Letter from Paris (26 page)

“Okay. Bye then. Nice to see you, India.”

Luella sat forward to lift her cup. “India, thank you so much for stepping in for me at the show. I heard you did a marvelous job. I can’t wait to see the footage. I also heard Henry’s extended your contract. I’m very happy about that.”

“Me too,” India answered. “I’m amazed how much fun this has been. It doesn’t really feel like work at all. I can’t wait to get to planning the Paris show with you.”

“Biscuit?” Luella said, offering her the plate of shortbread. “India, thank you for stepping in next week as well. I’m exhausted after the book tour. We did ten book signings in as many days on top of the media blitz and then…well, you know what happened. I don’t need to bore you with the details, but it’s been a very stressful time, to put it mildly.”

“I’m sure.” India nodded.

“I know you and Henry will manage perfectly well without me. By the time you get back here, things will hopefully be more sorted out,” she said. “I’m way behind on my next book. I really appreciate not having to travel right now.”

“Luella, I’m delighted to be going back to Paris, I promise you. It’s not a hardship, just so you know,” she added. “I know we’ve not known each other all that long, but I understand you’re having a rough time of it, and if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here.”

“That’s good to know,” Luella said, looking into the middle distance dreamily. “Funny isn’t it? I worked so hard to build up to the fashion show and to making
Faux Fashion
a commercial success, but suddenly it doesn’t seem important. I don’t feel driven in the same way. If all this stopped tomorrow I think I’d be okay with it.”

Snapping out of her thoughts, she forced herself back to the moment. “Okay. Sorry. Fill me in on what I’ve been missing. Henry said he has things in hand to maximize the online promotions. Where are we up to?”

As India was leaving a few hours later, a tall man in a gray overcoat walked up the path. He nodded to her as they passed each other.

That must be Peter, she thought, turning around and seeing him use a key to open Luella’s front door. What a good-looking man.

Peter went into the sitting room. “Who was that I just saw?” he asked, taking off his coat and throwing it over the back of an armchair.

“India Butler, the education consultant. She was collecting some papers. She’s going to Paris with Henry.”

“How are you, Lu?” he said.

“I’m okay.” She looked up from tidying the tea tray in front of her. “You?”

Peter sat down on the armchair across from her. “I’m beginning to get it together. Thank you for being there for me, Lu. I will always regret putting you through all this. I’m so grateful to you and Maisie for all the support.”

“We love you very much. I think you know that. Let’s try to forget about it. It’s behind us now.”

“I told Jean-Luc what I’d done,” Peter said quietly.

“And?”

“Turns out he understood better than I thought he would. He’s been there himself.”

“Really? You mean?”

“Yes. He tried to kill himself when he was about twenty, when his first love affair ended. Artistic temperament I suppose. He’s very dramatic. Cut himself, then panicked and called for help.”

Luella sat down across from him. “That’s awful…Peter, dreadful. You know, I’ve been thinking. You should take some time off. Spend some time with him. It is what you want isn’t it? I mean, you want to be with him, to live with him, to see if it’ll work out don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. It’s why I wanted to see you.” He paused. “I’m going to France, to Provence for a while. I wanted to tell you rather than phone, and I was thinking about Christmas. I don’t like the thought of you being on your own.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Susie and Phil have invited me for the whole of that weekend. They always have a crowd of people around for Christmas dinner, her ‘waifs and strays’ as she calls them. Have you squared the time off with the bank then?”

“Yes. They owed me a bunch of time. I’m taking a month’s leave.”

“And Jean-Luc? Is he in the clear with the bank?”

“Pretty much. These things take time, but it turns out he’s lost a shitload of money through mismanagement. They know who they need to go after. It’s not him. Don’t worry, Lu. Our money, your money’s safe.”

“It’s a relief to hear you say it, but actually I haven’t been too worried. I trusted you on that one. You’re too sensible with money to mess that up. I overreacted, but let’s move on, put all that behind us.”

She stood up and lifted the tray. “I have soup ready. Let’s get something to eat.”

Peter followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the wall. “What do we do next, Lu?” he asked.

“You mean about us?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know,” she said, putting down the tray and wiping her hands on a towel. “But you know what I think?” She walked over and looked up at him.

“Go on,” he said.

“I think we’ll be just fine. That’s what I think. No matter who I might meet or what happens with you and Jean-Luc, you will always be my best friend. Always.”

“And you will always be my soul-mate,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. “Always.”

A tiny whimper made India sit up from where she’d been napping on Sarah’s couch. She leaned across to the cradle at her side.

“Shhh. Shhh. Shush,” she whispered. “It’s not time for your feeding yet.”

Gently rocking the wicker bassinette, she watched as the baby closed her eyes, then opened them and cried again the second the motion stopped. The past week had been a serious learning curve for India. Volunteering to help Sarah, she had imagined a few evenings singing the child lullabies at bedtime and warming chicken soup for her friend. The reality had been a lot more prosaic. Seven straight days of sterilizing bottles, changing diapers, changing clothes, averaging three hours of sleep a night and making endless dashes into Mothercare for yet more supplies had left her achingly tired.

It amazed India that one miniscule human being could cause such exhaustion, require so much attention, and create such chaos. She’d found it impossible to get any routine established for Sarah, who’d taken full advantage of having her there and had spent most of the time in bed. Her doctors had given her medication to help with the postnatal depression and India could see Sarah’s mood was lifting.

By the end of her stay, India joked that she was beginning to feel postnatally depressed herself. She was counting the minutes until she could go into the office for a full day. She was done. So done that she felt pretty certain it’d be a good ten years until she ever felt broody again, and by then she’d be looking at adoption in a system that required nothing more than a monthly donation to a child in a developing country.

