Magic (4 page)

“Maybe you should go home,” he said quietly. “That might be better than waiting for news in a hotel room, on your own. It might take a while for things to calm down. You can't sort it out right now.” Everything he said was sensible, and she wondered if he was right. This was Gregorio's drama to deal with, not hers, at least not now. First, he had to see if the babies would survive. Afterward, they'd figure out the rest, and what would happen to their marriage.

“I think you're right,” she said sadly. “The whole thing has been so awful. And everybody knows. It's been all over the papers in Italy. The paparazzi have taken pictures of her every day since she moved to Rome. He's never gotten as deeply involved as this before, and as publicly,” she said, trying to be loyal to Gregorio, although she could no longer figure out why. “I think I'll go back to Milan.”

“Do you have people to support you there?” he asked, worried about her, and she nodded.

“My family, and his. Everyone is angry at him for being in this mess. And so am I.” She looked at Dharam with all the sorrows of the world in her eyes and he nodded, relieved to hear that she wouldn't be alone when she got home.

“That's hardly surprising. It sounds as though you've been very patient about it, if you're here with him.”

“I thought it would blow over, but it hasn't. At least not yet, and now with all the drama of the babies being premature, and gravely at risk, I don't see it getting better anytime soon. I feel sorry for him, but I feel sorry for me too,” she said honestly, and he nodded again.

“It sounds like things are going to be rough for a while,” Dharam agreed with her. “May I call you to see how you are, just as a friend? I want to know that you're all right.”

“Thank you.” She was mortally embarrassed to tell him her troubles, but he was a compassionate person. “I'm sorry to tell you all this awful stuff. It's not a pretty story.”

“No, but it's real life,” he said, sympathetic but not shocked. “People get themselves into terrible situations sometimes. My wife left me for another man fifteen years ago, it was all over the press. He was a well-known Indian actor. Everyone was horrified, and I hated having my private life in the papers. Eventually it all calms down and people forget. We all lived through it. My children stayed with me, and we were fine. At the time, I thought it would kill me, but it didn't.” He smiled at her. “You'd be surprised what you can endure. This will sort itself out in time. You'll survive it. Does he say he's going to marry her?”

“He says not,” Benedetta answered quietly, feeling better after talking to him. She was glad she had run into him in the lobby, although it was humiliating telling a stranger her problems, but he was very kind and reassuring about it. It helped her get perspective. “I think it was just a casual affair that got out of hand. And now he's in deep waters.”

“I'd say so,” Dharam said wryly, and Benedetta smiled. An hour before, she couldn't have imagined smiling, but it was better than sobbing in her hotel room. Dharam had a calm, protective presence as he thought about her situation. She was an innocent victim in the story, as he had been in his divorce. And he wondered if it would come to that for her, or if she'd forgive Gregorio. She had obviously put up with his other infidelities, from what she said. But the current drama was extreme.

They walked slowly back to the hotel then, and he said he was leaving for London the next morning, and going back to Delhi a few days later. “Let me know what you do,” he said when they were back in the lobby of the George V, with a profusion of pink and purple orchids around them. The hotel was known for its spectacular floral displays by their famous American designer. “I'd like to know if you go back to Milan.” She nodded and thanked him for his kindness and apologized again for burdening him with her troubles.

“That's what friends are for, even new ones,” he said with a warm look in his eyes. “Call me if I can do anything to help you.” He handed her his card with all his contact numbers on it, and she thanked him again and slipped it into her pocket. He had dinner plans that night or he would have offered to take her to dinner, but he suspected she was too distraught to eat or go to a restaurant. He gave her a gentle hug a few minutes later when he left her, and she went back upstairs, and he went outside to the car waiting to take him to dinner. He thought about her all the way to the restaurant. He felt desperately sorry for her. She was a nice woman and didn't deserve what was happening to her. He hoped it would all work out the way she wanted. And he was very glad to have met her the night before.

When Benedetta got back to her room, she lay down on the bed, and Gregorio called her a few minutes later. He sounded anxious and rushed and said he couldn't talk long. He told her the babies were still in distress but alive, and Anya was hysterical. He said there was no way he could come back to the hotel that night. He was in a life-and-death situation, with the babies hanging on by a thread. Benedetta closed her eyes as she listened. She had never heard him sound that way before. All he could talk about or think of now were the babies, he had no time or compassion for her.

