To Be the Best (7 page)

‘I’m delighted for you, Dad, and I hope that you manage to get both items,’ Michael said with real sincerity, knowing how important collecting these beautiful objects had become to his father. What had begun as a vague hobby had turned into a grand passion. The Kallinski Fabergé Collection was renowned, and was frequently on exhibition with the Sandringham Collection, which had been started by King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra, sister of the Czarina Marie Feodorovna, later added to by Queen Mary and now owned by Queen Elizabeth II.

Michael smiled at his father. ‘Since you’re in a hurry, I’d better get the bill, Dad,’ he said, and motioned to their waiter.

Sir Ronald glanced at Paula. ‘If you wouldn’t mind dropping me off at Wartski’s first, my car can then take you back to the store, my dear.’

‘Thanks, Uncle Ronnie, that’ll be lovely.’

‘Michael, can I give you a lift too?’

‘Oh no,’ Michael said, suddenly having no wish to be around Paula any longer than was necessary today. ‘Thanks anyway, Dad, but I prefer to walk.’

She went to Paris after all.

It was a sudden decision, made when she returned to the store at three o’clock. She had picked up the phone and begun to dial British Airways, ready to cancel her reservation, when she had changed her mind and let the receiver drop back into its cradle.

It had been a scramble then to finish her work and stuff several silk dresses into the garment bag and get out to Heathrow to catch the six o’clock plane. She had made it with ten minutes to spare and the flight had been smooth and fast with the wind behind them, and exactly one hour and five minutes after take-off they had landed serenely at Charles de Gaulle Airport.

Her luggage had come through without much delay and she had passed customs quickly and with no fuss. Now she sat comfortably in the back of the chauffeur-driven car he had sent to meet her, being whizzed towards Paris and her rendezvous.

For the first time since lunch at the Connaught with the Kallinskis earlier in the day, Paula began to unwind. And as she did she realized that it had not been such a sudden decision to come here…she had known from the first moment she had read his note that she would go to him, hadn’t she? Hadn’t it been a
fait accompli
even then? Of course it had, but, very simply, she had not wanted to admit this to herself and so she had clouded the issue with thoughts of duty and responsibility.

Paula leaned into the corner of the seat and crossed her long and shapely legs; a smile flitted across her face as she recalled something her grandmother had said to her many,
many years before. ‘When the right man beckons a woman will always go running to him, no matter who she is, no matter what her responsibilities are. And no doubt you’ll fall into that same trap one day, just as I did when I met your grandfather. You mark my words, Paula,’ Grandy had remarked in her knowing way. As usual, Emma had been correct.

The smile lingered on Paula’s face as she turned her head to glance out of the window. With the hour’s difference in time between London and Paris it was now nearly nine and already growing dark.

The car was leaving the Boulevard de Courcelles at a good clip, following the other traffic through the Etoile without slowing, and as it whirled at a dizzying speed around the Arc de Triomphe, that giant monument to a nation’s valour, Paula cringed. She wondered how all these fast-moving automobiles, being driven as if they were in a miniature Grand Prix, would make it safely without crashing into each other and creating a major disaster. That seemed to be almost an impossibility.

But suddenly their car was free of the traffic jam, jostling bumpers, screeching tyres and madly hooting horns, and was pulling onto the Champs-Elysées. She caught her breath in delight as she usually did upon seeing this glittering avenue.

Whenever she returned to Paris she remembered the very first time she had come here and all the other times after that, and there was always something of those times caught up in her feeling for it. Memory and nostalgia were woven into her love for the City of Light, her favourite city, the most beautiful city in the world. It was full of evocations of the past and of all those who had been with her who had made those occasions so very special: Grandy, her mother and father, her brother Philip, Tessa, and her cousin Emily, who had been her dearest companion on so many trips when they had been girls.

He
was very much bound up with her remembrances of Paris, too, and in a short while she would be seeing him; she made up her mind not to spoil the weekend by worrying about the children or having regrets that she had changed her plans to be with him instead of them. That would not be fair, and anyway, she had always considered regrets to be pointless and a waste of valuable time.

