I'll See You in Paris (37 page)

“Oh.”

Annie frowned. So much for that fantasy.

“Miss her like hell,” Jamie said. “But she didn't make me accompany her, thank heavens. Bloody awful people, those parents of hers. Extraordinary that they produced such a primo child. So what do you say? Meal for two, made by yours truly?”

“If you're sure…”

Annie was hungry, famished even. She'd have to eat at some point. Maybe it'd slow the spin of her brain.

“Bien sûr!”
Jamie said. “Of course I'm sure. You'd be doing me a favor. Will you be all right alone for a spell?”

“Yes, of course,” Annie said, thinking of the tapes in her backpack. “I have some work to catch up on. So I'll be just fine.”

“Brilliant. Well, young lady, I shall return. I look forward to a delicious meal and an even more delectable chat. Sounds as though my brother's not talking so I will fill in the gaps. And, believe me, I have plenty to say.”

 

Sixty-six

ÎLE SAINT-LOUIS

PARIS

NOVEMBER 2001

The moment Annie heard the creak of the door she snapped a cassette into the player. It was a tape from the desk drawer at the Grange, freshly repaired by a grumpy man from a clock shop.

With a thundering heart and the shakiest of hands, Annie swallowed hard and hit Play.

FROM THE RECORDINGS FOUND AT THE GRANGE

A voice, male:
This is a first interview conducted by writer Win Seton.

A voice, female:
Also, the last.

Male:
We'll see about that. I have with me the lovely and talented Pru Valentine.

Female:
Laurel Innamorati. Let's get our facts straight.

Male:
Yes, okay. No aliases. I am here with Miss Innamorati at a decayed estate in the derelict hamlet of Chacombe. The last time we were in this location a grievous injustice was committed. Miss Innamorati, how does it feel to return to the scene of the crime?

Female:
Interesting question. Now that you mention it, I am a touch sick to my stomach.

Male:
The interviewer will assume it's not the company making you ill.

Female:
Feel free to assume what you wish. It won't make you right.

Male:
Why do you think your stomach is upset? Is it due to “fear” perhaps?

Female:
Yes. I am worried I'll fall victim a second time.

Male:
Lightning doesn't strike twice.

Female:
Actually, it often does. I'm quite afraid I'm in a great amount of moral danger.

Male:
You mean mortal.

Female:
No, I mean moral.

Male:
Tell me, what happened the last time you were at the Grange?

Female:
I encountered a suspicious character. He called himself a writer.

Male:
Suspicious indeed.

Female:
This so-called writer, he started out as your basic prowler. Then he ingratiated himself to the woman of the manor. He secured free room and board to boot.

Male:
A real swindler sounds like.

Female:
If you're being generous. Anyway, he tried to befriend the woman's guileless, wide-eyed assistant.

Male:
Wide-eyed! Ha!

Female:
The girl didn't know what she was getting herself into, being sweet and innocent as a lamb.

Male:
Now I think
I'm
getting sick.

Female:
Within days, the writer began weaving a web of lies and wickedness around her.

Male:
Sounds wretched! Don't tell me this man is permitted to freely roam the streets?

Female:
He's free as a bird. This known confidence trickster duped the poor girl into a friendship and then …

Male:
Yes, Miss Innamorati?

Female:
Oh, it's too horrible to go on!

Male:
But you have to! I insist upon it!

Female:
Well, this con man bamboozled me into falling, GULP, in love with him.

Male:
No! You're the conned girl!

Female:
I am.

Male:
Please, I must know more details. How did it all start?

Female:
In this very room, less than a fortnight ago, I told him the truth.

Male:
Which was?

Female:
That I loved him.

Male:
Sounds like a very bad decision.

Female:
The worst. But it was and is true and so I had to say it. Even though he is an unclean, unshaven, uncouth cad of a man, I love him. I told him this and then he committed a grievous crime against humanity.

Male:
Which was? I'm almost afraid to hear it.

Female:
He did not return the sentiment.

Male:
What? But you're so beautiful! Utterly enchanting!

Female:
I know! And, what's more, he committed this crime in broad daylight, in front of witnesses.

Male:
Dear God. Witnesses? And no one did anything?

Female:
Not a soul.

Male:
The man must've lost the plot. Tell me, what happened next?

Female:
Well, we went to Paris.

Male:
You and he? Together?

Female:
Yes. And a third person too.

Male:
You traveled abroad, voluntarily, with a hardened criminal?

Female:
There were extenuating circumstances. We had to help a friend. It was an emergency.

Male:
Oh dear, I hope your friend is okay.

Female:
Yes, she's fine. She will be anyhow.

Male:
What happened after you got to Paris?

Female:
Well, this man, he continued his crime even as we cavorted—

Male:
Cavorted!

Female:
As we cavorted throughout the city.

Male:
Did you cavort any other places besides?

Female:
I'm not going to dignify that with an answer. What I mean is we dined in caf
é
s, strolled through the quiet, cold gardens, spent hours gazing at da Vincis and Rodins.

Male:
Sounds splendid. “Where we are would be Paradise to me, if you would only make it so.”

Female:
Wharton?

Male:
Hardy. Well, surely after all this so-called cavorting the man finally rectified his crime and declared his love in return.

Female:
He did not!

Male:
I'm gobsmacked! How can that be?

Female:
Truth be told, he's a bit of a cheese weasel.

Male:
What now?

Female:
A cheese weasel. An idiot. I also believe the man is slow. Socially and mentally. He doesn't recognize what love is, even when it's knocked him upside the head.

Male:
And you yourself are an arbiter of the feeling?

Female:
Well, if I'm wrong then the only other explanation is that he didn't say it because he doesn't feel it.

