Capturing Paris (21 page)

Annie thought she saw a shadow of annoyance cross his face. “I don't think Paul minds talking about the book.” She helped herself to salad and passed the bowl to Daphne.

“He's far too nice to say anything,” Daphne said. “You can have your little literary chats another time.”

Literary chats? What sort of comment was that? “For heaven's sake, Daphne, I just want to—”

“Annie, dear. You're sounding like a sensitive whining poet. Let poor Paul have a little time off.”

“Why don't you send me the poems?” Paul said, looking baffled. “We'll meet soon in Paris. We can talk about them then.”

Annie was furious at Daphne. She tried to regain her composure. “Yes,” she said. “I'll do that.”

“I plan to keep Annie here for a while longer,” Daphne said. “She does her best work here at God House.”

Paul made no comment but looked quizzically at Annie.

“Excuse me,” she said, and stood up. “I forgot to bring out the cheese.”

Annie returned to the kitchen. She rearranged the cheeses on the platter, in no hurry to go back to the table. What had gotten into Daphne? It was like she was wound up about something, and she was treating her like some kind of temperamental younger sister. She couldn't imagine what Paul must think. When she returned to the dining room Daphne was regaling Paul with stories about discovering a rare collection of small bronzes.

At last they went into the living room for coffee. Daphne had brewed a dark espresso in a glass plunger pot. She handed Paul a cup and motioned to him to sit beside her on the sofa.

“Will you be bringing other things out here for Daphne to sell?” Annie asked.

“No, this is the last of it,” he said. “Most of the furniture was sent to the auction house by lorry a few weeks ago.”

“I did persuade Paul to keep a few things,” Daphne said. “I don't like my clients to have regrets.” She smiled at him.

“I thought I only wanted to keep the books, but I will keep an armoire and chest of drawers. I will have them moved to my new apartment.”

“I'm eager to see your new place,” Daphne said. “Moving to a new apartment was a good idea.”

“Everyone told me not to sell. They say it is better not to make decisions too soon, but staying in the old place was too depressing. I could not stand being there without Marie Laure.” He shook his head. “I am always thinking she would walk through a doorway or that I would find her when I returned home.”

“It must be so difficult,” Annie said, remembering the photograph of his lovely wife.

Paul took a final sip of coffee and went to stand closer to the fire. He put his hands deep in his pockets.

“Come now,” Daphne said, going over to join him. “I don't want you looking sad again.” She put her arm around him and guided him back to the sofa. “I think a nightcap is in order.” She went to the tray
of liquours she'd set out earlier in the evening. “Annie won't approve, but a little brandy might do you good.” She removed the stopper from a crystal decanter.

“Daphne,” Annie said, horrified, “what do you mean I won't approve?”

“Drinking and driving. These Americans do have their rules.”

“I never said—”

“I do have to drive back to Paris,” Paul said. “And it is late.” He looked ill at ease.

“Oh, nonsense.” Daphne looked annoyed.

He got to his feet. “I have several appointments tomorrow morning.”

Daphne shrugged. “Well then”—she drew one hand back through her hair—“we'll save nightcaps for another time.” She put the stopper back into the bottle.

Daphne and Annie walked into the hall with Paul, who now seemed in a hurry to leave. Daphne helped him with his overcoat, and he repeated his thanks for dinner and kissed her on both cheeks. Then he took Annie's hands in his and held them briefly. “I am so happy the work is going well. I will call you in Paris.”

“Well, well. Don't we look glum.” Daphne poured herself a brandy.

Annie sat on the sofa where Paul had just been. Now what? she thought. She ignored Daphne's comment.

“I hope you know you're making a fool of yourself.” Daphne set down her drink and added a log to the fire. She kicked it farther back into the grate. Sparks flew up and a moment later new flames bounced to life.

“What on earth do you mean?”

Daphne stood in front of her and looked down. “Just because you're doing the poems for his book doesn't mean you have to fall at his feet like a lovesick adolescent.”

