Capturing Paris (34 page)

He reached over and took her hand. He held it and covered it warmly with his. “I'm happy in Washington and the job is good, but it's all worth nothing if I can't have you. I don't want to erase all we've had together. I can't.” He reached over and cupped her chin in one hand, drawing her face toward him. “Go back to Paris, Annie. I under
stand what it means to you and how your poetry is part of it. I'm coming back in June, and if you really want to stay, we'll stay. I'll find some way to make it work.” He brushed the tears that streaked her cheek. He drew his hand through her hair, patting her gently.

“Wesley, I've changed. If you came back, it wouldn't be like it used to be.”

“It doesn't have to be the way it used to be. I know that.”

“I don't want you to have to give up your job in Washington.” She felt the weight of his gaze. “It wouldn't be fair to ask that.”

“But you're not asking. It's my idea. I only want to find a way for us to be together.”

“That means a lot.” She stood and moved behind his chair, placed her hands on his shoulders, and lowered her face next to his. “Of course, I forgive you, Wesley. You're right. We can't erase the past. I'm not sure about the future. You've given me a lot to think about.”

“Annie, please.”

She shivered. The sky darkened. Madeleine had told them rain was expected. There were still large patches of blue in the west, and the clouds cast broad shadows on the field beyond the wall. “We'd better go inside.” Annie saw no more sign of the gray bird. She turned and Wesley followed her into the house.

La Paix

Annie stood on the steps of God House and paused before ringing the bell
. The sun was out, but small drops of rain lingered in the cupped leaves of the ivy, lush and green, that hugged the house. The budding newness of spring was everywhere: the first flush of leaves on the trees, the soft pink-and-white blooms of a mountain laurel, and the sweeps of lilies of the valley along the drive. She had wanted to see God House in spring. She was not disappointed.

Standing in the shadow of the house, she felt protected as well as apart from the rest of the world. This separate peace engaged all her senses. She breathed in the fresh air and listened to the breezes ruffling the treetops. The branches, weighted from the earlier rain, dripped onto the gravel drive in a delicate refrain. She thought about the elegant meals they had had at the long table in the dining room, the kitchen suppers, coffee in the glass room at the break of day, walks by the river, reading by the fire, writing hour after hour in the library or seated in her chaise in the pink bedroom. Memories of Wesley, memories of Paul, memories of Daphne. God House held her story along with those of the previous inhabitants. She pictured the pages of the leather photograph albums in the library, replete with all those who had lived and loved there.

Annie felt a kind of solace, a nostalgic pleasure in her return, steeped in the poetry of the place. Now, months later, she'd been able to sift out some of the more painful memories and a curious sense of detachment had crept in as she looked at the pleasing gray house, the curved drive, and the coach house filled with antiques and Berthe's tiny apartment. The winter months in Paris by herself, her trip to the
States, her reunion with Wesley and Sophie, had removed her from this place and given her the requisite distance to see it with new eyes.

“Are you glad to be back?” Daphne stood before her in the open doorway. “I wondered if you ever planned to ring the bell.”

Annie stepped into the hall. “I was trying to take it all in.” She smiled. “You're right, it's pure heaven in the spring.”

“When you see it in summer, the cycle will be complete.” Daphne, the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth, looked quizzically at Annie. She wore her hair shorter now, a tangled halo of curls that softened the wide planes of her face. “Let me take your coat.”

Annie slipped out of her raincoat and noticed the bowl of lilacs— Daphne's signature scent—on the front hall table. Annie wondered briefly if she still wore the blue cape. It would be too heavy for spring.

Daphne lingered against the banister at the foot of the stairs. She wore beige trousers and a crisp white linen shirt, the cuffs rolled up at her wrists, revealing a large silver linked bracelet that Annie had never seen her wear before. “I'm glad you came back,” she said.

“I said I would.” Annie felt the silence of the old house fall around them.

“Sophie's doing well?”

“Better all the time. She's on a leave of absence from her job. Madeleine is letting her help a little with her business.” Annie wondered how long they would keep standing in the hall. “She loves doing the accounts.”

