The Woman From Paris (21 page)

Phaedra hung up and remained on the bed, staring into the half distance. She felt ashamed. George had left her a fortune as well as a very valuable suite of jewelry she didn’t even want. Before he had died, he had spoiled her, but his gifts were easier to accept when given with warm hands. Now he was dead, it seemed somehow avaricious to accept them. It wasn’t right that she should own the
Frampton Sapphires, and yet Julius had made her feel ungrateful when she had suggested she give them to Roberta. Why all the fuss about a few pieces of gold, diamonds, and sapphires? Julius
wasn’t
right: in the grand scheme of things, money had no real value; she had learned that from watching her mother. Only love had any value—and she missed George with all her heart.

However, it wasn’t long before her thoughts sprang back to David. She stood up and wandered into the bathroom to run a bath. While it ran she flicked through the photographs she’d taken at the folly on her digital camera. She paused on David’s face and felt the familiar warmth spread across her chest, followed by a gnawing sense of shame that induced her hastily to put him away like a forbidden toy. George was barely cold in his grave, and she was already feeling an inappropriate desire for his eldest son. She undressed and stepped into the bubbly water, allowing it to wash over her. Perhaps she shouldn’t go to Murenburg. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t see them all again. Spending time with David might just lead her into terrible trouble—and she’d only have herself to blame. She should return to Paris and forget about Fairfield and the Framptons. She closed her eyes and sank her head beneath the water.

*   *   *

Antoinette was sorry to see Phaedra go, but happy that they had become friends. In one weekend, they had achieved more than she could possibly have hoped for. Not only had they spent time together, but they had really enjoyed each other’s company. If she had been blessed with a daughter, she would have liked her to be just like Phaedra.

She wandered into George’s room and looked out of the window. The sky was cloudy, but for a few clear patches where the stars were able to shine through. She remembered Phaedra’s advice to focus on the stars in order to sense a higher power, so she gazed up through an opening and lost herself a moment in the eternal space beyond. She felt very small, and yet at the same time, somewhere in the region of
her chest, she felt a part of that mysterious expanse, as if she were more than just skin and bone; part of the everlasting current of Life.

That moment of consciousness was brief. Afterwards, her attention was distracted by the garden. Although it was dark, she could make out the pair of apple trees and the tops of the avenue of lime trees where they were silhouetted against the sky. She listened to the breeze sweeping through the branches and remembered how Phaedra had imagined George looking out onto that view every morning when he drew the curtains. It was true, George had loved Fairfield, and like a homing pigeon he had punctuated his life with weekends here whenever he had been able to. And yet he had been restless, as if he had expected more from his home and been disappointed. As if, perhaps, the
thought
of home had exceeded the reality.

Antoinette considered Margaret and the type of mother she had made. She hadn’t been affectionate, but Antoinette was certain she had thought the world of George—he had been her only son. Yet he had married a very different woman. In fact, the more Antoinette pondered on their differences, the more she realized that he had chosen to spend his life with the total antithesis of his mother. Perhaps he had married a woman whose affection was assured because his mother’s was hard to win. With Antoinette he had been a hero right from the moment she had met him; Margaret was less forthcoming in her praise, which didn’t mean she hadn’t been proud of him, just that she had found it hard to express. But George had been a man who needed both verbal and physical confirmation of his value. Antoinette wasn’t sure that Margaret had ever fulfilled that need.

Phaedra had had a soothing effect on Margaret, too. From the moment the old lady had come down from her rest, she had been restored. Phaedra hadn’t elaborated on their conversation, but whatever they had said to each other had lifted Margaret out of the quagmire of her suppressed grief, and she had smiled at Phaedra in a way that Antoinette had rarely seen her smile. Only Roberta had remained cold and suspicious. She knew in her heart that Roberta was highly protective of her family, but she also knew how materialistic her
daughter-in-law was. Would she have accepted Phaedra if George hadn’t left her the Frampton Sapphires?