Annie felt like she'd had the air knocked out of her. “Daphne, you're crazy.” She could no longer hide her anger. “You were the one
falling at his feet. I never got a word in edgewise. I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Very simply, my dear, I'm talking about your sipping whiskey, batting your eyes at him, and nearly falling into his lap before we even got to dinner.” She went to the far side of the room and turned her back to Annie.

“That's ridiculous. I had one drink, and we talked about French poetry and—”

“You never would have acted like that if Wesley had been here.”

“Acted like what?” She thought madly back to the hour before dinner. She had sat beside Paul, she had laughed at a silly story he told. She certainly hadn't done anything inappropriate. “What do you mean ‘if Wesley had been here'?”

“I know what you're thinking about Paul.” Daphne smiled strangely and came to sit beside her. She raised her eyebrows.

“What?” Annie could hardly speak. “What I'm thinking about him?” She looked away, uncomfortable.

“Wesley wouldn't like you having those thoughts.” Her manner was taunting.

“Daphne. Stop it. This is nuts.”

“Listen to me. I went out on a limb for you. I called Paul. I sang your praises. It's thanks to me that you have this chance.”

“Please. You know I'm grateful to you for that.”

“Well then, don't go acting like another lovestruck dithering female.” Daphne cupped Annie's chin and drew her face toward her. Annie felt sick. Daphne's eyes had taken on a funny color. “I won't stand for it. Do you hear me?”

Annie pulled away. “This conversation is absurd. I'm going to bed.” She left Daphne by the fire, made her way up to her room, and closed the door behind her. She stood looking out the window, barely able to breathe. She didn't turn on the lights. There was a full moon and the night was still; not even a whisper of wind marred the silence.

__________

The next morning Annie heard a tap on her door, and Daphne came in carrying a tray with a pot of coffee and two large cups. She wore soft knit lounge pants and a loose gray man's robe tied with a scarlet tasseled sash, the kind of attire Annie imagined an actor wearing in his dressing room.

“Your coffee, madame.” She smiled and made a funny little bow. She set the tray down by Annie's feet, crossed the room, and swept open the curtains. The large silk panels slid easily on the rod. She paused at the window to look over the gardens and the river beyond. Annie pulled herself up against the pillows. Daphne no longer seemed angry. For a moment Annie wondered if she had dreamed the entire thing: Daphne's domineering behavior at dinner, her ridiculous assumptions about her own behavior with Paul, the unpleasant conversation before bed. In the clarity of morning, it seemed hard to believe.

“I like the garden best in winter,” Daphne said. “All the plant life is silently dreaming down in the frozen earth.” Daphne shivered and pulled the collar of her robe around her neck. “It's also a lot less work.” She laughed. A few rays of weak winter sun fell across the carpet. Annie sat up further, taking care not to knock the coffee tray by her feet. Daphne picked up an extra pillow from the floor, propped it behind Annie's back, then collected the tray at the foot of the bed and carried it to the other side. She set it down in the middle.

“I just turned up the heat. This room is freezing. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

Daphne got up onto the bed and sat cross-legged next to Annie. She lay the duvet across her lap and pulled the tray closer.

“Antoinette and Mummy always started the day with coffee in bed. When I was little, I sat at their feet.” She poured the coffee and hot milk into the cups and handed one to Annie.

Annie took a big sip from her cup. It tasted much better than the coffee she made at home.

“You look tired,” Daphne said. “Didn't you sleep well last night?”

“I was awake for several hours, I'm afraid. Some of the things you said upset me. I hate arguments. I always have.”

“We're going to forget about all that.” She drank from her cup and set it back on the tray. “I forgive you. Today's a new day.”

“Forgive me?” Annie shook her head. “I felt that you—”

“I know you're going through a lot. Haven't you had a good time here?”

“Of course, but—”

“And you've gotten lots of writing done?”

“Yes. Yes, it's been wonderful.”

“That's all that matters then. You, me, this beautiful place. You can't argue with that.” She lifted the covers and straightened her legs beneath the sheets.

“No. Of course not.”

