Three Weeks in Paris (10 page)

Jessica knew Mark Sylvester was forty-five, but he didn’t look it. In fact, he seemed much younger, like a man in his mid-thirties; he was lean, tanned, somewhat athletic in appearance, with a pleasant if angular face, and very knowing, alert brown eyes. Kind eyes that could turn as hard as black pebbles if he was displeased. She’d seen that look directed at one of his associates a couple of times, and she was glad it was not she who was on the receiving end.

“You’re staring at me, Jessica.”

Laughing self-consciously, she admitted, “To be honest, Mark, I was thinking about you and Kelly, and your divorce, wondering why on earth she would leave you.”

He gave her a quick, speculative look and replied, “I let that idea penetrate the town. But in actuality, Jessica, I was the one who asked for the divorce.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“Nobody did. Nobody does. They think she wanted it.”

“I see.”

Mark sat back on the sofa and looked off into the
distance for a split second, a reflective expression entering his dark eyes. As if coming to a sudden decision, he sat up straighter and said, “I’ve never really explained about the divorce. Not to anyone, Jessica. However, I trust you in a way I can’t quite explain. So, here goes. I had a problem with Kelly. She drank a lot, and that was hard for me to take. In fact, she was well on the way to becoming an alcoholic.”

Jessica was so startled to hear this, she exclaimed, “But I would never have guessed! She was always so … 
proper.
”

“Leave it to an actress. She was pretty good at hiding it.”

“But you were … the
perfect
couple.”

“Wanna bet?” he asked, shaking his head. “Anyway, I let her down as lightly as possible. It was all relatively amicable. She got a nice chunk of dough from me, and off she went to New York. I think she’s managed to get herself back on track there, and in a sense she’s a little more anonymous, although not much.”

“Is she still drinking?”

“She’s eased off a bit. I think the breakup of our marriage and the divorce really … sobered her up. If you’ll forgive the pun.” He grinned wryly. “She seems to be making a big effort, and I just hope she continues to do so.” He leaned back in his seat, crossed his long legs. “In the meantime, I’ve got to get on with my own life … and what are you going to do, Jessica?”

“I’ve got a couple of houses to remodel in Beverly Hills, and—”

“I meant what are you going to do with your life … 
and
Gary Stennis?”

Letting out a long sigh, she slumped down on the sofa. “I don’t know. Well, that’s not true, I know what I
should
do, and that’s end the relationship. It’s over really, Mark, it’s just a case of easing out of it.”

“I’ve known Gary for years; he’s written several movies for me in the past. He’s a great guy, don’t misunderstand me, but he’s always been a tad self-destructive.”

“Do you really believe that?” She gave him a hard stare.

“I do. And he is. Listen to me, there’s no way you can ease out of this situation. You’ve got to bail out. Just go. Take a deep breath and jump.”

“I guess you’re right about that. Pussyfooting around doesn’t solve a thing, and it can be more painful in the long run.”

“You’d better believe it, Jess.”

She nodded, and then, changing the subject, she asked, “And what’re you going to do now that you’ve got the new movie in the can?”

“There’s a play I want to buy. It’s in rehearsal, about to go on in New York. I think it’ll be a big hit on Broadway. It’s dramatic, and it would make a good movie, my kind of movie. Unfortunately, the playwright won’t let his agent deal with me. He wants to do that himself. So I’ll be going to see him in about two weeks. Then I’m going to Paris on movie business. I might be shooting there later this year.”

“I just received an invitation to go to a party in Paris.”

His eyes lit up, and he exclaimed, “Will we be there at the same time?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. My party is on the second of June. It’s for my former teacher, who’s going to be eighty-five.”

“Sounds great, but what a pity, I’ll probably have left by then. I would have taken you out one night. We could’ve painted the town pink, if not bright red.”

She half smiled, then turned her head, looked across at a painting.

Observing her intently, he said, “You’ve got that sad look on your face again.”

“Receiving the invitation sent me spinning backward in time … seven years back, actually. And it opened up a lot of old … 
wounds
, I guess you could call them. I haven’t been quite the same since.”

“Brought back memories, did it?”