“I think I'll go back to Milan in the morning. There's no point in my sitting here waiting to hear from you.” She sounded sad but calmer than he had expected. He couldn't have dealt with her losing control too. At least she was being sensible, which was how he interpreted what she said to him, and her tone. He had no idea how panicked she was feeling too when Gregorio said he didn't know how he could leave Anya and the babies in Paris, and for now he didn't want to. It was out of the question. And Benedetta realized that he might be there for a long time, given what was happening. The doctors had said that if the twins survived, they would be in the hospital for at least three months, until their due date. And she didn't want to ask him now if he intended to stay there too.

“I'll call you and tell you what's happening here,” he said in a somber tone. He was relieved to know that she was going home. It was too stressful to have her waiting for him at the hotel. He didn't want to have to worry about her too. “I'm sorry, Benedetta, I never expected it to turn out like this.” She didn't know how to answer him. It shouldn't have been happening at all, but now that it was, they just had to ride the wave and see where it took them. It was hard to believe that things would ever be the same again between them, but she wasn't sure he understood that yet. All he could think of was Anya and their two babies in their incubators. He wasn't thinking of Benedetta at all.

After they hung up, Benedetta packed her suitcase and finally ordered something to eat from room service. She hadn't eaten all day, and she ordered a salad, and made her reservation for her flight back to Milan the next day. The concierge asked if Mr. Mariani would be flying with her, and she told him he wasn't.

She was up at six o'clock the next morning, and left the hotel by eight. She thought about calling Dharam to tell him, but it was too early. She sent him a text message instead, and thanked him again for his kindness to her the day before. And as the car and driver took her to the airport, she thought of Gregorio at the hospital, and wondered what was happening. She knew she couldn't call.

The babies survived the night, and Gregorio had slept in a chair next to their incubators. He had fallen instantly in love with two tiny beings, and all he could do now was pray that they would live. He was suddenly a father, and his heart had never been so full of love and pain at the same time. Their well-being was all that mattered to him now. And as he watched them, tears of joy and sorrow rolled down his cheeks. He and Anya sat with them for hours, holding hands, and for the first time, he realized he was in love with her, and he hadn't felt that way before. She had given him the greatest gift of all. It was something he and Benedetta had never shared. She was suddenly part of another life. His heart and children were here now. And Anya had been transformed into a new role in his life, a sacred one to him. She was the mother of his children. It transformed her from a young woman he had been involved with casually to one of dignity and vital importance. And as he looked at her, he saw someone completely different than the girl she had been before. Overnight they had become bonded to each other, as devastated parents praying for the survival of their children. Anya fell asleep that night sitting next to him, in the hum of the incubators and the beeping of the monitors, and with Anya's head on his shoulder, the last thing on his mind was Benedetta. For now at least, in the universe of love and terror he had been catapulted into, his wife had ceased to exist. Anya was his partner now, the mother of his twins.

A
s he had promised he would, Jean-Philippe called Chantal the morning after the White Dinner. He had been busy with his guests the night before, and had had very little time to talk to her. As always, he had wanted to make sure everyone was having fun and the evening was going well for them, and he had been concerned about Benedetta as soon as he realized that Gregorio had left, which he thought rude of him. But fortunately, Dharam had taken her under his wing and even danced with her, and she seemed to have a good time anyway. Jean-Philippe always worried about his guests, and wanted to be sure they were all well taken care of. And he had seen Chantal greet several people she knew at the other tables, and others had dropped by to see her. He had hoped that Dharam would be attracted to her since he was such an interesting, kind person and he thought they'd like each other, but his Indian friend seemed far more drawn to Benedetta. Chantal didn't seem to mind, and had no romantic interest in him. Those things were always hard to predict, but Jean-Philippe had set the stage for them as best he could. The electricity that happened between men and women was ephemeral and elusive, and either it happened or it didn't.

“What a
wonderful
evening,” Chantal said enthusiastically the moment she heard him on the phone. “Thank you for including me. I thought it was the best one ever. The lanterns at the end made it even more special, they were magical. It was nice of those people to share them with us.” He heartily agreed, and then commented on Gregorio's early disappearance.

“It must have been something about that girl he's involved with. I didn't want to ask Benedetta about it. She's crazy to put up with it. Valerie says there's been a lot of talk about it in the fashion press. It sounds like this time he's really done it.”

“Do you suppose he'll leave Benedetta for her?” Chantal asked, feeling sorry for her.

“I would think it would be rather the reverse. Maybe she'll leave him. He's hardly been exemplary before this. He's so damn charming, she puts up with it, and they have a major empire they've built together. But one of these days she may get tired of his affairs. I felt sorry for her last night. It's embarrassing for her to have him run off even before dinner. It was good of Dharam to step in.”

“He's a nice man,” Chantal agreed. She had enjoyed talking to him. He seemed brilliant, and very modest about his accomplishments. He had gone to MIT in the States and was a legend in his own country, according to Jean-Philippe.

