Capturing Paris (26 page)

She wondered if she was doing the right thing. What if Daphne had left for the weekend? The possibility of wandering down the lonely country road only to find the house empty and dark was chilling. She would call Daphne again as soon she got off the train. She tried to relax on the uncomfortable seat. Her mind refused to stop churning. Ten minutes later the train pulled into the Villandry station. In her rush to leave her apartment, she'd forgotten her cell phone. She stepped onto the platform and looked for a phone booth to call Daphne.

“Non, madame! Ne marche pas!”
A craggy-faced old man in a blue smock stepped out of the railway station to tell her the phones in the village were out. He spoke sharply and scowled at Annie as if she might have caused the problem, as if the failed lines or even this storm were her fault. No wonder she had been unable to reach Daphne earlier that afternoon. On the one hand it was a relief to know why she hadn't gotten through, but it meant she'd have to walk the final kilometer in the dark.

There was nothing to fear, she told herself. She needed to get used to doing things on her own. She knew the way, and if for any reason Daphne wasn't there, perhaps Berthe could let her into the house. At the very worst, it meant walking back to the station for a return train to Paris.

When she first got off the train, the cold night air felt good. Her feet were warm and her canvas coat kept out the rain. Gradually the rain in
tensified. She left the village streets and headed down the narrow country road. Her hat blew off in a gust of wind, and the rain immediately soaked her head. She searched for her hat, but between the water streaming into her eyes and the darkness, it was impossible to see. The road dropped off to a steep embankment covered with rocks. A gully of rushing water surged below. She walked back and forth but couldn't find the hat anywhere. She worried about slipping and falling down the bank.

Finally, giving up and putting one foot in front of the other, she focused on God House and concentrated on her imminent arrival. It helped to picture a fire crackling in the deep hearth in the library and Daphne bringing her a towel for her hair along with a snifter of brandy to help her recover. Daphne would sit on the sofa opposite Annie with her feet propped up on the table between them.

Annie would explain what had happened, how things had been with Wesley, how she'd tried to explain to him her need to stay in Paris. Perhaps talking it over would help her to make sense of it, of what she had said. Daphne would offer her encouragement. She might even congratulate her for having had the courage, at least temporarily, to shed the constraints of married life.

Annie stepped in a few puddles, difficult to miss in the dark, and water seeped into her boots. She felt the sodden wet wool of her scarf against her skin. She'd tried to pull it up to protect her head, but to no avail. She must look like some kind of refugee, clutching her bag and tromping through the muck. At last the drive to God House came into sight. She quickened her steps, barely hearing the crunch of her feet on the gravel in the howling wind. She rounded the bend, and there, thankfully, God House sat solidly against the night sky, the lamplight peeking out behind the draperies drawn against the cold and the dark. Annie smelled smoke from the chimney and was relieved that her imaginings were coming true. Daphne was at home; her little car had been pulled up close to the carriage-house doors.

With a great sense of relief Annie climbed the front steps and knocked. After a few moments, her knock unanswered, she tried the handle; it yielded, and she stepped inside. Relieved to escape the lashing rain, she savored the sudden calm in the large silent hall illuminated
only by the lamp on the table. Petals from a vase of white roses past their prime lay scattered on the softly polished wood.

Daphne must not have heard her in the roar of the storm. Strains of music came from somewhere in the back of the house. She quickly shed her wet coat and decided to carry it to the kitchen so it wouldn't drip and leave puddles on the marble floor. She passed through the dark dining room on the way. It was hushed and still, no hint of the sparkling New Year's Eve almost a month ago.

“Daphne!” she called, pushing the door open to the kitchen. Finally, signs of life. There were pots piled up on the drain board, and several plates sat soaking in the sink. Small clumps of grease had coagulated in the murky suds. Annie sat at the table and pulled off her boots, noticing the empty wine bottles and two glasses stained with purple sediment. Further evidence of a cozy dinner by the fire—a dinner for two. Annie felt a wave of disappointment. Daphne was not alone. Perhaps Tim had returned from one of his yacht deals in the south of France. Maybe he was trying to wend his way back into her heart.