“Yes.” Unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes.

Mark leaned forward. “Hey, honey, what’s all this? Tears? It has to be a man.” A dark brow lifted questioningly.

Jessica could only nod.

“An old love … a broken romance … yearning for him? Do you want to talk about it? I have a good strong ear for listening.”

Sighing, she said slowly, “Yes, an old love, a wonderful love. We made so many plans. Actually, we planned a future together, and then it ended.”

“From the sound of your voice, he broke up with you.”

“No, he didn’t. He disappeared.”

“What do you mean?”

“One day he disappeared. It was just as if he’d dropped off the edge of the world without a trace. I never saw him again.”

“Tell me the story, Jessica.”

And so she did. Speaking slowly and carefully, she told Mark everything there was to tell about Lucien Girard— their first meeting, their relationship, and how she and Alain Bonnal had tried so hard to find him after his disappearance.

When she had finished, Mark said in a thoughtful tone, “We have three choices here. Either he was killed and his body disposed of remarkably well, or he’s alive and walking around with amnesia. Or finally, he chose to disappear on purpose.”

“But why would he do that?” she exclaimed, her voice rising. She sounded aghast.

“Anyone who disappears has their own reasons for doing
so. And usually it’s hard to find them, because they’ve thought everything out very carefully. They’re only ever found when they want to be.”

“Someone who disappears obviously does so because they want to start a new life,” she began, and stopped. Leaning back against the antique Aubusson pillows on the blue linen sofa, she sat thinking for a few seconds. Then, looking across at Mark, she volunteered, “Alain and I wondered if he’d been mugged, or killed, and his body taken out to sea. We both accepted at the time that it would be relatively easy to dispose of a body. Like you, we’d even thought of memory loss.”

“People have been known to recover their memories.” He rubbed his chin with his hand, went on. “
Random Harvest
. Memory loss always evokes that movie in my head. Greer Garson, Ronald Colman. A good movie, a classic now, and one of my favorites as far as old movies go.
Very
sentimental, though.”

“I never saw it.”

“You’re too young.”

“No, I’m not. You’re not much older than me, Mark.”

He grinned. “Fourteen years. Anyway, if ever you see it, it’ll be on late-night television, so tune in.”

“I will.”

He continued. “I always think in terms of movies, you know. It’s just a peculiar little quirk I have. But getting back to your friend Lucien … please take me through it again, Jess. I mean the part about him saying he had to go away for a few days.”

“We were having dinner; it was the last time I saw him, actually. Over dinner he said he’d be out of town for a few days, that he was going to Monte Carlo to shoot a commercial. I thought that was great and told him so. We made plans for the following week. Oh, and he told me he was leaving for Monte Carlo the next day.”

“Did he call you from there?”

Jessica shook her head. “No. I didn’t really expect him to, since I knew he’d be extremely busy. But after a week’s silence I grew anxious. I phoned his apartment, there was no answer. Then I spoke to his friend Alain Bonnal, who was also perturbed because Lucien hadn’t shown up for a lunch date they’d made. We went over to Lucien’s apartment building and spoke to the concierge. She told us he was still away. And she mentioned that she had seen him leave, that she spoke to him as he went out with his suitcase.”

“And no one else had heard from him?” Mark asked quietly.

“No. As a matter of fact, Alain and I went to see his agent, and he was as baffled as we were.”

“It’s all very odd. And the police never came up with anything? Never had any information for you?”

“No, they didn’t. And neither did the hospitals or the morgue. Alain continued to check with them for a long time, even after I left Paris and came home to America. But there was never anything.”

“How upsetting it must’ve been for you. No wonder you were so distraught.” He shook his head, looking perplexed. “I hate that kind of situation, one that doesn’t have a satisfactory explanation.”

Jessica said nothing, but the look she gave him was full of gratitude.

Mark leaned back against the cushions, and after a split second he asked her in a somewhat cautious tone, “Is there any reason you can think of,
any
reason, why Lucien might want to engineer his own disappearance?”

