French Coast (30 page)

“You want me to meet Chantal?” Serena gulped.

“I told her everything,” Nick replied. “I said I'd bring you to the villa.”

Serena felt her stomach rise to her throat. She pictured the dark-haired beauty in the photograph, the elegant model on the cover of French
Vogue,
the young shop assistant who ruined her parents' marriage.

“When?” Serena asked.

Nick took her hand and led her to the Renault. “Today.”

*   *   *

They drove down a gravel driveway and stopped in front of a whitewashed villa flanked by wide palm trees. Serena saw a garden filled with pink rosebushes and tall birds of paradise. There was an olive tree and clusters of bougainvillea and beds of purple and white pansies.

“My mother adores her garden.” Nick opened Serena's door. “She used to spend all her time with her roses.”

“Nick, you're here!” a woman's voice floated through the entry. “I'm sorry it's dark, the light hurts my eyes. Pull back the curtains, I want to meet Serena.”

Serena walked through the tile entry and entered a living room with plaster walls and wood floors. The furniture was draped with cotton sheets and the floors were covered by faded Oriental rugs. There was an antique desk and a burgundy velvet day bed filled with silk cushions.

“I hate turning the salon into a sickroom, but I can't climb the stairs to the bedrooms,” Chantal said, waving her hand. “At least I can smell the roses in the garden; did you see my English lavenders? They smell like Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds.”

Serena peered into the dark and saw a woman reclining on a brocade sofa. She had a long face with brown eyes and dark eyelashes. She wore a pink housedress and white slippers on her feet.

“Gia made fresh scones and Earl Grey tea. She's pleased to have young people to feed; I can hardly eat a bite.” Chantal gazed at Serena. “You look like Charles, I always imagined you did. I was very angry with Yvette for writing the letter.” Chantal paused. “Nick told me how happy you've made him, and now I'm glad Yvette went behind my back.”

Serena turned to Nick, trying to think of something to say. She glanced around the room at the ceramic vases filled with flowers and the paintings on the walls. There was a series of Monet's haystacks and a Matisse in a gold frame.

“I know what I did was wrong, but when you're young and scared you use what you have,” Chantal said slowly. “In the beginning I think Charles enjoyed his French family. Veronique was a beautiful child and Nick was always so serious, like a little man.” Chantal wetted her lips with a glass of water. “Later I sensed Charles wanted to be somewhere else. I'd catch him with his newspapers in his lap, staring into space. Except when he was with Nick; those two were like a couple of pirates! Always out on a boat or fishing on the dock, they'd come home with more fish than I could cook in a week.

“I'm telling you this because in his way Charles wanted to do the right thing. When I saw him with his wife at the Carlton-InterContinental I knew it was over. They were like a bride and groom on top of a wedding cake.

“I thought it would be best for Nick to go to boarding school.” Chantal paused. “At first I got daily letters that he had no friends. Then he wrote that he changed his name from Giles to Nick and joined the sailing club. Finally the letters stopped and I received a monthly postcard.” Chantal smiled. “I knew he was happy.

“Veronique was easy, she always loved the ballet,” Chantal mused. “The day she got accepted at the Ecole des Ballets de Monte Carlo, I knew she was going to be famous.

“Then Yvette handed me my brilliant career and I had money and furs and diamonds,” Chantal said as she reclined against the cushions. “After I got sick, I was afraid my children would be orphans. I should never have lied to them about Charles being dead.” Chantal looked at Nick. “It's hard to imagine your children as adults, and even harder to stop protecting them.”

Serena gazed at Chantal's translucent skin and remembered the luxuriant hair and elegant cheekbones in the photographs. She pictured the bright blue eye shadow and the eyelashes that went on forever. She wanted to ask Chantal a dozen questions, but then she pictured her mother in her Chanel suits and wanted to escape the salon and breathe fresh air and sunshine.

“Please stay for dinner, Gia is making grilled halibut and baby peas and green beans from the garden,” Chantal said. “I'll take a nap, you two can explore Juan-les-Pins. Bring back a vanilla flan and a carton of strawberry ice cream.”

