French Coast (19 page)

After they had seen the vast kitchen and the antique harpsichord in the music room, Bertrand went back to the car and retrieved a picnic basket. He took Yvette's hand and led her to the rose garden.

“I've never seen so many different types of roses.” Yvette inhaled the rich scent.

They sat on the checkered blanket and ate ham and Gouda on pumpernickel bread. There was a jar of dill pickles and a bottle of pinot noir and a raspberry tart.

“Why did you bring me here?” Yvette asked curiously.

“I'm writing a new novel about a Parisian woman whose life is centered around her wealthy husband and children.” Bertrand took out his cigarette case. “I want to use you for research.”

“Research!” Yvette exclaimed.

Bertrand leaned back on his elbows and blew smoke rings in the air. “Tell me everything about yourself, your childhood, your schooling, your dreams.”

“Why me?” Yvette asked, an uneasy feeling forming in her stomach.

“I don't know any other Parisian housewives.”

*   *   *

Yvette described her parents' apartment near the Champs-Élysées, summers in Biarritz, skiing in Chamonix. She told Bertrand about her school years at the convent, how she hated math and loved English.

“I always kept a romance novel in my geometry book,” Yvette mused. “I'd stay up all night reading Barbara Cartland.”

She told him about her parents' long friendship with Henri's family, the wedding at Notre Dame Cathedral, the births of her children.

“Henri was never present at the births, but he arrived in the recovery room with a bouquet of roses and a piece of jewelry: diamond earrings for Camille, a sapphire pendant for Pierre, a ruby ring for Lilly.”

She described the apartment on Rue Saint-Honoré that was a wedding gift from Henri's parents, her charitable foundations, the children's activities.

“Camille takes ballet and Pierre has started fencing,” Yvette said as she nibbled a piece of tart.

“We eat dinner together before Henri comes home, steak and pommes frites for the children, a piece of fish for me.”

“And that's enough?” Bertrand peered at her curiously.

Yvette bit her lip. “It always has been.”

*   *   *

After their picnic they drove back to Juan-les-Pins and made love on the low mattress. Bertrand had never been so attentive. Instead of getting up to smoke his cigarettes, he rested his head in her lap, reading pages from
Sentimental Education
. When he dropped her off at the villa, he kissed her tenderly on the forehead.

Yvette threw her purse on the sideboard and ran upstairs to take a bath. It was only after she was reading in bed that she realized she had left the Dior scarf in the entry and Henri would be arriving from Paris in the morning.

She crept downstairs and buried the scarf in her lingerie drawer. She lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling. Finally, at three
A.M
., she knew what she had to do. She turned over and went to sleep.

*   *   *

“I'm leaving Henri,” Yvette announced. “I'm going to rent a villa year-round in Antibes.”

Bertrand looked up from his notepad. “He would never divorce you.”

“I'll sue him for adultery,” Yvette said. “I'll hire a private detective.”

She had been thinking about it all weekend. The minute Henri left on Monday after breakfast, she slipped on a cotton dress and ran to tell Bertrand. Bertrand was drinking an espresso and writing at the small desk next to the window.

“A man in Henri's position will say he was visiting a sick friend.” Bertrand shrugged. “He'll pay off the detective and send the girl to the country.”

“I'll tell him about us,” Yvette insisted. “He can sue me for divorce.”

Bertrand stood up and put his hands on her shoulders.

“You would lose your children.”

“I can't share a bed with him anymore.”

Bertrand turned her around and unbuttoned her dress. He caressed her breasts, pushing his thumb against her nipple. He kissed her neck, inhaling her Dior perfume.

“You will say you have feminine problems and need your own bedroom,” he said as he reached one hand under her skirt. “Women have been doing it for centuries.”

Yvette felt his fingers opening her like a delicate flower. She strained against him, her body wet and hungry. She grabbed his shoulders, waiting for the waves to wash over her.

Bertrand pulled his fingers out before she came. He laid her on the mattress and pulled up her skirt. He entered her quickly and they came together in one long, dizzying thrust.

