Chapter 4
Violet had a great time when she went home to Boston with Jamie. His family was loud,
close, disorderly, chaotic, and loved to argue, tell stories, and laugh. They welcomed
Violet like an old friend. They lived in Cambridge, and Jamie’s father was a Harvard
professor and an avid baseball fan. His mother was a philosophy professor at Boston
University. Jamie had two sisters and a brother, and was the oldest of the four, at thirtyfive.
His sisters lived with boyfriends, one of whom was a minor league coach and the
other a deli owner, and his brother was in law school. None of them were married, and
they were busy with their jobs and studies. One of Jamie’s sisters was a teacher in an
inner-city school and the other was a sous-chef at a fancy Boston restaurant. She was
working her way up the ladder and dreamed of owning her own restaurant one day.
They were all bright, funny, and fast, and enjoyed each other’s company, despite endless
teasing and harmless insults. They had varied interests and talents, the banter was
innocent, and their exchanges fun to watch. It was very different from Violet’s quiet
home and genteel upbringing with her mother and sister. Violet traveled a lot, looking
for objects for her store, and she and the sister who was a sous-chef had a lengthy
conversation about Michelin-starred restaurants in Paris. Jamie and his father discussed
the latest football scores.
Their Thanksgiving dinner was disorganized, plentiful, and delicious, with
conversations back and forth across the table, laughter while Jamie kept an eye on the
TV, on a football game being played in Michigan, with the sound off. He had to write
about it that night, and turn the article in by midnight.
After dinner, they all went skating together, and Jamie’s mother made hot chocolate
with marshmallows for them when they got home. It felt like a college dorm more than a
family Thanksgiving, and Violet was glad she’d come, and happy she had dodged dinner
the night before with the Whitfields, whom she found painfully boring. She wore an old
ski parka when they went skating, and she and Jamie skated around the outdoor rink
together, holding hands.
“Thank you for putting up with my family. They’re all a little crazy and very loud,”
he said. She was more restrained than his siblings, but she had fun with them.
“I love them, they’re so much fun. My mother is very polite, and my sister is very
shy. She just got engaged and her fiancé is incredibly pompous. I’d much rather be with
you than in New York.” Violet and Jamie had met at a party given by an Israeli artist
they both knew. They both collected interesting people, Jamie particularly from the
sports world. He knew some football stars and basketball players. Violet hung out with
an arty crowd, with several Europeans.
“Do you like hockey?” he asked her, and she nodded with a smile. He had never
asked her before. He had just gotten hockey as part of his regular assignment.
“Very much,” she said, grinning.
“I have tickets to a game next week at the Garden, will you come with me?”
“I’d love to,” she accepted, happy she didn’t have to go to the opera or the
symphony with him, which didn’t interest either of them.
“The week after that, I’ll be in Europe on a buying trip for my store, to England and
France, and I want to stop and see my grandmother in Paris.” Everything about Violet
seemed exciting to Jamie. She had style, good taste, an eye for design, and a talent for
finding unusual objects. “She’s terrific. I always have a great time with her. And I love
Paris before Christmas. Everything is all lit up and decorated. London too.” They
stopped and had a glass of wine with some of the others, and then skated until the end of
the session. At the end, when others got off the ice, they formed a long chorus line and
raced around the rink. Violet was at the end and caught up with them. They were all
laughing and breathless when they stopped. Violet and Jamie and his younger brother
went home for their mother’s hot chocolate and his two sisters went home with their
boyfriends.
“It’s nice the way you all get along,” she commented.
“We used to fight like demons when we were kids. We’ve gotten better as we get
older,” Jamie said proudly.
“My sister and I are close now too,” Violet said. She was sleeping in Jamie’s
boyhood room with all his trophies, and he was sleeping in a bunk room his parents had
set up when they were kids, and that they still used when the house was full, as it was
over Thanksgiving. Jamie liked coming home too. He missed Sunday dinners with the
family, now that he lived in New York. Their Sunday dinners were legendary, everyone
brought something, and they all helped cook. He had told Violet about them.