She set her boots by the back door and went into the hall in search of her friend. She moved silently in her sock feet and this time heard voices from the library along with the sounds of a soprano at full volume coming from the CD player. She passed through the living room where the portrait of Daphne's mother looked down at her, the eyes following her across the room. Annie could feel her haunting stare even in the semidark. She heard the muffled tones of Daphne's voice through the door. Annie couldn't make out the words and couldn't hear the unknown guest's reply over the music.

She tried to fluff up her wet hair, and she smoothed down her sweater. Gathering her dwindling courage, she knocked as she pushed the door open. The scene was almost exactly as Annie expected. A huge fire crackled in the hearth, and shadows from the firelight played across the walls and floor. The aria drew to a close as if on cue. Daphne sat low on the sofa, her wavy hair resting languidly against the velvet upholstery. A man was with her, his feet extended beyond the end of the sofa, his head still in the shadows, presumably resting in her lap. Daphne lowered the glass of amber liquid from her mouth and set it on the end table.

“This has been quite a day for unexpected arrivals,” she said. Her voice was tinged with amusement and clouded with too much wine. “Not the kind of weather you'd think would bring visitors to this part of the world.”

The man sat up and reached for the lamp switch by his head, nearly knocking over Daphne's glass. Wesley's face emerged from the gloom. His hair was mussed, his skin creased as if from sleep. He grabbed his glasses and struggled to get up. Daphne remained on the sofa. Annie gasped.

“Annie, what are you doing here?” He came toward her, but she stepped aside, grabbing the back of the other sofa for support. She didn't think her legs would hold her. He put his hand on her shoulder.

“Don't touch me. What you're doing here is the more appropriate question?” Feeling her knees giving way, she sat down. “You're supposed to be on a plane to Washington.” Her voice came out in a wail. She could barely move her mouth to form words. Tears ran down her face.

“Annie, it's not what it looks like.” He squatted down in front of her. He put his hand on her knee and she jerked it away. He got unsteadily to his feet. “I went to the airport and the flights were postponed. I waited all afternoon. Eventually the flight was canceled.” His words blurred. He'd been drinking. “It's been rescheduled for tomorrow.”

“Wesley came to God House to talk things over with me.” Daphne alone remained unperturbed by the situation. “Nothing but a little fireside chat.” She wore the gray robe tied loosely, it appeared, over nothing underneath.

“She's right,” Wesley said. “I came to ask for her help. I thought she could talk to you and make you understand …” He thrust his arms up as if frantically trying to find the right words, the words that would soothe her and make it all right.

“What I understand is that I've found you curled up on the sofa with my friend, your head in her lap.” Her anger was making it easier to talk.

Daphne spoke up. “Oh, come on. We had a little wine. We—”

Annie didn't wait for Daphne to finish her sentence. “It seems like more than a little wine is at work here. I find you curled up on the sofa together. What's next? What was the plan before I blundered in?” Annie was breathless with fury. She looked at Daphne's long white fingers, the fingers that had been stroking Wesley's hair, the same fingers that had touched her own bare shoulder. She felt physically sick. The awful truth began to dawn on her. They had already had sex. “Oh God—you …”

“Listen, Annie,” Daphne spoke more forcefully. “Don't be a provincial idiot. We've been talking. That's all. Wesley came out here when his flight was canceled. He called me from the airport, terribly upset because of some kind of row you'd had. I told him to come. He wanted me to persuade you to go back to America. As you can see, we had got a bit into the sauce …” She shrugged.

“Don't lie to me.” Annie held her head in her hands.

Daphne stood up and took her drink. “Look, I don't know what's best for you two, but it's not up to me to decide. I'm going up to bed.” Daphne's hair was in disarray and her lipstick smeared.

Annie listened to the thud of the door closing behind her and then to the sound of Daphne's receding footsteps. Wesley, looking ashen, poured a Cognac for Annie and set it on the table in front of her. His shirt was only partially buttoned, no longer tucked into his trousers.

“I don't want a drink.” She stared into the fire.