[
Long pause
]

Male:
Ah hell, Pru, you know—

Female:
Laurel! No aliases.

Male:
Fuck. [
Pause
] Well, in regard to the writer's feelings, you are well aware that the two of you are of the same mind. I don't need to tell you.

Female:
Yes. You do. That's how this works.

Male:
But you already KNOW it, being a wise woman with vast experience in love.

Female:
Not vast. Very limited, honestly. I thought I knew love—before—but this is something else.

[
Long pause
]

Female:
You know, this is an awfully elaborate apology, Mr. Seton. Or are you not planning to apologize at all?

Male:
I have, I believe?

Female:
You're a shit, you know that? You put me through all of this back-and-forth, saying you wanted it recorded. And for what? You're not even going to say it?

Male:
Pru …

Female:
No. Screw this. Turn off the tape. You act playful but it's only because you can't … you can't … you can't have real feelings!

Male:
I have many feelings. Every day even. But I'm a Brit. We'd rather not express them.

Female:
You have big-time problems, Seton. Big. Time.

Male:
I agree. My problems are many and they are big. The greatest of them is that I do love you, Laurel Innamorati, my Valentine. I love you more than I can satisfactorily say, which is why I haven't been able to say it. Love. It feels so … insipid, wishy-washy. I want a better way to tell you.

Female:
Just tell me the real way. Like a normal person.

Male:
I love you, Laurel.

Female:
I love you too. Now turn off the damned tape.

 

Sixty-seven

ÎLE SAINT-LOUIS

PARIS

NOVEMBER 2001

Dead air ran for several minutes.

When Annie was sure she'd heard everything, she turned off the tape, then swapped it with one of Gus's recordings. Her eyes were wet but she had a smile on her face. That was her mom, on the tape, professing her love to a man.

A man who sounded an awful lot like Gus.

Annie stood. She peered out the kitchen window toward the street. No sign of Jamie so far. After wiping her eyes with the hem of her shirt, Annie sat back down and, once again, she pressed Play.

 

Sixty-eight

ÎLE SAINT-LOUIS

PARIS

FEBRUARY 1973

“This place isn't half bad,” Mrs. Spencer said as she promenaded through the front door like the duchess she was. “It'll do quite well in fact.”

She shucked off her sable coat and handed it to Win.

Back in Banbury, Mrs. Spencer stuck with dirty trousers and her ever-present threadbare button-down shirt, when she actually wore a shirt. But her appearance was decidedly less ragtag when donning what she called “traveling attire.”

In addition to the sable, the century-old debutante wore a peach-colored chemise and was thoroughly decked out in jewels. It must've been what Evelyn Waugh meant when he called her “very battered with fine diamonds.” She'd even gone to the trouble of a wig, which hung off the back of her head like an inquisitive but friendly raccoon.

“Welcome to Maison Seton,” Win said. “I'm glad you find the accommodations acceptable. Young James! We're here!”

A pair of feet clopped down the long parquet hallway. Soon a tall and gangly man appeared. To Pru he seemed comprised mainly of dark ringlets and nose. Win tried to remember this, the schnoz, whenever he felt inadequate, though he had to admit Jamie possessed a certain beatnik allure that drove girls bonkers. He was probably the very kind of bloke Pru preferred after her stint at Berkeley.

“Hello!” Jamie said, grinning.

In addition to the nose and curls, he was also made of teeth. Jamie was so different from Win who tended toward clean-cut and brawny, his smiles mostly closemouthed.

“You must be the dazzling Gladys Deacon.” Jamie took Mrs. Spencer's hand and kissed it. “Oh Lord, you give your former husband's family a decent name. They should thank the heavens for you. How old are you now, Lady Marlborough? Have you even reached fifty yet?”

“She goes by Deacon, mate,” Win said. “Or Spencer.”

“This lovely man can call me whatever he pleases!” Mrs. Spencer sang as she danced down the hallway.

Win and Pru rolled their eyes in harmony.

“And you must be Pru,” Jamie said and kissed her on each cheek. “I'm James. Jamie. The preferable of the Seton brothers.”

“Her real name is Laurel,” Win said, voice coming out like jelly. He did not like his pet name being manhandled by his little brother.

“Righto. Well, old chum.” Jamie pounded him on the back. “I'm tickled to see you. Thought you might end up staying in Banbury forever. Alas, the favored son has returned. I suppose you want the flat back.”

“Favored?” Pru couldn't help but blurt, Win still mostly in her bad graces. “That's a scary thought and doesn't speak very well to your own attributes, James. No offense.”

Jamie chuckled. Mrs. Spencer heard the merriment and wandered back down the hall.

“You are a very perceptive young woman,” Jamie said. “And I'm pleased to know you've not bought any of the rubbish my brother, the venerable Lord Winton, has undoubtedly tossed your way.”

“
Lord
Winton?” Mrs. Spencer said. “What do you mean by that?”

“My brother has a title, dontcha know?”

Mrs. Spencer turned to Win, then bopped him in the chest with a panther-hair clutch.

“Of course I didn't know!” Mrs. Spencer said.

“Well, well, well.” Jamie whistled through his teeth. “I'm aghast. Usually our lordship doesn't let an hour pass without reminding someone. I'm surprised he doesn't have it embroidered on his shirt. Ladies and ladies, before us stands a bona fide earl.”

“No!” Pru said. Her jaw fell open.

“Yes, indeedy. The Right Honorable Earl Jerome Casper Augustine Seton of Winton, hence the deplorable nickname Win. Ironic, isn't it? Like a three-legged dog named Lucky.”

“Aw, sod off,” Win said, smiling. “You jealous bastard.”