*   *   *

“We don't have to stay,” Nick said.

Chantal fell asleep and Nick and Serena strolled in the garden. Serena heard birds chirping and saw the white sand beaches of Antibes far below them. She glanced at Nick and saw his eyes were moist and his cheeks were drawn.

“Of course we'll stay.” Serena squeezed his hand. “When have I said no to flan and ice cream?”

*   *   *

They drove into Juan-les-Pins and parked at one end of the main street. Serena saw the newsagent and the patisserie and thought nothing must have changed in thirty years. She glanced above the ice cream shop and saw a bay window overlooking the harbor.

“Bertrand Roland kept a room here,” Serena said, pointing to the brick building. “He and Yvette were lovers. Yvette told him she was going to leave her husband, and when she found Bertrand with another woman, she was devastated.

“I asked her whether she was sorry she told Bertrand she loved him; if she hadn't their affair may have continued,” Serena said earnestly. “But she said if you find true love you have to do anything to keep it.”

“My mother is sorry for what she did,” Nick said quietly. “She never meant to hurt your family.”

“Having an affair with a married man was probably not the way to go about it.” Serena blinked back sudden tears. She turned away from Nick and hurried down the street.

“Serena, wait!” Nick called. He caught up with her and grabbed her hand. “I can't turn back the clock and erase what happened between our parents, but it doesn't change the way I feel about you. I know I said I don't believe in luck, but that's not true. The luckiest day of my life was the day I found your cell phone. You're gorgeous and intelligent and when I'm with you I feel like I can do anything.” Nick paused and kneeled on the cobblestones. “Serena, will you marry me?”

Serena put her hand to her throat. She couldn't catch her breath and her legs felt like jelly. She had sat across from Chantal and wanted to run out of the villa. Now she looked at Nick's clear blue eyes and wanted him to wrap his arms around her.

“I know it's sudden, but I fell in love the night we had dinner at Le Maurice. You're braver than you know, and together I'm not afraid of anything.” Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out a dark green velvet box. He opened it and displayed a yellow diamond flanked by two amethysts.

Serena looked at the velvet box with the gold letters that spelled
SHREVE
and gasped. She remembered trying on her mother's earrings and rings as a child. Kate's jewelry case was filled with identical green boxes with the same gold lettering. Shreve & Co. was San Francisco's oldest jewelry store and every woman in Presidio Heights wanted a green velvet box with the scrawled gold signature.

“Where did you get that ring?” Serena whispered.

“My mother has a stunning jewelry collection.” Nick smiled. “She was going to leave it all to Veronique but she told me to pick my favorite pieces. I can have it reset if you don't like it.”

“Shreve is my father's favorite jewelry store; he bought my mother a new piece for every anniversary.” Serena pulled her hand away. She turned and started walking down the street.

“Where are you going?” Nick ran after her.

Serena stopped and took a deep breath. She looked at Nick and thought her heart would crack. “I need some time to think, I'm going to catch the bus to Cannes.”

“I'll drive you.” Nick grabbed his car keys.

Serena shook her head and bit her lip. “I'll be fine, go have dinner with your mother.”

 

chapter thirty-one

Serena spooned honey into vanilla tea and added warm milk. She wrapped her white cotton robe around her and paced around the living room of the Cary Grant Suite. Ever since she caught the bus back from Antibes she'd been trying to distract herself. She read French
Vogue
and
Paris Match
. She turned on the television and watched
To Catch a Thief
in French with English subtitles. She made herself a plate of lobster ravioli and baked squash and didn't eat a bite. She poured a shot of aged cognac but couldn't swallow it.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw her father entering the Shreve store on Post Street in San Francisco. She pictured him selecting the flawless diamond and asking the salesgirl to wrap it up. She saw him slip it in his overnight bag after Kate had done his packing. She saw her mother kiss Charles good-bye at the airport, wishing him a safe trip.