He nodded and sat down across from her, leaving her alone, perhaps fearful that being near her only made it worse. “Annie, you shouldn't make too much of this.”

“Of course not. It's perfectly fine to discover your husband out in the country in the middle of the night with another woman.”

“It's not like that.” He enunciated each word, as if knowing full well he'd had too much to drink.

“When your plane was canceled, why didn't you come home?” she asked. “Why did you come here, to her?” Annie spat out the last two words.

“Why on earth would I go home?” He sounded angry, more clearheaded. “You made it pretty plain you didn't want anything to do with
me. The last thing you wanted was to see me come back in the door. Remember, you said you wanted time to think, a little time off from our marriage.” His tone was sarcastic now. He rested his head on the back of the sofa as if suddenly depleted. “Look, I was tired and upset. I hoped Daphne could help me. She told me to come.”

“Upset? And how was our dear friend going to help you? A nice supper by the fire, cozy little drinks on the sofa? You'd have to be a fool not to see what was coming.”

“I didn't think like that.”

“Right.” Annie stood up and stared down at him. “What makes me really sick is you don't touch me for months and months, you ignore me when I turn to you for love, and then you come here. Here, to nice consoling Daphne. Sexy Daphne.”

“Annie, you're being ridiculous.”

“You wanted to make love to her.”

“For God's sake. No. No, I did not.”

“Well, what did you think was going to happen? Lovely young woman all alone in a big house. Did you plan to spend the evening in quiet conversation?”

“Annie, no.” His words sounded like a sob.

“Don't tell me you didn't think of it, that you didn't want her.”

“Annie, stop it. I told you. I thought Daphne could make you understand that I need you, that I want you with me. She talked you into writing that book; I thought she could convince you to come with me.”

“She doesn't talk me into anything. It was my decision to stay in Paris and write. I don't want to follow you to the States just because you need me there. Did it ever occur to you that I'm a little sick of always being needed?”

“You made it pretty damn clear.”

“Ah yes. The darling wife doesn't cooperate. How do we solve that problem? Maybe a little comfort, a little sex? Wouldn't that feel good? Sex with her dear friend. Yes, there's a solution.” She couldn't stop. “How long before you took Daphne up to bed?”

Wesley looked away. “Look, we had a lot to drink. I never meant for anything to happen.”

“Oh God.” Annie rocked forward and back, overtaken with sobs. “Wesley, how could you?”

“Annie, this never should have happened. What's important is that I love you. I want you to be with me. I don't want our life together to end. That's why I came here when the plane was canceled. I thought Daphne could persuade you to come with me. I want you to believe that.”

“I don't know what I believe.” She thought of Daphne upstairs in her bed. Was she crazy? She remembered Daphne's meeting with Wesley for lunch, presumably to discuss the quilts. But Daphne was attracted to
her
. Why would she want to seduce Wesley?

Wesley swallowed the last of his drink. “I'm going to bed. I'm taking an early train to the airport. I want to forget that this ever happened. All I'm asking you to do is to think carefully about us, about all we've shared and the future we could have together. I love you, Annie. Nothing will change that.” He left her. She heard the click of the door closing behind him.

Alone again by the fire, Annie pulled up the cashmere throw and covered herself. She had never felt such utter despair. The wind had calmed and she no longer heard the raindrops pounding against the glass. How would she ever be able to sleep? She listened to the sounds of faucets turning on and off, the fire hissing softly. Finally, utter quiet blanketed God House.

La Solitude

The storm had ended. Annie stood in the glass room overlooking the garden
. The day had dawned eerily calm. The branches of the trees and shrubs were still, and the river, far below, looked flat and dull, the color of stone. It was as if the earth were heavy, weighed down from all the rains. She held a mug of coffee, her fingers wrapped around the steaming warmth. Her head ached. She had watched the fire for hours and finally drifted off to sleep around dawn. The ashes were cold in the hearth when she awoke, and she knew that Wesley had gone. She was shocked by the intensity of her jealousy when she'd found him with Daphne the night before. It remained with her, like the aftertaste of a bitter medicine. This morning she felt numb, her body a mere shell, void of any sensation.