They were on the Rond-Point now and ahead she could see the Egyptian obelisk built in the reign of Ramses II and transported from Luxor to rest in the immense rectangle of floodlit stone that was the Place de la Concorde. How spectacular the sight was…a breathtaking scene that was forever etched in her mind. She felt a sudden thrill of pleasure at being back here and she was glad she had told the chauffeur to take the longer route to the hotel.

But within a matter of minutes they were entering the Place Vendôme, that quiet gracious square of perfectly-proportioned buildings designed in the reign of Louis XIV, and coming to a standstill in front of the Ritz, and Paula was alighting and thanking the chauffeur and asking him to deal with the luggage.

She moved rather swiftly through the grand and elegant lobby and down the seemingly endless gallery filled with display cases from Paris shops, making for the Rue Cambon section of the hotel – known as
côté Cambon,
just as the other side where she had entered was called
côté Vendôme.
When she reached the smaller lobby she took the lift to the seventh floor and ran the length of the corridor to his suite. She found she was taut with excitement when she reached the door. It was slightly ajar, in anticipation of her arrival, and she pushed it open, went in, closed it softly, and leaned against it, catching her breath.

He was standing behind the desk, his jacket off, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, his dark tie dangling loose around his neck. He was talking on the telephone and he lifted a
sunburned hand in greeting, his face lighting up at the sight of her. He paused in what he was saying into the receiver, listened carefully to his caller and finally said in a low rapid tone,
‘Merci, Jean-Claude
,
à demain,’
and hung up.

They moved towards each other at precisely the same moment.

As she passed the small Louis XV table holding a bucket of champagne and two crystal glasses she gaily twirled the bottle resting in the ice and said in a light voice,
‘You
were sure of yourself, sure I’d come, weren’t you?’

‘Of course,’ he laughed, ‘I’m irresistible.’

‘And so terribly modest.’

They met in the middle of the room, stood facing each other for a split second.

Quickly she said, ‘I almost didn’t…I was worried…worried about the children…they need me – ’

‘Madam,’ he said, ‘your husband needs you too,’ and reaching out he pulled her into his arms. He bent down and kissed her deeply on the mouth and she returned his kiss, clung to him, and he held her hard and very tightly for the longest moment after they stopped kissing.

‘Oh, Shane,’ she said at last against his chest, ‘you have me.’

‘Yes, I know I do,’ he answered. And then with a deep chuckle he drew away from her, held her by the shoulders, and looked down into her face upturned to his. He shook his head slowly.

‘But you’re always surrounded,’ he continued, the residue of laughter clinging to his voice, ‘by children and relatives and secretaries and staff, and I can never seem to get you alone for very long, or have you entirely to myself for a while these days. And that’s why I decided early this morning, when I was flying up to Paris for a meeting with Jean-Claude, that we were going to have this weekend together.
Without
our usual encumbrances. A bit of private time for us, before
you leave for New York. We’re entitled to that, aren’t we?’

‘Yes, we most certainly are.’ Paula gave him a small, rueful smile. ‘Coming in from the airport I vowed I wouldn’t say anything about the children, and I’ve only been here a few minutes and already I’ve – ’

Shane gently placed his hand over her mouth.
‘Sssh!
I know how much you wanted to see the kids before going away, and you shall.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, giving him a puzzled look.

‘Tonight and Saturday belong to us, and then on Sunday morning Kevin will fly us down to the Riviera to spend Sunday and Monday at the villa with the brood. You’ll have to go to New York one day later, that’s all. On Wednesday instead of Tuesday. Okay?’

‘Oh darling, yes, of course! What a marvellous idea and how lovely of you to think of it, to think of pleasing them as well as us,’ she exclaimed.

He grinned at her. ‘They’re my kids, too, you know.’

‘But you’ve been coping alone with them for the last two weeks and you must have had your fill of them by now.’

‘Only too true…in some ways. On the other hand, they’ve really been looking forward to seeing you, and I don’t want them to be disappointed, or you to think I’m an
entirely
selfish sod. So, I’m prepared to share you with our offspring…after all, you are going to be gone from us for five or six weeks.’

