Capturing Paris (5 page)

“Our numbers have certainly dwindled.” He stared out the window, ignoring his rapidly cooling coffee. “Why don't you ask Daphne? She'd liven things up.” He looked back at Annie as if to gauge her reaction. “Wait till Tom gets a look at her.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Annie frowned. Mary, her boss at Liberal Arts Abroad, was married to Tom, an unstoppable flirt and a big drinker. The last time they had dinner together, he'd run his hand under Annie's skirt. Annie hadn't told Wesley.

Annie pulled the toast out from the oven, and while they ate they discussed the menu for the party. Wesley enjoyed choosing the wine, but wanted to check with Georges about the
négociant
of the Burgundy that he'd served last Sunday. He became interested in food when they moved to France, and he took pride in his selection of wines. He would probably spend several hours scouring the local wine merchants for just the right pick. Georges and Wesley had a longtime friendly competition to see who could turn up memorable or undiscovered wines while keeping to an agreed budget. Annie made a mental note to buy more candles, and she thought that place cards this year would be a nice touch.

The telephone rang. Annie reached for the receiver and answered the phone, giving Wesley a questioning look. “Sophie, is that you?” The connection was poor. “It's the middle of the night in New York. Why are you up so late?” Annie's brow furrowed. She imagined her daughter in the tiny studio apartment, miles of gray ocean away from the familiar French neighborhood where she'd grown up. She was relieved to hear from her only child. Sophie's sporadic phone calls were unexpected gifts. If only she could reach out at that very moment and give her daughter a hug.

Sophie's voice came in more clearly. “Mom, we just finished this incredible deal. Our team worked so hard. It really paid off. Marla's thrilled.” Sophie had told them about Marla Kellogg, her boss, an accomplished forty-year-old woman who took pride in breaking through the glass ceiling of the corporate world. She was a role model to Sophie. Sophie worked for a large consulting company, a plum job for someone right out of college. Now, despite her enthusiasm, she sounded hollow from fatigue.

“That's great, Sophie, but why aren't you in bed?”

“Mother.”

Annie tried to sound more positive. “Dad and I were just talking about the solstice dinner. It's on the nineteenth. Will you be home in time?”

“No. That's why I'm calling. Marla picked me to go to Los Angeles with another group. It's really an honor, the best account that our division has ever landed. I can't say no. I really want to work on this one.”

“You've been working nonstop since June.” Annie pushed away her plate of dry toast. “Surely they'll give you vacation time at Christmas.” She hoped this didn't come out like a whine. She leaned her elbows on the table and clutched the phone tightly against her ear.

“Mom, it's not like France. You know that. They want us out there on the twenty-seventh. There's not enough time to come to Paris. Aunt Madeleine said I could spend Christmas in Connecticut with her.”

Annie sighed. She didn't want to hear this.

“This project will take about three weeks, maybe a month.” Sophie's voice was brisk and matter-of-fact. “Anyway, I rebooked my flight home for the end of January.”

Annie and Wesley would just have to wait. This would be their first Christmas without their daughter. “That's lovely of Madeleine to have you,” Annie said. Wesley had stopped drinking his coffee and watched Annie. She could see him trying to guess the other end of the conversation. “Of course I'm disappointed. We'll miss you terribly. I guess this is being a grown-up, putting your job first and all.” Right now Annie wished that Sophie was still a small child. She missed being needed, being caught up in family life, and the simple physical pleasure of seeing her daughter every day, smoothing her hair, touching her cheek, tucking her into bed each night with a kiss. “Do try to get enough sleep, sweetie.”

“Mom, don't keep saying that.”

Annie could hear impatience in her daughter's voice.

“I'll call you again this weekend. How's Dad?”

“He's right here. I'll put him on. Take care. I love you, sweetie.” She shook her head and handed the phone to Wesley.

Sophie reminded Annie of Wesley in the early days of his career. Every case was the “big” one, and once it was over, he'd be quickly absorbed in the next. She watched him pace now as he listened to Sophie relate her business adventures. She knew he hated her not coming home as much as she did. Annie had been counting on Sophie to cheer up her father and bring their lives back into balance.

