Chapter 8
Dominique wasn’t sure why, but when they came back from Courchevel this time, she
had a harder time adjusting to Bill going back to his “real” life, and no longer waking
up next to him every day. For the first week she couldn’t sleep, for the second she had
nightmares, except for the two nights he stayed with her. It was as though she needed
him now to a degree she hadn’t before, as though her heart was refusing to accept the
limited rations of time he gave her. Suddenly she needed more, and he had a particularly
busy month, with two court cases and a major negotiation to deal with. During the third
week they were back, he could only spend the night with her once, and Dominique was
upset and out of sorts all week. She was even jealous of Eileen because she got to see
him every day and lived with him, which was all that Dominique longed for. Everything
her mother had said to her recently came back to her, and she felt as though she had a
vise on her chest. It made her feel physically sick when she couldn’t see Bill. It didn’t
even make sense to her. She had always been able to control her emotions with reason
before. Now it was as if her heart and body keened for him, and refused to accept less
than she needed.
She looked tired and had dark circles under her eyes the next time she saw him, after
his not having seen her for a week. He’d been in court all day and in meetings after that,
and he couldn’t even call her. It had taken a heavy toll on her and Bill saw it
immediately but didn’t know the reason why.
“Are you okay?” he asked her over a quiet dinner in her kitchen.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, unwilling to admit that she’d been in withdrawal ever since
their vacation. It seemed weak to her, and embarrassing to be so needy.
“You’re not sick? You look tired.”
“I’ve been working hard, we’re doing another big bridal show during Fashion
Week,” she explained, which was true, but it wasn’t what was keeping her awake at
night. He was, by not being with her. But she understood that there was no way he could
be, unless he left Eileen. That wasn’t an option, and she knew it. They’d had a fantastic
time on vacation, but he could only do that once a year, when Eileen was at the spa with
her sister.
They made love after dinner that night. Bill was starving for her, and said he was
having a hard time adjusting after being with her constantly for two weeks. He was
miserable now without her. And she was so easy to be with. He said Eileen complained
constantly, blamed him for everything, was unpleasant with him every time he saw her,
and started arguments with him over nothing. He didn’t know what had gotten into her,
but she was the worst she’d ever been with him, which made him miss Dominique even
more. It was a bad combination. Too little Dominique, and too much Eileen. She
reminded him daily of everything that was wrong with their marriage and had been for
years. He was doing everything he could not to take the bait, and to keep the marriage
together. He still believed that getting a divorce would cause bigger problems,
financially and for his kids. With no prenup, he and Eileen would have to admit failure,
sell their house and split everything they had, and support two households, with two
boys in college. It would cause serious financial problems that he didn’t want to deal
with. He had stayed married to her, at great personal sacrifice, to avoid just that, but it
was a miserable way to live. He was even short-tempered with Dominique when he
saw her. It wasn’t her fault that she was so wonderful he wanted to be with her. But
giving in to his desires and throwing caution to the winds would cause serious financial
risks. He didn’t want to have to rely on Dominique for support.
She had no idea why Bill was suddenly like a volcano, ready to erupt all the time.
He had been fine on their vacation, relaxed and happy. And a bear as soon as they got
home. They were both suffering from being apart and missing each other. His bad mood
had a ripple effect and impacted her, and she was then short-tempered at work, and with
her girls when she saw them. They could tell that something was wrong but couldn’t
guess what, and didn’t want to pry.
* * *
The wedding planning added more stress. Felicity was on edge too. The Whitfields had
added fifty more people to the guest list than they said they would, which Felicity didn’t
think was fair to her mother. They were crowding the list with their friends, and still
contributing nothing, and in Felicity’s opinion, their friends were dull and old. She and
Taylor talked about it one night when Felicity brought it up as politely as she could. She
had called her mother about a wedding detail that afternoon and Dominique had
snapped at her, which wasn’t like her. She was usually inordinately patient, but Felicity
knew the wedding planning was enormously time-consuming and expensive, and her
father hadn’t offered to pay for anything either, and he had a long list of friends too. He
and Taylor’s parents were getting a free ride, at her mother’s expense, which really
upset Felicity. She had offered to make a contribution herself from the monthly income
from the trust her mother had set up for her, which wasn’t enough to make a big
difference, but Dominique was touched and apologized for barking at her. Felicity was
worried about her, she had so much on her shoulders, and no one to share the load.
