terrible, terrible tragedy to happen to them, to him,’ she murmured, and then looking across at her daughter, she saw that Alexa’s face was stark, taut, drained of all colour.

Rising, she went and sat next to her on the sofa, put her arm around her and held her close. ‘Oh darling, you’re still in love with him…’

‘Am I? I’m not sure, Mother, but he does occupy a large part of me, that’s true. He’s there, inside, and he always will be, I think. But I’m smart enough to know I have no future with Tom. He’ll never marry me, or anybody else, for that matter. Nor will he have a permanent relationship, because he can’t. You see, he just can’t forget them.’