Remember (35 page)

It struck her that it was rather off the beaten track for a woman like Marie Therese, who was used to so much better.

But after she had hugged and kissed the Frenchwoman in the small foyer of the apartment, Nicky glanced around and saw that the living room ahead was large and nicely appointed. Also, there was a happy feeling about the place, it had a pleasant atmosphere.

As for Marie Therese, she was as pretty and vivacious as she had always been, her large, dark eyes dancing, her generous mouth twitching with hidden laughter, just as it had years ago.

“Now you can see why it is difficult for me to get around,” she

said and pointed to her left leg encased up to the knee in a plaster cast.

“The stairs are hard for me—with this.”

Nicky nodded sympathetically. “I was sorry to hear about your accident, and sorry that I couldn’t take you to lunch at the Relais Plaza. But it’s great to see you, and you do look wonderful, Marie Therese.”

“I feel it, 77a che’ne, except for this silly thing.” She tapped the cast with her cane and grimaced.

“This is for you,” Nicky said, giving her the black shopping bag she was carrying.

“Nicky, you shouldn’t have! But how wonderful—something from Chanel.”

“I hope you like it. I went across the street this morning to their boutique. They said you can exchange it, if you wish.”

“I am sure that I will adore it, thank you. But come, let us not stand here, let us go and sit down so that I can open your cadeau. You are so generous, 7na petite.” They sat in wide armchairs opposite each other, and within a few seconds Marie Therese had opened the Chanel box and pulled out a beautiful red-and-white silk scarf. It was obvious from her expression that she loved it, and Nicky was delighted to see this.

“Thank you, Nicky, you are such a darling.” Pushing herself up, she went to kiss her and then added, “I have a bottle of white wine ready for us, and a little of the country pate you always liked.”

With a chuckle Nicky said, “I hope you’ve got cornichons to go with it.”

“Bien suAr. I wouldn’t dare to serve pate to you without them. I have not forgotten how much you love them. Why, you and your little friend Natalie used to eat them like candy!”

Nicky burst out laughing. “And I’ve never lost the taste for them.

Neither has Natalie.”

“And where is the beautiful Natalie these days?”

“Living in Los Angeles, and being very successful in films.”

“She was certainly beautiful enough to be a movie star when she was a child.”

“And she’s still a beauty. But she works in production, behind the scenes, not in front of the camera.”

“But you are in front of it, my Nicky, and you are fantastic .

One of the French networks recently showed a documentary you had done for ATN on the women of Beirut and their point of view about the war.

It was very touching, and I was so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Nicky murmured. “As I recall, they dubbed me in French.”

Hobbling across the floor of the living room, Marie Therese said, “Yes, they did. I will get the wine from the refrigerator so that we can have a drink.”

“Let me help you!” Nicky said, jumping up.

“Merci, che’ne.” Nicky followed her through the foyer and down a short corridor to the kitchen, where she opened the wine and put it on the tray along with the loaf of pate, a plate of toast and a crystal dish of cornichons. Marie Therese placed several paper napkins on the tray, which Nicky carried back to the living room.

Once they were settled in their chairs and had clinked glasses, Nicky let her eyes roam around the cheerful room. “Your things look beautiful here, and the apartment seems to be large, but why did you move? You were comfortable on the Left Bank, weren’t you?”

“I was, Nicky, this is true. But my apartment had only one bedroom.

It was too small for three people.”

“Three? Are Paul and his wife living with you, then?”

The Frenchwoman shook her head. “Non, non, che’ne, they have their own apartment. I live here because of Marcel, my friend. He is a widower, with a son, and he already had this place. It was so

much easier to move in here with them. Marcel and I did it up a little, and brought my things….” She shrugged. “We are content here.”

“I’m glad,” Nicky replied. She suddenly realized that her former nanny looked far younger than her forty-six years. The short curly hair was still dark, untouched by gray, the rosy complexion youthful, and those warm brown eyes she remembered so well from her childhood shone with happiness. “Why, Marie Therese, I do believe you’ve fallen madly in love with your friend Marcel! I can see it in your eyes!”

Marie Therese blushed slightly and nodded, looking shy and girlish.

Nicky said, “I think Marcel must be very good for you.”