She thought of Tom and David taking Phaedra to stay at Chalet Marmot, and then she turned her thoughts to herself. What was
she
going to do now that George was no longer around to need her? She had money; she could do anything she wanted . . . but what? The idea of embarking on an adventure of her own was very daunting. She was safe down here at Fairfield. Part of her just wanted to hide away and lick her wounds. She didn’t feel up to seeing anyone outside the family—except Dr. Heyworth.

She didn’t mind seeing
him
. He had been so kind and understanding when he had found her in his garden, the
first
time. He had listened to her as she unburdened herself of her anger towards George, and her resentment of his throwing all caution to the wind and taking unnecessary risks. Dr. Heyworth hadn’t disapproved; in fact, he had told her that it was “perfectly natural” to feel that way and a good thing to talk it through. After her escape to his garden a
second
time, they were now firm friends. Margaret would highly disapprove, she thought with a smile. But Rosamunde might be a little put out—after all, she had clearly taken a shine to him. She decided she’d ask him up to the house again, for Rosamunde. She pulled away from the window, feeling suddenly more positive. Perhaps she’d ask him for dinner.

The following evening Julius’s black BMW drew up outside Phaedra’s little house on Cheyne Row, and Julius stepped out with a large bouquet of red roses. He straightened his tie as he stood at the door, about to ring the bell. Phaedra had watched him from the window above, and her heart sank at the sight of the flowers. She consoled herself with the thought of flying to Zurich in a couple of days, grabbed her handbag from the bed, and went down the stairs to open the door.

“Ah, Phaedra,” said Julius, running his eyes up and down her body appreciatively. “You look very pretty.”

“Thank you,” she replied, hoping she wasn’t sending out the wrong signals by wearing a dress.

“I’ve brought you roses. I know girls love flowers, and I thought you sounded rather sad on the telephone last night.”

“I miss him, Julius.”

“Of course you do. But time is a great healer; so are distractions. I’m going to give you a nice dinner and try to take your mind off it all.” He handed her the flowers and followed her into the little hall.

“I’ll just go and put these in water. They’re beautiful, thank you.”

Julius’s BMW was the latest model and immaculately clean. Fine leather seats, shiny wooden dashboard, not a fleck of dust to be seen anywhere. The interior smelled of polish and Julius’s heavy-handed use of cologne. He started the engine and classical music at once filled the car. Phaedra belted up, and Julius swung out into the street and sped down towards the Embankment at high speed. It was dusk. The sky was a gentle, muted pink, the light turning the wheeling seagulls into small flamingos. As the car swept across the city Phaedra felt uplifted by the swathes of crocuses and daffodils in Hyde Park. Candy-colored blossoms floated on the breeze, and flocks of pigeons gathered on the pavements and around bins, where there was food to be scavenged. “I like London at this time of year,” she said.

“Very pretty,” Julius agreed, but it was clear that he didn’t really notice.

“Fairfield was so beautiful. The leaves just beginning to unfurl, the blossoms flowering on the apple trees, hundreds of tulips peeping out of the earth. It’s a very special place.”

“Did you see the paintings? They have some very valuable works of art.”

“I saw them, but I wouldn’t know their value.”

“Did Antoinette show you the portrait of Theodora in the Frampton Sapphires?”

“No,” she lied; she didn’t want to look like she’d been snooping.

“Really? It’s hanging on the stairs. You know, beside the big one of Algernon Frampton. Check it out next time you go. That one must be worth a small fortune.”

“I might have seen it and not realized. I haven’t been shown the sapphires.”

“They’re as big as sweets.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely.”

“You’ll be wearing them soon enough.”

Phaedra laughed. “I don’t think so! When am I ever going to have the opportunity to wear jewels? You know I don’t lead that kind of life.”

“You could do, if you wanted to.”

“But I don’t want to. I’m very happy with my life just as it is. I’m a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl.”

He gave her a sideways glance and grinned, as if to indicate that he knew better.