“But he's not for you?” he asked her, getting straight to the point. He always hoped she would meet someone who would protect and take care of her. Her work was so solitary, and he knew how lonely she was at times now without her children. He would have loved to introduce her to the right man.

“I don't think either of us had any sparks for the other,” she said honestly, “but I'd love to see him again, as a friend. I'm probably too old for him.” He was strikingly handsome, and exotically elegant, as well as intelligent, and only a few years younger than she was. But no current had passed between them, and she had sensed that he felt that way too. He had seemed much more interested in Benedetta, or maybe he just felt sorry for her and was being chivalrous. Chantal wasn't sure. But he definitely hadn't been drawn to her as a woman, and he hadn't made her heart beat any faster either. But that had been Jean-Philippe's fantasy, not her own, so she wasn't disappointed. She didn't really expect to meet a man anymore. She was beginning to feel past that, and all the good men she knew were married. French men rarely divorced, even if they were unhappily married. In that case, they had discreet “arrangements” on the side, which didn't appeal to Chantal. She didn't particularly want a husband, and she emphatically didn't want someone else's. It was one of the reasons why other women liked her, she was a straightforward, honest, decent person.

“That's too bad about Dharam. He's such a great guy. If you ever go to India, he will introduce you to everyone. Valerie and I visited him in Delhi last year, and we had a fabulous time. Everybody loves him. He even has nice children the same ages as yours.” It was why he had thought they would be a good match, but fate had decided otherwise. There was obviously no chemistry between them. And they both knew that those things couldn't be planned or dictated. “So, are we on for lunch today? I need your advice.”

“About a new color for the living room, or something serious?” she teased him. They consulted each other about everything, and he valued her opinions. He had bounced many things off her over the dozen years of their friendship, even about marrying Valerie seven years before. Chantal had approved of her wholeheartedly, and still did. She thought they were a perfect couple, and they were very happily married. It had been the right decision.

“Serious,” he answered cryptically.

“Business or personal?” she inquired.

“I'll tell you at lunch. Same time, same place?” They had lunch together regularly, at least once a week, in the same simple bistro in the seventh arrondissement on the Left Bank, not far from her apartment. They had tried other restaurants over the years, but preferred this one.

“Perfect. See you there,” she confirmed.

He was already seated at their usual table on the terrace when she got there in a red sweater and jeans and the flat shoes the French called “ballerines,” inspired by ballet shoes. She looked pretty and fresh with her long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail with a red ribbon. He had come from the office, wearing a business suit, and had slipped his tie in his pocket. He ordered a steak and she a salad, and he ordered a glass of wine for each of them. He didn't always drink wine at lunch, and it telegraphed to her that he was worried and tense. She could see it in his eyes as they wended their way through small talk about Valerie and the children and the dinner the night before.

“So what's up?” she finally asked him, unable to stand the suspense. Sometimes he was very French and took a long time to get to the point, taking a circuitous route rather than a direct one. She had had lunch with him only five days before, and he had said nothing about needing her advice on a serious subject, so whatever had come up must have been very recent. He hesitated for a moment before he answered.

“I have a problem, or I'm about to. Business isn't going well, the economy is terrible. Half the countries in Europe are shaky, and no one is making big investments here. The French have been afraid to show wealth for years, because of the tax on large fortunes and personal wealth. They're investing abroad as much as possible, and hiding their net worth wherever they can. The last thing the French want to do is invest in France and expose themselves to higher taxes. They don't trust the government.”

“Are you getting fired?” She looked instantly worried for him. She knew that he did well at the investment firm where he worked, but he had no large personal fortune, and he had a wife and three children to support, and a very comfortable lifestyle. And she knew how generous he was with Valerie, and loved to buy her pretty things, live well, and take her on great vacations. The children were starting to go to private schools, and they had a beautiful apartment in the sixteenth arrondissement, the fanciest part of Paris. Losing his job now would be a major challenge and represent a serious change for them. Valerie had a great job at
Vogue,
but she made far less than he did, since magazines didn't pay nearly as well. They relied on his income to live. At thirty-nine and thirty-five, they had to make their own money to support their lifestyle, and he had.

“No, I'm not getting fired. But realistically, I'm never going to make more than I do right now, unless there is a major upturn in the economy, and that's not going to happen. Not for at least a decade. I can't complain, I make a very decent salary, but I'm never going to be able to put aside real money for my family, and everything is expensive. And let's face it, with three children, and a pleasant life, it all adds up. I just can't see myself ever getting ahead here. If anything, it will get more expensive as the kids grow up, but I don't see more coming in in the future unless I make a drastic change of some kind. I've been thinking about it for the past year, but I couldn't see a solution. Until now. Beware of what you wish for. I was offered an incredible job three days ago, with a fantastic chance to make some real money. The kind of money I can only dream of here.”

