The Woman From Paris (3 page)

“Hello, I’m Tom,” he said, extending his hand. His eyes twinkled at her flirtatiously. “I’ve been wondering who you are.”

She smiled, grateful for his friendliness. “I’m Phaedra Chancellor,” she replied.

“American,” he said, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Canadian, actually.”

“Ah, Canadian.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, I like Canadians, actually.”

She laughed at the languid way he dragged his vowels. “That’s lucky.”

“Hello, Tom,” interrupted Julius. The two men shook hands. “Lovely service,” he said.

“Yes, it really was, very lovely,” Phaedra agreed. Tom didn’t think he had ever seen such startlingly beautiful eyes. They were a clear gray-blue, almost turquoise, framed by thick lashes and set wide apart, giving her face a charming innocence.

“So how did you know my father?” he asked.

Phaedra glanced anxiously at Julius. “Well . . .” she began.

Just as she was about to answer, David appeared, and her words caught in her throat. “Ah, there you are, Tom,” said David, but his eyes fell on Phaedra, and he smiled casually, as if he had chanced upon bumping into her. “I’m David,” he said. His gaze lingered at last, drinking in her beauty as if it were ambrosia.

“Phaedra Chancellor,” she replied, putting out her hand. He took it, enjoying for an extended moment the warmth of her skin.

“Hello, David,” interrupted Julius, and reluctantly David let go of her hand. “Where’s Lady Frampton?”

“Oh, hello, Julius. I didn’t see you there.”

“Well, I
am
here,” said Julius testily; he was very sensitive about being five feet seven and three-quarter inches short. “I need to speak to her. You’re tall, David. See if you can spot her from your lofty height.”

David looked down at Julius’s shiny bald head and red, sweating brow, and thought how Dickensian he looked in his black suit and tie. “She’s not in here. Perhaps she’s in the hall.”

“Then let’s go and find her. I want her to meet Phaedra.”

Tom and David both wished Julius would go and find their mother on his own, but the portly lawyer put his arm around Phaedra’s waist and escorted her out into the hall. Curious and furious, the two brothers followed after.

They finally found Antoinette in the library with her elder sister, Rosamunde. Wineglasses in hand, they were standing by George’s desk, talking in low voices. “Ah, you’ve found me hiding,” said Antoinette, composing herself. It was clear that she had been crying again.

“We came in here for a little peace. It’s very busy out there,”
Rosamunde explained in her deep, strident voice, hoping they’d take the hint and go away.

Antoinette saw the stranger in their midst and stiffened. “Hello,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “Have we met before?”

“No, we haven’t,” Phaedra replied.

“Phaedra Chancellor,” David cut in, dazed by the force of her allure.

“Oh.” Antoinette smiled politely. “And how . . .” She frowned, not wanting to be rude.

Julius seized the moment. “My dear Lady Frampton, I wasn’t sure that this was the right time to introduce you. But I know that Lord Frampton was very keen that you should meet. In fact, he was planning it when . . . well . . .” He cleared his throat. “I know this is what he’d want.”

“I don’t understand.” Antoinette looked bewildered. “How is Miss Chancellor connected to my husband?”

Phaedra looked to Julius for guidance. He nodded discreetly. She took a breath, knowing instinctively that her answer would be neither expected, nor welcomed. But she thought of her beloved George and plunged in.

“I’m his daughter,” she said, fighting the impulse to flee. “George was my father.”

2

A
ntoinette stared in horror at the strange blond girl who stood before her, claiming to be her stepdaughter. Her first thought was how young she looked, possibly younger than David, which would mean that George had been unfaithful early on in their marriage. She wrung her hands anxiously but was too shocked to cry.

“I really don’t think this is the time or place—” Rosamunde began, taking off her glasses, but Antoinette stopped her.

“How old are you, Phaedra?” she asked.

“I’m thirty-one,” the girl replied, dropping her eyes. She didn’t look much older than
twenty
-one.

“I need to sit down.” Antoinette grabbed her sister’s hand. The relief that George hadn’t been unfaithful was overwhelming.

Rosamunde guided her to an armchair in front of the fire while Tom remained staring at his new sister with a mixture of surprise and amusement. David felt as if the world had just spun away from him. How could it be that a few simple words had put her forever out of his reach? “Are you sure you’re my father’s daughter?” he asked, hoping there might be some mistake.