Felicity knew that her mother loved Bill, but he always remained on the periphery of
their lives and her mother’s, and he had his own. He was the eternal visitor but never
really on the team, and careful not to be too deeply engaged in their lives or
Dominique’s. Felicity had no idea that that was what was upsetting her mother now.
It was so obvious to Dominique after the vacation. They had been so close for two
incredibly wonderful weeks, and then Bill went right back to his own life as though the
vacation had never happened. Every time they came home, she felt like Cinderella after
the ball, as the coach turned into a pumpkin and the mice scampered away. Her mother
was right. It was a hard way to love a man.
“I’m so sorry the wedding is so expensive, Mom,” Felicity said apologetically.
“It’s all right. That’s the nature of weddings, it all adds up.”
“And Dad and Taylor’s parents just keep adding more people. I sent him an email to
stop, and I’m going to tell Taylor to put a leash on his parents too. I hate the way
everyone expects you to pay for everything and no one offers to help. I really hate big
weddings. I wish we had kept it small and had done it at some nice inn in Connecticut
or something. Who are we showing off to at the Met? Probably no one on their lists
cares about the art there anyway. They just want to be there and be seen.”
“It’ll be a beautiful memory for you and Taylor in the years to come,” her mother
said gently. “We’re fine. We won’t go broke from the wedding, and it will be a special
day you’ll both treasure.”
“Dad and the Whitfields will. I don’t care. I’d rather not bleed you dry for people
we don’t even know or care about.”
She was still upset when she talked to Taylor about it that night. He’d had a bad day
at work and was in a bad mood. A deal had gone sour and they’d lost the account, and
listening to Felicity complain about his parents didn’t help.
“Why are you always complaining about my parents?” Taylor snarled at her, and
helped himself to a glass of wine.
“Because they keep adding to the guest list and making it more expensive for my
mother. We’re over three hundred guests now. And the last time I checked, your parents
aren’t paying for anything.” She was more strident than she meant to be, but she was
upset for her mother.
“Are you saying my parents are bilking your mother out of money?”
“I’m saying she’s spending a hell of a lot of money for people I don’t even know at a
wedding I didn’t want. I wanted it small so it wouldn’t turn into the circus it’s
becoming. It won’t even be fun, it’s already too big.”
“Are you trying to back out?” he said aggressively, his face close to hers. “Is your
mother?”
“Of course not, she’d never do that.” She lowered her voice. “Maybe your parents
don’t realize how expensive it’s getting. Maybe they could help?”
“Why should they? It’s not their responsibility. They’re paying for the rehearsal
dinner, which is the groom’s only obligation. That’s enough. The rest is up to your
mother.”
“Their dinner at your father’s club will cost a fraction of the Met. The club provides
the flowers from a cheap florist, and the food tastes like hospital food. I went to a
wedding there once. It was awful.”
“Your mother picked the Met,” he shouted at her. “It wasn’t my parents’ idea. Maybe
your mother is the one trying to show off, with my parents’ friends.” What he was saying
to her was hurtful and rude, and tears sprang to her eyes. He walked over to her then
and grabbed her arm and held it in a viselike grip, which hurt her. His eyes were like
fire and his face intense. “Stop complaining about my parents,” he said. On the heels of
the miserable vacation she had just spent with them, it was even more upsetting. The
Whitfields had made disparaging comments about her mother and sister. They liked her
father and not her mother, because he was a snob and in the Social Register, their bible,
and they considered her mother foreign, which they didn’t approve of.
“Let go of my arm,” Felicity said quietly. She had seen the same look in his eyes the
night they got engaged and she was frightened, but she wasn’t going to let him do it
again.
“I’ll do worse than grab your arm if you talk shit about my parents again. You’re
saying they’re cheap, aren’t you? Why should they spend a bunch of money on the
rehearsal dinner when they don’t have to? Your mother is trying to make up for what she
lacks socially. My parents don’t have to do that, they’re blue blood through and through.