Jamie’s parents had gone to bed, and his brother went upstairs shortly after they got
home. Violet and Jamie sat in front of the fire for a long time, talking about life and
sports and their ambitions. Jamie wanted to be an important sportswriter one day, for a
prestigious newspaper, but he didn’t feel ready for that yet, he was still enjoying
reporting for the Daily News. It wasn’t as sedate, and he had more freedom about what
he wrote. And Violet was more and more drawn to interior design. She wanted to keep
the store and use it as a decorating resource. He left her in his room and went to the
spare room, while she carefully studied pictures of him in high school and college, and
some of his trophies. Judging by the trophies, he was good at all sports, and he’d been a
handsome boy and still was. He had dark hair, fair skin, and bright blue eyes, and
looked English or Irish. There were pictures of him at Oxford University in England,
and she remembered he’d done a semester there. His parents were both erudite and well
read, and the fast and furious banter among his siblings was fairly highbrow. They
didn’t show off like Taylor, and they were a lot smarter. Violet thoroughly enjoyed the
time she spent with Jamie. She thought about his parents when she turned off the light,
and she found it sweet that he accepted sleeping separately so as not to upset them.
They’d already been dating for almost two years and had slept together, but she didn’t
want his parents to think that she was cheap and immoral. She was thinking about it
when she heard the bedroom door creak open and then close almost silently, and she
could see Jamie dimly in the moonlight.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“Do you want to come sleep in the other room with me? I’m lonely.”
She grinned at him in the dark. “Your parents will be upset if they find out,” she
warned him.
“Who’s going to tell them?” he said practically. Violet thought about it for a minute
and then pulled back the covers of his old single bed and grinned at him. He slipped
under the covers with her and held her. He’d been barefoot and his feet were freezing.
“Your feet are like ice,” she said, trying to warm them with her own, and he kissed
her. “Thank you for a lovely weekend,” she whispered to him.
“It’s not over yet,” he said, and kissed her more passionately, slipped her nightgown
over her head and dropped it on the floor, and then took off his pajamas. Their
lovemaking was the best she’d ever known. They forgot where they were for as long as
it lasted, and they lay in bed naked together afterward. “I love making love to you,
Violet,” he said, sounding very young and happy when it was over. She fell asleep with
her head on his shoulder and his arm around her. She was incredibly sexy and sensual,
and the best thing about her was that she made him so happy.
They spent a great weekend and the whole family got together again on Saturday
night for another big meal, and they all helped to cook it.
She hated to leave on Sunday, and thanked his parents profusely for letting her stay
with them on Thanksgiving and share the holiday with them. His parents assured her
they loved having her and hoped she’d come back soon. As she and Jamie rode the train
back to New York, Violet wondered what her mother would think of them. She was sure
that she would find them intelligent and fun. They were all highly educated, and though
they were a little loud and unruly for Dominique, on the whole, she thought her mother
might like them. They were honest, open, straightforward, and kind. She had met Jamie
several times and thought he was a bright, interesting guy, although Violet knew that his
family was a little more exuberant than he was. As far as he was concerned, he thought
Violet fit in perfectly. She seemed to be able to adapt to any situation and any kind of
people. There was nothing snobbish about her, which he liked a lot since he wasn’t a
snob either.
They went back to her apartment and he spent the night, as he often did. He stayed at
her apartment more than his own, but they kept their own apartments in case they wanted
time to themselves. It was the perfect arrangement for both of them.
She had called her mother twice from Boston to check in with her, and make sure she
wasn’t lonely. Dominique said she was fine and had work to do. Violet said she’d had
fun, but didn’t rave about the weekend. She didn’t want to hurt her mother’s feelings.
On Monday morning, Dominique made the calls she had promised the Whitfields she
would make. She made them herself, in case the prices were outrageous. She didn’t
want her employees to know how much she would spend on a wedding. That was no
one’s business but her own.
As she had guessed, the Frick was considerably more expensive than the Met for a
wedding reception. They insisted on a high level of security circulating to watch the
guests and protect the art, there was a very sizable amount as a security deposit, and
additional insurance. They required that one use their caterer and florist. It was more
restrictive, but would also be more beautiful and seem more exclusive. It had been a
private home and still had that appearance. Dominique made careful notes, tallied up
the amounts, and stared at the page. It was going to be a very costly event if they did it at
the Frick, but exceptionally beautiful for sure.