“Well, at least she sounds happy,” he said after hanging up. “Says she's working sixty hours a week.”

“I think these firms push their young people too hard.”

“Annie, you haven't a clue what it's like. Long hours are typical.”

“But she has no time for a personal life.”

“No time to come home either. At least she can go to Madeleine's.” He stood looking out at the glimmer of pearl-gray sky just beginning to lighten, his shoulders rounded.

They were lucky to have Madeleine, who relished any opportunity to be helpful to her family. After Wesley's parents died, she'd assumed the role of family matriarch, stepping in whenever she could and having Sophie visit during breaks from college. The two were very close.

Annie got to her feet and forced a smile. “Well, we're going to have to get used to it.” She put her arms around Wesley and drew him into
a hug. “Come on, don't be sad, we've got each other. This is supposed to be a good time in life. Maybe we should take a little trip. I'll bet Morocco would be fun.” She reached up, touched the planes of his face, and pressed the slight dimples on either side of his mouth.

“You know we can't go spending money like that, especially now.”

“I know, but it's a nice idea. I'll never forget that lovely trip when we left Sophie behind, just the two of us.”

“Yeah, a long time ago.” He brushed her lips in a habitual way, a conciliatory kiss, and stepped out of her grasp. “What are you up to today?”

“I'm meeting Héléne. She's found some more families to house students. I'm hoping one of them can take the new girl we have coming next semester.”

Héléne Rocher had been one of the first to host families for Liberal Arts Abroad back in the early days of the program. At that time her husband was still alive and her son, Alexis, was living at home and eager to learn English. Héléne no longer took in students, but she had been invaluable to the program over the years, finding other host families. She seemed to have endless connections: her hairdresser's cousin, her neighbor's sister, the young man who had worked for Héléne's husband, whose wife was a teacher at the
lycée
. Mary, director of the program, always preferred having the personal recommendations for host families that Héléne could provide. And to Annie, Héléne had become more of a friend than a colleague. Wesley liked her too. “She won't be in Paris for our party either.” Annie started to clear the table.

“Umm.” Wesley looked distracted, and she could tell his attention was already elsewhere. He poured himself more coffee and went down the hall to his office, the floor creaking in all the familiar places under his step. She wondered what would keep him busy in the solitary hours ahead. She picked up her coffee. By now the milk had congealed, forming a thin skin across the surface. She poured it down the sink.

Later, when Annie put on her coat to leave, she reached into her pockets for her gloves and felt the crisp edge of Daphne's card. She drew it out and ran her finger across the heavy black lettering. Why
not? She picked up the hall telephone and dialed. An answering machine clicked on. “God House. Please leave a message.”

Annie asked Daphne if she'd like to meet for lunch one day this week and left her number. She thought of telling Wesley, but the door to his office was closed. She grabbed a worn cashmere scarf from the chest by the front door and headed off to see her old friend. Hélène lived in the Sixteenth Arrondissement, an elegant quarter on the other side of Paris. She decided to walk part of the way. She was craving some exercise and wanting to enjoy the sun, which was making a surprise appearance.

“Annie,
ma chérie
. It is a long time since I have seen you.” Hélène's English was formal and old-fashioned, but she rarely made a mistake.

“It does get so busy in the fall,” Annie said, wishing she had made the time to come and see Hélène sooner. She always loved their little talks.

“I want to hear everything,” Hélène said, laughing. “
Les détails des détails.
”

The details of the details. Annie secretly thought of Hélène as a kind of mother to her, an especially lovely French mother. Today Hélène was beautifully dressed in a trim navy suit. Annie admired her vivid dark eyes and neat red lips. Her nails, painted a matching shade of red, stood out against the pale skin of her delicate hands. Annie silently chastised herself for not taking the time to keep her own nails polished. Frenchwomen were so good at paying attention to
les petits soins
, the little details of grooming that kept them looking their best.