Your grandparents weren’t even married, so don’t put on airs with me.” Felicity knew
his mother had been harping on that for two years, and she wanted to slap Taylor for
what he said, but she didn’t. He stormed into the bedroom then, and came out in his
running clothes five minutes later, bundled up for the cold. “I’m going out for a run,” he
said, and slammed the door when he left. Felicity’s heart was pounding and she was
furious with him. Her mother had been nothing but nice to him and his parents, and
Felicity was sorry she had been. They didn’t deserve it. She loved Taylor but not his
parents. She thought his mother was petty and mean-spirited and his father was boring
and a drunk.
She took a bath while he was out, and was just putting on a robe when he got back
from his run. He was dripping with sweat, his cheeks were red from the cold. He came
into the bathroom and slipped a hand into her robe, and fondled her breast and her
nipple, and gently pulled on the tie to her bathrobe, and it dropped to the floor as her
robe fell open. She didn’t want to make love, she was tired and exasperated, but she
didn’t want to refuse him and make him angry at her again. She could see that he had
calmed down, and he kissed her hard and pressed against her, in his clammy wet clothes
and sweat as he held her to him.
“I’m tired, Taylor,” she said softly, trying to free herself from his grip, and he looked
at her, getting angry again.
“What does that mean? What’s happening to you?”
“You were furious an hour ago and shouting at me, now you want to have sex? This
wedding is putting too much pressure on us. We didn’t need to get married. It could have
waited.”
“Why? So you can check out other guys?”
“I don’t want other guys. I want you. I just don’t want to fight with you all the time
about the wedding, how many guests we have, who’s paying for what. I never wanted a
big wedding, your parents did. But we’re getting married. They’re not.”
“Maybe we won’t get married either,” he said, and she didn’t respond as he slid a
hand between her legs, still dripping sweat on her from his face. He wanted to make
love to her and he could see that she didn’t, but he needed the release from all the
pressures at work and her nagging him about the wedding. She could sense how tense he
was as he pressed her up against the bathroom wall, and ground against her, with his
fingers inside her, and then he kissed her hard and she stopped resisting him, to avoid
his becoming violent with her. She let him do what he wanted. He pushed her to drop to
her knees on the bathroom floor to arouse him further and he groaned, pulled her back
up again, and entered her with a sharp thrust, pressing her against the wall and pounding
into her. He was more aggressive with her sexually lately. He didn’t rape her again, but
she could sense it wouldn’t have gone well if she refused him, so she didn’t. He came
fast and shuddered inside her. She hadn’t resisted him, and it was over in minutes. She
got in the shower with him afterward and washed his sweat off her. He kissed her neck
as they got out of the shower, bent and nipped at her nipple. She just wanted to get it
over with, and avoid his getting enraged or violent again. He had calmed down at
dinner, and they avoided talking about the wedding for the rest of the evening. They
went to bed early and he wanted to have sex again. She pretended to be asleep. She
wasn’t in the mood. Sometimes it was just sex with him, and sometimes it was
lovemaking. She loved it when he was gentle and kind. Taylor had a sweet side to him.
And a harsh side. Lately the harsh side was more in evidence. The wedding was
stressful for both of them. And sex always relieved tension for him, and he was gentle
afterward, so she gave in to him. It had been sex that night, and not lovemaking, but he
was happy afterward. As she drifted off to sleep she remembered that she had forgotten
to take her pill that morning. She was late for work and meant to take it that night. She
tried to stay awake to get up and take it before she fell asleep, but she was too tired to
move and asleep before she could get up. The last thing she thought as she fell into a
deep sleep was that she would take two in the morning, that would be good enough. She
had done that before and it had worked. Then she fell asleep until morning. She took
both pills at breakfast to cover the day she’d missed and forgot about it.
* * *
Felicity went to buy art supplies that day, and some new canvases. She ran into an old
friend from Yale, Fred Miller, and she chatted with him for a few minutes. He told her
he was moving to Berlin for the art scene there, and asked how she was doing. She
hadn’t seen him in several months, so they caught up at the counter.
“I’m having a show in June,” she said, smiling, “and getting married.” They’d been
good friends at school, but had drifted apart after they graduated. During the past ten
years they’d run into each other occasionally, and had lunch to catch up. He hadn’t
married yet either, he was very intense about his art. His style was more contemporary
than hers, and he’d had a few shows at small galleries in New York, in Chelsea and
SoHo and the West Village.
