What Mother Never Told Me (10 page)

“I actually am a bit hungry,” she said, albeit reluctantly.

Marie clapped her hands with a single pop. “Wonderful.”

“Are you sure it won’t be a problem?”

Marie craned her long neck back and let out a throaty laugh. “Marc will do whatever I ask if he knows what’s good for him. Besides, we are lovers and he adores pleasing me.”

“Oh…”

Marie lowered her voice and hooked her arm through Parris’s. “It is the very thing that got me ousted from the theater…so many years ago. He was the theater owner’s husband.” She smiled wistfully. “Vivienne made quite a scene when she found us.” She sighed. “I can’t blame her for her outrage. But Dominic was beautiful. Too beautiful for a man. Every woman wanted him. I suppose by the time she gets rid of or ruins women’s lives over her cad of a husband there won’t be a single woman of note left in all of France!” She laughed uproariously at the notion.

Parris didn’t know if she should laugh at the outrageousness of it all or be totally appalled. She opted for laughter. “What did you do when she…walked in on you?”

“Screamed, of course!”

They were both doubled over with laughter when Marc walked into the kitchen, carrying in a basket of laundry.

“Nothing more refreshing than seeing two beautiful women laughing.” His blue-black eyes swept from one to the other.

This was Marc?
He was young enough to be Marie’s son. An exquisite specimen of a man, a cross between the bad boy ar
rogance of a Colin Farrell, and the swarthy good looks of a young Antonio Banderas.

“Marc, this is our newest arrival. Her name is Parris. Parris, this is Marc.”

Parris extended her hand, which he took and brought to his lips, planting a warm kiss on the top of her knuckles. “My pleasure. If there is anything that you need during your stay…” He allowed his sentence to drift off before he finally released her from his grasp.

Marie waved her hand like a wand. “Marc is very dramatic.”

He smiled at his benefactor, displaying perfect teeth and a deep dimple in his left cheek, which is always appealing during youth, but almost ridiculous when one ages, Marie thought absently. Those who rely solely on looks rather than talent or some manner of skill were eventually doomed to obsolescence. She was sure that was to be Marc’s fate, but until then she would make the supreme sacrifice of “looking after him.”

“Parris and I would love a light lunch.”

“Right away.” He gave Parris a slight nod of his head and walked out.

“Wonderful chef. It’s how we met actually. He was working in some little restaurant in Paris near the Louvre. He’d prepared the most exquisite escargot and I insisted that my waiter introduce me to the chef.” She flipped her hand. “The rest, as they say, is history.” She led the way to her room that was much like Parris’s, only larger and bolder in color. “It’s a bit chilly today but still nice enough to eat on the terrace. The sun will soon warm things up.” She opened the terrace doors and stepped out, checking the table and chairs. She made a face. “I’ll have to get Marc to dry these off.” She turned to Parris. “Do you have a lover?”

Parris blinked several times. “Excuse me?”

“Do you have a lover? Someone to care about you or at least pretend to? A beautiful girl like you should have someone.”

“I—”

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed.” She waved her hand. “Sex is wonderful. We all do it, you know. And since we do, isn’t it best to do it with someone worthwhile?” She stared at Parris with wide-eyed innocence.

Parris felt laughter bubble in her stomach and she couldn’t keep the grin off her face. Marie was a real character. Before long she found herself telling Marie of how she and Nick met, the obstacles that they’d faced with Tara and Frank, the illness and subsequent loss of her grandmother, losing her job and her apartment, and then her and Nick finally crossing the invisible line that had divided them.

“Was it worth the wait?” Marie asked with a sparkle in her eyes.

“Yes, it was.” The revelation singed her cheeks.

“Magnifique!”

There was a light tapping at the door.

“Entrez.”

Marc opened the door and rolled in a skirted cart with silver serving trays on top.

“
Amoureux,
I wanted to eat outdoors but the table and chairs are still damp. We totally forgot to turn them down last night,” she said and winked at him.

“That we did.”

Parris watched the exchange with fascination, the way Marie had not a care in the world about calling him “sweetheart” in front of her or inferring that they’d spent the night together, and Marc had no problem being her obvious boy toy and reciprocating with little touches and extra stares while he set up
the table for lunch. He opened the leaves of the cart, turning it into a table that could comfortably seat four.

“I fixed your favorite,” he said, turning over the bowls and ladling in a delicious-smelling soup.

“Ahh.” Briefly Marie closed her eyes in rapture. “Tomato basil.” She focused on Parris. “You must try it. Superb.” She gazed up at Marc. “It is one of his many specialties.”

Marc then placed a tiny saucer in front of them and topped it with a perfect little Quiche Lorraine. “For the main course I prepared perfectly shaved roast beef sautéed with broccoli, onions, roasted potatoes and mushrooms, tossed in a creamy cheddar cheese sauce with green beans almondine,” he said with a flourish.