“Oh, he is, Nicky, I have not been so happy in years. Marcel is a nice man, very kind, and we are happy together.”

“Are you going to marry him?”

“Yes, perhaps. There is no hurry.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “When we feel like it, we will.” Marie Therese leaned forward slightly and asked, “But what of you, Nicky? Last night, on the telephone, you said you had a boyfriend in Paris. Is that why you are here? To be with him?”

“Yes, it is. He’s a photographer. We met in Beirut two years ago.

And then just after we came out of China, where we’d been covering the demonstrations in Tiananmen Square, we … well, we became involved.

That was at the end of June.”

“I never thought you’d be interested in a Frenchman. You were such an all-American girl when you were small.”

“I guess I still am,” Nicky laughed. “And my friend is an American, even though he lives here. His name’s Cleeland Donovan, Clee for short, I’m sure you’ve seen his photographs in Paris Match.” 1-, , “Oui, oui!” Marie Therese exclaimed. “I have! And are you going to marry him?”

“Maybe,” Nicky said.

“That would be wonderful for me, if you came to live in Paris . .

. perhaps we could see each other more often than once every couple of years,” Marie Therese said, sounding wistful.

At this moment the doorbell rang, and Marie Therese said, “Nicky, could you go to the door, please? It is the lunch arriving, I ordered it from the restaurant next door.”

Nicky hurried into the foyer, and Marie Therese, struggling to her feet, called after her, “Everything is paid for, all you have to do is put the dishes in the oven for me. It is already turned on.”

“Okay,” Nicky said over her shoulder and opened the front door, taking a large tray from the waiter standing there, she said “Merci beaucoup.”

Marie Therese hobbled toward her, saying “Merci, Olivier, merci ,” and the waiter inclined his head. “De rien, Madame Bouret,” he replied before disappearing down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Marie Therese leaned against the doorjamb while Nicky put the dishes in the oven. “I ordered couscous, they make it with chicken. It is delicious,” she explained.

“It certainly smells good,” Nicky replied as she straightened and pushed her hair out of her face.

Marie Therese continued, “Now, let us go back to the salon and have another glass of wine, and you can tell me all about your friend Clee.”

“I’d be delighted to do that.” Nicky flashed her a wide smile, and added, “I’ll begin now if you like by telling you that he’s absolutely wonderful.”

“Aha! I think you too are in love!”

“I just might be at that,” Nicky said.

, Nicky felt her mood changing the minute she opened the door to Clee on Monday evening. The last vestiges of her sadness, that awful feeling of melancholy, dissipated instantly, and her spirits lifted.

All of the things that had troubled her for the last few days were pushed to the back of her mind. The only thing that mattered was Clee.

He stood there, saying nothing, a huge smile spreading across his face, radiating warmth, his love shining from his dark eyes.

She smiled back, her face filling with radiance, opened the door wide and stepped to one side so he could enter.

“I’ve missed you, Nick,” he said, entering the suite. He grabbed hold of her and wrapped his arms around her, pushing the door closed with his foot. “It’s been too long, babe,” he went on, brushing her cheek with his lips. “Far too long. For me.” li “And for me,” she said, holding him tightly. “I’ve missed you terribly.”

“I’m glad,” Clee said, kissed her lightly on the mouth, and then, with his arm around her shoulders, walked her into the small sitting room.

Pausing, he held her away from him. “Nicky,” he exclaimed, “God, it’s so good to see you! I’ve longed for you.”

“And how I’ve longed for you !” Nicky responded, taking herself by surprise with this fervent admission. She was usually more cautious in what she said to him, yet now she ached to escape to Provence, to obliterate everything that had happened since she had arrived in Europe, and most of all to be with Clee and to forget about Charles Devereaux.

“Well, I guess I’d better dump my problems on you now,” he announced with a grimace.

“What kind of problems, Clee?”

He didn’t immediately answer this question. Instead, he asked, “Is that a bottle of champagne in the ice bucket over there?”

“Dom Perignon. Your favorite.”

“Let’s have a glass, darling, and then I’ll explain.”

Nicky sat down on the sofa, experiencing a pang of anxiety, hoping the problems he had mentioned were not insurmountable. She couldn’t bear it if he had to go away on another assignment. All she wanted was to be with him. She needed him, needed his gentleness and affection.

