French Coast (6 page)

“My father runs a clothing empire, fashion is his religion.” Zoe fiddled with her wineglass. “I'm like the child who failed catechism class.”

“What does your father say about you being in Cannes?” Serena asked.

“He doesn't know I'm here,” Zoe replied. “That's why I need your help; you have to turn the ugly duckling into a swan.”

*   *   *

Serena sat in bed, scribbling interview notes on her notepad. Dinner had been delicious. Serena selected the Mediterranean sea bass fillets and Zoe had the organic lamb cutlets and they shared a classic chocolate fondue for dessert. After dinner they sipped amaretto and cream at the Carlton Bar, listening to the pianist and watching movie stars enter the revolving glass doors.

Serena put the notepad on the bedside table and turned off the light. She longed to talk to Chase, but he was probably in a meeting. She thought about her plans for tomorrow: an early-morning run on the beach, shopping with Zoe, and the afternoon spent with Yvette in the Sophia Loren Suite.

The hotel phone rang and she debated answering it. Zoe had gone to the gift shop to stock up on copies of
Hello!
and
Paris Match
. It rang again and Serena picked up the receiver. Perhaps it was Yvette, rescheduling their meeting, or Chase, anxious to hear her voice.

A male voice came on the line. “Mademoiselle Pistachio, this is Daniel at the concierge.”

“Zoe isn't in at the moment,” Serena replied.

“Could you please inform Mademoiselle Pistachio her missing suitcase has been located. It was put on the original flight she booked to Milan. It has been rerouted to Nice airport and will arrive at the Carlton-InterContinental in the morning. The airline apologizes for the confusion.”

Serena hung up and leaned back against the pillows. Zoe never mentioned she had bought a ticket to Milan. Serena flashed on Milan's runway shows and cutting-edge designs. If Zoe was really interested in fashion she would have kept her reservation instead of coming to Cannes. Cannes was spectacular, but Milan was the center of the fashion world. There had to be another reason why Zoe was in Cannes. Serena slid under the covers, certain Zoe was still hiding something.

 

chapter four

Serena walked along the promenade, past the shuttered boutiques and cafés. She had run the whole length of the Boulevard de la Croisette, inhaling the sultry morning air. The beach was empty except for a few seagulls and fishermen pushing their boats out to sea. Serena watched the sun inch up the sky and the sea turn from pale gray to a royal blue.

She and Chase used to run together every morning. They loved jogging along the Embarcadero, watching the ferries crisscross the bay. Serena missed his wide smile, the way he wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her on the mouth before they parted.

Serena's phone rang and she slipped it out of her pocket.

“I'm standing in the most beautiful spot on the Côte d'Azur, thinking about you,” Serena said when Chase's name scrolled across the screen.

“I miss you so much; I saw the most stunning roses at Podesta Baldocchi and I have no one to give them to.” Chase's voice was tight. “I tried calling you last night; I couldn't sleep. I woke up at five
A.M.
and jogged to the top of Potrero Hill.”

“Is something wrong?” Serena asked.

“I'm not sure,” Chase said slowly. “It's about your father.”

“My father,” Serena said, clutching the railing. Charles had had a minor heart attack during his last term as senator. Since he retired he exercised every day and ate lean meats and fresh fruits and vegetables.

“My friend Cory called me,” Chase continued. “He works at the
Chronicle
. He received an anonymous letter saying that your father had a secret second family. He promised he called me first; he hasn't shown it to anyone.”

Serena tried to focus, but the Mediterranean became a blur and the yachts sparkled like shining daggers. She sucked in air, feeling it fill her lungs like a hot air balloon.

“Women used to write my father letters all the time when he was in Congress,” Serena said, trying to keep her voice steady. “They wanted money or their fifteen minutes of fame.”

“The letter was postmarked from France. Apparently the sender accused your father of keeping a mistress and two children while he was consul general in Paris,” Chase continued. “If he doesn't acknowledge them, she'll write to every newspaper in the country.”

