Summer's End (3 page)

“Bonjour, ma chère.”

Ma chère
, not
ma chérie.
My dear, not my darling, Deanna observed. The
i
had fallen from the word many years since. “You look pretty this morning.”

“Thank you.” She looked up with the dawn of a smile, then saw him already studying the papers. The compliment had been a formality more than a truth. The art of the French. She knew it well. “Anything new in Paris?” Her face was once again grave.

“I’ll let you know. I’m going over tomorrow. For a while.” Something in his tone told her there was more. There always was.

“How long a while?”

He looked at her, amused, and she was reminded once again of all the reasons she had fallen in love with him. Marc was an incredibly handsome man, with a lean, aristocratic face and flashing blue eyes that even Pilar’s couldn’t match. The gray at his temples barely showed in the still-sandy-blond hair. He still looked young and dynamic, and almost always amused, particularly when he was in the States. He found Americans “amusing”: It amused him when he beat them at tennis and squash, at bridge or backgammon, and particularly in the courtroom. He worked the way he played— hard and fast and well, and with extraordinary results. He was a man whom men envied and over whom women fawned. He always won. Winning was his style. Deanna had loved that about him at first. It had been such a victory when he first told her he loved her.

“I asked you how long you’d be away.” There was a tiny edge to her voice.

“I’m not sure. A few days. Does it matter?”

“Of course.” The edge to her voice.

“Have we something important?” He looked surprised; he had checked the book and hadn’t seen anything there. “Well?”

No, nothing important, darling … only each other.
“No, no, nothing like that. I just wondered.”

“I’ll let you know. I’ll have a better idea after some meetings today. There’s a problem apparently on the big shipping case. I may have to go directly to Athens from Paris.”

“Again?”

“So it would seem.” He went back to the papers until Margaret set his eggs in front of him then glanced at his wife again. “You’re taking Pilar to the airport?”

“Of course.”

“Please see to it that she’s properly dressed. Mother will have a stroke if she gets off the plane again in one of those outrageous costumes.”

“Why don’t you tell her yourself?” Deanna fixed him with her green eyes.

“I thought that was more your province.” He looked unmoved.

“What, discipline or her wardrobe?” Each of them thankless tasks, as they both knew.

“Both, to a degree.” She wanted to ask to what degree, but she didn’t. To the degree that she was capable of it? Was that what he meant? Marc went on, “I’ve given her some money for the trip, by the way. So you won’t have to.”

“How much?”

He glanced up sharply. “I beg your pardon?”

“I asked how much money you gave her for the trip.” She said it very quietly.

“Is that important?”

“I think so. Or are discipline and wardrobe my only departments?” The edge of eighteen years of marriage colored her tone now.

“Not necessarily. Don’t worry, she has enough.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“What are you worried about?” His tone was suddenly not pleasant, and her eyes were like steel.

“I don’t think she should have too much money for the summer. She doesn’t need it.”

“She’s a very responsible girl.”

“But she is not quite sixteen years old, Marc. How much did you give her?”

“A thousand.” He said it very quietly, as though he were closing a deal.

“Dollars?” Her eyes flew wide. “That’s outrageous!”

“Is it?”

“You know perfectly well it is. And you also know what she’ll do with it.”

“Amuse herself, I assume. Harmlessly.”

“No, she’ll buy one of those damn motorcycles she wants so much, and I absolutely refuse to allow that to happen.” But Deanna’s fury was matched only by her impotence and she knew it. Pilar was going to “them” now, out of Deanna’s control. “I don’t want her to have that much money.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“For God’s sake, Marc.…”

The telephone rang as she began her tirade in earnest. It was for Marc, from Milan. He had no time to listen to her before he left. He had a meeting to attend at nine-thirty. He glanced at his watch. “Stop being so hysterical, Deanna. The child will be in good hands.” But that was a whole other discussion right there, and he didn’t have time. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Will you be home for dinner?”

“I doubt it. I’ll have Dominique call.”

“Thank you.” They were two tiny, frozen words. She watched him close the door. A moment later she heard his Jaguar purr out of the driveway. She had lost another war.

She broached the subject again with Pilar on the way to the airport. “I understand your father gave you quite a lot of money for the summer.”

“Here we go. What is it now?”

“You know damn well what it is now. The motorcycle. I’ll put it to you very simply, love. You buy one and I’ll have you hauled home.”

Pilar wanted to taunt her with “how will you know?” but she didn’t dare. “O.K., so I won’t buy one.”

“Or ride one.”

“Or ride one.” But it was a useless parroting, and Deanna found herself, for the first time in a long time, wanting to scream.

She glanced at her daughter for a moment as she drove and then looked straight ahead again. “Why does it have to be this way? You’re leaving for three months. We won’t see each other. Couldn’t it be pleasant between us today? What’s the point of this constant haggling?”

“I didn’t start it. You brought up the motorcycle.”

“Do you have any idea why? Because I love you, because I give a damn. Because I don’t want you killed. Does that make any sense to you?” There was desperation in her voice, and finally anger.

“Yeah, sure.”

They rode on in silence to the airport. Deanna felt tears sting her eyes again, but she would not let Pilar see them. She had to be perfect, she had to be strong. The way Marc was, the way all his damned French relatives pretended to be, the way Pilar wanted to be. Deanna left her car with the valet at the curb, and they followed the porter inside, where Pilar checked in. When the clerk handed back her passport and ticket, she turned to her mother.