“None at all, Mark. I’ve racked my brain about what happened to him for years now, but the thought that he had done a disappearing act never crossed my mind. He
wasn’t that sort of man; he had a true sense of honor. Lucien had more integrity than anyone I knew. Or know.”

“I certainly trust your judgment. Obviously, you knew him well enough to know what he was capable of doing or not doing.” There was a brief pause before he asked her, “Have you ever been back to Paris since then?”

Jessica shook her head. “And I’m not even sure I’ll be going to the party.”

“Oh, but you must!” he exclaimed. “To toast your former teacher, wish her well … becoming eighty-five is quite a milestone in somebody’s life.”

“I know it is, but Paris does not hold happy memories for me, Mark, as you can imagine. To me, Paris is Lucien … I don’t think I could bear to feel the pain of losing him, experience the hurt all over again. I’m sure I wouldn’t enjoy the trip at all.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but we’ve all got to live with pain of some kind or other. Life is hard, Jess, and it’s always been hard. Nobody ever said this world was an easy place to live in, it’s hazardous and full of dangers. People suffer such terrible things. Actually, you’d be surprised what a person can live through. Human beings are tremendously resilient, you know. The secret is to be strong, to keep on fighting.”

“I just don’t know. About going, I mean.”

He said, “I’ve got an idea. Would you like me to come with you in June? Hold your hand?”

So startled was she by this offer, she gaped at him speechlessly. Finally, she answered, “You’d come to give me courage?”

“If you want to put it that way.”

Jessica was truly touched by such generosity of spirit on Mark’s part, and she fell silent. They were genuinely good friends; she had designed several of his homes and his
offices, and they had become close buddies. That he would want to help make her visit to Paris easier, if she did go, was something that took her breath away. “Thank you for making such a lovely and generous gesture.… I’m grateful, Mark, really I am.” A sigh trickled out of her. “I do love Anya Sedgwick, and she was an extraordinary influence on my life … but … oh, I don’t know.… ” She shook her head several times and gave him a helpless look.

“Sometimes having another person with you makes a tough trip much easier. And, as I said, I might well still be in Paris then anyway, since I’m hoping to shoot part of my next movie there.”

“So you just said,” she answered. “But I haven’t made a final decision about attending Anya’s party. I found the invitation waiting for me only when I got home on Saturday evening. But whatever I decide, you’ll be the first to know.”

Mark gave her a warm smile; he was filled with affection for her. But he did ask himself why he had suddenly insinuated himself into her life. He had startled himself as well as her, and he was puzzled by his actions.

As for Jessica, she was wondering the same thing. And asking herself whether or not she had the guts to go to Paris to confront the past. She simply didn’t know.

Maria

HER LIFE HAD CHANGED. MIRACULOUSLY. OVERNIGHT. SHE
could hardly believe it had happened.

For the last few days she felt as though she were walking on air. Her demeanor was more positive than it had been for a long time; she was excited and filled with anticipation, and in a way she had not been for years. In a certain sense, it was as if she had suddenly been reborn.

The change in her had started last Friday, when she had returned to her office after lunch. On her desk was a FedEx envelope from Paris. Momentarily baffled, unable to properly read the sender’s name and address, she had pulled the little tag on the back and taken out the white envelope inside.

The way her name was written in beautiful calligraphy told her at once that this was an invitation. She could not imagine what event it could be for, and when she had removed the card from the white envelope she had been thrilled as she quickly scanned it, reading every word.

Her heart had tightened and she had felt a rush of genuine happiness running through her … how wonderful
to be invited to this very special occasion for Anya; what an honor to be a guest at the festivities for her.

Anya Sedgwick was a unique person in Maria’s life, and also a favorite teacher, and she had done more for her than anyone else. Except for Fabrizio. And Riccardo, of course.

It was Anya who had taken her under her wing when she had started at the school, who had encouraged her creativity, led her into new areas of design, and opened up the worlds of art, music, and culture in general. She had been like a mother to her at times, as well as her champion, and a truly good friend.

When she had first begun to attend the Anya Sedgwick School of Decorative Arts, Design, and Couture, Maria had made a lot of other friends as well—besides the three who had eventually become her closest friends until the quarrel.