When she called the special events office at the Met, it was noticeably more
reasonable. Dominique could design her own look and choose between several
different parts of the museum, and they had a list of accepted caterers and florists. The
security deposit was much lower, and when she added up all the pros and cons,
Dominique thought the Met made more sense, and there were two or three wings of the
museum that she thought would provide a beautiful setting, one of them with a garden
where guests could stand or sit and drink on a warm June night.
She called Felicity that afternoon and explained the options to her. Felicity came to
the same conclusion, and they wouldn’t be as worried about damaging the art. There
was more room to move around at the Met, a space to dance outside if they set up a tent,
and she loved the outdoor sitting area. The Met was her first choice. And it was
available on June twentieth.
“So shall we do it?” Dominique asked her. It had fallen into place really easily. “It’s
an omen,” Dominique said, and Felicity didn’t comment. “I’ll send them the check
today. It’s not ours until we pay.”
“It’s an awful lot of money, Mama,” Felicity said hesitantly. “I feel really guilty.”
“You’re my daughter and I want to give you a beautiful wedding,” Dominique said,
sounding sure. “I’ll call Elizabeth and tell her. And let’s compromise on the guest list.
How about three hundred, it’s more than you want and less than they want. How does it
sound to you?”
“Like too many people. I’ll hide in the garden,” Felicity said, and her mother was
afraid she meant it.
“Not everyone will come and you’ll wind up with two-thirty or two-forty,”
Dominique said, consulting her list of additional things they had to settle, like
invitations and calligraphy, escort cards, a band, the cake, which would be a big deal,
and the caterer. And she wanted to do a walk-through with her florist. The wedding was
going to be exquisite, in a new wing of Impressionist paintings, which would be
beautiful with huge urns and bouquets of white flowers. Even Felicity had to admit it
sounded beautiful, and she was smiling when she went back to her easel, thinking about
it. She was beginning to feel better about the wedding after getting off to a bad start.
Maybe it would be all right to get married in seven months. It seemed so soon before,
but it sounded pretty now. She had been swept along by her mother’s flood of colorful
images and good ideas. It made the wedding feel less ominous. She knew she shouldn’t
feel that way about marrying a man she loved, but she did.
After Thanksgiving, Dominique and her daughters were leaving on their travels. Felicity
was going to Paris with her mother to look for a dress. Violet was going to London first,
and planned to drive around the countryside looking for auctions and garage sales, to
find unusual objects. And then she would go to the auctions at the Hôtel Drouot in Paris
to see what else she could find, furniture, art, pairs of oversized leather chairs, anything
and everything, as long as it was vintage, unusual, beautiful, and had charm. Bidding in
an auction and winning her prize would be half the fun.
“Would you mind if I stay at Bonne Mamie’s house for a couple of days?” she asked
her mother when she saw her for lunch. Dominique was surprised.
“Of course not. Why would you ask me that? Your grandmother will be so pleased.
She likes it when we’re all there at the same time.” Violet knew that was true. Her
grandmother was always delighted to see them. She led a solitary life and enjoyed their
company. It pained Dominique at times to see her mother so alone. In winter sometimes,
in bad weather, she went for weeks without leaving the house or speaking to anyone,
other than the housekeeper who came in for a few hours. She read a great deal, and said
she didn’t mind the solitude. But Dominique hated it for her. She was alone with her
memories so much of the time, and never complained about it. Marie-Aurélie was
excited that her daughter and granddaughter were coming to visit for a few days, and an
additional granddaughter would be even more of a treat.
Violet left for London the day before her mother and sister took their flight to Paris
on Thursday night, arriving on Friday morning. Marie-Aurélie’s driver was waiting for
them and took them to the house on the rue de Grenelle in the seventh arrondissement in
morning traffic. She was up and dressed impeccably and had coffee and breakfast
pastries waiting for them, with delicious apricot jam. It was all set up on a round table
in a sunny spot in front of the window, with exquisite embroidered linens and flowered
antique plates. Marie-Aurélie had beautiful things and she loved using them when she
had guests. She had snow-white hair and vibrant blue eyes, her back was straight, and
she had perfect posture when she walked toward Dominique and hugged her. She felt
thin and frail to her daughter, but she looked solid and healthy in a chic gray wool dress
that was timelessly elegant Chanel haute couture. She wore it with a priceless necklace
of large pearls that Armand had given her. Her hands were thin and graceful and she
was wearing a large diamond solitaire that looked even bigger on her small hand.