Marie clapped as if she’d witnessed the closing act of a stage play.

Marc bowed.
“Bon appétit.”

“I told you he was dramatic,” she said over her laughter. “Please enjoy.”

They spent the hour talking about the sights Parris should be sure to see and Marie’s one trip to the States before Marie shifted the conversation back to Parris’s mother.

“What is it that you really want to find out from your mother?” she asked, daintily wiping her mouth with the linen napkin.

Parris put down her fork and pushed her plate aside. “I want her to tell me why she left and why she wanted me to go through life believing she was dead. I want her to explain to me how she convinced my grandmother to hold on to that lie all these years.”

Marie looked her in the eyes. “Why does it matter? Did you have such a horrible life that her absence would make a difference somehow?”

Parris drew in a breath. “I need to know. For myself. I need to fill this void, this feeling that I was somehow unworthy of my own mother’s love. Do you have any idea what that’s like?” She pushed back from her seat and stood.

“Please, sit. Let me tell you a story of a mother’s love.”

With reluctance, Parris sat back down.

“For sixteen years I lived under the tyranny of my mother. A woman who thought nothing of hurting me in any way she saw fit. I was a slave to her whims, her moods, her disappointments.” She glanced away. “She said she beat me, humiliated me, locked me in rooms, gave me to men to pay off her debts all to make me strong.” She laughed but there was no humor in the discordant sound and Parris cringed as it grated against her. “I left and never looked back.” She swung her gaze to Parris. “Your mother may have done the very best thing for you by giving you to your grandmother. Perhaps she knew the kind of mother you would need and that she would never be.”

Parris’s bottom lip trembled. That picture didn’t mesh with the images that her grandmother had conjured up over the years, at least the few times that she even spoke of her mother. But Nana had lied, too, and she took her reasons to her grave. If she didn’t find Emma she may never know the truth, and that unknowing would forever haunt her.

“Even if everything you say is true, I still need to hear the words from her.”

“You are certainly a stubborn young woman. I hope it serves you well.” She lifted her fork. “Your food is getting cold.”

A
plate crashed to the floor in the spotless kitchen. Emma simply stared at the broken pieces of china at her feet.

“I’ll get that, Ms. Travanti,” her assistant, Nicole, offered. “Are you all right? You are so not yourself today.” She reached for a broom behind the storage cabinet.

Emma rubbed her brow, wishing the simple act would rub away the tangle of thoughts running through her head. “A little tired. I think I’ll go home. You and George will be fine. Philippe knows what the menu is for today.” She took off her apron and hung it on the hook.

Nicole looked at her curiously. Emma never left the store early once she came in. It was her heart and soul. Every minute detail, from the décor to the daily menu, was her doing. Most business owners were mere figureheads, running their operations from a distant office. Not Emma Travanti. She prided herself on being
a hands-on owner and it showed in the loyal customers—whom she knew by name—and a business that stayed in the black. And it wasn’t as if she needed the work. Quite the contrary. Her husband ran one of the most successful wineries in the valley. She did this because she loved it, and it showed.

Emma reached for her coat then turned to Nicole. “I may be out for a few days.” She swallowed. “If anyone should come looking for me…I’m out of town.”

“Of…course. Are you sure you’re all right?”

She pressed Nicole’s shoulder. “Yes, just please do as I ask.”

Nicole nodded as she watched her employer leave. She looked around. This was her chance to prove to Emma that she could be trusted to run the bistro. And she would.

All along the route home she kept looking in her rearview mirror, expecting at any moment to see Parris on the road. What was she going to do? She couldn’t run forever. God, what if Michael found out that Parris was here and had come looking for her? They had to get away until she could sort things out. Until she could find a way to tell her husband that their daughter had finally arrived.

For nearly thirty years she’d held that ugly secret from her husband. Lied to him about who she was and their child that she’d “lost during childbirth” while he was stationed abroad. But when her mother’s letter arrived several weeks earlier she had no choice. She’d taken a chance telling him the truth…what she had done. She’d deprived him of his only child. And it was his unwavering love for her, his compassion as a man, that had allowed him to forgive her.

Yet there were nights when she lay next to him that she wondered how deep his forgiveness truly went. There were
times when she would catch him looking at her as if he didn’t know who she was before the light of familiarity would reach his eyes. It was those moments that played with her consciousness, when her guilt would outweigh reason. Michael had been her life for more than three decades. She may have given birth to Parris, but she did not know her or what bringing her into her life would mean. And she wasn’t sure if she was willing to risk it, even now.

She put the key in the door to her villa and stepped inside. Her housekeeper, Vivian, came running to the front from the kitchen.

“Madame! Are you ill? You are never home at this hour.”

“I’m fine, Vivian. I decided to take some time off. Is Michael here?”