Annie brought Hélène up to date on what was happening at the office and the need for a new host family in January. “The couple I had lined up changed their mind and want to wait until fall before taking a student,” Annie explained. “I'm running out of time to find someone.”

“
Pas de problème
,” Hélène said. “I know of just the family. Françoise, from my bridge group, has a niece who lives in the Sixth. She is willing to have a student at any time. Her daughter is studying English and wishes to practice. A good plan,
non
?”

“It sounds perfect.” Annie felt a weight lifted. “I'll make arrangements for them to meet Mary at the office.”

“
Mais, toi alors
. Tell me more of yourself” Hélène insisted.

“I'm working on my poems again,” she said.

“Aha!” Hélène clapped her hands together. “I thought I saw a sparkle in your eye.”

It was so easy to talk to her. “It's insane, really,” Annie said. “I can't seem to get anything published, but I can't stop myself from trying.”

“And you should not stop. Sophie, she has gone; it is your time now.”

Her time. How could she enjoy “her time” when Wesley was so miserable, when so many things seemed to be falling out of place? “Sophie isn't coming home for Christmas this year,” she said.

“Oh, my dear. This is a disappointment.”

Hélène's son was married now and lived in Ireland. Annie sensed that she felt the same all-consuming love for her child as Annie did for Sophie. “Do you miss Alexis?” Annie asked. “Goodness, what a silly question. Of course you do. But does it get any easier?”

“Everything changes when your child leaves home. You had your Sophie so young, so you must face this sooner than most.” Hélène turned her neatly coiffed head and looked toward the bare branches bowing gracefully in the winter wind beyond the windows. “And yes,
ma chérie
, you always miss them, but one wants the little birds to leave the nest,
non
?”

“You're right. I know you're right. But it's hard all the same.”

“Of course.
C'est difficile
. But you learn to enjoy the children whenever you are together.
Noël
, yes, this is important, but is it not a joy, an occasion for celebration any time you come together?”

Hélène was right. Sophie's return would be cause for celebration on any day of the year. Annie could certainly manage one Christmas without her.

“Besides,” Hélène continued, “it is nice to be a couple,
non
? After Alexis moved away, Bertrand and I traveled more. It was a happy time for us. Almost like the early days of our marriage.”

Annie looked away. The past months with Wesley were nothing like the early days of her marriage. Annie could put up with his bad moods; they were understandable. But he had grown so distant. A lump formed in her throat, and she couldn't bear to tell Hélène how difficult her life with Wesley had become.

“I do have more time now for my writing with Sophie away.”

“Exactly. These days can be a very rich opportunity for you.” Hélène paused, as if to reflect. “I won't try to convince you of all of the advantages of growing older.” She smiled and the lines around her eyes made her look kind and understanding. “But one gains a kind of freedom in midlife.” She laughed and shrugged. “If you have the courage for it.”

Annie stood up but hesitated to leave—being with Hélène was so comforting. “Hélène, you make me feel better. You really do.” She bent awkwardly to hug her friend. She hoped one day she would have some of the wisdom that this charming French lady possessed. Hélène looked so comfortable and at ease with who she was, a woman who had already surmounted so many of life's hurdles.

Annie opened the door to her apartment and immediately smelled something burning. She found Wesley in the kitchen leaning against the counter with one hand in his pocket, and the other holding the phone. His back to the stove, he appeared oblivious to the open-faced cheese sandwich smoking under the broiler. He smiled over at her, the dimpled smile that unlocked his charm. “Annie just walked in. I'll put her on.”

Annie took the receiver and gestured emphatically toward the smoking stove.

“It's Daphne,” Wesley informed her, looking pleased. He turned and pulled the ruined sandwich from the oven, then opened the window.

“Hello there,” Daphne said, her low English voice sounding friendly. The blue cape flashed into Annie's mind. “Wesley has just invited me to your solstice party. Is that some sort of American tradition? I rather thought it more of a Nordic thing.”