Yvette rested her head on his chest. She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat. She couldn't tell him that she wasn't afraid of sleeping beside Henri; she was terrified of losing Bertrand.

 

chapter nineteen

Serena entered the Carlton Restaurant and saw her mother sitting at a table on the balcony. Her cheeks were pale but she looked lovely in a pink Chanel suit and beige Ferragamo pumps. Her strawberry-blond hair was brushed into a pageboy and a diamond tennis bracelet dangled from her wrist.

“Serena, I've missed you!” Kate exclaimed, glancing at Serena's floral Ella Moss sundress and white espadrilles. “You look beautiful, what a gorgeous dress.”

“Where's Dad?” Serena asked.

“He thought we might want some time alone,” Kate said, hesitating.

Kate picked up the menu and studied it carefully. She signaled the waiter and ordered a cup of tomato gazpacho and a watercress salad. She took a baguette from the basket and tore it in half.

“The roasted turbot fish fillet with spring vegetables sounds delicious,” Kate said as she buttered the baguette. “But I lost my appetite somewhere over Greenland; we had a bumpy flight.”

Kate poured English breakfast tea into a porcelain cup and added a cube of sugar.

“Chase came to see your father before we left,” she continued. “They spent a long time in the study.”

“How could you live with Dad after what he did?” Serena exploded. “And how could you never tell me?”

“I didn't want you to get hurt.” Kate sighed. “What would be the point?”

“Dad had a whole secret life! I have a half sister,” Serena spluttered.

“But you don't.” Kate's voice was firm. “Because your father promised to never have contact with them again.”

“How could you possibly stay with him when he lied to you for fourteen years?” Serena's hands shook and her teeth chattered. She tried to sip her cup of tea but it was too hot and scalded her tongue.

“I wanted to take the train back to Paris and cut your father's suits into little pieces. I wanted to rip the pages from his books and shatter his glasses.” Kate stopped, looking at Serena. “But what good would it have done? We had you, we were married.”

“People get divorced all the time.” Serena's eyes flickered. “Would you want me to stay with a cheating husband?”

The waiter set down two plates of watercress salad with round cherry tomatoes and sliced avocado.

“I imagined life without Charles and it was like cutting out my own heart. I told him what I needed and he agreed.” Kate speared a tomato with her fork.

“I don't think I could love someone who did that to me,” Serena replied.

“If we all behaved sanely in love there'd be no great literature,” Kate said slowly. “It was a long time ago.”

“What are you and Dad going to do?” Serena asked. Her eyes were watery and she had a sharp pain in her chest.

“We're going to Africa.”

“Africa!” Serena dropped her fork.

“We've always wanted to go,” Kate said, and smiled. “And it's the one place we won't be followed.”

*   *   *

After lunch they browsed in Yves Saint Laurent and Fendi. Kate picked out a sleeveless cotton dress and a large straw hat. She added ribbed sweaters, two pairs of capris, and loafers in three different colors.

“I've never shopped for a safari, I feel like Meryl Streep in
Out of Africa
.” Kate glanced at Serena and paused. “Your father has done great things—helped pass a bill to promote alternative energy, increased funding for schools in California—but he always said you were his greatest achievement.” Kate squeezed Serena's hand. “That's all you need to know, let me worry about the rest. You might think I'm weak or old-fashioned, but he's my best friend.”

*   *   *

Serena put her mother in a taxi and lingered in front of the Carlton-InterContinental. She didn't feel like walking through the lobby with its gold inlaid floors and uniformed doormen. She didn't want to rub shoulders with women carrying Louis Vuitton bags and men wearing white linen slacks.

She crossed the street and ran down the boulevard. She kept running until she reached the dock. Then she unstrapped her sandals and jumped onto the sand.

Serena hadn't known she wanted to see Nick until she stood in front of the Carlton. Then she pictured him showing her the aquarium in Monte Carlo. She remembered dinner in the Cary Grant Suite and the kiss on the balcony.

“Were you looking for me?” Nick stepped onto the dock. He wore a navy T-shirt and beige shorts.

“I was running on the beach,” Serena said.

