Magic (9 page)

“I don't like spicy food,” he concurred. “I'll figure it out. I'll pick you up at eight-thirty, and you don't have to get too dressed up. I love bistro food.”

“So do I.” She was pleased. She hated wearing fancy dresses and high heels. She loved casual evenings with friends.

He picked her up as promised, at eight-thirty, and she had compromised. She wore jeans and high heels, and a cashmere sweater the color of her eyes, with a blazer in case it got chilly. And he was wearing jeans too, with brown suede shoes, which she always liked. She thought they looked sexy on men.

They drove to the restaurant in his car, which was an old MG he loved, with the steering wheel on the British side. She admired his car, and he was pleased, as they drove with the top down on the warm night. He headed for the Right Bank to a restaurant she didn't know, with a pretty garden and a terrace. And when they ordered, the food was good. It was typical French bistro fare, and the atmosphere was friendly and relaxed.

He told her what he'd been doing in Zurich, without revealing any of his client's secrets, and he asked if she'd ever been to the Basel Art Fair. When she said she hadn't, he said they'd have to go sometime. “It's an amazing event, with some fabulous art. Mostly work by major artists, but a few unknowns. I have several clients who show there, although one of them only designs for video games now.” His work sounded like fun to her, and he asked about the script she was working on, and she explained it to him in detail, as she thought about how nice it was to have someone to talk to about her work and have dinner with. He was impressed by the subjects she wrote about, both for her dramatic screenplays and documentaries. And he liked the sound of her current story about the female survivors in the concentration camp. She was nearly halfway through, and had been working on it for months. And when he suggested they go to the FIAC art fair in Paris in the fall, she couldn't resist asking him what he was doing with a woman her age. She was mystified by that, unless he wanted to be friends. It made no sense to her that a man as interesting and attractive as he was would want to hang out with someone seventeen years older, when any girl his age would have been thrilled to go out with him, as lover or friend. She and Jean-Philippe had a friendship that spanned sixteen years, but there was a very different feeling to the way Xavier spoke to her, and he made it seem as though he liked her as a woman, not just as a friend.

“What does age have to do with anything?” He looked puzzled when she asked. “You're beautiful and interesting and fun to talk to, and intelligent.” He smiled at her. “That's all I care about. And with any luck, you won't be hounding me about babies. You've already got three.”

“There's a plus.” She laughed at what he said. “And they've already left home, so you don't have to deal with them.”

“Neither do you, another plus. You have time for me, I hope.” She had plenty of time, and room in her life for a man, although she had stopped hoping to meet someone, and had never dated anyone his age.

“Are you serious about going out with me? You really don't care how old I am?” She found it hard to believe.

“You're not geriatric, for God's sake. Age is just a number to me. You could be thirty and bore the hell out of me, or twenty-five. You're a fantastic, sexy, talented woman, Chantal. I'm lucky you're willing to have dinner with me.” And she could see that he really felt that way. It boosted her ego immeasurably as they laughed their way through dinner and had a great time together. They drove back to her apartment after that. And he took her out again that weekend. They walked through the Tuileries, had dinner in the garden at Costes, and went to a movie afterward. It was another terrific evening, and she told Jean-Philippe about him when they had lunch. She explained that he was the man who had provided them all with the Chinese lanterns at the White Dinner.

“I remember him, he seemed like a cool guy. Well, aren't you a sneaky devil.” He smiled at her. “When did that start? That night? You never said anything about it when we had lunch the next day.”

“I ran into him a couple times, at the Bon Marché and at the airport when I came back from Berlin. He helped me with my bag, and then told me we were destined to get to know each other since we had met three times.”

“Who knows? Maybe he's right.” He was pleased for her—she seemed to be having fun with him.

“I'm nervous about him,” she confessed to her friend. “He's seventeen years younger than I am. That seems like a lot. He doesn't seem to care, but if I ever take him seriously, sooner or later he'll run into some girl his age or younger, and I'll be out on my ear.”

