Capturing Paris (11 page)

“I'll put Madeleine in touch with you,” Wesley said. “I'll probably be seeing her soon anyway. I'm going to the States right after the holidays.” Wesley removed his hand from her shoulder and reached for Tom's glass.

“I think Tom's already enjoyed too much of your winning wine,” Mary said, forcing a quick laugh. The lines across her forehead deepened. Tom had downed several large glasses of Scotch before dinner. Wesley hesitated but Tom lifted his glass defiantly.

“I'll be the judge of that,”Tom said. Mary said nothing, but Annie could see the tension in her jaw. Wesley filled his glass and, after serving the others, returned to his place at the head of the table.

“
Qu'est-ce que tu dis
? What are you saying?” Georges asked. “Did I hear something about going to America?” He looked over his glasses at his friend.

Annie rested her fork on the side of her plate. The beef was too rare and difficult to chew. It had needed more time in the oven. She glanced at Wesley; he smiled, met her gaze, and looked away.

“I'm going to Washington to see about a job.” Wesley spoke easily, as if going to America to interview for a job were an everyday occurrence. “I'll probably stop in New York on the way home.” He looked down the table at Daphne. “Madeleine lives an hour outside the city.”

“What job is this?” Georges asked. “Have you some kind of news?”

Céleste had stopped eating and looked at Annie as if she should have forewarned her of information of this magnitude. Everyone stopped talking and looked expectantly at Wesley.

“I'm going over for the last round of interviews.” He told them about the job, what he would be doing for the firm in Washington, and how important the move was for his career. He sounded sure of himself, sure that he would get the offer. Annie couldn't believe he was telling everyone now. It wasn't like Wesley to speak prematurely about such a major decision.

“But can you not work for them in Paris?” Georges asked. “Continue in your office here?”

“I'll still travel to Paris, but they need me there, based in the home office,” he explained.

“But Wesley,
mon chéri
, how can you leave Paris?” Céleste asked with earnest concern. “You and Annie are like our family.”

“We'll still be like family. You and Georges can come over and visit, and we'll come back as well.”

“My, this is big news,” Daphne said. She gave Annie a strange look, as though Annie had misled her in some way.

Annie felt the evening going sour. The candlesticks dripped globules of wax, some of which pooled on the quilt-covered table. The roses, now fully open, dropped spent petals, but she could not smell their hothouse scent or taste the dinner that cooled before her.

“Sounds like a great opportunity to me,” Tom said. His speech slurred and his eyelids drooped. Mary glared across the table at her husband. “Looks like you'll have to find a new assistant, Mary.” He slumped in his chair.

“That's just one of my problems,” his wife said flatly

“We will miss you, my dears,” Céleste said, having regained her composure. “Georges said the other day we need to start to travel more. So you can be sure we'll come to see you.”

“Of course,” Georges said. “Your career is important. We must become accustomed to this.” He looked around the table in a paternal manner as if it was everyone's duty to pull together and support their friends. Céleste agreed with Georges that Wesley's job was certainly the priority.

Mary turned to Annie. “Don't worry about Liberal Arts Abroad. We'll try to figure something out. It just won't be the same without you in the office.”

“But we're not moving for sure.” Annie didn't recognize the sound of her own voice. Her words sounded rough and squeaky, out of her control. “I mean, Wesley hasn't been offered this job yet, not officially anyway.”

“Annie,” Wesley said. His tone of voice was that of a father about to scold a child.

“It's not something we should be discussing yet,” Annie said. Everyone looked at her. It was if she had spoken out of turn, as if she were at fault.

“Annie is right. We don't want to spoil the chances.” Céleste smiled down at Annie and patted Wesley's arm. “Wesley,
chéri
, you will tell us when you know something, and for now we will keep good thoughts. I'm sure that soon there will be something to celebrate and then we will toast your good fortune.”

“
Mais, oui
,” Georges said. “You've had a fine career in Paris, but if they need you in Washington, we will just have to accept our loss.”

