Nicolas called her on her cell and she didn’t take the call. That felt good too. Somehow, she had turned a corner, and she couldn’t wait for her attorney to get back. She was ready to make a move. It had taken her three months, but she felt like herself again. She knew there would be hard times ahead, but nothing could be as bad as what she had lived through since May, when she read about his affair in the tabloids and then learned that Pascale was pregnant with his baby. It had been a nightmare, but she was finally waking up.
Venetia called to check on her, and Nadia told her she was fine, and her sister could hear it in her voice.
“You’re a better woman than I. I wanted to kill him when I read it last night,” Venetia said, still upset about it. Ben hadn’t liked it either and thought that flaunting the affair was in bad taste. He didn’t blame Rose. He blamed Nicolas for the whole thing. Rose had a business to run, and an editorial board and owners to satisfy. All Nicolas had to satisfy were his ego and his mistress.
“Poor Mom was so stressed out about it. I called and told her that I was okay, and I really am,” Nadia said cheerfully.
“I know she’s been worried sick about it. As long as you’re all right, that’s all any of us care about. And fuck him,” Venetia said, and Nadia laughed.
As soon as she hung up, her assistant told her there was a call for her, from a man who had called twice that morning before she arrived. “He was referred by a Mrs. Archer in London. He said she was a client. It must have been before my time.” Agnes had only worked for Nadia for a year, after studying interior design in London and New York. She was bright, young, and energetic, and loved working for Nadia, although Nadia hadn’t been at her best for the past few months, and business had been slow. “Do you want to take the call?” Agnes asked her. “His name is Gregory Holland.”
“Sure,” Nadia said, feeling revitalized. “Mr. Holland, Nadia Bateau. What can I do to help you?” He explained that he was an old friend of a previous client of hers in London, who had recommended her. He had just moved from New York, to run an American investment bank with a Paris office. He said he had rented a house in the sixteenth arrondissement and was hoping she’d have time to decorate it for him. His friend had warned him that she was busy.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the talent or the time,” he said with a deep voice.
“How big is it?” she asked, grabbing a notepad and a pen, and jotting down his name.
“Four hundred square meters. I believe that’s roughly four thousand square feet.”
“That’s a pretty big place,” she said. “Is your family with you?”
“No, I’m divorced. No wife, no kids. I’m originally from Texas. We like things big,” he said, and she smiled. “Could we get together and talk? I’m staying at the Ritz until I get settled. Would you meet me for a drink?” She had to get the sitter to stay late, but he sounded like an interesting prospect.
“I’d be happy to,” she said smoothly, wishing she had worn something fancier to work. She was wearing a plain Dior black pantsuit, but it was simple and professional and looked good on her.
“Six o’clock? The Bar Vendôme at the Ritz?” he asked.
“That sounds perfect. How will I recognize you?”
“I’ll be carrying a book and a red rose, and wearing a black hat.” For a minute she was afraid he was a nutcase, and then he laughed. “I’m six feet five, and have white hair,” he said easily, and she liked him even before meeting him. She hoped he had good taste, but if not, she could educate him.
“I’m five-feet-two, have dark brown hair, and I’m wearing a black pantsuit.”
“I’ve seen your photograph on your website. I’ll recognize you. See you at six.”
She was busy for the rest of the day. She spoke to several of her clients, had Agnes check on outstanding orders now that factories were reopening after the summer, and got an Uber at five-thirty to take her to the Ritz. The traffic was heavy crossing over to the Right Bank, but she arrived right on time, and walked up the stairs of the venerable hotel. It had always been her favorite hotel in Paris, even since the remodel. She knew it was the most expensive one, more so than ever after its facelift. So if he was living there, his budget for the apartment was likely to be a healthy one.
She glanced around the bar as she walked in, wondered how she’d recognize him if he wasn’t standing, and saw who he was immediately. He had well-cut white hair, was wearing a dark blue suit, an impeccable white shirt, and a navy Hermès tie. He stood up as soon as she approached his table, and he was as tall as he had said. He appeared young and athletic in spite of the white hair, and she guessed him to be in his early forties, if that. He had blue eyes, a wide friendly smile, and a cleft chin. He had movie star good looks.
“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice. I just got the final paperwork on the house this weekend, and I’m anxious to get started. It’s in a great location, the building has full concierge services, which is convenient for me. It’s actually a house within a building.” As soon as they sat down, a waiter came to the table. Nadia ordered white wine, and he had scotch. He was a classic American, the best of his breed. Handsome and in great shape. He looked like someone who went to the gym regularly, and probably had one of his own. His suit was perfectly cut. He was businesslike, efficient, had an impressive job, and sounded like a straight shooter. She could hear a faint hint of Texas when he spoke, but very little, and he wanted the job finished yesterday.