Dominique smiled when she saw how fashionable her mother still was, although none
of her clothes were new. But they were classically beautiful and had all been made to
measure for her. She had the elegance of another time, another era as she moved around
the living room with ease. She did exercises every day to stay limber, and her figure
was as flawless as Dominique’s and Felicity’s. The women of their bloodline had
perfect posture and grace that made them seem younger than they were. Marie-Aurélie
appeared to be in her sixties and not eighty-five. She wore her age well.
“So why am I lucky enough to have a visit from the two of you?” she asked them as
she poured them a second cup of tea with a steady hand. Dominique hadn’t told her
about Felicity’s engagement yet. She was keeping it as a surprise, and Felicity hadn’t
worn her engagement ring to travel, which Dominique had noticed on the flight.
“We’re shopping for a wedding dress,” Dominique said quietly with a smile.
“For whom?” her mother asked them, intrigued, looking from one to the other.
“For me, Bonne Mamie,” Felicity said shyly, and Marie-Aurélie turned to her
daughter with a raised eyebrow.
“You didn’t want to design a dress for her?” She was startled.
“She wants something different,” Dominique explained. “And it’s a good excuse to
see you.”
“And who is the groom?”
“The same man I’ve been seeing for three years.” Her grandmother had met him
twice briefly, and Felicity doubted she’d remember. He had just come to the apartment
for a few minutes when Felicity was taking an art class for a month at the Louvre, a
study of hands for her portrait work.
“You don’t sound excited about it.” She had picked up Felicity’s hesitation
immediately.
“He surprised me. I didn’t want to think of marriage so soon. I wanted to wait a few
years, but he’s five years older than I am, and he’s ready.”
“And you’re not?” Her grandmother studied her with all-seeing eyes. She was
observant and astute.
“I’m getting used to the idea.” She made it sound like an affliction.
“Why? Why not wait if you’re not ready…or…are you…?” She meant pregnant in
her delicate way, and Felicity shook her head with a smile.
“No, I’m not.”
“We’re doing it at the Met, in June,” Dominique stepped into the gap. “In a new
Impressionist wing they just opened. It’s going to be very pretty.”
“And will you be happy?” Marie-Aurélie’s intense blue eyes bore into her
granddaughter’s. There was no escaping her eagle gaze that saw all, straight into one’s
soul.
“I will,” Felicity said. “And I’m having a show at a very good gallery two weeks
before.” She beamed when she said it. She was more excited about that than the
wedding.
“If you’re not sure about the wedding, you should delay it,” Marie-Aurélie advised.
“If he loves you, he’ll wait until you’re ready. Why is he in a hurry? Most men aren’t.”
“He has a pushy mother,” Felicity said bluntly. “He’s an only son and he likes to
keep his parents happy.”
“At your expense,” her grandmother said softly. She had sensed Felicity’s qualms
immediately, and didn’t understand why she was going ahead just to please him. It made
no sense to her. “Where are you shopping for the dress?” she asked.
“Chanel, Dior, maybe some others. Felicity wants a very simple dress, nothing grand
or fussy,” her mother filled in.
“I like that look too.” Her grandmother smiled at her, and then the two younger
women went to bathe and change after the overnight flight, returning to Marie-Aurélie’s
study a little over an hour later. She was reading the newspaper and looked up with a
smile. They were dressed for cold weather, with boots and heavy wool coats.
“Do you want to eat at home tonight, or do you have plans?” she asked them lightly.
“Don’t feel obliged to dine with me, if you have something more amusing to do.”
“We’d love to have dinner with you.” Marie-Aurélie smiled. “Would you have
dinner out with us one night?” Dominique asked. Her mother didn’t go out often in
winter. She felt the cold acutely and was afraid to fall.
“I will if it’s not snowing or too cold.”
“Why don’t we wait until Violet arrives, and the four of us can go somewhere nice.”
Marie-Aurélie looked pleased and Dominique and Felicity left a few minutes later to
begin their search for the perfect dress.
They started at a few addresses on the Left Bank that Dominique had, the studios of
young designers she’d been told were talented, and Felicity didn’t like any of them. She
said their dresses looked too fluffy and too grand, and her mother agreed. They moved
on to the Right Bank then to the important designers they knew well. They looked at
sketches of wedding gowns from the archives of dresses that had been made before.