“You’re coming to the gate?” There was more dismay in her voice than encouragement.

“I thought that might be nice. Would you mind?”

“No.” Sullen, and angry. A goddamn child. Deanna wanted to slap her. Who was this person? Who had she become? Where had the sunny little girl who loved her gone? They each held tightly to their own thoughts as they walked toward the gate, collecting appreciative glances as they went. They were a striking pair. The dark beauty of Deanna in a beautifully cut, black wool dress, her hair swept into a knot, with a bright red jacket over one arm; Pilar in her youthful blaze of blonde, tall and slender and graceful in a white linen suit that had met with her mother’s approval as she came down the stairs. Even her grandmother would approve—unless she found the cut too American. Anything was possible, with Madame Duras.

The plane was already boarding when they arrived, and Deanna had only a moment to hold the girl’s hand tightly in her own. “I mean it about the motorcycle, darling. Please….”

“All right, all right.” But Pilar was already looking past Deanna, eager to be on the plane.

“I’ll call you. And call me, if you have any problems.”

“I won’t.” It was said with the assurance of not-quite-sixteen years.

“I hope not.” Deanna’s face softened as she looked at her daughter, then pulled her into a hug. “I love you, darling. Have a good time.”

“Thanks, Mom.” She favored her mother with a brief smile, and a quick wave, as her golden mane flew into the passageway. Deanna suddenly felt leaden. She was gone again. Her baby … the little girl with the curly blonde hair, the child who had held her arms out so trustingly each night to be hugged and kissed … Pilar. Deanna took a seat in the lounge and waited to see the 747 begin its climb into the sky. At last she rose and walked slowly back to her car. The valet tipped his cap appreciatively at the dollar she handed him and wondered about her as she swung her legs gracefully into the car. She was one hell of a good-looking woman; he couldn’t quite guess how old she was: twenty-eight? thirty-two? thirty-five? forty? It was impossible to tell. Her face was young, but the rest of her, the way she moved, the look in her eyes, was so old.

Deanna heard him coming up the stairs as she sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair. It was twenty after ten, and he hadn’t called her all day. Dominique, his secretary, had left a message with Margaret at noon: Monsieur Duras would not be home for dinner. Deanna had eaten in the studio while she sketched, but her mind had not been on her work. She had been thinking of Pilar.

She turned and smiled at him as he came into the room. She had actually missed him. The house had been strangely quiet all day. “Hello, darling. That was a long day.”

“Very long. And yours?”

“Peaceful. It’s too quiet here without Pilar.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that.” Marc-Edouard smiled at his wife as he slid into a large blue velvet chair near the fireplace.

“Neither did I. How were your meetings?”

“Tiresome.”

He was not very expansive. She turned in her seat to look at him. “You’re still going to Paris tomorrow?” He nodded, and she continued to watch him as he stretched his long legs. He looked no different than he had that morning and seemed almost ready to take on another day. He thrived on the meetings he called “tiresome.” He stood up and walked toward her with a smile in his eyes.

“Yes, I’m going to Paris tomorrow. Are you quite sure you don’t want to join Pilar and my mother in Cap d’Antibes?”

“Quite sure.” Her look was determined. “Why would I want to do that?”

“You said yourself that it was too quiet here. I thought perhaps.…” He put his hands on her shoulders as he went to stand behind her for a moment. “I’m going to be gone all summer, Deanna.”

Her shoulders stiffened in his hands. “All summer?”

“More or less. The Salco shipping case is too important to leave in anyone else’s hands. I’ll be commuting back and forth between Paris and Athens all summer. I just can’t be here.” His accent seemed stronger now when he spoke to her, as though he had already left the States. “It will give me plenty of opportunity to check up on Pilar, which should please you, but not any opportunity to be with you.” She wanted to ask him if he really cared, but she didn’t ask. “I think the case will take the better part of the summer. About three months.”

It sounded like a death sentence to her. “Three months?” Her voice was very small.

“Now you see why I asked if you’d like to go to Cap d’Antibes. Does this change your mind?”

She shook her head slowly. “No. It doesn’t. You won’t be there either, and I think Pilar needs a break from me. Not to mention …” Her voice drifted off.

“My mother?” Marc asked. She nodded. “I see. Well then,
ma chère
, you will be here all alone.”

Dammit, why didn’t he ask her to go with him, to commute between Athens and Paris. For a wild moment Deanna thought of suggesting it to him, but she knew he wouldn’t let her go. He liked to be free when he worked. He would never take her along.

“Can you manage alone?” he said now.

“Do I have a choice? Do you mean I could say no and you wouldn’t go?” She turned her face up to his.

“You know that’s not possible.”

“Yes, I do.” She was silent for a time and then shrugged with a small smile. “I’ll manage.”

“I know you will.”

How do you know dammit? How do you know? What if I can’t? What if I need you? … What if …

“You’re a very good wife, Deanna.”

For a brief second she didn’t know whether to thank him or slap him. “What does that mean? That I don’t complain very much? Maybe I should.” Her smile hid what she felt and allowed him to dodge what he chose not to answer.

“No, you shouldn’t. You are perfect the way you are.”

“Merci, monsieur.”
She stood up then and turned away so he would not see her face. “Will you pack yourself, or do you want me to pack for you?”

“I’ll do it myself. You go to bed. I’ll be there in a while.”

Deanna watched him dart around his dressing room, then disappear downstairs, to his study, she assumed. She had turned off the lights in the bedroom and was lying very still on her side of the bed when he returned.