“He went to the winery. He said he would return by dinnertime.”

Emma nodded. “Thank you.” She started for the stairs. “Vivian, I think I’ll surprise my husband with a little trip. Would you be so kind as to get our luggage out from the spare room?”

“Of course. Right away.”

Emma hurried upstairs. She needed to make some calls and quickly. If she could keep Michael out of town for a few days, a week at most, she was sure that Parris would get tired of her search and go back home. She sat on the side of the bed and opened her nightstand drawer. Taking out her address book she flipped through the pages for the number of the spa in Paris that she and Michael loved, the Evian Royal Resort in the mountains of France. Parris would never find them there. And perhaps she could get her husband to look at her with that old familiarity in his eyes.

Her gaze landed on the number. She reached for the phone and dialed before she changed her mind. After listening to the
array of services and agreeing to almost everything, she booked them into the Evian Royal Resort for a week with all of the amenities. It would cost a small fortune, but her peace of mind would be worth it.

Satisfied, she hung up the phone just as Vivian appeared in her doorway with the luggage on a rolling cart.

“Where would you like these?”

“You can bring them inside. Put them in the corner for me, please.”

“Will you be leaving soon?” Vivian asked as she took the bags off the cart and placed them in the corner. She glanced at Emma over her shoulder.

“Yes,” she said, her answer muffled by the rows of sweaters, suits, slacks and blouses as she rifled through her closet and tossed random clothes on the bed.

“How long will you be gone?”

“At least a week. Maybe more.” She turned to Vivian. “I will need you to keep an eye on the house.” She bobbed her head, ticking off a mental list. “And check in at the bistro.”

“Of course.” Vivian watched while Emma went from the closet to the drawers and back again. She’d worked for the Travanti family for nearly ten years. Every day and every year had been a pleasure. Mme. Emma was always even-tempered and calm, full of laughter. She’d never seen her angry or out of sorts even when the ceiling leaked during a terrible storm and nearly destroyed one of the upper rooms where she kept her artwork. Or the time when the roast burned and there was a house full of guests to feed. She didn’t become agitated or flustered when Monsieur Michael came down with double pneumonia. She was steady, strong and calm, demanding the best care from his doctors and seeing to his every need. But
this Mme. Emma, Vivian didn’t recognize. Short, agitated, nervous. She couldn’t begin to imagine what could have so disturbed her.

“Should I prepare dinner, then?”

Emma snapped her head in Vivian’s direction. She frowned for a moment. “Yes…yes, please. Michael will be hungry. Then we can leave.”

“Yes, madame.” Vivian left and closed the door quietly behind her.

Emma stared at the disaster that was now her bed, a reflection of what her life had suddenly become. Restlessly she ran her fingers through her hair, dislodging the knot at the nape of her neck. Her hair fell in a soft tumble across her shoulders. She closed her eyes and massaged the stiff muscles in the back of her neck. What was she doing? This wasn’t the answer. She pulled out the chair from beneath her dressing table and slowly sat down. But she didn’t have a better solution. At least not now. A few days away would help her to clear her head, decide what was best…for all of them.

Emma drew in a long, steadying breath and turned to view her reflection in the beveled mirror. Everything was going to be fine. It would work out. It always did.

Parris did a quick calculation in her head to figure out what time it was in the States. France was six hours ahead. It was almost seven o’clock. Granddad should be up and about. Hopefully she could catch him before he did his afternoon house calls. She stretched across the bed for the phone and connected with the international operator. After several rings the comforting voice of her granddad came on the line.

“Granddad, it’s Parris!”

His deep chuckle warmed her like nothing else. “Of course, it’s you. Who else calls me Granddad? How are you?”

“I’m fine. Still struggling with jet lag.”

“What time is it over there?”

“Almost seven at night.”

“Humph, humph, humph. Well, tell me how things are.”

She sat up against the stack of pillows and told him about her arrival at Le Moulin, her visit to Emma’s house and the bistro.

“Hmm. This woman that you met, she was at both places—the house and the whatchamacallit?”

“Bistro?”

“Yes, bistro.”

“She was at both places,” she said slowly, not giving voice to the innuendo that floated across the phone lines.

“What did she look like?”

“Look like?”

“Yes.”

“Well…she was a bit shorter than me, very pretty, dark hair, green eyes.”

David’s chest tightened. “And she told you that Emma wasn’t at home and then at the restaurant that she had no idea when she would be coming in?”

“Yes.” Parris’s pulse picked up speed. “Granddad, what are you getting at?”

He hadn’t seen Emma in years, not since she was a teenager. But he remembered her beauty. Her porcelain skin, inky black hair and those stunning green eyes, the eyes she’d given to her own daughter. More importantly he remembered her rage and her anger at Cora. A hatred that was palpable, that lived and breathed in the house like a third tenant. Did she still harbor such resentment that she would look her own daughter in the
eye and lie to her about who she was? Was Emma’s heart that hardened, even after all of this time?