They were beautiful and the sketches were fascinating.
At Chanel they looked at a dress with a big skirt and long train. It wasn’t what
Felicity had in mind but it was spectacular. Felicity tried it on for the fun of it, and
smiled at her reflection, standing on an elevated round platform with the saleswomen
holding the train. It was a wedding gown fit for a queen. They went to Dior and
Schiaparelli, and looked at Givenchy’s couture line, but nothing matched the simple
style Felicity had in mind. Dominique and Felicity were both exhausted by the end of
the afternoon when they got back to the house. Marie-Aurélie was happy to see them.
The three of them had dinner that night at home, prepared by Marie-Aurélie’s
excellent chef, and Dominique showed her mother photographs of the gowns they’d
looked at, and she enjoyed seeing them. They had dinner early, since Felicity and
Dominique were tired from the time difference and their mission, and they were ready
to continue the search after breakfast the next day. They were going to see two more
young designers that Dominique had heard about. She wasn’t hopeful, but it was worth a
look.
The next day, Felicity was subdued and lost in thought in the car on the way, while
Dominique responded to texts from her assistants, who were up early trying to catch up.
They rode up five floors in a freight elevator in an industrial building where the
designer was waiting for them. She was honored by Dominique’s visit, and Felicity
explained to her what she had in mind. The designer looked pensive while she listened,
and then had an idea.
“I like what you have in mind. I found a sketch of a dress like that a few years ago,
to inspire me, but all my clients want big gowns. I prefer a smaller silhouette too.” She
went to find the sketch, came back ten minutes later, and showed Felicity, whose face
brightened immediately. It was the 1925 wedding dress of a British marchioness. It
looked dated, but the designer pointed to things she could change to modernize the
design, without sacrificing the overall look and elegance of the dress. It was a very slim
silhouette that could look beautiful on Felicity.
“Let me make a muslin, and see if I can catch the spirit of the dress. Can you come
back tomorrow?” she asked them, and Dominique nodded. They had two more days in
Paris, or they could stay another day if they needed to.
The designer looked hopeful and excited when they left, and they went shopping for
ordinary clothes for the rest of the afternoon. Violet was due that night on the Eurostar.
She was going to be dining at the house with them. Dominique had made a reservation at
the Ritz for the next day since she knew her mother liked it.
When Violet arrived that night, it was as though a gust of fresh air had entered with
her. She was wearing a vintage fur coat she’d found at a London flea market, had
brought her grandmother a beautiful set of old books and a vintage Hermès bag in
perfect condition, and had found lots of great things for her shop.
She and her grandmother were happy to see each other. Violet was always in good
spirits, excited about something, meeting people she liked and having fun almost
everywhere she went.
She’d seen old friends in London, went to a party with them, and had met several
new people she hoped to see again, and she arrived in Paris full of life. Dominique
always marveled at how different her daughters were. The one so quiet and retiring,
with her introverted nature and huge talent in art. The other extroverted, funny, always
seeing the light side of things. She put an atmosphere of fun and levity in every situation.
Felicity had been the better student and had a serious artistic gift, and Violet enjoyed her
life more. She had a knack for turning bad situations around, found unexpected solutions
to problems, and made the best with what she had.
Violet came to the studio to see the muslin of the dress with them that the young
designer had promised. Felicity tried it on, and even the muslin version was beautiful
and suited her. They could already see that it would make an exquisite dress, with silk
panels in the straight slim style of the 1920s, overlaid with antique lace. The designer
had a bolt of it that she’d been saving for a project like this one. All three of the women
smiled at each other. Felicity was beaming. It was exactly what she had wanted, as
though the designer had read her mind. She was going to add a short train. It would have
long lace sleeves, and a cathedral veil to go with it. It was going to be a work of art,
created just for her. It wasn’t showy, but it was exceptionally beautiful, and she would
have to come back to Paris for a fitting, possibly two. They took all of her
measurements, and Felicity felt relief wash over her like a wave. For the first time she
felt truly excited about her dress and the wedding. She felt ready. And all three of them
were in high spirits when they left the studio.
They had lunch at a little bistro on the Left Bank, and told Marie-Aurélie all about
the dress when they got home.