“That's ridiculous!” Serena exclaimed. “We lived in Paris fifteen years ago. Have you seen the letter?”

“I'm going to Cory's office.” Chase's voice was flat. “I'll read it myself.”

“It's probably written on some old typewriter with all the
P
s missing,” Serena said lightly. “With instructions on where to leave a stack of unmarked hundred-dollar bills.”

“Try not to worry, I'm sure it's nothing,” Chase agreed. “But we should hold off announcing our engagement until I get to the bottom of it.”

“What did you say?” Serena demanded.

“I'm about to announce my candidacy,” Chase continued. “I can't have a breath of scandal.”

“My mother is sending out the invitations to the engagement party,” Serena replied. “She booked Harry Denton's Orchestra and McCalls Catering.”

“We'll have the engagement party when this blows over,” Chase said soothingly. “We need to keep it under wraps for now. Your parents will understand, they were in politics for thirty years.”

Serena felt an icy chill fill her veins. “They might understand, but I don't.”

“We don't want to call attention to us and embarrass your family,” Chase replied. “I'm doing this for us. Trust me; I'll take care of it.”

Serena hung up and watched the seagulls peck at the sand. She wished she were in San Francisco, eating breakfast with Chase at Betelnut. She pictured fluffy egg-white omelets and strong black coffee. She and Chase would drive up to her parents' house and they would all laugh about the letter.

When Charles was young he was very handsome, with Serena's blond hair and bright green eyes. He often received fan mail from women who'd seen his picture in the paper. Sometimes he was photographed hugging striking actresses or models at political fund-raisers.

But Charles was devoted to his wife. Serena couldn't count the number of times she'd heard the story of how they met. They were both students at UC Berkeley in the 1970s. Charles was sitting in a tree protesting nuclear power, and Kate was lying on the grass reading a copy of
Fear of Flying
.

“I toppled out of the tree right onto Kate's backpack,” Charles would say at a dinner party. “Luckily she carried all of her belongings in that thing—a sweater, textbooks, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“He ruined my sandwich.” Kate would smile, smoothing her hair with her hands.

“I had to invite her to lunch,” Charles would say, nodding. “It cost me a week's salary.”

“How could lunch cost a week's salary?” one of the guests would ask.

Charles would take Kate's hands in his and look into her eyes. “She was so beautiful, I knew I only had one chance to make an impression. We took BART to San Francisco and ate at Ernie's. Filet mignon and roasted potatoes and strawberry pavlova for dessert.”

*   *   *

Serena twisted her ponytail, blinking back sudden tears. She turned over her phone and dialed her parents' home number.

“Daddy,” she said when Charles answered. “Have you seen Chase?”

“He came over yesterday morning,” Charles replied. “We put together a press release; he's going to be the strongest candidate this city has seen in decades.”

“Have you talked to him today?” Serena asked.

“I've been on the boat all day. The weather is spectacular, not a hint of fog on the bay,” her father said. “Is everything all right? You sound alarmed.”

“Chase said his friend at the
Chronicle
received a letter saying you had a secret second family in France,” Serena blurted out.

“In France!” Charles exclaimed.

“She threatened to contact every newspaper in America.” Serena tightened the grip on her phone.

“Serena,” Charles said quietly. “You know that's crazy.”

“Of course it's crazy.” Serena felt the trapped air leave her lungs. “But Chase said we shouldn't announce our engagement until he figures out what's going on.”

Charles was silent and Serena thought they had lost the connection. She was about to call him back when his voice came over the phone. “Chase is being prudent; he's a smart guy.”

“How can you say that?” Serena's voice rose. “You're talking about our marriage.”

“Politics can get messy,” Charles replied. “He'll sort this out and it'll disappear. Let's not worry until there's something to worry about.”

*   *   *

Serena kicked off her running shoes and stepped barefoot onto the dock. She didn't know if she was angrier that Chase would suggest postponing the announcement of their engagement or that her father agreed with him. She pictured the two men she loved most—Chase with his wavy blond hair and long thick lashes, her father with his tan leathery cheeks—and tried to stop her heart from thudding in her chest.