“I want you to see the garden this spring.” Daphne leaned back into the pillows. “It's amazing. You can practically smell the earth when the ground warms up. The tiny silent microbes bursting with life and ready to color the fields with new green. You've got to be in the country to really appreciate spring.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“See. You are happy here.” She reached across the covers and patted Annie's hand. Her touch was cool.

Annie was relieved by Daphne's change of mood, though she still felt wary. She didn't want to talk about Paul. “Of course I'm happy. I've had the best time.” She looked toward the window and wondered if this winter world would ever turn green. “It's just that I have to go home. I never finished the transcripts for Mary, and I have so much to do before classes begin. Also, pretty soon Sophie and Wesley will be getting back.”

“You're thinking of leaving? Already?”

“Daphne, you've got things to do too.” She watched her face. “I heard you make appointments. You have clients to see.”

“It can all wait. I don't want you to leave yet. This time together has made us so much closer. I'm sure you feel it too.”

The word
us
rang in Annie's ears. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“For God's sake, certainly you feel the attraction.” Daphne pulled her mouth into an unattractive pout and turned toward Annie. Her eyes, gray today, the color of her robe, had delicate violet circles under them. They were smudged from last night's mascara. She reached over
and smoothed Annie's forehead. “Don't look so worried. Just stay a few more days.” She ran her fingers through Annie's tousled short hair. Her touch was soothing but unsettling as well. “I know you're drawn to me. It started the first time you saw me. You watched me in the Métro.”

“Daphne, I—”

“Quite a coincidence when we both turned up at the Verniers'.” She laughed softly.

All this time and Daphne had said nothing. “I didn't know that you'd noticed me.” Annie took another sip of coffee. It was growing cold. She set her cup on her nightstand. “Daphne, I did watch you. I'm always observing people. You were different. But it's not like that. You must understand, Wesley and I—”

“You are so naïve. Sweet girl, I sometimes like men too.” She smiled coyly. “With women, though, it's different.”

Annie shook her head. She had come to understand that Nora and Antoinette were lovers. Should she have seen this coming? There had been glances, touches, a lingering hand from time to time. Annie had told herself it was Daphne's tactile nature, her sensuous side, the more relaxed attitude of Europeans toward their bodies. None of this had bothered her. “Daphne, I don't have those kind of feelings.”

“You're sure?” Daphne raised her eyebrows and grinned.

“I never have before and—” Daphne put her finger on Annie's mouth as if to silence her.

“Don't say anything. You're an artist, a poet. You feel things deeply. I know you do. Just wait and see. I think you'll surprise yourself.” She withdrew her hand from Annie's lips and pulled gently at the sleeve of Annie's nightgown. It slipped down off her shoulder, exposing her bare skin. Very gently, Daphne caressed her. Annie, stunned and confused, didn't move. She sat perfectly still, unable to imagine what would happen next. “Close your eyes. Just let yourself go.”

Annie did as she was told. Was she capable of this? The boundaries of love had always blurred across the lines of poetry. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore her doubts.

Daphne touched Annie's face. Her hand was warm. She drew her fingers down along her neck, tracing the line of her collarbone back to
her bare shoulder. A moment later Annie felt Daphne's lips pressed to her skin. The kisses, warm and soft, could have been those of a man, just kisses after all. Then she remembered seeing Daphne in the bath.

Annie pulled away. “No, Daphne. I'm sorry. This doesn't feel right.” She threw back the covers and got out of bed. She put on her robe with trembling hands and tied the sash firmly around her waist. “I'm sorry. I think you've misunderstood. I want to be your friend. I do feel very close to you, but—”

“I know you feel something. Annie, you just need to let it happen. You shouldn't deny what you're feeling.” She shook her head and reluctantly got to her feet.

Shaking and bewildered, Annie drew her arms across her chest and looked out the window at the dormant garden below. “I'm going back to Paris. I need to get home.”

“Look, my sweet,” Annie could hear Daphne putting the cups on the tray, “just think about it. There's so much you have yet to discover about yourself. Perhaps in time.” Daphne walked soundlessly from the room.