“Annie, you must tell everyone about Valmont and the book,” Daphne said. Her clear voice immediately drew their attention. “Wesley, isn't it terrific?” She lifted her wineglass in his direction. “It looks like Annie may have a new job too.”

Annie paled. She had hoped to become invisible after her outburst, and all she wanted now was to crawl into bed. Daphne leaned in next to her and put her arm around her shoulders. Annie felt the soft velvet sleeve against her neck.

“Go on, tell them,” Daphne said.

“I've been asked to submit some poems for a book of photographs,” she began, and told them that if the editor and photographer liked her work, she might be asked to collaborate with them on the project. She explained the concept for the book.

“Annie, that's great news.” Mary smiled. “I know how much time you've been spending on your writing lately. This sounds like a wonderful opportunity.”

“
Oui, oui, Annie, c'est fantastique.
” Céleste smiled at Annie with admiration.

“Yes,” Daphne said. “It's quite an extraordinary coincidence. Paul Valmont, Naudin's editor and the man publishing the book, is a friend of mine. I showed him Annie's poems, and
voilà
, it was a perfect arrangement.”

“It's not definite yet.” Annie wanted to put an end to this topic. “They still have to approve of the new poems.”

“You know they will,” Daphne said.

“Here, here,” Georges said, coming to his feet. “Let's offer a toast to Annie, our poet.”

Everyone lifted their glasses. Annie managed to smile at the faces turning toward her in the shadowy light.

“And to Daphne,” Wesley said, “who managed to bring Annie and Valmont together.” The next few minutes were a blur of clinking glasses, more pouring of wine, and the clatter of silverware as everyone resumed their dinners.

“Come,” Daphne whispered later in Annie's ear, “I know you aren't feeling well. Let me help you with dessert.”

Daphne followed Annie into the kitchen. “Have you noticed,” Daphne said quietly, “men never do a bloody thing in this country, except maybe pour the wine.” Annie took the chocolate mousse out of the refrigerator. “It's true, isn't it?” Daphne said. “And we can pour our own wine—so who needs them?” She laughed and carried the dessert plates to the dining room.

The morning after the party Annie awoke to the sounds of distant voices. She pulled up the down comforter and rolled over, hoping to go back to sleep. She was glad the winter solstice was behind them. She looked forward to the lengthening days and wondered if this bleak stretch in her marriage would start to lighten as well. Perhaps when Wesley got to Washington he would come to understand the magnitude of this decision and the reality that a move would entail. She hoped he would change his mind.

When she awoke for the second time, she realized that she heard Wesley talking to Daphne. She felt worse than ever, a combination of too much wine, her dreadful cold, and not enough sleep. She and Daphne had stayed up talking until nearly three. After Wesley had gone to bed they shared a pot of herbal tea at the kitchen table. Daphne sat in Wesley's place.

“That's the trouble with marriage,” Daphne had said. “It's always getting in the way and holding one person back.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell you don't want to leave Paris.”

“You're right. I don't. But Wesley wants the job in Washington.”

“I can see that, but if you had a job offer in New York or someplace, do you think Wesley would drop everything and follow?”

“Of course not, but it's never come up.”

“So you're prepared to leave everything behind to make his life easier?”

“When you marry someone, you're in it together. You have to compromise.”

“So someone loses.” She shook her head.

“That's not the way to look at it.” Annie's voice wavered. “Marriage is just like that. You make concessions all the time.”

“He's asking for a pretty big concession.” Daphne yawned and stretched. “I guess the bottom line is that I'm not for marriage.”

“What about Antoinette?” Annie asked, curious about Daphne's godmother. “Did she ever marry?”

“Never. She was a beautiful woman, extremely independent and a serious feminist at heart. For her it was a question of power. She relished making her own choices. No man would ever hold her back.”

Now, remembering those words, Annie decided it was time to get up. She pulled on her robe, went to the kitchen for coffee, and carried her cup down the hall toward their voices, which came from Wesley's office.