The baby continued to whimper. India picked her up and took her upstairs to Sarah, who sat up slowly, stretched out her arms, and took the baby and the bottle from her.

“Sorry to wake you. Are you two going to be okay on your own for the rest of the morning? The nurse will be here in a couple of hours. I’ve left a fresh set of clothes out for the baby, and there’s a quiche in the fridge for you for lunch. Why don’t you get dressed before then?”

“Okay.” Sarah smiled. “I think I will today. Thanks for everything, Indie. We’ll be fine ’til she gets here. Thanks again. You’ve been wonderful. Have a great trip.”

India hesitated a minute to make sure Sarah didn’t fall back asleep, then confident she was okay, went downstairs, packed her bag, and called a cab for home.

Climbing under the welcoming sheets of her own bed that night, India reflected on Sarah’s situation. Things would improve for her, she felt certain. Sarah was too independent to be under par for too long. A professional baby nurse would have the child in a regular sleep pattern in no time at all. Drifting off to sleep, India reflected on how much their lives had changed in the last few months.

24

Sitting on the train on the way to the airport a few days later, India was buzzing with excitement at the prospect of going back to Paris and to Hotel de l’Abbaye.

This is strictly a business trip, she told herself. What happened months ago is ancient history, an insane moment best forgotten…not easily forgotten though, she thought, crossing the terminal and checking in at the Air France desk quickly, where for once her bag was the correct size and weight for carry-on.

Walking into the business-class lounge, she had a flashback to the last time she’d flown with Henry. At the memory, she resisted the glass of chardonnay she craved to steady her nerves before the flight and poured herself a cup of tea instead. She caught sight of him stretched out in a seat by the window as she struggled to open a creamer.

He looks decidedly European today, India thought, taking in his navy overcoat, Berluti loafers and his worn Lotuff satchel. He looked up over the top of his reading glasses and put down a copy of
Le Monde
as she approached him.

“Hey. Have a seat,” he said, lifting his overnight bag off a chair. “We’re boarding in fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking off her woolen coat and folding it carefully at her side.

“We’ve been invited for dinner tonight,” he said.

“That’s nice. Who with?” she asked as casually as she could manage. I’m going to Paris, I’m going to dinner in Paris, wahoo!

“An old friend of mine,” he said. “He’s a professor at the Sorbonne. He and his wife have an apartment around the corner from our hotel. She’s a photographer. I think you’ll like them.”

“Great,” India said. “Do they speak English?”

“Of course. Don’t worry, and anyway you get by don’t you?”

“Yes,” India said. ”But I’m better when I’m with people I don’t know. I get all self-conscious otherwise.”

“Well, don’t worry. They’re lovely and the food will be wonderful. Did you get a chance to prep for the meetings? I know you were staying with your friend and her baby. How is she by the way?”

“She’s okay. She’ll be fine. And yes, I got into the office for a few hours yesterday, so I’m pretty much up to speed. I am so looking forward to this part of the project. I expect the show will be very different from the one in New York.”

“Yes. It’ll be a hell of a lot more avant-garde, that’s for sure and even if it isn’t, the French publicists will hype it up so we all think it is.”

“How’s Luella?” India asked. “ haven’t seen her all week.”

“She’s okay. Better than she’s been for a while actually. How much did she tell you?”

“Nothing really. She just said she was tired and glad not to be making this trip.”

“I’ve known her and Peter for quite a while,” he said, sliding his newspaper into the side of his satchel. “In a million years, I never would have guessed he was gay.”

He sat back again and smiled at her. “She’s pleased you’re taking the pressure off her coming on this trip.”

“I’m happy to be able to. I can’t imagine how tough things have been for her. Of course, I never knew her before all this happened,” India said, wincing at the steaming tea and setting down the cup.

“She’s a lot more serious these days that’s for sure, but stick around and you’ll get to know us all a lot better. Oh! Look, we’re boarding early. That’s our flight up on the screen,” he said, getting up and stretching.

India followed Henry through the lounge, down the stairs, and outside to the tarmac and the waiting plane. They climbed the narrow steps and were directed to the first row. India was relieved to see there were three seats across and the middle one had been deliberately left empty for the comfort of business class travelers. Getting on board, she’d been anticipating the agony of sitting squashed up next to Henry. The fallout from their last flight together was burned into her psyche.

Once airborne, the flight attendants did their rounds with the drinks and snacks trolley and before she knew it, the short flight was over and they were striding along the glass-walled arrivals lounge of Charles de Gaulle Airport. Getting through passport control took a while. The arrangement reminded India of a dressage performance, where the horses prance around cones and take the longest route over the shortest distance.

They made a dash for the waiting car through a deluge and climbed into the rear seats of a Peugot. Why does it always rain the first day I’m in Paris? she thought. Damn it, I don’t have an umbrella.

“We should be there in plenty of time to relax before dinner,” Henry said as they approached the Champs-Élysées lined with Christmas market stalls.

“How pretty” India exclaimed, admiring the holiday lights wrapped around the chestnut trees. “Look, they make the shape of champagne glasses. How very French. Oh! Yes I recognize where we are now.”

Walking into the hotel foyer, it felt to India as if no time at all had elapsed since she had last been there. She almost expected Luella to appear down the narrow carpeted corridor as she made her way to her room. And what a room this was – the room Samantha had reserved for Luella. India marveled at the elaborate wallpaper with its colorful hummingbirds, the sepia prints, the curtained closets, and the marble bathroom, but it was the tiny conservatory with its view of the garden courtyard and its mahogany writing desk, velvet armchair, and coffee table that made India suddenly ache for something she couldn’t quite place for a moment. She allowed the thought that maybe it would be perfect if she were not alone. If she were not by herself, she would have leapt on the bed with delight while Adam popped the cork on that bottle of champagne and filled the two tall-stemmed glasses.