“Maybe not,” Jean-Philippe said seriously. “Who can tell what relationships work? My marriage appears to be falling apart at the moment, and look at the mess Gregorio made of his life after twenty years. Valerie heard that Benedetta is filing for divorce.”

“I don't blame her,” Chantal said honestly. “I think he crossed too many lines too often, particularly this last time.”

“The rumor is she's kicking him out of the business. I think she's right on that too. You can't run a business with a guy who left you for another woman and who you divorced. That would be crazy. But as far as relationships go, no one can predict what will happen in the end. Maybe this is the right guy for you, Chantal. Why not?”

“I can't compete with women his age.”

“You don't have to. He's dating you, not someone else.”

“For now,” she said cautiously. “What about you? Has Valerie made up her mind yet about Beijing?” He sighed when she asked, and Chantal could see he was strained. He seemed tired and unhappy and had lost weight.

“She said if I need an answer now, it's no. But she's not sure. I don't think she'll agree to go, though. I may have to do this on my own.” He was resigning himself to it, and she looked shocked.

“And leave Valerie and the children here?” He nodded. “That doesn't sound like a good idea to me. You're both too young to be separated for that long. One or both of you could get into mischief when you get lonely.” He had thought of that too, but he trusted Valerie, and he had never been unfaithful to her.

“I could come back every couple of months. We could try it for a year and see how it works. I don't want to give up this chance. It's the most important move of my career.”

“And she'll have a hard time alone here with three kids. Believe me, I've done it, but I had no other choice. She does.” And Jean-Philippe was a great father and very hands-on with their kids.

“I don't think she realizes yet how hard that would be. There are no good solutions to this if she won't come. And I don't think she'll give up her job at
Vogue.
She put too much into where she is now to just throw that away.”

“She may wind up throwing your marriage away if she doesn't.”

“I guess this is where we find out what her priorities are,” he said sadly, “and I don't think I'm top of that list. I'm public enemy number one right now, for risking her career. And I can't sacrifice mine for hers.” It was a terrible situation for both of them, and Chantal felt sorry for them. She hoped their marriage would survive, but it didn't sound like a sure thing by any means at the moment.

They talked about other things after that, and then Jean-Philippe had to go back to work, and she walked back to her apartment. She had to deliver several scenes of her screenplay to the producer the next day, and wanted to check them one last time before she scanned and sent them.

She had dinner with Xavier that night and thought about what Jean-Philippe had said about not worrying about the years between them. She wondered if he was right, and Xavier was certainly convincing. And that night he surprised her at dinner.

“I'm going to visit my brother in Corsica next week. He has a very pleasant house there, with several guest rooms. Could I talk you into coming with me? It's very relaxing, all we do is swim and fish and eat and lie in the sun. He's got two great kids and a terrific wife. You could have your own bedroom,” he said to entice her, and she smiled. They hadn't even kissed yet, and she wasn't sure they were going to. In her mind, the jury was still out as to whether she would sleep with him, or they would stay friends. And she didn't want to be pressured into a decision, so she was glad to know about the separate bedroom if she went to Corsica with him. And much to her surprise, it sounded very tempting.

“Would they mind having a stranger there?”

“Not at all,” Xavier said easily. “They're very easygoing people. I've brought friends before, and I think you'd like them, and they'd be crazy about you. Can I talk you into it?” She thought about it for a minute, remembering what Jean-Philippe had said, and decided to throw caution to the wind. She had nothing else to do, except finish the second half of her script, and she was well ahead of her deadline.

“I'd love it,” she said, smiling at him, and he leaned across the table and kissed her, which surprised her too. He was unpredictable, and she liked that. She never quite knew what to expect from him, and he was so bright he never bored her.

“Thank you,” he said, pleased, as he held her hand across the table.

“What for?” she said, startled.

