The Affair

by Danielle Steel

  His success as a novelist had delighted Nadia, and she had been proud of him. He gave her all his manuscripts to read while they were in progress. She gave him helpful suggestions, which he followed most of the time. And now, in his own disarray, he couldn’t write a single sentence. He was too upset about both women to think about writing or anything else.

  Her own decorating business had flourished, with projects in progress all over Europe. She was trying to keep it all going now and avoided discussing the scandal of his affair with her clients.

  It was even more painful since they had talked about having a third baby for the last year or two, but decided they wanted to wait another year or so, hoping they’d be a little less busy. And now Nicolas was having his third child with someone else. It was another blow, which went straight to Nadia’s heart.

  Their values had always been the same, or she had thought so, although he was more forgiving of his friends’ infidelities than she was. She always said it was a disgusting thing to do, and death to a marriage, and she told her women friends the same when they confessed their indiscretions to her. It was the one thing she didn’t like about French life, and she was outspoken about it. Now it had happened to her, and she either had to eat her words and tolerate it, or leave him and divorce him, American style. She was torn between her two cultures, and most ravaging of all was how much she loved him and wanted to turn the clock back to before it had happened. She couldn’t see how their marriage could ever be the same after this.

  “Does everybody know?” Nicolas asked her miserably before he left the apartment. He always made a point of not looking at the tabloids.

  “My client in Madrid called last week to tell me how sorry she was to read about it online, and then asked me if we’re getting divorced. She assumed we are,” Nadia said quietly and he nodded. “My clients in London all read it first, and they were nervous I’d move back to the States.”

  “And would you?” he asked, panicked.

  “I don’t know, Nicolas. The Titanic has hit the iceberg and I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about it.” She no longer felt at home in the States and hadn’t for years. She was much happier and more comfortable in France, or had been until now. She couldn’t imagine going back there to live, and she had a booming business, but Paris had suddenly become an agony for her. Everyone knew about Nicolas’s affair, even their grocer and dry cleaner, because Pascale was so famous. It was hard to live with. And she had the same horror as her mother of exposing her personal problems in her professional life. She felt naked to the world now. And he had done that to her. She didn’t want to run away, but his bad behavior hung over them like a toxic cloud. He had polluted their marriage, and their life.

  He didn’t try to kiss her goodbye when he left. He knew better. He said good night. The girls were sleeping by then, and he slipped quietly out of the apartment and went to Pascale’s to throw some of his clothes into a bag so he could get to Saint-Tropez. He was living out of suitcases, which he hated, with one foot in each camp.

  He thought of Nadia and was sorry to leave her, since he had hoped to spend the weekend with her and the girls, but he was relieved not to have to see his mother-in-law. That was a meeting he wasn’t looking forward to. And he knew that whatever she said to him, no matter how harsh, when they finally saw each other again, he deserved it.

  For everything he had done and exposed Nadia to, he expected to be punished in the future. All he wanted was not to lose her, if he hadn’t already, even if he wasn’t worthy of her at the moment, given what he’d done.

  What he needed was time, just enough to let things wind down gracefully with Pascale, after the baby came. But he had no idea if Nadia would give him that, or what she still felt for him. And Rose arriving in Paris terrified him. She was like a dark angel flying in to save her daughter, and he was sure she would be urging Nadia to leave and divorce him. He wondered if Nadia was going to listen to her mother and sisters. All he could do now was pray that what they had before would carry them through this disaster.

  Her family were his enemies now, no longer his allies. He had lost their allegiance. He had never felt so alone in his life as he took a cab to Orly, thinking about both women. He tried to focus on Pascale and meeting her in Saint-Tropez for the weekend. But all he could think of was the pain in Nadia’s eyes whenever he saw her now, and he knew Rose would see it too, and hate him for it. He hoped that Nadia wouldn’t give up on him and would resist her mother’s pleas, but he had little hope that she would, as the tears slid down his cheeks. And he suddenly dreaded the weekend with Pascale in Saint-Tropez. His marriage was a high price to pay for his brief affair, and their baby. And what chance of happiness would that child have with such a tortuous beginning? He felt guilty for that now too.

  Chapter 3

  Rose’s plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport at eight a.m. After a brief spell in the bathroom on the plane, she emerged as perfectly coiffed as always, with just a hint of makeup, in a fresh crisp white shirt, black slacks, and a black linen blazer. She looked neat as a pin, and as though she had just stepped out of the pages of a magazine, and not flown all night on a plane. She was carrying a large, well-seasoned black alligator Hermès Haut à courroies bag that she always traveled with. Even in the airport, heads turned when she walked by. Between her height, her stark white hair, the way she carried herself, and her innate elegance, it was obvious that she was not just any traveler, with a VIP representative from the airline hurrying to keep up with her. Rose was eager to get to Nadia’s apartment and see her daughter.

  There was a car and driver waiting for Rose when she got her luggage, and she gave him the address on the Quai Voltaire in her flawless French. She always spoke to her granddaughters in French as well. It was more comfortable for them, since Nadia was fluent and spoke to them in French too. Sylvie and Laure spoke English with a French accent, and managed when they had to.