“I hope we didn't wake you, Annie.” Wesley looked up at her. “You deserved to sleep in after all the work for the dinner. It was a great party.”

“Your darling husband heard me shuffling about and brought me coffee in bed.” Daphne sounded groggy, her voice lower, a sexy pitch. “We've been having a good rehash of last night's events. Tom Sanders is a handful. Poor Mary.” Daphne laughed and leaned back against the pillows, wearing what appeared to be a man's white shirt. The upper buttons were undone and her breasts were easily seen through the fine material. Annie was reminded briefly of François's photograph of the female nude. Daphne's knees, covered in blankets, were drawn up in an attempt at modesty, and her thick hair was tousled from sleep. Wesley sat at the foot of the bed holding his mug of coffee. He had pulled on jeans and wore an old gray sweater. From the doorway, despite his graying hair, he looked like the rumpled law student Annie had fallen in love with.

For a brief moment Annie felt forgotten. She was the one on the edge of the photograph, the one cropped out and discarded. Then a feeling of uneasiness rushed through her like a deep blush reaching all the way to the roots of her hair. She thought she saw desire on Wesley's face, desire for that ripe young woman at arm's reach. Mixed in with this came her own sense of longing. She didn't want to be the
one left out. This woman sitting in bed in Wesley's office no longer felt like her friend, her understanding ally in the war with her husband. They looked too comfortable together, sharing intimate words while she had slept down the hall.

“Come and sit, darling.” Wesley seemed glad to see her, which annoyed Annie all the more. “I'm going to go out and get croissants.”

What was she thinking? Wesley and Daphne had merely been talking, allowing her to sleep longer and recover from the party.

“Croissants would be marvelous,” Daphne said. “Thanks, Wesley. I love talking over a successful party. Really fun people, and the food was spectacular.”

Annie tried to smile and took Wesley's place at the foot of the bed. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “I won't be long.” Annie found his departing kiss irritating. She knew it was an empty gesture. He was trying to look like the good husband.

Daphne lowered her legs, not bothering with modesty, looking lovely in the sheer nightshirt. She didn't look like she'd had only a few hours sleep. “So how are things going with the poems?”

“Pretty well. Paul wants to see a few after the new year.” Annie felt her doubt return. “I don't know what I think now. None of this is going to be easy, especially if we have to move right away.”

“Don't look so glum. I know he's going to ask you to do the book. As for the rest, I bet everything will work out.” Daphne pulled her knees up again and smiled. “I've had a brilliant idea. You and Wesley must come out to God House for New Year's Eve.”

“You mean for the night?” Annie asked.

“Not just the night. The entire weekend.” Daphne swung her legs to the floor and came over to Annie, still perched at the foot of the bed. She took Annie's face in her hands. “But now, dear friend, you are a sick girl and you must get back to bed and stay there.” Her hands were warm and gentle on Annie's pale cheeks. “And, I want you to open your present.”

Le Réveillon

Wesley closed the trunk of their car, which he had double-parked in front of
their building on the rue des Archives. The old Fiat, dusty from sitting in a garage a few blocks away, hummed along as if ready for a stretch on the open road. He and Annie rarely used their car in the city, letting it sit idle except for weekend trips to the country or their annual summer vacation. This year they hadn't taken a vacation, and the Fiat had remained unused for months. Maybe a few trips to the country would have lifted Wesley's spirits. Annie hadn't thought of that. He wore his old camel hair topcoat, a bit worn and gently frayed at the cuffs, but it still looked elegant on his tall frame. The scarf around his neck was the color of his eyes, a cool blue.

“I think I've got everything.” Annie clutched a heavy canvas satchel in one arm and carried a large, beautifully wrapped package in the other along with a lush bouquet of flowers. The canvas bag held two bottles of champagne, a side of smoked salmon from their favorite specialty shop, and a fine bottle of port that Wesley had put aside for a special occasion. The package contained a mohair lap robe in a smoky shade of green. Annie had thought of Daphne when she saw it in a boutique on the rue Saint-Honoré.