“I've sold everything that Madeleine shipped over.” Daphne laughed abruptly. “Pretty soon everyone in Paris will have quilts draped about their
salons
.”

“So business is good for you right now?”

“Wildly busy. But I have someone to help. A new friend. I found her at Premier, a very posh print shop in the Sixth. She has a degree in European painting, but she's become more interested in furniture.”

“She sounds perfect for the job.”

“Indeed. I want you to meet her. Come, we've been waiting for you on the terrace. The light is wonderful this afternoon. Caroline brought some gorgeous pâté out from Paris. I planned on the champagne, something to fête your return.”

Annie had thought they would be alone. She had envisioned a quiet lunch and time to talk over all that had happened. Daphne had said nothing to her on the phone about this new friend.

Nothing had changed: the row of boots lined up under the hall bench, the coats hanging on pegs under the staircase, the pale peach walls. Perhaps she would paint a room that color one day. Their footsteps tapped crisply on the black-and-white marble floor. They passed through the glass room filled with its old wicker chairs and stepped out onto the flagstone terrace.

The river shimmered in the distance, and the flower beds were patterned with the healthy green mounds of young plants. A perfect May day. A day that felt like freshness itself, sparkling and new.

A woman sat with her back to them, apparently absorbed in the landscape below. At the sound of their steps, she turned and rose from her chair. “You must be Daphne's famous author,” she said, no hint of kindness in the crisp elegant vowels of an upper-class Englishwoman. She offered her hand. “I'm Caroline.”

Annie laughed uneasily. “I'm hardly famous, and the book hasn't been published yet.” She shook Caroline's hand.

“Next spring, isn't it?” Daphne said.

“Yes. It's amazing. You hurry to meet your deadlines and then it takes almost a year after that to have the book in hand.” Annie felt herself being appraised by Caroline's intense dark eyes. She was petite, pretty, with small, neat features and the deep red of her lips punctuating her white skin. Her hair looked too black to be natural and was cut close to her head, like a cap. She was a curvy woman and she wore a V-neck black sweater that accentuated the whiteness of her throat. She looked younger than Daphne and had a kind of worldliness that bordered on louche.

“Well, my dears, now that you've met, let's open the bubbly, shall we?”

They followed Daphne to a black wrought-iron table. The champagne sat ready in a silver-bucket filled with ice. Daphne wrapped the bottle in a linen towel and carefully twisted out the cork. The silver bracelet slid down her wrist as she poured the sparkling wine into the flutes. Her hand shook very slightly. “Here's to good friends,” she said.

“Here's to new friends,” Caroline said, giving Daphne a wry look.

“Cheers,” Annie said. She lifted her glass and sipped. “Lovely champagne. Thanks, Daphne.”

Caroline passed the platter of pâté, which she had cut into thin slices and placed on diagonal pieces of baguette. Annie accepted one and sat stiffly in one of the iron garden chairs opposite Daphne and Caroline.

“Too bad you missed the daffodils,” Caroline said. She waved one hand in the direction of the garden. “Daphne says they were most extraordinary this year. The extremely cold winter was good for them.”

“You're interested in gardening, then?” Annie said, holding the cool glass in her hand.

“Oh my, yes. Sadly, my tiny flat in Paris has but two window ledges, both facing north.” Caroline drew her lips into a pout.

“I've told you, Caro, you have carte blanche here at God House,” Daphne said. “You know I think weeding is a bloody bore. It's neat and tidy now, but it will be a riotous mess in another month.” Daphne pushed her hair back from her face, and Annie thought she looked wary, as if expecting something to go wrong.

“I've been enjoying gardens recently,” Annie said. “While I was in Connecticut, Madeleine's azaleas were in bloom. She had a lovely scented variety. Pure white with a blush-pink center.”

Gardens, like the weather, were always a safe topic of conversation. Eventually the conversation became easier. Daphne talked about the upcoming auctions and two new clients, some American men who had purchased a minor château in the Loire.

