French Coast (27 page)

“When I woke, we were circling the airport and I realized what I had done. The funny thing was that though I was sober, I didn't regret it. I grabbed my carry-on bag and took a taxi straight to Gladding House.

“It took me two hours to dig up the original design of the ‘Laura'; we keep all our designs in a library on the third floor. I slipped it in my briefcase and drove to the garment district. Mei-ling's shop looked the same as it did almost thirty years ago. One tiny room with a sewing machine and a table filled with fabric and buttons and zippers.

“The girl at the counter was Mei-ling's daughter; she said Mei-ling had retired five years ago. I begged her and finally she brought her mother downstairs. I told Mei-ling what I wanted but she said her arthritis was too painful. I insisted I'd pay her anything. She pointed to my wrist and said, ‘My son would love your pretty gold watch.'

“I handed her my Rolex and drove to the western suburbs to meet a man who imports the finest Thai silk. I showed him the color swatches and two hours later he called and said he found a match.

“While Mei-ling was sewing the dress, I went to David Jones and bought a pair of white silk gloves and sheer stockings. I stopped in the men's department and bought a plain black suit, and then I picked up a pair of tickets to
La Sylphide
at the Sydney Opera House.

“I hadn't been that nervous since I waited at the Taronga Zoo with the kidnappers' ransom. I knew if Laura saw me, she'd ask me to leave. I bribed my housekeeper to tell Laura that a deliveryman needed her signature, and I waited in the entry.

“You should have seen her face when she walked down the stairs. She was the same glorious girl who tried to brush me off in design class.

“I handed her the box and said, ‘Some designers give their favorite collections to museums or galleries. No one should ever wear the “Laura” except the woman it was designed for, the most beautiful woman I've ever met.'”

“What happened to the original dress?” Serena broke in.

“It was destroyed in a fire at the dry cleaner's years ago,” Laura answered, twisting her wedding band. “I fell in love with the young man in my design class with the bad haircut and borrowed suit because he was larger than life. I still don't agree that staying in Sydney was the best thing after the kidnapping, but I understand his reasoning.

“The young Malcolm wasn't going to let a couple of thugs dictate our lives. I saw him as being selfish, but his only crime was believing he was invincible. The same man showed up at my door yesterday; I would have been foolish not to let him in.”

Malcolm held Laura's hand tightly. He leaned forward and kissed his wife on the lips. “And this time I was wearing socks.”

“But why are you in Cannes?” Zoe asked. Her eyes were wide and her skin was blotchy, as if she had eaten bad shellfish.

“Malcolm showed me a picture of a white stone church perched on a cliff in Antibes,” Laura said. “We decided to renew our vows.”

“You're doing what?” Zoe's mouth fell open.

“We're getting married.” Malcolm smiled, eating the last scallop. “And we'd like you and Serena to be bridesmaids.”

*   *   *

“I can't believe I'm going to walk my mother down the aisle,” Zoe moaned.

Malcolm and Laura had gone to Antibes to meet the priest and Serena and Zoe took the elevator to the Cary Grant Suite. Zoe tossed her purse on the sideboard, slipped off her sandals, and collapsed on an ivory silk love seat.

“I thought you'd be thrilled they're back together,” Serena mused.

“I haven't seen my mother so happy since her thirty-fifth birthday. Dad hired the Sydney Opera Company to perform
Otello
in Centennial Park.” Zoe paused, her eyes misting over. “That was before the kidnapping, when everything he did was perfect.”

“Some couples can make it through anything.” Serena pictured her mother sitting at her father's bedside at a hospital in Dakar. “I think they'll be fine.”

Zoe walked to the sideboard and popped a strawberry in her mouth. She studied her reflection in the gilt mirror and tucked her hair behind her ears.

“I thought I'd be the next bride in the family,” Zoe said, sinking onto the love seat. “At least it will be an excuse to buy a fabulous lace dress and eat chocolate raspberry fondant cake.”

 

chapter twenty-seven

Serena walked along the Boulevard de la Croisette, inhaling the scent of rich cigars and exotic perfume. It was early evening and couples sat at outdoor cafés, sipping aperitifs. Serena watched waiters set round tables with starched white tablecloths and sterling silverware and flickering candles.