“What's the catch?” Chantal knew there always was one. And there had to be for him, or he wouldn't have looked as worried or wanted her advice. If it was a straight-across move to another firm offering him significantly more, they would have been celebrating, and he would have told her.

“I've had an offer from a very important venture capital firm. They have American partners, and they have been making a fortune. They'll give me an opportunity to participate, and there is some very major money to be made. The starting salary is fabulous, but the participation they're offering is even more attractive. It's just what I need, if I'm ever going to make real money to support my family into the future. It's a golden opportunity.” But he was tense as the waiter set their food down and walked away, as Chantal waited to hear what was stopping him.

“Why are we not ordering champagne to celebrate this?” she asked him, as he glanced at her miserably.

“It's in China. That's where the big money is being made these days. They want me to move to Beijing for three to five years. It's not an easy place to live. I can't see Valerie wanting to take the children there. She's in love with Paris, and she loves her job here. It's a career for her, and she'll probably end up editor of French
Vogue
one day, but her job is never going to support us, and she knows that. A chance like this one doesn't come along every day, and if I turn this down, there may never be another. I may be pounding along for the next twenty years, trying to make ends meet and put money aside. If we go to Beijing, I could make money and secure our future. I think she'll hate me if we go, and she'd have to give up her career. And I'm going to have a hard time swallowing it if she deprives me, and us, of this opportunity. It's a terrible situation,” he said, looking mournful. Chantal thought carefully about what he'd said. It was not going to be an easy decision, and she agreed with him that Valerie would be upset. She would have to give up her career for his. And she couldn't put it on hold for three to five years. Someone else would take her place. Competition at fashion magazines was stiff.

“Have you asked her?” Chantal inquired quietly, trying to weigh all the pros and cons in her head. But if he was trying to make money, and needed to for his family, the pros in favor of China won out hands down.

“They just called me three days ago, and I met with them yesterday. Their American partners were in town, and last night was the White Dinner. I didn't have time to sit down and talk to her about it before last night. But I have to tell her very quickly. They want to know in the next few weeks, and they want me there by September.” He told Chantal the name of the firm, and she was impressed, and by the Americans they were allied with. It was a bona-fide offer from an important group.

“When are you going to tell her?”

“Tonight. Tomorrow. Soon. Chantal, what do you think I should do?”

“Wow,” she said softly, meeting his eyes as she sat back in her chair and stopped eating. “That's a tough one. Someone is going to lose here, or it's going to look that way. You or her in the immediate, or all of you in the long run if you turn down the offer.”

“I don't see how I can,” he said honestly, “but what if she won't do it? What if she leaves me?” He looked panicked as he said it, and Chantal felt sorry for him. Why was there always a downside to a golden opportunity? Nothing was ever simple, not when there were big bucks attached. And Beijing was going to be the rub here. Chantal couldn't see Valerie making the move easily, or even willingly. He would have to drag her kicking and screaming to Beijing, or she might refuse to go and give up her own career, even if it was less lucrative than his. It meant a lot to her, and she had worked in fashion, and for
Vogue,
in two countries for more than a dozen years, ever since college. That was a great deal for her to give up. But so was the job he'd been offered.

“She's not going to leave you. She loves you.” Chantal tried to reassure him. “But she'll be upset.” She couldn't deny that, and they both knew it. “And you can't blame her. She works hard at
Vogue,
and the big job she wants is in sight now, when the Paris editor-in-chief retires. Could you go to Beijing for a shorter time? A year or two maybe, not three to five?” That was a long time to commit for, and he shook his head in answer.

“I might be able to limit it to three, initially at least, but no less than that. They want me to head up the Beijing office. The guy they have there now is leaving. He's been there for four years and opened the office for them.”

“Do you know why he's leaving?”

“His wife hates it there. She moved back to the States a year ago,” Jean-Philippe said ruefully, and then they both laughed.

“Well, that tells us what we need to know, doesn't it?” Chantal said, smiling at him. “I think if you do it, you just have to know it won't be easy, but it's worth it for a limited amount of time, to achieve your goals. Sometimes we have to do something unpleasant to get where we want to go. It's a good career move for you. Valerie will understand that too.” But she also knew, as he did, that Valerie couldn't walk out on her job and come back to it three or four years later. By then, another senior editor would be in place, and she wouldn't be it. And she had waited a long time for that.