Serena walked briskly along the dock, replaying the conversation with her father. He had barely seemed concerned, as if she were reporting a sudden squall that might interrupt a day's sailing.

She remembered interviewing Heidi Klum, just before she split up with Seal. It was Serena's first celebrity interview and she was so nervous she could barely hold her pen.

“A tabloid reported you were holding hands with your bodyguard on a beach in Saint Croix,” Serena stuttered.

Heidi plucked a green grape from the platter of fresh fruits and cheeses and shrugged. “That's crazy, I've never been to Saint Croix!”

Serena remembered writing the feature on how Heidi combined her thriving career with a happy family life and Chelsea calling her into her office and throwing a copy of
People
magazine on her desk.

“You're telling our readers Heidi wins the mother of the year award, and
People
says she's fucking her bodyguard,” Chelsea said, gritting her teeth.

Serena remembered slinking back to her office and replaying the interview, trying to figure out what she had missed, which words didn't ring true.

*   *   *

Serena jumped onto the beach, digging her feet into the sand. Her mother and father were like matching bookends; they both loved the symphony and James Patterson novels and Belgian chocolate. They walked up to bed at the same time and read the paper aloud to each other on Sundays.

Her father despised politicians who took advantage of their power. He turned off the television whenever he heard John Edwards apologizing for his affair, and disdained David Petraeus and Anthony Weiner. Serena had heard him remark he admired President Clinton's foreign policy but still had trouble shaking his hand.

*   *   *

Serena turned around and ran quickly back to the dock. She wasn't going to let an anonymous letter ruin her day. She'd go back to the suite and eat whole wheat toast and one perfectly poached egg. She'd shower and put on a sundress and explore the Rue Meynadier with Zoe. In the evening Chase would call and say everything was fine. They'd talk about the mayor's race and their engagement and how much they missed each other.

“Excusez-moi! Arrêtez, s'il vous plaît,”
a male voice called out.

Serena turned around and saw a man with dark curly hair. He wore a white T-shirt and navy shorts and scuffed leather boat shoes.

“Can I help you?” Serena asked.

“Are you all right?” the man asked in English. “You looked like you were being chased by pirates.”

Serena smoothed her hair and tried to calm her breathing. “I'm fine, I just realized I was late.”

“Nobody in Cannes worries about time,” the man said, leaning against the railing. His arms were tan and he had a thick chest and slender calves. “Even the fishermen aren't in a hurry, they know there will be more fish tomorrow.”

“Well, I am late,” Serena said, and walked away. Zoe had warned her about locals who tried to capitalize on tourists. He was probably trying to sell waterskiing lessons or hot air balloon rides.

“Wait!” The man ran in front of her, blocking the dock.

“I'll call hotel security if I have to,” Serena warned.

The man held out his hand. “You dropped your phone.”

Serena took the phone and slipped it in her pocket. She ran down the promenade, past the waiters opening umbrellas at the outdoor cafés, past the salesgirls arranging displays in the boutique windows, not stopping until she entered the revolving glass doors of the Carlton-InterContinental.

 

chapter five

Serena touched her hair and knocked on the door of the Sophia Loren Suite. She wore a navy-and-white Chloé dress with white sandals. Her ponytail was tied with a silver ribbon and she wore a silver Tiffany heart around her neck. She was freshly showered and her wrists smelled of Givenchy.

When Serena had arrived in the Cary Grant Suite she found a note from Zoe saying she had decided to go on a day trip to Mougins. She hoped they could go dancing tonight at Charly's or Bâoli. Zoe signed the ivory notepaper with a line of smiley faces.

Serena had been too tired and hungry to wonder why Zoe decided not to go shopping. She put blueberry muffins and sliced peaches on a plate and sat on the balcony. Suddenly she remembered her conversation with Chase and her father and started shaking. She left the plate on the chaise lounge and climbed into bed, pulling the feather comforter over her head.