Paula gazed up to him, loving him. ‘Yes, I am…’ She paused, hesitated, then asked softly, almost tentatively, ‘How’s Patrick? Is he all right, Shane?’ A worried frown knotted her dark brows together and her clear blue eyes turned cloudy and apprehensive.

‘He’s wonderful, Paula, and as happy as a sandboy, enjoying every minute of the day and having lots of fun,’ Shane reassured her, his tone very positive. ‘Please, darling,
don’t
worry
so much.’ He put his hand under her chin, tilted her face to his and added, ‘Patrick manages very well, really he does.’

‘I’m sorry, Shane, I know I fuss about him, but he’s such a little boy and so diffident…and different. And the others can be so boisterous at times, and I’m always afraid he’ll get hurt when he’s out of his usual environment…’

She let her sentence trail off, not wanting to express the thought that anything might ever happen to their first-born child. Patrick, who was seven, was slow, retarded, and she could not help being concerned about him when he was not under her sharp and watchful eyes.

Although Shane was equally protective of their son, he was constantly – if gently – chastising her for being overly anxious. Deep down, she knew Shane was right and so she tried very hard to control her anxiety, to treat Patrick as if he were perfectly normal, like his five-year-old sister, Linnet, and his half-brother and half-sister, Lorne and Tessa, the twelve-year-old twins fathered by Jim Fairley.

Shane, observing her carefully, fully understanding her complex feelings about Patrick, said with a confiding smile, ‘I haven’t mentioned this to you before, but Linnet’s become a real little mother while we’ve all been down at the villa. She’s taken Patrick under her very small but very loving wing and, actually, without you around, she’s even turned a bit bossy. And you know how Lorne is with Patrick…he adores him. So all is well, my darling, and –’ Shane broke off at the sound of knocking, exclaimed
‘Entrez,’
and, moving away from Paula, he went hurrying to the door as it was being pushed open in response to his command.

A genial-looking porter came in carrying her garment bag and small suitcase, and Shane dealt with him briskly, showed him through into the bedroom, told him where to put the luggage and tipped him.

Once they were alone again, Shane strode over to the table, began to peel the metal paper off the champagne cork.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘enough of the kids. They’re absolutely fine with Emily and Winston.’

‘Yes, of course they are, darling.’

A moment before, Paula’s thoughts had swung to their youngest child, and now she started to chuckle and her eyes crinkled up at the corners in amusement. ‘So Linnet’s
true
character has finally emerged, has it? I always suspected that that daughter of ours had inherited a bit of Emma’s imperiousness, that she also had the makings of a general in her.’

Shane glanced up, pulled a face, rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘Another general in the family! Oh my God, I don’t think I can stand it! Oh well, I suppose
all
of my women compensate for their bossiness by being so easy on the eye.’ Winking at her, he said, ‘And by the way, Emily sends her love. When I rang her earlier this evening, to tell her I’d side-tracked you to Paris, that we wouldn’t be at the villa until Sunday, she was tickled to death about our weekend alone together. She thought it was a smashing idea, and she says you’re not to be concerned about a thing. Now, how about a glass of this marvellous stuff, before we get ready for dinner?’

‘That’d be lovely, darling.’

Paula had seated herself on the sofa whilst he had been dealing with the porter, and she kicked off her shoes, curled her legs under her and sat back, watching him.

It did not matter whether they had been apart for four days or a fortnight, she was always a little startled when she saw Shane after an absence and overwhelmed by the sheer physical presence of him. It had much to do with the force of his personality – that extraordinary charisma he possessed – as well as his height and build and natural dark good looks. Sixteen years ago, at his twenty-fourth birthday party,
Emma Harte had said that Shane O’Neill had an intense glamour, and this had never been more true than it was today. He was the most dazzling of men.

Shane had celebrated his fortieth birthday this past June: he was in his prime and looked it. He had a powerful physique with a broad back and massive shoulders, and he had stayed lithe and trim; his sojourn in the sun with the children had given him a deep tan. There was a touch of grey at his temples now, but, curiously, this did not age him. Rather, in combination with his bronzed complexion, the grey seemed to underscore the youthfulness of his strong and virile face. And in contrast to his hair, there was not a strand of grey in his moustache which was as coal black as it had always been.