“For trusting me. We'll have fun there,” he promised, and she knew they would. And whatever happened, she was looking forward to the vacation with him. Suddenly being on her own, and able to do whatever she wanted, didn't seem so bad. It gave her the chance to go to Corsica with him. She wondered what her children would think. But for once, she didn't care. She was a free woman, and he was a free man.

C
hantal and Xavier flew to Ajaccio Airport in Corsica and rented a car when they arrived. She offered to pay half of it, and he wouldn't let her. He was always chivalrous about paying when they went out. It was nice of him, and she smiled to herself as they put their suitcases in the trunk, and got into the small Peugeot. It had been years since she'd gone on holiday with a man, ten years since her last serious affair. Time had just slipped by her when no one had captivated her heart. And what surprised her most was that she hardly knew him. They had had dinner a few times, they had a good time together, and they had compatible philosophies about life. But a vacation? That was a big deal to her. It meant involvement and commitment, and in the past it had meant love. And now it was just a good time with a new friend, who one day might become more, or might not. She felt very carefree as they took off toward his brother's house.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked her as they left the airport. He had noticed the Cheshire cat grin on her face.

“Nothing. Everything. Us. It's been years since I went away with a man. I always went on vacations with my kids, and I never included the men I was dating at whatever time when I was. It never felt right to combine my romances with my children. They were used to having me by myself, and I was never sure enough about anyone to want to make an issue of it with my children.”

“And now?” He was interested in what she said. It was already obvious to him how much she loved her children, and how dedicated she had been to them, and still was. They lived somewhere else now, but they were still important to her. He wondered if she was as important to them, but he didn't want to ask.

“Now they think I'm a hundred years old,” she said, smiling at him, “and it never occurs to them that there might be a man in my life, or that I'd want one.”

“Do you?” he asked, turning to her as they stopped at a light.

“I don't know,” she said honestly. “I stopped thinking about it a while back. I just figured I'd always be alone. It's not what I wanted, but I accepted it. I stopped waiting for Prince Charming to come along. I stay busy with my work, and see my kids when I can. It's only two or three times a year for each of them, which isn't much, but they have full lives, and I don't want to intrude or impose on them.”

“And now here I am,” Xavier said, smiling at her, and she laughed. “I'm beginning to wonder what you wished on that lantern that night that conjured me up.” He hadn't expected to meet her either, and they seemed to have been thrown together by fate, an unexpected pairing, but one that appealed to both of them, and seemed to work so far, regardless of age. She blushed when he made the comment about the lantern. “Aha! Then I'm right. Maybe I was your wish!”

“Don't be silly.” She brushed it off, but he was closer to the truth than he knew. She had wished for someone to love, and who would love her, to share her life with. It had seemed like a silly wish at the time, but she figured she'd try it, it couldn't hurt. And then he'd appeared. In fact, he had been standing right next to her when she made the wish, and she hadn't meant him.

“Beware of what you wish for!” He teased her again as they rolled through the beautiful Corsican countryside, with its rugged natural landscape and vacation homes. It took them an hour to get to his brother's home, and they drove past orchards and a farm, with the sea in the distance, and then they stopped at a big rambling old house that looked like it had been added on to several times and needed a coat of paint. But the feeling it exuded was of welcome and warmth, and there were horses in a nearby pasture, which Xavier said belonged to the neighbor. It was a lovely place, and looked ideal for a relaxing vacation.

They walked in through the back door and found his brother Mathieu and sister-in-law Annick at the kitchen table. They were both wearing shorts since the weather was warm. The kids were out, and they were enjoying some quiet time together before heading to the beach. It was just after lunch, and there was evidence of a hearty French meal on the table. Mathieu rose to his feet immediately with a broad smile of welcome and hugged his brother and then shook hands with Chantal when they were introduced. Mathieu looked a good ten years older than his brother and was closer to Chantal's age, and Annick appeared to be somewhere in her late forties. Mathieu had been a jazz musician in his youth, and had gone into real estate finally and done well, and Annick worked for a publishing house, doing translations. Their home looked well worn and much loved, but was spacious and inviting. It was the kind of place that made you want to stay forever. Xavier had warned Chantal that the kids' friends would be there in great profusion. Mathieu and Annick enjoyed having people around them, and they offered Xavier and Chantal the remains of lunch when they sat down. They helped themselves to cold chicken, a Mediterranean salad, some bread and cheese, and a glass of wine. The vacation had begun.