“Absolutely sure,” Julius replied firmly. “Lord Frampton and Phaedra had their DNA tested before Lord Frampton changed his will.”

They all stared at him in astonishment. “George changed his will?” Antoinette gasped. Rosamunde gave a disapproving snort. “But he never told me anything about it.”

“He wanted to include his daughter, Lady Frampton.”

“But surely he would have told me.”

Tom strode over to the club fender and took his mother’s hand.
“This is all very sudden. Was it really necessary to tell us the day of Dad’s funeral? Can’t you see Mother’s upset?”

“Tom is right. I think it’s unbelievably tactless to barge in like this,” Rosamunde agreed, putting her hands on her sturdy hips. “I think you should go away and come back another time, when Lady Frampton is better disposed to speak to you.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been very thoughtless . . .” Phaedra began, looking pained. She caught David’s eyes but looked away sharply, as if she saw the longing in them and was afraid.

“Lord Frampton wanted Phaedra to become part of the family,” Julius explained with an air of authority. “We talked about it at length. Phaedra has a right to be here today, but it would have been odd not to have introduced you, and natural for you to have wondered who she is and how she is connected to Lord Frampton. We were left with no choice but to tell you the truth.”

Antoinette gazed into the fire, fighting her distress. “George always wanted a daughter.”

“How long have you known that George is your father, Phaedra?” Rosamunde demanded.

“About eighteen months,” the girl replied.

“Eighteen months?” Tom echoed. “Dad kept you quiet that long?”

Phaedra sighed, finding it hard to explain. “About two years ago the man who was my father for the first ten years of my life died. My mom decided then to tell me that he wasn’t my biological father, as I had thought, and that my real father was George Frampton. So I decided to track him down, not knowing whether he’d want to meet me. I came to the U.K. and found him. At first he didn’t believe me. It was a little awkward, to say the least. I left him my details and returned to Paris, where I was living, thinking I’d never hear from him again. About three months later he called me back. We agreed to meet, and, well, the rest is history.”

“I find it hard to believe that George kept such a big secret from me,” said Antoinette. “And for so long. We had no secrets, or so I thought.”

Phaedra smiled, and the sweetness in her face seemed to soften
the tension in the room. “He kept me secret because he was so frightened of hurting you. He was devoted to you.”

“Well, his fears were founded,” said Rosamunde.

Antoinette bit her bottom lip. “Did your mother love him, too?”

“He was the love of her life.” Phaedra flushed and lowered her eyes. “But she was not his.”

At that moment the door opened and Margaret strode in. “I’m going home,” she announced, ignoring the fact that she might be interrupting. She swept her imperious gaze over the solemn faces and sucked in her cheeks. “My goodness, has someone else died?”

“I think I’ll go,” said Phaedra.

“Let me escort you out,” David suggested.

“
I’ll
go with you,” interjected Julius.

“No, really, I can find my own way out. Thank you.” She turned to Antoinette. “I’m sorry to have barged in like this. It’s been very nice meeting you all, finally. I just want you to know that I loved him, too.” With that she strode past Margaret and disappeared down the corridor.

“Who was that rude girl?” Margaret demanded.

“Your granddaughter,” Antoinette replied.

It was Margaret’s turn to sink into the sofa. David handed her a glass of sherry, and Tom opened a window. “It’s not true!”

“He was going to tell us, apparently,” said Antoinette numbly.

“It’s absurd. A daughter we never knew about.”

“She’s from America,” said Rosamunde.

“From Canada, actually,” Tom corrected.

Margaret looked horrified. “She’s American? Good God, I have an
American
granddaughter?” Her face hardened. “I simply don’t believe it.”

“It’s been proven,” said Antoinette. “Ask Mr. Beecher.”

“Indeed it has, Lady Frampton,” Julius confirmed. “A DNA test verified that Phaedra is Lord Frampton’s biological daughter.”

“He’s included her in his will,” Antoinette added.

“He’s changed his will? Did
you
know about this?” Margaret rounded on her daughter-in-law.