“That’s a big house for one person,” she commented, as he showed her the plans and the pictures he had brought with him. They looked interesting.
“I like a lot of space, and I entertain frequently for business. I need the name of a good caterer, by the way.” He was all business and no frills, and she liked dealing with clients like him. They knew what they wanted, didn’t get emotional about it, and rarely made mistakes.
She wrote down the name of the best caterer in Paris, and a smaller one that was good for intimate dinners, and handed the slip of paper to him. He took it and put it in his jacket pocket.
“I lived in London for five years,” he told her. “I’m looking forward to Paris. That’s the advantage of no wife and kids. I’m free to move around. I don’t have to worry about schools, or anyone complaining about leaving home. How long have you lived here?”
“I’ve been here since I was twenty. I came to go to the Sorbonne, and stayed. I was…I’ve been…I am,” she corrected herself, “married to a Frenchman.”
“That sounds a little vague, past or present?” he teased her, and she blushed in embarrassment.
“Sorry, it is a little vague at the moment. We’re separated.” She didn’t want to tell him her personal life, which was unprofessional, but she had fallen into it.
“That’s too bad. I’ve been divorced twice. It’s not fun. Fortunately, no children. I married my high school sweetheart the first time, and she turned out not to be such a sweetheart,” he said with a grin. “The second time I married a powerhouse in finance. Brilliant woman, lousy wife. She cheated on me with my trainer. That’s a little low rent for me. Actually, we got divorced and she married him. And now I’m here.” He seemed very matter-of-fact about it. She didn’t tell him about Nicolas and Pascale. “Do you have kids?”
“Two girls.” She smiled. “Seven and ten. Now let’s talk about your house. Tell me about your dream house. If you had a magic wand, what would you want?” She liked giving people their dreams and improving on them.
“Everything,” he answered. “A huge living room, which it has. I like big furniture, I’m a big man. Fabulous bedroom, a gym. A dining room I can entertain in. Big table for anywhere from ten to twenty-four guests. A cozy den where I can work at home. The place has everything I need space-wise, but big rooms can look cold if you don’t do them right. That’s where you come in.”
“Colors?”
“Modern?”
“Traditional, classic,” the way he dressed. “I’d like to show you the space when you have time. I’m pretty tied up this week. Maybe on the weekend?” She knew she’d have to get a sitter, or maybe Nicolas would take the girls for a few hours. That was the hard part of being alone now, juggling her work schedule and her daughters, but that wasn’t the client’s problem, it was hers, and she wasn’t going to make it his. He didn’t look like the kind of man who would put up with it. He’d expect her to be available when he was, and since he didn’t have children, he wouldn’t be sympathetic to hers. She had other clients like him, and as long as you delivered what they wanted, on schedule, it all went well. And she liked working with businessmen like him. They were decisive, knew what they wanted, and didn’t waste time.
At seven o’clock, he paid the check, wrote down the address of the house for her, and they agreed to meet at noon on Saturday. Then they stood up and walked out of the Ritz together. He was all business, but she liked him. He was smart, fast, and efficient, and the client he had mentioned knowing had been a pleasure to work with too. He said he was on his way out for dinner.
They shook hands in front of the Ritz, and the doorman got her a cab, while Gregory Holland got into his car. He drove a sleek black Bentley sports car. He wasn’t showy or vulgar, but he clearly had money. And as long as she came up with ideas he liked, and delivered on time, she thought she had a new client. She couldn’t wait to see what his “house within a house” looked like and to get started.
She felt alive again on the way home. For the past four months she had thought of nothing but Nicolas’s affair. She had let her business slide, and fortunately much of that time had been during the slow summer months, and in August, almost everything in France was closed. She had felt dazed with her children, depressed about the collapse of her marriage, indifferent to her clients, and now she suddenly felt back on track, and ready to take life by the horns. Gregory Holland heralded a new era in her life. For eleven years, she had been married, putting everyone else’s needs first, making her schedule work with theirs, worrying about Nicolas’s career with each new book, delicately giving him advice when she read his early manuscripts, being available at all times, at work, at home. Now it was just her and the kids. It was true that at times it would be more of a balancing act without another adult present, especially on weekends, but she also had one less person to drop everything for and take care of. At times, especially when he was writing, Nicolas had been needy and demanding, almost like a child.