  The ride from the airport took less than an hour early on a Saturday morning, and Rose was pensive as she looked out the window at the familiar landscape. She came to Paris often on business, and was always happy to see Nadia and Nicolas and the children when she did. This time was different. She was here exclusively to support her daughter. Pascale’s announcing publicly that she was pregnant had made their current drama that much worse. Pascale and Nicolas were all over the press, and she could only imagine how devastated Nadia was. She wanted to see for herself. She was worried about how noble and decent Nadia was being, and thought her daughter should fight back. And divorce was certainly an option, perhaps even the wisest course, although Rose didn’t take divorce lightly.

  * * *

  —

  Sylvie and Laure were having breakfast in their nightgowns when Rose arrived and rang the bell. Nadia buzzed her up, and when Rose got upstairs, Nadia stood looking at her mother for a moment with a smile and tears in her eyes.

  “Thank you for coming, Mom,” she said in English. Her mother looked as perfect as ever. Nadia’s long dark hair was tousled and hanging down her back. She was in a pink cotton nightgown that made her look barely older than her daughters. Rose set down her small suitcase and the alligator bag, hugged Nadia, and followed her into the kitchen where the girls were eating and laughing with each other. They looked up in surprise when they saw their grandmother. Their mother hadn’t told them she was coming, to surprise them, and they leapt out of their seats and ran into her arms. They babbled happily with her for the next half hour, until their mother sent them to their rooms to get dressed and reminded Sylvie to help Laure do up her buttons and tie her shoelaces.

  “They look fine,” Rose said, studying her daughter’s face. She looked tired and thin, with circles under her eyes, predictably.

  “They don’t know what’s going on,” Nadia said quietly, and handed her mother another cup of coffee. Rose looked as though she was dressed for a meeting. Nadia was h
appy to see her.

  “What about you? Anything new?” Rose watched her carefully.

  “He was here last night. He wanted to spend the weekend with us.”

  “That must be confusing,” Rose said, frowning, wondering if Nadia was still sleeping with him. She hoped not but didn’t want to ask. She was respectful of her children’s privacy and the sanctity of their relationships, which were none of her business, although Nicolas was proving to be the exception to the rule. His life had become the business of the entire world.

  “I didn’t let him stay, obviously,” Nadia said with a sigh. “He keeps telling me how much he loves me, and that he’ll make a graceful exit after she has the baby. Apparently, she considers herself too young for marriage.”

  “Or too French,” Rose said with a disapproving glance, and Nadia laughed. Her mother still had some of her old British prejudices about the French, but she had loved and trusted her son-in-law until recently. “So what does she want? She’s too young for motherhood too.”

  “She wants to live with him for as long as it lasts. I’m not planning to stick around for that, for the next few years, while he has two households, with a foot in each, or riding two horses, as the French say.”

  “Even modern French men don’t do that anymore. They have kids and don’t marry, but juggling two women is no way to live, especially for you. You deserve better than that.”

  “I know,” she said sadly. “I thought he’d end it with her before it came to this, but the baby changes all that, and I think he’s secretly happy about it. He loves kids.” Her mother rolled her eyes.

  “Please, this isn’t about his love of children. It’s about his having a sloppy affair, making a spectacle of himself at a highly publicized event, and letting it get out of hand. It’s about his wanting to have fun with a hot young girl, not his love of kids. It’s feeding his ego, and not much else.” Nadia didn’t disagree. “And what are you supposed to do in the meantime?” She strongly disapproved of how weak and selfish he was being, like a boy half his age.

  “I have no idea,” Nadia said. “I keep thinking about what I should do. I want it to have never happened, but it did.”

  “Have you called a lawyer yet?” Nadia shook her head and didn’t want her mother pressuring her about it. Her sister Olivia had called her and insisted she file for divorce immediately, but Nadia didn’t feel ready to do that yet, and wasn’t sure when she would. It had to be on her timing, not theirs.

  “I haven’t had time,” or the heart to do it. “He comes to see the girls all the time, which is good for them.”

  “Where is he living?” It sounded confusing to Rose.

  “Here, some of the time, in the guest room, and with Pascale the rest of the time. He hasn’t moved out yet. I don’t think either of us is ready for it. Some of the time I want him to, the rest of the time, I don’t. We’re doing it this way for the girls, for now.”

  “Or because you’re both too frightened to let go? You’re letting him have his cake and eat it too,” Rose said pointedly.

  “Not really. I’m just not ready to do anything radical yet. This is all very new.”

  “I’d say having a baby out of wedlock with a twenty-two-year-old actress, and being on the front page of the tabloids is pretty radical, wouldn’t you?” Nadia smiled and nodded. Her mother always got right to the point without wasting time.

  “Yes, it is. I just want to be sure, before he moves out and we tell the girls we’re getting a divorce.”

  “Can you see yourself taking him back after this?” her mother asked her, shocked. She couldn’t imagine it herself, and Nadia shook her head.

  “No, I can’t. I’ll never feel the same about him again. But divorce is a big word, and it lasts forever.”

