Possessions (44 page)

Katherine laughed. “Thank you; I'd like very much to meet him.” That was Victoria's surprise, she thought; her reason for the trip to Paris. A rush of gratitude and love swept through her, mingling with the excitement of being in Paris, and when they left the hotel and walked in the sunlight past the great gardens of the Tuileries, it was as if every fairy tale she knew had come to life, and she was the heroine of all of them. Her feet began skipping into little dance steps and she had trouble matching her pace to Victoria's dignified stroll.

On the Rue Cambon, Victoria stopped at the House of Chanel. “Why don't you go ahead?” she suggested a little too brightly. “You shouldn't be burdened with my dawdling. I'll tell you how to get to Maxim's, to meet me for lunch.”

“No,” Katherine said swiftly. “I'd rather you showed me your favorite places.”

“Well.” Victoria put her hand on Katherine's arm. “Of course you must not say that just to please me.”

“I want to be with you.”

“Well,” she said again, and beamed. “What a lovely day. So often it is too hot in Paris in July. We'll browse for a moment in Chanel and then go on.”

Victoria's Paris was almost entirely contained within a triangle with Napoleon's column in the Place Vendôme in the center. Here were the narrow streets and wide boulevards dedicated to culture and consumption: the world's most elegant stores, with discreet entrances and displays, alongside the national library and the Opéra, with its domes, columns, and
extravagant stonework. “The Opéra is open to the public now,” Victoria said in passing. “Most impressive. We shall visit it if we have time.” And when they passed the Bibliothèque Nationale, “The dome of the library reading room is quite astonishing. We shall visit it if we have time.” And, “Madeleine: one of my favorite theaters: we shall visit it if we have time. But the plan for today is to visit shops.”

Katherine wanted to linger everywhere, in buildings and at intersections where carefully planned vistas stretched down long streets, but she stayed with Victoria and got a succinct lesson in European designers, and the best places to shop. She wished Leslie were there; with her flair and income she could have used Victoria's guidance far better than Katherine, and taken back to America enough clothes for a decade. Or, Katherine amended, remembering Leslie's closet, at least a year.

At Maxim's, Henri Flambeau was waiting. He watched the two women walk toward him in the sunlight—of equal height and slenderness and a certain way of holding their heads that made passersby look twice—one old, with sharp bones, her skin finely scored, her beauty fragile, fading, like a painting seen in the failing light of dusk; the other young, her loveliness arresting in its opposites: a face delicately shaped yet strong, a complexion pale but flushed, magnificent eyes, knowledgeable but as wide and eager as a young girl's. Such different kinds of beauty, Henri mused, and—as he saw them exchange a smile—how they love each other.

“Tell Henri about your jewelry,” Victoria commanded as soon as they were seated.

Self-conscious, Katherine was brief, but he was attentive, at first to her beauty, then to the designs he asked her to sketch as she talked. “Ah,” he said, studying them and nodding noncommittally, until Victoria demanded, “Are you interested or not? This is not a game, Henri.”

He spread his hands. “Of course not; Madame Fraser is most serious in her profession. But she understands that I do not commit myself until I see her work. The designs are interesting.”

“Interesting!” Victoria raised her eyebrows. “So cautious—and you a Frenchman.”

“The French are the most cautious of all people,” he replied.
“It is the Americans who like to think we are reckless. Madame Fraser, when you wish to sell in Paris, please let me see before anyone else what you are making.”

Smoothly then he changed the subject, asking them if they had seen the Beaubourg, a modern museum of outrageous architecture built inside-out with exposed pipes, structural beams, and escalators running up the outside of the building. “The entire Marais has been rediscovered,” he said. “All those grand mansions that had been used as factories are being restored as homes and apartments. Imagine: after two centuries of neglect, it is once again acceptable—indeed, chic—to live on the Right Bank.”

“Someone told me,” said Victoria thoughtfully, “of a royal square in the Marais being completely redone. The oldest in Paris . . . what
is
its name . . .”

“Place des Vosges,” said Henri. “You have not seen it? But it is quite extraordinary; in all the tourist books, in fact. If you have time for a visit—”

“We'll make time,” Victoria declared. “Perhaps this afternoon. Katherine? Would you have an objection?”