The Ivy was warm, dimly lit, and packed with diners. Julius was made a great fuss of by fawning staff, which he clearly enjoyed, having been a frequent guest of George’s. The manager offered his condolences as they were escorted to George’s regular table in the center of the room, and Julius looked suitably solemn as he accepted them. Phaedra sat on the red leather banquette and glanced around at the other guests. By the time Julius sat down she had already spotted three famous actors and one celebrity chef.

“We’re in good company,” said Julius happily.

“It’s a lovely restaurant.”

“George’s favorite. He used to come at least three times a week.”

“No wonder they treat you like royalty.”

“We had our lunch meetings in here, dinner meetings at Mark’s Club. George was set in his ways in that respect.” He ordered a bottle of wine without looking at the menu. “We’ll start with white, then we’ll see.”

“I’m happy with white.”

“Depends what you have for dinner.”

“I’m not fussy. What would you recommend?”

“I’ll order for you.”

She watched Julius as he scanned the menu with his incisive gaze. He had small eyes, the color of gunmetal, but she guessed they missed nothing. It didn’t take him long to decide, and he summoned the
waiter with a snap of his fingers. “I think you’ll be pleased,” he said once the waiter had moved away. “I know you better than you think.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said with a smile, certain that he didn’t know her at all.

“Now you’re a rich woman, what do you plan to do?”

“I’ll do exactly the same as I have always done. Return to Paris, finish my book . . .”

“Your photography’s a charming hobby, Phaedra, but don’t you think you could better use your time on the board of charities? I know some key people who would happily put you forward.”

“You mean charities that were close to George’s heart, like Tibetan children . . .”

“No, I mean high-profile London charities.”

“Why would I want to do that? I mean, I’m happy to help if I have an interest in the charity, but I don’t want to get involved for the sake of social climbing.”

“I’m not suggesting you social climb, just that charity is the classic way foreigners like you meet the right people.”

“I know enough people in Paris.”

“That’s Paris. I mean London and the
right
people in London. You’re a wealthy young woman now. It’s time you mixed with other wealthy people.”

“Julius, let me stop you right here. I don’t want the money.”

Julius looked horrified. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being serious. I don’t want it. I won’t touch a penny.”

“You will when it’s winking at you in a bank account with your name on it.”

“I haven’t given you my bank details, and I won’t. I told you, I don’t want the money. It’s tainted.”

He laughed and patted her hand. “You’ll see sense in the end and embark on a whole new life. New friends, new—”

She cut him off. “I know my friends, and I trust them. I don’t need to start making new ones. Besides, I feel more comfortable lying low. I’m not a party girl.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to decline my invitation to Annabel’s after dinner.”

“You want to go dancing?” She was appalled.

“Absolutely. I have a beautiful girl on my arm tonight. I want to show her off.”

“Oh, Julius, I’m tired. I don’t think I have the energy to go dancing.”

“Wait until you’ve had a few glasses of wine. You might feel differently.”

But at the end of dinner Phaedra still felt the same. Julius was disappointed, but he didn’t try to change her mind. She congratulated him on the choices he had made for her dinner; the fish was tender and light and the lamb perfectly pink. Then he drove her back home, hitting the Embankment as early as possible so that she could see the Thames at night. He knew girls liked the romance of the lights reflected on the water. By the time they reached Cheyne Row it was eleven thirty.

“You’re looking a lot perkier now,” he said as he opened the passenger door and watched her step out.

“I’ve had a really nice evening, thank you.”

“I’m happy, because I know George would approve of my keeping an eye on you, and I owe him everything.” Phaedra imagined it must have been very lucrative being George’s lawyer. “So, you’re off on Wednesday.”

“Yes.”

“Chalet Marmot is ravishing. Antoinette has beautiful taste; shame she can’t ski.”

“Did you ever go and stay with George?”

“Yes. I’m an excellent skier. The off piste in Murenburg is phenomenal. You know, I have some good footage of George and me skiing together.” He grinned. “One of the best days we had was the week before he died.”

Phaedra paled. “You were with him the week before he was killed?”

“I had to return to London to sort out a few things for him.
George couldn’t resist the fresh snow and stayed on. I’m sure if I’d been there I’d have dissuaded him from going off piste that day.”