They took her to the Ritz that night. Marie-Aurélie wore a very chic black dress and
the impressive pearls that Armand had given her. Dominique and her daughters had
dressed up too, and the four women caught everyone’s attention when they walked into
the restaurant, with Marie-Aurélie in the lead with her ramrod-straight posture, an aura
of elegance swirling around her. They were an impressive group of chic, fashionable
women. Heads turned as they walked past, and Dominique smiled when she saw how
happy and alive her mother looked when she went out. She suspected that she missed
having a busy social life and seeing people. At the end of the evening, she looked like a
flower that had been watered.
“You should go out more,” Dominique told her gently, as they left the Ritz to go
home.
“I have to admit, I enjoy it. I don’t see anyone anymore. My good friends are all
infirm or gone, or depressed, or have been sent to the country by their children. And I
don’t like going to restaurants alone. Thank you for taking me out,” Marie-Aurélie said
gratefully. They could tell she had really enjoyed it. She was relaxed and smiling.
Violet went to her favorite auction houses the next day, and found some treasures to
bid on the following day. All four women had dinner at home together that night, and
afterward Dominique surprised her mother with a question. She hadn’t wanted to ask
her in front of her daughters. It was something that they knew nothing about, and she had
remembered out of the blue.
“Whatever happened to the artist you went out with when I was in design school?
You were very taken with him, and he seemed nice when I met him. It must be forty
years ago.”
Marie-Aurélie looked nostalgic for a moment before she answered. “He was a nice
man, and a very good artist. Clément Bertrand. I’ve seen his work in art magazines over
the years, though not recently. I think he became quite successful,” Marie-Aurélie said
quietly.
“Did you stay friends with him, or stay in touch?” Dominique asked, curious.
“No, I haven’t spoken to him in all these years. It didn’t end on a good note. He
wanted me to marry him, and I wouldn’t. I felt that it would have been a disrespect to
Armand. He had died six or seven years before. It was too soon for me. Timing is
important. I read that he had married a year or two later. I never heard from him again
after I declined his proposal. Men don’t take kindly to that. I bruised his ego.”
Dominique nodded and Marie-Aurélie continued thinking about Clément, the young
artist. They had both been young, he was a year older than she was, and he had been the
only man she’d been in love with other than Armand. The memory of him wouldn’t
retreat again once she had thought of him. She assumed he had probably died by now,
but she wondered what had happened to him. The memory of him was still vivid once
she recalled it. He’d been a lovely person, but clearly they weren’t destined to be
together.
She asked Dominique about Bill then, since she never spoke of him, and was
discreet about him. Her mother didn’t know if he was still in her life or not.
“Yes, I see him,” she said cautiously. “We get together a couple of times a week,”
she admitted.
“That’s not enough,” Marie-Aurélie said gently. “That’s just enough to make you
want more of him, and make you unhappy. He’s still with his wife?”
“Yes, he is,” Dominique said honestly. “He won’t leave her now. Originally, he
stayed for the children, and eventually he decided a number of years ago that it would
be too complicated to leave.” But she realized that her mother was right. Seeing each
other once or twice a week was enough to keep their love alive, but never enough to
satisfy her, which was the situation she’d been in with him for sixteen years.
“It takes a great deal of courage to break off relationships like that. They whet your
appetite but don’t fulfill you. And when you get older, never having a full life with a
man, or sharing holidays, or being the main relationship, will make you unhappy, and
feel even more alone.” Dominique suspected that her mother was right. Armand had
stayed married, but the love of his life had been Marie-Aurélie, and they had lived
together, which was very different. Dominique had never lived with Bill, and she knew
she never would, since he wouldn’t leave his wife. There was no hope of a future with
him, except the arrangement they had, which was very limited. Bill never allowed it to
grow past a certain point, which had frustrated her for a long time, and now she
accepted it. Her mother was right, it wasn’t enough, but it was all they had and all Bill
would allow them. It was like a blocked faucet that you could never turn on completely,
just enough of a trickle to keep love alive, but not to thrive.
Dominique thought about her mother’s words again that night when she went to bed.
She had missed Bill on the trip, she always did, but seeing her mother and daughters had
allowed her to fill the void that he was never willing to fill himself. He had condemned
them both to a lifetime of hunger. She knew it well, without her mother reminding her.
She always told herself that it was enough, but in her heart of hearts, she knew it wasn’t.