Willow Grove Abbey (19 page)

Edwina
was just as potty over Isabella as I was. Neither of us had much experience with babies, and we exclaimed repeatedly about her extremely tiny size. We examined her from head to toe, remarking about her extraordinary beauty. All of the trials and tribulations of the past months were inconsequential. Isabella was such a miracle, and each time I gazed at her beautiful face, I marveled at the fact that one weekend of passion had resulted in such a perfect little creature.

When we
brought her home to Rue Blues, Edwina set about spoiling her unmercifully. Within the first three weeks of her life, she purchased eight tiny dresses, and then set about designing more. I bounced back very quickly, and by September on warm afternoons we took the baby for long walks in a lovely pram that I’d purchased. We would go to the Bois de Boulogne, sit on a bench eating ice cream, and enjoy sounds of children playing. Other mothers were there with their babies, and we compared them to Isabella. Of course, not a single one was as pretty.

No one in England k
new of Isabella’s arrival. I wanted to shout from the rooftops that God had blessed me with such a beautiful cherub. I continued to speak to my parents weekly, and as I’d feared, they began to badger me about returning home to have the baby. Finally, Edwina and I put into motion the final chapter of our campaign to ensure that Isabella be shielded from any truths that might cause her future pain. In early September, Edwina rang my parents, telling them that I was in hospital with labor, and that it appeared the baby was going to be born prematurely. Twenty-four hours later, Edwina rang them back and said that Isabella had been born, on 16 September. Of course, Mummy was not at all pleased that her grandchild had been born in France, and proceeded to give Edwina a piece of her mind for not having insisted that I return to England sooner. Edwina handled the entire situation deftly, and by the time I spoke to Mummy she had calmed down considerably. I told her that everything was fine... that I intended to recuperate, allow the baby to gain strength, and then return to England. My family immediately sent two dozen pink roses. Edwina convinced them to send them to the flat, saying that I was sharing a room at hospital, and that it would be rude to put on such a show in front of a stranger. Mummy was infuriated that I was sharing a room, but no matter. That was only a minor blip.

At
first, Mummy and Papa were determined to travel to Paris at once to bring Isabella and me home. I was horrified at the mere thought that they might actually do so, and begged them to not even consider such a thing. I told them that everything was wonderful; that I felt splendid, and that all I needed was a bit of time for recuperation before I could travel back to England. In addition, I explained that the baby was definitely too tiny to travel yet. Edwina told them that it would upset me greatly if they were to make such a trip. The protestations finally seemed to satisfy everyone concerned, and I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. There had been such a large number of instances over the past nine months when I’d not been at all certain that everything would work out so well. It had required a great deal of strength not to fall apart at so many junctures. Now, it was over. I had the baby, and Isabella was all that I had imagined she might be.

I lingered on through the f
all, and into the start of winter. I’d had no intention of staying such a long time. It irritated my parents no end, but I was always prepared with an answer for them. One of the best was that I had no husband to return to, and that it would depress me greatly to return to England. They didn’t argue about that. In mid-November, I finally began to make plans for my return. Isabella was healthy and robust, but still very small, so I was not overly concerned that anyone would think she looked older than she should. This meant that I still had a couple of weeks left in Paris. Classes had resumed at the end of September, and Edwina had more or less returned to her normal life. I’d not let Isabella out of my sight since her birth, but finally I grew to trust the girl who lived in the flat above Edwina’s…a ballet dancer of Russian extraction, named Kira Brunkow. She was a lovely girl, but I had difficulty communicating with her. Edwina had become quite fluent in French, and she and Kira were able to converse in that language. Edwina, in turn, acted as an interpreter for me. Kira was completely enamored of Isabella and continually begged me to allow her to baby sit. Finally, one night Edwina and I decided that it was time to re-join the world. Kira offered to sit with Isabella, and I knew that I could trust her. Therefore, I relented and Edwina and I planned an outing. I fed Isabella and placed her in her bassinet. I probably still wouldn’t have left, had the baby not been sleeping soundly. By that time, I had weaned Isabella from nursing, and she was perfectly content with her bottle.

Edwina
mixed two of her famous martinis, and I finally sampled one. It was divine. We were feeling marvelously giddy by the time we crawled into a taxicab, and headed to Edwina’s favorite haunt,
Les Deux Magots
, that well-known café on the corner of Place St. Germain-des-Pres. Seated at a corner table, we settled into the comfortable camaraderie that can only be associated with close friends. Being together again, just the two of us, was nice. We were free, and able to talk at length without the interruption of a baby’s grizzle. We felt young. It had been a long, long time since I’d felt young, though I was still only nineteen. It was obvious that Edwina was very much at home at
Deux Magots.
The waiters knew her by name and several patrons acknowledged her upon our arrival. This was usual, for Edwina had a way of drawing people to her. It was her
joie de vivre...
an indefinable charisma that set her apart from others. We ordered a bottle of Pouly Fuisse, and began to chatter and gossip, just as we had at
Ashwick Park.

“
Sophia, how do you feel now about your decision not to tell Spence about Isabella?” Edwina asked me. “Now that she’s actually here, I’ve wondered if you’ve had misgivings, but haven’t wanted to bring up anything that might upset you.”

“I
made the correct decision, Edwina. Not that I don’t still think about him. On the contrary, especially since Isabella’s birth, I think about him constantly.”

“
Do you think you’ll ever really get over him?”