“Absolutely pots of money,” she explained. “Thank God I have Caroline to help me comb the countryside. The place is empty and they want to fill every room.”

“It's such a lark to shop for someone else.” Caroline looked approvingly at Daphne. “They trust your eye completely.”

“I don't know about that, but it is good fun. Much better than some clients.” After a while Daphne swallowed the last of her champagne and stood. “Shall we go in for lunch?”

They rose to follow her. Annie looked back once more at the river and tried to imagine the summer here, when the flowers would be in
full bloom. She turned and followed Caroline and Daphne into the house.

Berthe had made a rich creamy vegetable torte and Daphne tossed a salad of bright green frisee lettuce with bits of her favorite streaky bacon.

“Don't you think everything tastes better at God House?” Caroline said, after taking her first bite of the torte.

“Absolutely” Annie said. She looked at Daphne, who now appeared more relaxed, as if she were enjoying her role as hostess. “I love your bracelet, Daphne. Is it new?”

“Caroline brought it to me from London. Very smart, isn't it?”

She extended her arm and Caroline reached over and fingered the silver links. “A school chum has a shop. He's quite a talented designer.” Her small hand lingered on Daphne's arm, and Annie thought she saw Daphne color just a bit.

Caroline kept the conversation going during lunch. She was solicitous of Daphne in subtle ways, and she took charge of pouring the wine.

“You don't think this is too dry?” she asked Daphne.

“Not at all, I've been wanting to try this one.” Daphne turned to Annie. “Caroline brought me a case of wine from Paris. Unusual bottles the local man wouldn't stock. What do you think of it?” She took another sip.

“It's delicious,” Annie said.

Caroline topped Daphne's glass once again. Annie felt herself observing the two women, and she thought of François. She found herself retreating, like he would have behind a camera, quietly bringing the world into focus with his lens. She listened while the two women talked about an upcoming sale in Barbizon and what they hoped to find, but she found if difficult to pay attention and participate in the conversation. She heard herself complimenting Daphne on the dessert, Antoinette's recipe for chocolate mousse, but her mind kept slipping away and carrying her down to the bank of the river.

She wished she were outside. She imagined holding a camera and trying to capture the light on the water. She pictured her very first
walk by the river when she and Wesley had come to God House on the last day of the year. She could see the three of them walking back toward the house, the light closing in. Her imaginary camera focused in on the moment Daphne had stepped between them, putting one arm in each of theirs, on that long-ago winter afternoon, perhaps even then tipping the balance of their lives.

Now, sitting at lunch, many afternoons since her first visit to God House, she heard Daphne suggest moving into the drawing room for coffee. Annie waited patiently for the appropriate moment when she could leave.

“I don't know what I want more,” Caroline said, “a big walk or a nap.” She looked at Daphne as if to gauge her response.

Annie didn't wait for Daphne's answer. “I really must be going,” she said, putting her empty cup on the tray.

Neither woman voiced any objection. All afternoon, they had asked nothing about her life or her plans now that the book was finished. She was strangely relieved. She knew she didn't belong at God House any longer. She was relinquishing her place to another, like a French courtesan, giving up her position beside the king. She suppressed a smile.

“May I give you a lift to the train?” Daphne asked.

“No, thanks,” Annie said. “I'm looking forward to the walk.” She said good-bye to Caroline, who was headed to the kitchen with the tray of coffee cups. Daphne walked Annie out to the top of the drive.

“I'll send you a copy of the book when it comes out.”

“Signed, I hope?” Daphne laughed.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Annie reached into her handbag. “I brought you some poems. Only three. New work I did in Connecticut.”

Daphne took the folded sheets of paper. “Annie, dear. You really are sweet.”

“You know how grateful I am for all you've done,” Annie started to explain, “your encouragement, introducing me to Paul—”

“Nonsense. Let's not get caught up in the past again. Let's just say
Pax
, shall we?
Pax
and
au revoir. Good-bye
has such finality.” Daphne reached out to Annie and kissed her on both cheeks, then held her briefly in a hug. Annie sensed she was impatient to get back into the house.