All afternoon she had wanted to call Nick but she was afraid to pick up the phone. She was afraid he would sense the uncertainty in her voice and knew she had to tell him in person. She slipped on her new Chloé dress, strapped on the gold sandals, and twisted her hair into a bun. She spritzed her wrists with Dior and pushed through the Carlton-InterContinental's revolving glass doors.

The closer she got to Nick's apartment, the more nervous she became. She pictured telling him about her father, and her stomach rose to her throat. She climbed the cobblestone street to his building and stopped at the entrance.

“What are you doing here?” a male voice demanded.

Serena turned around and saw Nick striding up the alley. He wore a navy cotton shirt and khaki slacks. He clutched a brown shopping bag and a bunch of purple irises.

“I wanted to surprise you.” Serena smiled. “How was Saint-Tropez?”

“I sold the catamaran and couldn't wait to come home and celebrate,” Nick replied. “I stopped at the Marché Forville and bought fresh trout and white truffles and heirloom tomatoes. I got blackberries and whipped cream for dessert and a bottle of pinot blanc. I ran into Yvette Renault; I hadn't seen her in years but she recognized me right away.” Nick stopped and his eyes were like sharp stones. “She said she was sorry she wrote the letter, she was only trying to help Chantal. She had no idea we knew each other, and it was such a tragic coincidence.” Nick gripped the shopping bag tightly. “I didn't know what she was talking about and she grew flustered and said she thought you told me everything.”

“I was going to tell you tonight,” Serena said quietly.

“You think I wouldn't want to know that the man I called my father wasn't at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean but lives in a mansion in San Francisco?” Nick raged. “That he wasn't a commodities broker specializing in Africa and South America but a United States senator?”

“How do you think I felt when Veronique showed me a photo of my father with his arm draped around Chantal?” Serena felt the bile rise to her throat.

Nick was about to say something and he turned and gazed at the glittering ocean. He sucked in his breath and took Serena's hand.

“Let's not give the whole neighborhood a performance, let's go sit on the dock.”

Serena walked down the alley, listening to her heels click on the cobblestones. She felt Nick's hand in hers and felt a small stirring of hope. But when they reached the dock, he put the shopping bag on a bench and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“How could you not tell me?” Nick demanded. “Do you know what it was like hearing it from Yvette?”

“It's a minefield; I didn't want to explode any mines,” Serena said as she sat on the bench and gazed at the harbor. The sun had set and the water was an inky black. Lights flickered on yachts like fireflies dancing in the dark.

“My mother kept a calendar in the kitchen with the dates when he'd be home,” Nick said. He paced up and down the dock, kicking the wood with his shoes. “He sent me postcards with little reminders: Practice your tennis; you're a gifted player. Study your math; it will serve you later in life.

“When he was home we did everything together: watched polo matches in Monte Carlo, flew in a single-engine plane down the Côte d'Azur.”

“My father always wanted a boy,” Serena murmured, flashing on Charles and Chase planning Chase's campaign. She pictured them sitting at the large oak desk in his study, surrounded by charts and spreadsheets.

“Once I asked my mother why he traveled so much,” Nick mused. “She described the diamond mines and rain forests he visited; I pictured him wearing a fedora like Harrison Ford in
Raiders of the Lost Ark
.” Nick's eyebrows knotted together. “When his plane crashed I was devastated. The funeral was in the abbey in Antibes; my mother said my father wouldn't have liked a big fuss. I wore a new suit and my mother wore a black silk dress. I'd never seen anyone so beautiful or so sad. Now I know why she was sobbing; it was because he never wanted to see us again.”

“Do you think this is easy for me? Imagining Sunday dinners at the Carlton Restaurant?” Serena couldn't stop shaking. “Picturing my father consulting the wine menu while the maître d' compliments him on his beautiful children.”

Nick stopped pacing and turned to Serena. His eyes were dark and his voice was low.

“You must hate us.”

“I don't know what I feel,” Serena admitted. “But it hurt so much I didn't want to cause you the same pain. We were having so much fun.” Serena stopped. She wanted to tell Nick she was falling in love with him, but the words stuck in her throat.