  “I thought marriage was supposed to last forever,” Rose said primly, more so than she would have at the magazine, where she had to be more modern and open-minded, but this was her family, and she hoped they had the same values she did.

  “I thought so too,” Nadia said as the girls reappeared in denim shorts, pink T-shirts, and pink sneakers. Sylvie had done Laure’s hair in pigtails, and they were sticking out at an odd angle, and Sylvie had forgotten to brush her own, which was a tangled mass of thick blond curls. Laure had dark hair like Nadia’s and was the image of her mother. Sylvie looked more like Nicolas, with a hint of her aunt Olivia, which Nadia noticed occasionally, but Sylvie had a sunnier disposition than her somewhat daunting aunt.

  Nadia went to get dressed and do their hair while Rose settled into the guest room with the view of the river below, and a few minutes later, Nadia came to ask her if she wanted to go to the park with them.

  “That’s what I’m here for,” she said as she put on ballet flats and jeans, and a few minutes later, they went for a long walk. They stopped for lunch on the terrace of a café on the Boulevard Saint-Germain on the way back, where Nadia picked at a salad, and Rose and the girls had sandwiches. They walked back to the apartment slowly after that. It had been a relief not to talk about Nicolas while they were out. His name didn’t come up again until just before dinnertime, when he called to talk to the girls, and Nadia handed them her cellphone. It was obvious that they were happy to hear from him, and he told them he was doing publicity for his latest book in the South of France.

  “Translation: He’s in Saint-Tropez with her,” Nadia said to her mother as soon as the girls left the room. But she also knew that he had wanted to be with her, and she wouldn’t let him because of her mother’s visit. Now, the minute he wasn’t with one woman, he was with the other. Nadia was beginning to think he should get his own apartment, but she was afraid that if she suggested it, he would move in with Pascale. But maybe he would now anyway, with a baby on the way. Nadia felt as though she couldn’t stop the flow of what was happening to them. He had unleashed a tidal wave of reaction and consequences from his foolishness.

  Her mother took them to a nearby pizza restaurant the girls loved for dinner. Normally, she would have invited Nadia and Nicolas to the Voltaire farther down the street where they lived. But Nadia didn’t feel up to running into anyone at the fashionable restaurant where designers, fashion photographers, socialites, decorators, and their clients hung out, and she usually knew someone at almost every table. And everyone knew Rose. It was more than Nadia wanted to deal with, so hiding at the pizza restaurant was more her style at the moment, and all she could cope with.

  Rose told her granddaughters stories about funny things that had happened to the models at fashion shoots, and they both giggled at stories about when tops fell down, and skirts fell off, a lion cub escaped, and about how at a recent shoot of a bridal gown, they let a flock of doves loose and they pooped all over the photographer and the model in the wedding gown. The girls loved the stories their grandmother told them, and although they knew nothing about fashion, they had a sense that their grandmother was special.

  “She always looks so nice,” Sylvie said sleepily, after they got home and Nadia kissed her good night and tucked her in. Rose went to pour herself a glass of wine. “I love her bracelets.” She often wore interesting bangles, and some unusual ethnic ones she had found in exotic places on her travels for the magazine.

  “I like her hair,” Laure said softly. “It looks like snow.” They were fascinated by her hair, which was the whitest they had ever seen. “She’s pretty.” Nadia smiled at their comments, turned off the light, and went to find her mother. She was sitting on the couch, admiring the view of Paris in the moonlight, and thinking about her daughter, wishing none of this had happened to her.

  “Your fan club had a good time with you today,” Nadia said gratefully as her mother handed her the glass of white wine she had poured for her. Nadia noticed in spite of herself that it was Chassagne-Montrachet, Nicolas’s favorite.

  “They’re so well behaved and very sweet. Venetia’s boys
exhaust me, but I have to admit, India always makes me laugh. She’s such a funny child. She told me I should paint my office red, when she came to visit me. That way people could see my hair better when I sit in front of a red wall, and I’d look prettier.” They both smiled, and Nadia took a sip of the wine and relaxed. It was nice having her mother there to talk to. She hadn’t been as militant about Nicolas as Nadia had expected her to be. She was being surprisingly tolerant of their respective confusion, and Nadia admitted herself that the situation was a mess.

  “I love it when you get to spend time with them. I wish we lived in the same city.” Nadia missed seeing her mother and sisters regularly. Venetia came to Paris several times a year to buy fabrics or see the couture shows. Athena went to Italy more frequently than she came to Paris, although she did visit Paris about once a year. Olivia never came to Europe. When she had time off, she and her family went to their house in Maine, where they all went sailing on a small sailboat they loved. Her husband didn’t like coming to Europe, and Olivia never came alone. Nadia was too busy to go to New York very often, except to shop for her clients.

  “I don’t blame you for living here. If I ever retire, I might spend a year or two in Paris,” Rose said dreamily. “I’m usually on such a tight schedule when I come.” At sixty-six, there wasn’t the vaguest sign of her retiring. She was still moving at full speed, on top of her game, and the heart and soul of Mode Magazine. She was feared and revered by everyone in the fashion industry. She could make or break a designer if she wanted to, and enjoyed helping new young talents just starting out, by what she said about them.