A little bewildered by how suddenly they had time, Katherine shook her head. “Whatever you would like.”

And that was how it happened that Katherine and Victoria were standing before Number 21 Place des Vosges at four thirty in the afternoon, just as Ross Hayward emerged from a nearby archway and looked up from the photographs he was studying into Katherine's wide, uncomprehending eyes.

They stared in silence. “Well, Ross,” Victoria said with mild surprise. “I thought the name of this place sounded familiar when Henri mentioned it. Is it the project your friend Jacques asked you to work on?”

Awareness grew in Ross's eyes as he looked from her to Katherine. “You know perfectly well it is,” he said, kissing Victoria on one cheek and then the other. Slowly he shook his head. “Couldn't you have told me the truth, instead of going through that play-acting?”

“One should never take chances,” she said calmly.

What truth? Katherine asked herself. Ross was watching her and she met his gaze, waiting for him to explain. She had not seen him since those few minutes in March, when she had arrived at Victoria's and he had left almost immediately. Now
she was struck by his looks. Carrying a suit jacket, his shirt open at the neck, his skin bronzed and his hair lightened by the sun, he was more relaxed than she remembered: tall, with an athletic stride, his face strong and expressive, his deep-set eyes studying her with curiosity and a promise of warmth. “You didn't know I'd be here—and was invited to Menton?”

“No.” Katherine understood then. Turning to Victoria, she said, “You should have told me.”

“Should?
Indeed not.” Victoria tilted her chin. “Since when must I report to my grandchildren? Tobias told you I've wanted to bring you to France for months—I thought it would help you break your relationship with Derek, though you did manage to do that on your own”—Ross's head snapped toward Katherine, brows drawn together, and she realized he had not known about it—“and I wanted to share with you a place I love. But I had to wait until your children were out of school. I asked
you,”
she told Ross, “because you were in despair over your children and pressures at work and Lord knows what else; you desperately needed to get away and anyone who cared a fig for you would have helped you; it would have been peculiar if I had not.”

Imperiously, she eyed the two of them, daring them to respond, but, wisely, they were silent. “In addition,” she said tartly, “I expect harmony in my family and I've waited quite long enough for the two of you to become friends on your own. If you cannot do that—for whatever reason—you certainly can tolerate each other during the few days you will be together at the villa. Now.” She took a breath. “I am finding it quite tiresome to stand here. Is no one going to take a frail old woman in off the street and buy her a glass of wine?”

Katherine and Ross glanced at each other, exchanging a smile. Sighing, Ross took his grandmother's arm. “The privileges of age are often abused. Come this way; it's just a few steps.”

Katherine lagged behind. She was uncomfortable; her dancing delight at being in Paris had faded. Henri wasn't the reason for their visit; she'd been brought here so she and Ross could “run into” each other. It didn't help that Ross had known no more than she; Katherine felt used, not trusted to share in a decision.

I've been treated that way before. By my husband.

Silently she joined Ross and Victoria at Ma Bourgogne, a small café under an arcade in one of the buildings of the Place des Vosges. They sat in rattan chairs at a round table and, as Katherine watched Victoria and Ross chat about Paris, she felt like an outsider. Ross kept glancing at her but she could not participate in their gossip and talk about a city they both knew well and she knew nothing about. She wished she were alone.

The waiter brought a bottle of Bordeaux and filled their glasses. Ross and Victoria talked on. Katherine sat back in her chair, sipping the mellow wine, contemplating the aloof elegance of the mansions on all sides of the grassy square, speculating about the people who lived behind their tall, many-paned windows, dreaming about living in such a place herself someday.

“Katherine?” Victoria said.

She started. “I'm sorry. I didn't hear you.”

“Dinner, my dear. We decided on Tour d'Argent. Too many tourists, but I want to watch your face when you see it the first time. And it will be my dinner: I shall treat you both, to compensate for not confiding in you.”

She began to tell Ross about their lunch with Henri. Half-listening, Katherine wondered what Victoria expected to happen. Were they supposed to fall in love—or just become instant friends? Her carefree sense of adventure had disappeared; she didn't know how she was expected to behave. “Nine o'clock, then,” Victoria said at last, gathering her purse and gloves and rising as the waiter held her chair.