“Getting married?” He looked surprised. He was short with dark hair, attractive but
not her type. She liked her men tall, lean, and blond, like Taylor. “What happened? You
always said you would never get married until you were at least thirty-five. Prince
Charming came along and changed all that? I just broke up with my girlfriend of five
years. She got tired of starving for my art. She wants a guy who can pay for dinner at a
nice restaurant. Does your fiancé have a job?” Felicity was so discreet that he had
never known she had money and still didn’t. “Is Prince Charming employed? I guess
starving gets old.” He smiled at her. He had always liked her and admired her work
ethic and her talent.
“Yes, he has a good job on Wall Street,” she said with a sigh. “Sometimes that’s not
enough.”
“Uh-oh. Cold feet? Yours, I mean.”
“Sometimes. And you’re right, I didn’t want to marry this soon. He and his parents
insisted and he’s close to them and wanted to make them happy.” She was honest with
Fred. They’d been good friends and had never dated.
“And what about you? Are you happy?” he asked her. She didn’t seem like it to him.
She looked worried.
“Sometimes. It’s distracting trying to make a relationship work and keep everyone
satisfied while I’m trying to focus on working to get ready for my show, and the
wedding planning takes a lot of time, with a million decisions and arguments. The
wedding is in June, right after my show. I can’t concentrate on both.” She looked
stressed when she said it.
“Tell me about it. I finally decided that my art is more important to me than my love
life, so we broke up and I’m going to Berlin. It’s the right thing for me for now. She’ll
find her prince who’ll pay for dinner. That’s not me. Yet. Maybe one day, but not now.
I’m thirty-one, and this is my time to work my ass off, find a great gallery, and make
something of myself. She’s thirty-six and desperate for a husband and babies. I can’t
even afford myself, let alone a wife and kids. I’m not her guy. It was fun, but it wasn’t
right for me. I still love her, but it’s kind of a relief to get away from the pressure and
her expectations. Does your future husband respect your work? That’s so important,” he
told her, and she thought about it.
“Not really. People who’re not involved with art always treat it like a hobby,
something you can do later in your spare time. I keep my eye on that, though. He wanted
me to postpone my show so we could get married on his parents’ anniversary.”
Fred looked horrified. “And did you?”
“Of course not. But I just spent a week with them in Vermont, listening to them make
comments about my art.”
“Are you sure he’s the guy?” He sounded skeptical, and didn’t like the sound of it for
her.
“I think so. I love him. I just wish we had more time to figure it out. We’re getting
married in five months. I wanted to wait years, but his parents pushed him to get
married.”
“You used to go to France a lot,” he remembered. “Let me know if you come to
Europe, and come to see me in Berlin,” he said, as the clerk handed him his order. It
looked like a big one, a six-foot square canvas. Another clerk brought her order and
they left at the same time. Fred looked at her seriously one last time on the sidewalk
with their packages. “Don’t rush into anything, Felicity. Think carefully. Your art will
still be important to you twenty years from now, maybe this guy won’t be. And don’t let
him push you around about what he wants. What you want matters too. He’s no more
special than you are. I’ve always thought you were very special, and a fantastic artist.
Don’t let him try to convince you otherwise. You’re an artist. That’s an important
mission and a gift. Don’t waste it on a guy who doesn’t understand.”
“That’s good advice,” she said, thoughtfully, and he hugged her. But she also didn’t
want to lose Taylor, she loved him.
“Auf wiedersehen, Fraulein,” he said with a grin. “I’m practicing for Berlin.”
“Have fun!” she said, and waved as she walked away, feeling jealous of his freedom
to pursue his art wholeheartedly. Running into Fred felt like destiny as she thought about
it that afternoon. What he had said was meaningful. It felt like it was too late to question
if Taylor was the right guy, with the wedding five months away. It was set in stone now,
with deposits paid, and the reception at the Met. She’d just have to make it work and
teach Taylor how important her art was to her. But it wasn’t just about her work. Lately,
since they got engaged, he seemed to be more commandeering about everything, even
sex. He wanted what he wanted, when he wanted it, and she was the lesser being, the
handmaiden who was supposed to give it to him and make all his dreams come true,
even erotic ones. What about her dreams? When she didn’t want to make love, he either
teased her into it, forced the issue, or overrode her objections with charm. It didn’t feel
like an equal relationship anymore. It was Taylor’s way or no way, or his parents’ way,
never hers. That had to change. She felt braver now that she’d run into Fred. It had been
providential, and she knew he was right about her art. She was glad she’d seen him. He
validated her feelings of commitment to her art, and, more important, her as a person
and a woman. She believed that Taylor loved her, but she wasn’t as sure that he
respected her. Fred’s words of advice had hit their mark.