“There's nothing worse than being lied to. If you don't have complete honesty in a relationship you have nothing.” He gazed at Serena and his voice was like ice. “I guess you're good at that in your family, your father is a pro.”

Serena sucked in her breath as if she'd been punched. She hated Nick saying terrible things about Charles, but she didn't know how to defend him. She sat on the bench, fiercely blinking back tears.

“I need to be alone,” Nick said, grabbing the brown shopping bag. “Keep the flowers, I bought them for you.”

Serena listened to Nick's footsteps echo on the dock. She watched couples stroll along the shore, laughing and holding hands. She remembered the first night when they made love and Nick told her it wasn't hard to be happy. She clutched the bunch of irises, tears spilling down her cheeks, and thought he was wrong.

 

chapter twenty-eight

“My parents' renewal of their vows is turning into the society event of the season,” Zoe mused, flipping through a French
Elle
.

Serena and Zoe lay on the balcony of the Cary Grant Suite, rubbing their skin with Acqua di Parma suntan lotion. Zoe wore a Betsey Johnson bikini she bought for a Skyping session with Ian. Her skin was lightly tan and she wore Dior sunglasses and Tory Burch sandals.

Serena adjusted her black two-piece and gazed at the coastline. It was early afternoon and blindingly beautiful: the sea was a clear blue flecked with diamonds. The Îles de Lérins glittered on the horizon and yachts lined the dock like a collection of precious jewels.

“After the ceremony, there will be a reception at the Hôtel du Cap-Eden-Roc,” Zoe said as she rubbed suntan lotion on her arms. “My father is flying in the cream of Sydney society: Hugh Jackman, Cate Blanchett, Hamish Blake. Then my parents will sail to Portofino and spend two nights at the Hotel Splendido. Then they'll fly to Venice and take the Orient Express to Budapest. My mother is at Chanel buying her trousseau and my father is at Harry Winston commissioning a five-carat diamond wedding ring.”

“You sound like you don't approve.” Serena frowned.

“I think it's wonderful,” Zoe said, and grinned. “I've never seen my mother so excited. Yesterday we chose favors at Tiffany: silver bracelets with charms shaped like yachts. This morning we did a trial makeup run and this evening we're sampling entrées: duck
à
l'orange
and chateaubriand and roasted sea bass. When Ian and I get married, we'll go to a pub and have fish and chips.”

“No, you won't,” Serena replied.

“My mother is already considering renting out the Sydney Opera House for the reception, and Ian hasn't even proposed.” Zoe sighed. “Did you know they're not sharing a room until after the ceremony? My father reserved the Presidential Suite for their wedding night. It has a personal chef and a swimming pool.”

“Will your father still retire?” Serena looked up from her copy of French
Vogue
. Ever since she saw Nick she hadn't been able to concentrate. She barely ate and her skin felt like paper. She desperately wanted to call him but there was nothing she could say. Every time she pictured his drawn cheeks her stomach clenched.

“He'd drive my mother crazy rattling around the house.” Zoe shook her head. “I'm relieved; I wasn't ready to take over a global company. I'm going to be Head of European Accessories.”

“What's that?” Serena shielded her eyes from the sun.

“I made it up.” Zoe beamed. “I've been buying things on our day trips: silver earrings in Grasse, an antique brooch in Provence, the sweetest gold locket in Mougins. We're going to devote a section of every store to unique accessories and I'm going to go on buying trips to France and Italy and Spain.”

“There's nothing like creating your own dream job.” Serena grinned.

“There has to be perks to having your father own the company. You don't look happy for someone who was just named senior editor of
Vogue,
” Zoe said, and hesitated. “Have you heard from Nick?”

“I don't think I will,” Serena replied slowly. “I seem to pick men who run away at the hint of trouble.”

“Nick isn't like Chase,” Zoe insisted.

“Maybe Nick was upset because I didn't tell him the truth or maybe he just couldn't handle the situation. In either case he's gone.” Serena stopped as if she'd run out of air. “I should stop thinking about him.”