“Granddad?”

He snapped out of his musings. “Perhaps you’ve done all you’ve can. Maybe you should just come on home.”

She leaned into the phone. “What are you not telling me?”

“Sometimes people go away because they don’t want to be found, sweetheart.”

“I promised Nana.”

“I know your grandmother would understand. Let it be.”

“Let it be?” Her voice pitched. “You’re telling me to forget it after I’ve come this far? You were the one who insisted that I ‘fill the hole’ inside me. You!” Her breath pumped in short bursts.

“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Cora was wrong, too.”

“What really happened all those years ago?”

David felt the walls closing in around him with nowhere for him to go. “Your mother, well, maybe you should just let her be.”

“You
never
refer to my mother as your daughter, too.” She said the words in a whispered sense of sudden wonder. “Why, Granddad? You were married to Nana.”

“I told your grandmother to leave things be,” he said, his voice weighted down with the enormity of the lie they’d all engaged in for decades.

Parris held her breath. “Tell me. I need to know the truth. Ple—”

“I didn’t father your mother.”

A jolt of incredulity physically rocked her. “What…are you saying?” She gripped the phone.

“Your grandmother went off to Chicago. When she came back we got married. It was the happiest day in my life. And
when we found out we had a baby coming, I was the proudest man in Rudell.”

The veins in her temples filled and pounded. She didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear what a part of her heart had suspected for years. But if no one said it, if no one said the words, it would never be true.

“Until the baby came.”

The pain in his voice cut through the phone lines, echoed like a shout across a canyon, deep and penetrating.

Her thoughts raced. It made awful sense now. The piece of the puzzle that had eluded her fell into place.

When she hung up from her grandfather she was no longer the same person. She’d been inexorably changed. The space inside her that needed to be filled with the essence of who she was, where she’d come from, had been flooded with a poison that now spewed from her in a torrent of tears and physical rage.

“Noooo!”

She tore through the room like an unleashed storm. Everything within her reach became a victim. She’d come to find her mother. Find out why she’d left her only to discover that the person whom she’d loved and idolized all of her life, the man who became the standard by which she judged all men, was not of her flesh and blood. And the woman who was her mother was the offspring of some unknown man. All along her Nana knew. She’d lied to Granddad. She’d lied to her. Who were these people who’d shaped her life? Her stomach heaved. She ran to the bathroom, sinking to her knees, and Marie’s words haunted her.
Be careful what you wish for
.

The ringing phone stirred her from her huddled position on the center of the floor. Through bleary, swollen eyes she
looked around at the destruction she’d wrought. Clothes were upended from her suitcase. The bed pillows joined the toiletries on the dresser that had been swept to the floor. The curtains that hung on the French doors were wrenched from their rods. She pushed up on her hands and knees, stood and made her way to the phone on wooden legs.

“Hello.” Her voice sounded ragged to her ears.

“Parris. It’s Nick. Your grandfather called me.”

The instant she heard his voice the nightmare of the past hour came flooding back and she broke down again, rambling in fits and starts about what she’d learned.

Nick was barely able to piece it all together but what he was able to understand was that Parris was broken and he wasn’t there to pick up the pieces.

Her sobs slowly simmered to soft whimpers. The sound tore at his heart. “Come home. Tomorrow. Get on a plane and come home or I’m coming to get you. One or the other. Your choice.”

She sniffed. “I can’t even…think straight.” She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse.

“Don’t think. Just do it. Pack your bags and go to the airport in the morning. I’ll look up your flight information on the Internet and rebook you for tomorrow afternoon.”

She looked around the room. Just the thought of having to fix the mess she’d made and pack her bags was too much to deal with.

“Listen to me, you’re coming home. Tomorrow. We’ll work it all out when you get here. I promise.”

Her throat tightened. “All right.”

“I’m going to call you back in an hour with the information for tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“I love you. It’s going to work out. Everything will be fine.”

She couldn’t imagine how that would be possible—ever.

The soothing steam from her bath began to work its magic. The lavender-scented oil calmed her to a point where the violent pounding in her head had been reduced to a dull hammerlike thump. She rested her head against the lip of the tub and closed her eyes.

Tomorrow she would be home or at least back to someplace familiar. And over time she would put all of this behind her. She would forget that her mother was not dead. She would push from her thoughts the realization that her grandmother harbored the secret of her real existence for years and took the truth with her to her grave. She would stop thinking about the fact that her grandfather wasn’t her grandfather at all, but some nameless, faceless person. When she tucked all of those ugly things away in some deep corner of her mind, it wouldn’t matter that even she was no longer who she’d believed herself to be. And if that were true, then how could she possibly risk being in the life of someone else when hers had only been an illusion, one that she may never see clearly?