* * *
The weather had been terrible in January, ever since Dominique had gotten back from
France. She was working on her show for Fashion Week, nothing was going right, and
she was weeks behind. Everything felt like a struggle, and she was wrestling with a
design on the drawing board in her office, trying to correct it, when the intercom line on
her phone buzzed. Her assistant was out with the flu, and she had a temp for the day,
who said there was a man on the phone whose name she couldn’t understand and who
was speaking either German or French.
Dominique picked it up, and waited to hear what they had to say.
It was a doctor at the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital in Paris calling for her.
“Yes, this is she,” she said, as her heart beat faster. She prayed that something
terrible hadn’t happened to her mother. She could have had a heart attack or a stroke,
and at her age, everything was serious. “What happened?” she asked him in French,
since she was bilingual. She was anxious to know the worst, and terrified at the same
time.
“Your mother had a fall on the ice, and broke her ankle quite badly. We’re going to
do surgery in a little while and put a pin in it. We can send her home tonight, but she
says she’s alone at night, and I’m not comfortable releasing her with no one to take care
of her if she has a problem at night.” Dominique knew that her housekeeper left at night,
which had concerned her for years. Her mother didn’t mind being alone. But this was
exactly why Dominique worried about her, in case something unexpected happened.
And Marie-Aurélie had refused to exchange her maid for a live-in. She thought it would
be intrusive. “She says she has a friend who can stay with her,” the doctor added. “Are
you at ease with that? Your name is on her emergency papers, and I wanted to check
with you, given her age. She’s quite clear and coherent, and rather feisty. She says she
wants to go home, whatever you say. She’s refusing to spend the night.”
In fact MarieAurélie had been very grand with the doctor and told him he couldn’t detain her, he
wasn’t a policeman, this wasn’t a jail, and she had committed no crime. He liked her
spunkiness and spirit.
“Is she in a great deal of pain?” Dominique asked, both worried and relieved. At
least it wasn’t worse, but a broken ankle was painful. And thank God Marie-Aurélie
hadn’t hit her head.
“We can help her manage the pain with meds. She assures me she won’t be alone,
and her friend will stay with her.” Dominique didn’t ask who the friend was, it didn’t
matter as long as she wasn’t alone. And she was grateful the doctor was being so
careful. She could just imagine the fuss her mother was making, demanding to leave.
She could be very grand when she chose to be. She hated hospitals and didn’t want her
independence curbed or challenged by anyone.
“I suppose it’s all right if a friend will stay with her.” Dominique hoped it was true.
“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll make sure someone picks her up.”
“She says she’s already organized it. We’ll send her home with a wheelchair after
the surgery, in case she’s still a little groggy. She can use crutches after that. She has to
keep her weight off that foot for a few weeks. We’ll give her all the instructions when
we discharge her. She’s actually a lovely woman when she’s not furious,” he said,
laughing, and Dominique smiled.
“I’m sorry if she’s giving you a hard time,” Dominique apologized.
“I deal with much worse every day.”
“Can I speak to her?” Dominique asked, still worried.
“I’m afraid I’m not in her room, and there’s no patient phone in the emergency area
where she is. Our cell reception isn’t good. I’m glad I was able to reach you.” He gave
Dominique his name and number and she wrote it down. “We should have her home in
three or four hours if she does well with the anesthetic, and she should stay in bed
today, until she clears the anesthetic out of her system. We don’t want her falling again.”
They hung up and Dominique glanced at her watch. It was ten in the morning in New
York, four in the afternoon in Paris, and the doctor was estimating Marie-Aurélie would
be home by eight .., which would only be two in the afternoon in New York.