“No one but Lord Frampton and I knew about the will,” interjected Julius pompously. “As his lawyer it was my job to arrange it. Phaedra had no idea he was including her until I informed her at the time I informed her of his death.”

“So she lives in England, does she?” Margaret sniffed.

“For the time being she’s staying at a friend’s house in London,” Julius replied. “Though I understand she’ll be returning to Paris shortly.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a photographer.”

“Doesn’t she have a
proper
job?” Margaret snapped.

“Photography
is
a proper job, Grandma,” David interrupted.

“Does it make her any money?” Margaret persisted. “Or was my son keeping her?”

Julius hesitated.

Antoinette looked worried. “Mr. Beecher?”

“Lord Frampton was very keen to be a father to Phaedra,” he replied carefully. “But it is fair to say that the girl is very independent. She never asked anything of him besides friendship.”

“Really, this is all very odd,” Margaret declared, taking a large swig of sherry.

“What are we going to do?” Antoinette asked.

“Do?” Margaret retorted. “Why do we have to
do
anything?”

“Because she’s family,” said David.

“And it’s what Dad wanted,” Tom added, getting up to pace the room. He found it hard to remain still for very long.

“Well, I shan’t be
doing
anything about it,” Margaret informed them resolutely. “She can’t just turn up here on the day of my son’s funeral and expect us all to embrace her like the Prodigal Daughter. I don’t
know
her, and George never once mentioned her.”

“He had planned on mentioning her, Lady Frampton,” said Julius.

“That may well be, Mr. Beecher, but as far as I am concerned, the matter is of no consequence.”

The stubborn pursing of Margaret’s lips aroused in Antoinette a desire to be contrary. She got to her feet. “Well, the matter is of
great
consequence to me,” she said, feeling a sudden rush of empowerment as her mother-in-law let out a silent gasp. “If George accepted her as his daughter, then so shall I. I am willing to embrace her into the family. She’s a part of George and therefore a part of me.”

“Good gracious, Antoinette, that’s very noble, but is it prudent?” Margaret asked. “You know nothing about her.”

“I’m with you, Mum,” said Tom in surprise. “I rather like the idea of having a sister—and such a pretty one, too.”

“I’m in,” David agreed. “If it’s what Dad wanted. She’s flesh and blood.”

“Blood is thicker than water,” added Rosamunde, standing by her sister like a loyal hound.

Antoinette turned to Julius. “I’d like to meet as soon as possible to read the will, Mr. Beecher.”

“At your convenience, Lady Frampton,” he replied. “I shall call you when I’m back in my office on Monday and arrange a meeting. I will now leave you in peace. I’m glad you have decided to accept Phaedra as your stepdaughter.”

Margaret gave a disapproving sniff. “I’m afraid I’m going to take a little longer to convince. It’s more than I can absorb in one day. Burying my son has been quite enough, thank you very much. I’m going home. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, when I’m feeling stronger. David, escort me to my car.”

David did as he was told and accompanied his grandmother down the corridor and into the hall. Guests parted to let her through. Harris helped her with her stole, and she leaned on David as she descended the steps to where Lord Frampton’s chauffeur waited to drive her to the pretty Queen Anne dower house positioned at the other end of the estate. “Do you know what distresses me the most?” she said, hesitating at the open door. “That my son felt he couldn’t confide in me.”

“He didn’t confide in anyone,” David reassured her.

“But I’m his mother.”

“I think mothers are often the last to know.”

“Well, George and I were very close. I can’t understand why he didn’t tell me. How long had he known this girl?”

“Eighteen months.”

“Eighteen months! How could he have kept something so important from me for that long? I mean, I would have been surprised, certainly, but I wouldn’t have thought any less of him.”

“He was probably biding his time, waiting for the right moment.”

“Of course he was. He could not have predicted this!”

David watched the car disappear down the drive and turn left up the farm track that cut through the estate. It irritated his mother that Margaret lived so close and visited so often. Fairfield House punctuated her daily walk through the park with Basil, her Yorkshire terrier. Being a woman ill at ease in her own company, she appeared unannounced most days, and Antoinette felt compelled to entertain her while Bertie and Wooster chased Basil up and down the corridors. After all, the house had once belonged to her, before she and her late husband, Arthur, had moved out to accommodate their son and his growing family. Antoinette could hardly turn her away.