“I'm going fishing. Do you want to come?” Mathieu asked him, hoping he would.

“Not yet. I want to show Chantal around first.”

“Have you been to Corsica before?” Mathieu asked her as Annick cleared some of the used plates off the table. They had obviously fed a dozen people at lunch at the long refectory table.

“Not in a long time.” She smiled at him as they ate the delicious lunch. “I came here with my kids when they were little. We chartered a small sailboat and had a great time.”

“Are you a sailor?” She nodded, and Xavier groaned.

“Don't tell my brother that. He'll have you out on his boat all day long. He uses guests as galley slaves. For every hour you spend on the boat, he has you swabbing the decks afterward for five. That boat is his mistress.”

“It's an old wooden boat from the forties,” he said proudly, “with teak decks. We use it a lot here.” Annick rolled her eyes at what he said, and they all laughed.

After lunch, Annick showed them to their rooms. She had given them rooms side by side, since Xavier had said Chantal would want her own, and she didn't know what the arrangement was between them and didn't ask. Her brother-in-law had brought assorted women to the house in Corsica before, some he was in love with, some not, some lovers, some friends. And neither Mathieu nor Annick seemed surprised that she was older than Xavier, they were just happy to meet her and have her in their midst. Annick knew her movies too, and said she was a big fan.

They put their bags in their respective rooms, and Xavier gave her the bigger one with the prettier view. Then he drove her around the area that afternoon. And by the time they came back to the house at six o'clock, his niece and nephew were returning from the beach with their friends. They were a lively, wholesome group, a few years younger than her own children, but not much. Their daughter was nineteen and their son twenty-two. She was studying in Lille to be a lawyer like her uncle, and he was in pre-med in Grenoble. It was the kind of relaxed family vacation that most people dreamed of. There was lots of bantering and joking, easy exchanges with their parents, and they teased their uncle mercilessly, which he returned in kind. The whole atmosphere made Chantal miss her own children, which she didn't say to Xavier. And that night they had a big communal dinner in the kitchen, which everyone helped prepare, and Chantal did too. There were nearly twenty people at the table when they sat down, including the neighbor's son.

“Are you all right?” Xavier whispered to her halfway through the meal. She seemed to be enjoying herself, talking to his nephew, but Xavier wanted to be sure. He knew that his family could be a little overwhelming at times.

“I'm loving it,” she said, beaming at him. “This is what families are about.” It was just what she had had when her kids were younger, but now they had all flown the coop and had lives of their own, which made her miss them all the more. They came home at Christmas, but not for long, only a few days. Hers had followed their dreams halfway around the world, except for Eric, but he was too enmeshed in Berlin to come home often either. She envied Mathieu and Annick with their family still near at hand, and since their children were still students, they would be there all summer. She had spent summers with her kids at those ages too. She had rented houses in Normandy, Brittany, and the South of France, near Ramatuelle in the Var, but now it would no longer make sense since no one would come, and she didn't want to be in a summer house alone.

“This is why I don't want kids.” Xavier smiled at her and said in an undertone, “I can enjoy theirs. And then I go home.” And they liked him. Uncle Xavier was a big hit with the kids, and by the end of the evening, he and Chantal sat outside and looked up at the star-filled sky. It was a peaceful moment after a fun, lively evening.

“I love it here,” Chantal said happily, “it makes me feel like a kid too.” It was all so easy, and there was a strong sense of community among them.

“Me too. I'll come back again in August. You're welcome, if you'd like to come. I stay for two or three weeks then, and I try to get here for weekends when I can.” He looked relaxed and happy as he smiled at Chantal. She fit in perfectly, just as he had suspected she would. He loved that about her—she wasn't grand or pretentious, despite her success. She was a talented woman, but at the same time very modest. And Xavier was too. He couldn't stand women who liked to impress and show off. Chantal had the credentials to do so, but it wasn't her style.