Dominique thought about flying to Paris. She had an important meeting the next day she
couldn’t miss, but she could go the day after, which would get her to Paris on Thursday.
It might be a good idea to check on Marie-Aurélie, Dominique realized. Her mother
would say she was fine even if she wasn’t, and with the housekeeper only there by day,
the nights were a real concern. And the housekeeper had a family of her own at home
she had to take care of at night. Dominique wondered who the friend was who would be
staying with her at night. She decided that the wise decision was to fly to Paris and not
to warn her, and make sure that she was managing well and not at risk.
She called Air France and made a reservation for Wednesday in the late afternoon,
which would get her into Paris at dawn on Thursday morning. It was a challenge but she
could take two days off, come home on the weekend, and be back at work on Monday. It
was a juggling act but she owed it to her mother, who had always been there for her.
And there was no one in Paris Dominique could call on to help her. She preferred to see
the situation for herself. She called her mother late that afternoon and Marie-Aurélie
answered, said she was already at home, and sounded groggy and half asleep. She said
that her friend was with her. Dominique promised to call her in the morning. MarieAurélie thanked her and hung up.
* * *
The flight on Wednesday night was on time, and arrived in Paris at the crack of dawn on
Thursday half an hour early. Dominique had managed with carry-on, and was in a cab
leaving Charles de Gaulle airport at six-thirty .., and reached the city at seven-thirty.
There was some early morning traffic. Dominique had the keys to Marie-Aurélie’s
house and let herself in silently at eight in the morning. It dawned on her that maybe she
should have warned her mother after all. She was about to terrify two little old ladies if
they heard her walking in. They might hit the alarm and call the police, thinking it was a
burglar. Dominique wasn’t sure whether to be totally silent or to make lots of noise so
she didn’t startle them. She opted for silence, since they might still be asleep. She
assumed that her mother’s friend would be asleep in one of the guest rooms, and she
headed for Marie-Aurélie’s room on tiptoe, knocked gently, opened the door, and gave a
leap backward, not sure what she was seeing, or who.
Her mother was propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows, looking like a
princess, with her hair brushed, smiling at a very distinguished-looking man in pajamas
who was serving her breakfast on a silver tray, with a proper pot of tea. He was pouring
her a cup, as they looked ecstatically at each other. They stared at Dominique in
astonishment, and the man in the pajamas set the teapot down, handed Marie-Aurélie her
cup of tea, and removed the tray. And it was quite obvious that he had very shortly
before been occupying the other side of her mother’s enormous canopied bed. He put on
a silk robe as Dominique watched him in amazement. It looked like a love scene in an
old movie. Dominique was mortified to be the intruder.
“Maman, I’m so sorry. I thought…I was worried about you…I wanted to surprise
you…”
“You did,” Marie-Aurélie confirmed with a smile, and glanced at Clément, who was
smiling too. He thought it was funny, and wasn’t embarrassed. “Do you remember
Clément Bertrand? You met a long time ago.” He executed a brief bow at the
introduction.
“Of course,” Dominique answered. “I asked you about him a couple of months ago
and you said you hadn’t spoken to him in forty years,” Dominique said, as she came
through the open doorway and approached them. They looked perfectly at ease in their
nightclothes together.
“That was true, but you reminded me of him, so I did a search on my computer and
found him, and we began writing to each other.” She smiled at him again. “And then we
had lunch, and things just kind of progressed from there.”
“When was that?” Dominique asked.
“About a month ago.”
“Things seem to have progressed quite nicely since then,” Dominique said, and sat
down on the duchesse chair in her mother’s bedroom. The room was filled with
beautiful antiques worthy of Versailles, and Clément looked right at home there.
“Yes, they have,” he agreed, and all three of them were laughing. Dominique had
walked in on her eighty-five-year-old mother’s love scene with her boyfriend of forty
years before. And they had apparently been kindling some old flames. “I’ve been taking
care of her, but she’s not a very good patient, I’m afraid. She won’t follow instructions,
she doesn’t like the wheelchair, and she won’t use the crutches. And now I’ll let you
two ladies enjoy a visit while I dress. Would you like a cup of tea?” he offered.
Dominique smiled and shook her head. He was charming, exquisitely polite, and still
very handsome, and her mother looked twenty years younger than when she’d last seen
her. She didn’t look a day over sixty, and neither did he. Dominique felt like a clumsy
intruder as her mother grinned at her, mildly embarrassed.