“In a designer dress?” Nick raised his eyebrow.

Serena glanced at her silk dress and white espadrilles. “How do you know it's designer?”

“I live in Cannes,” Nick said, grinning. “Why don't we go somewhere more suitable, like the bar at Bâoli?”

Serena hesitated. “I'm not thirsty.”

“You can watch me drink,” Nick said, taking her arm. “I've been working on the boat all day.”

*   *   *

They sat at a round table close to the sand and Serena watched Jet Skiers jump over the waves. The beach was filled with couples lounging on white beach chairs and children playing with plastic buckets.

Nick ordered two strawberry martinis and a bowl of tiramisu and turned to Serena.

“Let me guess, you were chasing jewel thieves down the beach and they escaped onto a luxury yacht.”

“I had lunch with my mother; my parents are in Cannes.”

“I thought they were staying at a villa in Napa.”

“They came to see me,” Serena replied. “Tomorrow they're leaving for Africa.”

“I'm guessing they didn't say anything you wanted to hear.” Nick frowned.

Serena sipped the smooth vodka and told Nick about her father meeting the salesgirl at the Carlton boutique years ago, letting her stay in the villa, his indiscretion. She told him how her mother had discovered her father's secret and decided to stay with him.

“While other children were at summer camp I was fishing with the governor of Montana.” Serena ran her fingers over her glass. “We hiked the Great Wall of China and sailed down the Nile. I wrote my sixth-grade world history report on my father and I cut out photos of my mother in
Vogue
and put them in a scrapbook.”

“None of that has changed,” Nick said.

“I always thought we were a team, but my father had another life.” Serena's eyes filled with tears. “How could he still love us and keep a secret family?”

“You're beautiful and smart and have a job you love,” Nick said. “And you're sitting on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world crying into your tiramisu.”

Serena glanced at the sterling silver bowl.

Nick signaled the waiter and grinned. “It's all right, we can order another.”

*   *   *

They strolled down the Boulevard de la Croisette and Nick told stories of huge storms off the coast of Africa and great white sharks in Australia.

“It's going to be pretty tame cruising around the Bay of Cannes.” Serena smiled, stopping in front of the revolving glass doors of the Carlton-InterContinental.

Nick stood so close she could smell the strawberry martini. She gazed at his tan cheeks and suddenly she wanted to feel his lips on hers, his hand pressed against the small of her back.

“Would you like to come in? The pianist in the bar plays Cole Porter.”

Nick glanced at his watch and shook his head. “I have an appointment, I have to go.”

*   *   *

Serena entered the Cary Grant Suite and walked into the bedroom. She hung up her dress and slipped on a cotton robe. She curled up in a blue-and-white satin armchair and pictured Nick's dark wavy hair and blue eyes. Maybe she had rejected him too many times and scared him off.

She heard her phone buzz and grabbed her purse.

She read the text:
Would you like to have dinner at Le Maurice tomorrow night? Maurice is making his famous fish soup
.

Serena felt a pinprick of excitement. She picked up her phone and typed:
Yes
.

 

chapter twenty

“Go online, I want you to see something,” Chelsea's voice came over the phone.

“I'm late for dinner,” Serena replied, checking her reflection in the mirror.

She wore an ivory lace Givenchy dress and close-toed sandals. Her hair was brushed into a high ponytail and tied with a gold ribbon. She wondered if she was overdressed, if Nick would appear in a T-shirt and khakis. But she fingered the delicate lace and decided she wanted to wear something elegant and sexy.

“Dinner with a man?” Chelsea asked.

“You were the one who said Cannes had more eligible bachelors than any city in Europe.” Serena smiled.

“I haven't left the office before nine
P.M
. in a week.” Chelsea sighed. “I eat spinach salad at my desk and wash it down with a green smoothie. Click on
Vogue
. I think you'll be pleased.”

Serena brought up the cover of
Vogue
and glanced at the glossy photo of Beyoncé in orange Cavalli. She clicked to the third page and saw a photo of Malcolm and Laura dressed in evening wear and stepping into a silver Bentley.