Her parents' marriage survived the last fifteen years because they made an agreement to forget the affair ever happened. How would her mother feel if she were reminded of it on a daily basis? She pictured introducing Nick to Kate and her stomach turned over. She saw Veronique with her blond hair and green eyes and knew her mother couldn't possibly welcome the product of Charles's infidelity.

Serena thought about Nick and how close Chantal said he'd been with Charles. How would Nick feel if Charles refused to acknowledge him? She pictured awkward meetings at the yacht club or family dinners at the Presidio Heights mansion. Perhaps Nick would grow jealous of her relationship with her father and stop loving her.

Then Serena pictured turning Nick down and her heart pounded. She imagined running into him at Whole Foods or on the Marina Green. She saw him with his arm draped around a tall brunette or a petite blonde and she felt faint.

Serena stood on the balcony and gazed at the yachts twinkling on the harbor. It was almost midnight and the bay was still. She heard muffled laughter on the Boulevard de la Croisette and a European sports car gunning down the avenue. She walked inside and picked up her phone.

“If you're calling to thank me for the upgrade to first class, you're welcome,” Chelsea's voice came over the line. “I can't wait to have the finished memoir in my hands.”

“I was calling for a favor.” Serena wrapped the robe tightly around her waist. “I wonder if you could ask Harry if there are any positions open in New York.”

“You hated New York, you said even the coffee baristas were rude and in summer it's so hot you could fry an egg on the sidewalk.”

“I've reconnected with a college boyfriend.” Serena crossed her fingers behind her back. “It's getting serious and I don't want a long-distance romance.”

“You just got a promotion,” Chelsea protested.

“I know it wouldn't be senior editor,” Serena said. “I'd take anything.”

Chelsea hesitated. “I'm sure Harry could find something, but you wouldn't have your own office and your name on the masthead.”

“It doesn't matter.” Serena clutched the porcelain teacup. “I really need to be in New York.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Chelsea said slowly. “I'm disappointed, I didn't think you were the type of woman who put a man before your career.”

Serena placed the teacup on the glass coffee table. She sat on the ivory silk sofa and tucked her legs under her. She closed her eyes and let the tears roll down her cheeks.

*   *   *

“Serena!” Yvette opened the door of the Sophia Loren Suite. She wore a red linen dress with a cropped black jacket and a wide gold belt. Her hair lay smoothly behind her ears and she wore diamond earrings and a black pearl necklace.

Serena touched her hair and adjusted her skirt. She had been nervous about seeing Yvette but she couldn't leave without saying good-bye. She had slipped on a crisp black Donna Karan dress and Prada pumps and knotted her hair in a low bun. She drank a cup of espresso and marched down the hallway to the Sophia Loren Suite.

“You look like you haven't slept a wink.” Yvette gazed at Serena. “You must have so many last-minute things to do; what time is your flight?”

“Not till this evening.” Serena glanced at her watch. “I didn't want to leave without saying good-bye.”

“I know this has been difficult for you.” Yvette perched on a peach upholstered chair. “I'm not proud of myself, but we do what we think is best for the people we care about.” Yvette paused and picked up a parcel from the bamboo dining-room table. “I have enjoyed our talks so much; I brought you a present.”

“For me?” Serena took the package and slipped off the gold ribbon. She undid the silver wrapping paper and turned the book over. “It's a signed first edition of Bertrand's
The Gigolo,
” Serena gasped. “It must be worth a fortune.”

“Sotheby's auctioned one copy off last year for ten thousand dollars.” Yvette smiled. “Bertrand would laugh, he always called
The Gigolo
literary porn.”

“I can't take this.” Serena handed it back, thinking how angry she had been at Yvette for writing the letter to the
San Francisco Chronicle,
for blurting the story out to Nick.

“I can't undo the damage I've caused, but I can show you how grateful I am. Writing the memoir has brought me such joy.” Yvette pressed the book into Serena's hands. “You made Bertrand come alive.”

“I met Chantal,” Serena said slowly. “She was very weak but still beautiful.”

“You met Chantal!” Yvette exclaimed. “She didn't tell me.”

“Nick took me to the villa. Then he asked me to marry him,” Serena replied.