“Oh, I’ll
move on. I guess I already have, really. I cannot imagine falling in love that way again. Everything about Spence was my absolute ideal. If someone had given me paper and pen, and asked me to list all of the traits I was searching for in a mate, my completed list would describe him.

“Well, I
must admit that he
is
an attractive man. Of course, I never knew him well, but he seemed smashing. I would probably change only one thing about him, if he were to match
my
ideal man.”

What would that be?” I
asked. “Spence is so perfect in my eyes, I cannot imagine changing anything about him.”

“He’d
be older. I prefer older men.”

“But, Spence
is
older. He’s seven years older than I am.”

“No
…I mean quite considerably older. Perhaps twenty or even thirty years older.”

“I’ve never known that about you,
Edwina. You have never been
involved
with someone that much older. Or
have
you?” I grinned.

“No, not really.
I’ve had crushes. You know what I mean. Sometimes there are impediments that cause difficulties.”

“What sort of i
mpediments?”

Edwina
looked down at the table and her eyes darted to the right and left. I’d never felt that she kept secrets from me, but the thought crossed my mind just for an instant. “Oh just things,” Edwina answered, twirling her glass in her fingers. “An older man will sometimes think that a younger woman shouldn’t become involved with him. Sometimes he will be too set in his ways... or married... or something.”

I
laughed. “Edwina. If I know you, there isn’t
any
impediment that you couldn’t overcome.”

Well, there really
are
some,” she smiled.

Next, we
moved to the topic of the moment. People in cafes all across the globe were obsessed with England’s new King Edward the Eighth, and his paramour Mrs. Simpson. It was fast becoming the most astonishing story. Apparently, the couple had embarked on an eastern Mediterranean cruise aboard a yacht called the
Lady Nahlin.
Photographs of the King, who looked like a young boy with his untidy golden locks and a tanned, bare chest, flanked by the notorious American divorcee, were appearing daily in newspapers and magazines worldwide. I was astonished at how little I actually knew of the story. Paris whispered appalling and titillating tales, and Edwina was the perfect person from whom to learn all of the details. Because she had recently returned to classes at
Esmod International,
she was up-to-date on all of the gossip. She described how, at a remote spot near Dubrovnik, visited on the cruise, the local militia had been summoned to handle the crowds. I was enthralled by the story. In fact, I was so wrapped up in Edwina’s recitation that I was completely unaware that we were no longer a party of two. A third person was standing next to my chair. Edwina stopped speaking and her face drained of color.

“
Edwina, what in heaven’s name is the matter? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” I remarked, while turning my head in the direction toward which Edwina’s eyes were riveted. Then, my heart felt as if it were doing a somersault, and I literally gasped for air. As difficult as it was to believe,
there stood Spence.
I was speechless.

He spoke first.
“Well, Sophia and Edwina. I thought that looked like you, and yet it seemed inconceivable that it could be. Don’t the damnedest things happen? I’m in Paris for a two-day medical meeting. I don’t normally attend these fool things. Now, who should I meet but the two of you. This is incredible.”

“Yes
…incredible,” I echoed.

”Unbelievable,” repeated
Edwina.

“
Serendipity?” Spence stated.

“What?”
Edwina asked.

“Serendipity.
That’s what this impromptu meeting is. It refers to something that’s meant to be... predestined... fate. I believe we spoke of this once, Sophia,” he answered, looking at me with those flinty, direct blue eyes.

“That’s an interesting word,”
Edwina said. “I’ll have to remember it.” She smiled and played with a lock of her hair.

“How are you Spence?” I
asked, almost frightened to look at him, for fear my feelings would show.

“I’
m quite well, Sophia. And you? You’re looking well.” He smiled again, and my chest tightened. He turned to Edwina. “I assume you’re still in school here, or have you finished by now?” he asked.

“This is
my second year, Spence. I’ve just begun my second year.” Edwina was repeating herself, which meant that she was as nervous as I was... something rare for my always-poised friend.

He
turned back to face me. “And what brings you to Paris, Sophia?”

“I’ve been visiting
Edwina... on holiday... visiting... sightseeing.” I sounded a fool. My thoughts were all a jumble, and I could not seem to regain my composure. I wanted to say to him that I was in Paris because I’d just borne his child... a beautiful, little girl named Isabella, who had his eyes and his mouth.

Edwina
finally found her manners, but I wasn’t at all certain how I felt about what happened next.

“Won’t you join us, Spence?” she asked.

“Thank you, Edwina. Yes, I’d be delighted. I’ve a train to catch in a matter of hours, but I should love to buy you ladies a glass of wine.” With that, he pulled out an empty chair at the table, and seated himself to my left. I was terribly conscious of his presence, and of the warmth spreading across my face. He ordered another bottle of wine, and I looked helplessly across the table at Edwina. The waiter brought the wine and poured it. Spence settled back into his chair.

“I heard that you’d
married, Sophia,” he commented, in an offhanded fashion.

“Yes,
Last January, actually.” My insides were churning.

“To Lord Owen Winnsborough, is it?”

“Yes... Owen and I knew each other from childhood.”

“I believe I read the announce
ment in the
Times.
So then, is your husband accompanying you on this visit?”

“No,” I
answered, almost too quickly. “No... This is just a ‘girls’ get together.”

E
dwina interrupted at that juncture. “Sophia was widowed in July, Spence.”

“Oh
... oh, I
am
sorry, Sophia. I didn’t know... hadn’t heard.”

“I figured everyone in Great Britain
had heard,” I replied, looking down at the table