“I'm going to visit my daughter in Hong Kong in August,” she said regretfully. “I go every year. I only stay a week. She can't tolerate me for much longer, I get on her nerves. We're very different. She's much more formal than I am, and traditional. She thinks I'm a hopeless bohemian. I love her, but as the Brits say, we're like chalk and cheese. She's actually very British, she's lived there since business school, and she speaks fluent Mandarin now.” Xavier could hear the pride in Chantal's voice, and the regret. It sounded as though somehow they were like two ships passing in the night. He guessed right. “And at the end of the month, I'm going to L.A. to visit my older son, the filmmaker. He's a whole different story. We usually have fun, although he's become totally American. I don't know what went wrong, but no one in my family seems to want to be French, except my younger son, but he doesn't want to live in Paris. He says the art scene here is dead, and he could be right.” She didn't sound critical of them, but it was clear that their lives were very separate from hers, and their choices and personalities very different. She seemed to respect it, which he admired.

“I'd like to meet them sometime. They sound interesting.” She laughed at what he said. “That they are, and very different. From each other, and from me.”

“Are they close to each other?” He was curious about them, and about her. He was enjoying getting to know her, and was struck by what a solitary person she was, by trade and by force of circumstance. And he could see sadness and loneliness in her eyes at times. It pained him for her. She seemed to have no quarrel with her children, but they spent very little time with her. And she had soaked up the joy of the young people around them that day, and had fun with them, as she had had with her own.

She thought about his question about her kids. “They're close when they're together. But they're all very individual and with their own divergent interests. Charlotte is the most conservative. Paul is very engaged with his life in L.A. and has an American girlfriend, and Eric is the most far out. He's very avant-garde. If you see him with his sister Charlotte, it's hard to believe they're related.” She laughed at the thought. “It gets complicated once they have significant others, who magnify the extremes and create friction sometimes. It was easier before they had partners. I'm very tolerant about who they live with, but they're not always that open-minded with each other, and they're critical of their siblings' choices of partners. I figure they're grown up and have a right to love who they want.” He liked what she said, and she sounded like the ideal parent.

“Are they as understanding about you?” he asked seriously.

She laughed in answer. “Probably not. They were pretty horrible to the people I dated, when they met them, which wasn't often. And now they just figure I'm alone and it suits me.”

“And does it?”

“Not as well as they think,” she said honestly. “I stopped introducing them to the men I went out with a long time ago. It wasn't worth the trouble since there was no one I was serious about. I actually think that they don't see me in that way, as someone who would have a partner. Their father died when they were so young, and they think of me as a mother, a service industry, not as a woman or a human being with needs. I was a slave to them for a long time,” she said, looking mildly embarrassed, “so I created my own monster. I don't think they ever think about me as someone who gets lonely or sick or sad.” He remembered the tool kit in her suitcase and could easily imagine the kind of hands-on mother she was.

“That's not good,” he said quietly, “if they don't think of you as having needs too. Why should you be lonely or alone? You're still young.”

“No, it's not good,” she admitted. “I need to work on that. I never wanted them to see my weak side, or my frailties, when they were younger. Now they think I don't have any.”

“It sounds like you need your own life. They have theirs.” She didn't disagree with him. But she had to have a life worth fighting for to make the point with them. She didn't want to ride into battle for nothing, although she had thought about it often, especially with Charlotte, who was singularly uninterested in her mother's problems, and hardly ever called her, except when she wanted something. She never called just to ask how Chantal was or to chat. Eric was the one who did that, and was more sensitive to his mother's feelings. He was a sweet boy, and had been the closest to her growing up too. Charlotte was essentially a cold person. It was amazing how different they all were, from each other and from her, but it was also what made having children interesting. There were no two alike.