“I’m sorry I haven’t said anything about Clément. We wanted to see how things went
before we told anyone.”
“No, I’m sorry, I should have warned you I was coming. I didn’t expect to walk in
on a love scene. He’s still very good-looking, and very nice.” She glanced inquiringly at
her mother, who was smiling and enjoying the scene.
“Yes, he is. He’s wonderful.”
“And very much in love with you,” Dominique said cautiously. He had looked it
when Dominique saw him taking care of her. Marie-Aurélie nodded agreement. “You
too?”
“It seems that way.” Clément had disappeared into Armand’s old dressing room,
which didn’t bother Marie-Aurélie anymore. Forty years before, that had been
intolerable, but Armand had been gone for forty-seven years now, long enough for her to
recover from the loss. There was room for Clément in her life now. There hadn’t been
before. Dominique could see that. They both looked so happy together. She was happy
for them. They had waited a long time for this. Dominique glanced at her watch. It was
nine in the morning Paris time. “I should really take a flight back to New York today.
You’re in good hands. And I left a mountain of work on my desk in New York.”
“Stay and have dinner with us,” her mother encouraged her, Dominique hesitated,
and then decided why not? She was curious about Clément and to find out what he was
like. She remembered him as being polite and kind, but a lot of years had gone by. He
was modestly famous now and respected in the art community.
He came back half an hour later, impeccably dressed in a suit with white shirt and
tie. He looked like a banker going to a meeting, not an artist.
“Dominique is going to have dinner with us tonight,” Marie-Aurélie told him, and he
looked pleased.
“I think I’ll let you ladies enjoy each other’s company today and I’ll come back at
dinnertime.”
“All right, but I still want you to spend the night tonight,” Marie-Aurélie said softly,
and he bent down and kissed her gently on the lips.
“As long as Dominique doesn’t mind,” he said politely. He didn’t want to cause a
problem and Dominique still looked shocked.
“Of course not. I’m the intruder here. Thank you for letting me stay for dinner,”
Dominique said. “I’ll catch an early flight in the morning, and I’ll still be able to get to
my office by noon, with the time difference.”
She spent the day chatting with her mother, fluffing up her pillows, and helping her
dress for dinner. Marie-Aurélie looked very chic in a slim black skirt and a creamcoloredtwinset, with her pearls.
Clément returned in a pin-striped suit for dinner with
Dominique. Her mother had it catered from the Atelier of Joël Robuchon and it was
delicious. The conversation was light and lively and Dominique was increasingly
amused that she had walked in on her mother’s love life, which looked more romantic
than her own. Her mother commented on it that afternoon.
“It’s lovely being with a man who doesn’t have personal obligations or attachments.
He doesn’t even have children. It’s just us. Armand and I never paid much attention to it,
but there was always the specter of Armand’s wife hanging over us, wondering if she
would make trouble or interfere in some way. She never did, but the possibility was
always there, a bad surprise one day. Now all Clément and I have to do is decide where
we want to have dinner, and who we want to see. He stays here a lot now,”
MarieAurélie admitted. Dominique didn’t ask her what their future plans were. At their age it
was almost an ironic question. Destiny would decide their future. Their plans were
irrelevant. And she heard what her mother had said about being with a man with no
attachments. It sounded wonderful to her too. She hated sharing Bill with his wife, and
worrying about what she was going to do about it, if anything. Clément seemed like an
ideal partner for her mother at this stage in life. Dominique had no objections
whatsoever if her mother was happy, and clearly, she was. Dominique kissed them both
when she went to bed that night. She was leaving in the morning before they got up and
she wouldn’t see them.
“Take good care of each other,” she said gently. “And I hope I’ll see you both soon.”
They smiled warmly at her. Her surprise visit had been a happy gift. Marie-Aurélie was
still in pain from her ankle, but Clément was taking perfect care of her. They were a
happy couple when Dominique left them. Dominique couldn’t help wondering if it
would be another twenty years before she had a man of her own too, without
“attachments.” Her mother had earned it and Dominique was pleased for her. Looking at
them, it was clear to Dominique that the old adage was true: Love has no age