Swiftly, Ross came to hold Katherine's chair. He had sensed her discomfort, and knew she'd rather he weren't there. “Only dinner,” he said, his voice low. “Then I won't interfere with any more of your trip.”

She looked at him, silenced by surprise and embarrassment.

“It's important to Victoria,” he added, leaving out the fact that he was looking forward to the evening. He had thought about Katherine so long, and stayed away from her for so long, that discovering her in Paris seemed almost magical—even if it were no wizard but his grandmother who had brought her there. But he would not tell her that; she was uncomfortable, whether from Victoria's secrecy or because she didn't want Ross intruding on her holiday, and he had no wish to add to her discomfort. “The Tour d'Argent is spectacular,” he said.
“Enough to make up for even unwelcome dinner companions.”

Victoria took Katherine off so quickly she had no chance to respond and there was no chance that evening, either. First Victoria insisted on absolute silence as they were led to their table so she could watch Katherine's delight in the view. For a few moments the three of them gazed without speaking at the barely rippling water of the Seine, reflecting the darkening sky, and the brightly lit Notre Dame cathedral looming from its thickly wooded island, so close it seemed they could touch its square towers and needle-like spire.

“Lovely,” Victoria sighed. “I never saw it with Hugh. I wish I had.” She turned to Katherine. “There is a famous story about this restaurant—”

The story was lengthy, about a visiting chef and a foreign dignitary, and Katherine tried to follow it while studying the shapes and shadows of Notre Dame and the other ancient buildings on the two islands in the Seine that had been the original city of Paris. She felt Ross watching her, and wondered what he was thinking, and wished she were having the uncomplicated holiday she'd expected.

But suddenly Ross and Victoria became charming companions, as if apologizing for leaving her out that afternoon, entertaining her all through dinner with a colorful history of the kings and queens of France and the dueling, lusting, sniping, gossiping courts that revolved around them in the palaces of Paris. They took turns telling stories, from books they had read, from theater-going in Paris and evenings with Parisian friends, all for Katherine, who was content to listen and laugh with them. By midnight, when the waiter presented Victoria with a bill that made even her worldly eyebrows rise, the evening seemed as friendly and uncomplicated as Katherine could wish.

“Thank you,” said Ross, kissing Victoria as they waited for a taxi, “for a most pleasant evening. I haven't told so many stories since I was in college.”

“And these were probably far less bawdy,” Victoria smiled. “It was a pleasure, dear Ross. I had a delightful time.”

At the Meurice, Ross walked with them into the lobby and took Katherine's hand. “I hope your trip is everything you want it to be. You have the best companion in the world. And the villa is a perfect retreat.”

“Such formality,” said Victoria with a trace of anxiety. “You'll see us in Menton in less than a week.”

“I'm not sure.” He looked at Katherine's slender hand, still enclosed in his. Nothing she had said all evening indicated she wanted to see him again. “There's more to do here than I'd expected. And my children will be here soon and I thought I might introduce them to Paris. We'll come if we can,” he said quickly, as Victoria opened her mouth to reproach him. “I'll let you know, one way or another.” Briefly he tightened his hand on Katherine's. “Have a wonderful time. If there's anything I can do for you before you leave Paris, please let me know.”

“In my day,” Victoria snorted as she and Katherine walked into the elevator, “a gentleman would have offered to buy us a lavish breakfast in the morning.” She lapsed into silence. “It would have been pleasant if Ross had done that.”

Yes, Katherine thought, surprising herself, as they reached their floor. It would have been very pleasant.

*  *  *

The Place des Vosges is a green park surrounded by thirty-six tall brick and plaster townhouses, or
hôtels,
of dusty pink to deep red, with wrought-iron balconies and round windows in steeply pitched slate roofs. White stone arches lead through each
hôtel
to a private courtyard. Four hundred years ago the park was the scene of royal tournaments and festivals; two hundred years ago the mansions were abandoned for new residences across the Seine, on the Left Bank; in the 1960s they were rediscovered and slowly reclaimed from the factory owners who had boarded up windows, bolted heavy machinery to the rich parquet floors, torn out ornately carved doors, and dumped trash in the inner courtyards.