Clee went over to the coffee table, opened the bottle of champagne with efficiency and filled the two crystal flutes on the tray. After clinking his glass against hers, he took a long drink. “Mmmm, that’s good,” he murmured, and walked over to the fireplace. “It’s been a rough day at the office.”

“The problems, Clee, what are they?” she pressed.

He put his glass down on the mantelpiece, and said, “Okay,

here goes.

First, I’ve got a leak in the bathroom. I came back last night to find a flood. Bathroom and bedroom under water-well, almost. I called several plumbers today, but in typical French fashion, not one was available until tomorrow. Anyway, my housekeeper has done her best to contain the deluge, but there’s no way I can move you into my apartment tonight. So—” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a toothbrush and banged it down on the mantel. “I have to sleep here tonight. I can camp out in the suite with you, can’t I?”

“Of course you can!” she cried, laughing, filled with relief.

“I’d love it, and I’d hardly call that a problem. I mean, staying here isn’t, but I am sorry about your apartment.”

He grinned at her. “It needed redecorating anyway.” His face sobered as he went on. “Also, we can’t leave for the farm on ,Wednesday as we’d planned, Nick. I’ve got problems at the office—” “Such as?” she cut in.

“Two of my partners have to be away for various reasons. Pete Naylor and I have been splitting their assignments between us. Do you mind if we stay in Paris for another week or so?”

“Oh, Clee, you know I love Paris. Besides, I don’t really care where I am, as long as I’m with you.”

“Nicky, that’s the best news I’ve had in weeks,” he said, smiling broadly. But his eyes were fastened on hers intently. He was very sensitive to every nuance of her behavior, and he realized that her feelings for him had deepened since they were together in Provence and in New York.

Taking a sip of champagne, he continued, “There’s another thing, although it’s more of a disappointment. Yoyo won’t be arriving in Paris until the end of the week. So I’m afraid our celebration tonight will be private.”

“Oh, Clee, I’m sorry we won’t be seeing Yoyo right away,” Nicky remarked between sips of champagne. “But the main thing is that we’re together, and he’s on his way here, not rotting in a Beijing jail.

Have you actually spoken to him yet?”

“No, but he phoned the office on Saturday, and JeanClaude says Yoyo knew you would be in Paris today. Apparently he spoke to your secretary in New York.”

“Last week, he phoned the network.”

Clee nodded, finished his champagne and poured himself another glass.

“A refill, Nicky?”

She shook her head. “No more for me just now, thanks.”

Leaning against the mantel, Clee asked, “How did your research go in Rome, Athens and Madrid?”

“Fine, thanks. And how did you get on in Berlin and Leipzig?”

“Not bad, not bad at all. I have a feeling I might go back there in the not too distant future. A lot’s happening—we’ve seen nothing yet.” He began to talk about the political situations now existing in East and West Berlin, Leipzig, the Eastern European bloc in general and, most especially, Russia.

Nicky sat back, listening attentively, respecting his judgment, as she always had. But at the same time, part of her mind was focused on him personally. She could not help thinking how marvelous he looked, his face lightly tanned from being outdoors so much, his brown hair lightened by the sun. He wore a darkblue silk suit, a pale-blue shirt and a navy tie, and she had never seen him looking smarter. But although he had long ago acquired that inimitable stylishness of the French, and looked European in a certain sense, his face was wholly American, boyish and open, a nice face. The brown eyes were full of candor and sincerity, his wide Irish mouth was generous, also very gentle. Yes, Cleeland Donovan was a quietly handsome man, and very appealing.

Unexpectedly, her feelings for him seemed to engulf her, overwhelm her.

For the first time she truly understood how much this

man really meant to her. There was no one in the world who was more important than he was, and she was startled by this sudden realization.

Lost for a few seconds in her contemplation of him and of her feelings for him, she wasn’t aware that he had stopped speaking until he let out a low whistle, startling her. With a jolt she sat up straighter and blinked.

“Hey, Nicky, where are you drifting off to?” he asked and broke into laughter. “Am I boring you?”

“Oh, no, Clee, certainly not, honestly,” she said.