Meeting with Gregory Holland had infused new life into her work. She had a feeling that his house was going to be amazing. Even more so if she got to work on it. She had no other big projects at the moment. The house she had installed in Madrid in May was a huge job, and the client had spent a fortune on it. The installation was why she hadn’t been able to join Nicolas at the Cannes Film Festival, and their life had imploded after that. She had done a fabulous vacation home in Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic right before that, and had juggled both projects for over a year. But since Madrid, there had been a lull. She had time to tackle a big job now, and it would be easy managing it right in Paris, and not abroad.
One of her clients was looking for a new larger home in London, but they hadn’t found what they wanted yet, and she had a new client in London for a small pied-à-terre she could do easily, so Gregory Holland’s job was welcome. Her work was always feast or famine. Either five of her clients had new homes, half of them in different cities, or they had a quiet spell, which never lasted long. Her reputation carried her along, and eventually brought in new clients by word of mouth. A particularly showy project, with a client who wanted it photographed in every magazine, helped to build her business. She had done extremely well in the past ten years, and was one of the youngest, most successful decorators in Paris.
* * *
—
Nicolas had agreed to take the girls out for a few hours on Saturday, although he said he was going to Brittany that night to help Pascale settle in, and he was going to stay there for a few days. He told her he had rented a small furnished apartment in Paris that week. He didn’t sound enthused about it, but she was relieved that he had taken her seriously and was moving forward. Her life felt more on track now too. She had told him she had an important meeting with a prospective new client, and he was willing to accommodate her.
Nadia arrived ten minutes early for the appointment and stood outside the impressive stone building with tall ornate glass and metal doors that required a code to enter. She peered into the courtyard and saw a security guard, a parking attendant, and a guardian, all properly dressed in black suits, and giant marble urns with palm trees at the entrance to the courtyard. Gregory Holland drove up as she was looking in, used a remote control, and the heavy doors opened and he drove in. She followed his car in on foot, and he unfolded his long limbs out of the car, then turned it over to the parking attendant. It was extremely rare to have that kind of personnel in a residential building in Paris, unlike New York or L.A., where it was commonplace.
She noticed as soon as she walked into the courtyard that there was a beautifully proportioned private home nestled there. Gregory said good morning to Nadia and walked toward it.
“That’s it? The house?” She looked surprised. She had only seen a house tucked away like that once before. It was like a magical surprise behind the doors of the building around it. They were on the front steps by then, and he took the key out of his pocket.
“The building is all large floor-through apartments. The house is really more of a home. There’s a swimming pool, a wine cellar, a gym, and a movie theater in the basement, most of which I won’t have time to use, except for the gym and pool. It’s kind of a giant bachelor pad. It has a master suite on the top floor, one guest room on the floor below, and a study, which I’ll use a lot. The reception rooms are on the main floor. I really lucked out,” he said, as he opened the front door. “It’s just what I need, and totally protected in this courtyard, with a great deal of security in the building, and surveillance cameras everywhere. I put some of my art in storage before I came here, but the building is so safe, I’m shipping it over.” She had looked him up on the internet after their meeting, and it said he was an important collector of contemporary art, but it hadn’t listed the artists. She realized as she followed Gregory into the house that a plum had fallen into her lap.
The main floor of the house had a vast entrance hall which fed into a huge living room, dining room, and state-of-the-art kitchen, with a view of an enclosed garden. He could easily give a cocktail party for two hundred people there, or a dinner for twenty or thirty. As he had described, up a sweeping marble staircase was a beautiful guest suite, and an office for himself, and the master suite on the top floor with a dressing room and an enormous round bathtub. The way the house had been renovated had a sleek, stark, almost masculine style, which suited him. It didn’t have all the little feminine touches that a woman might have liked, or that the house may have had before the renovation. He was right. It was the perfect bachelor pad, and a dream house for any man. It was made for him, and what Nadia sensed about his style from what she could see and what experience had taught her about people and homes. Although there were always some surprises, which was what she liked about her business.
“So what do you think?” he asked her after they had toured the entire house, even the wine cellar and the gym.
“I think you have found an absolute gem. I’ve heard about these courtyard homes but only seen one, and it was small and dark. The renovation here was brilliantly done,” and there were skylights in several key places, “it’s a truly beautiful home.”
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“Originally, I wanted something smaller. But five years is a long time, and I would miss my art, so I’m having it sent out now. The house lends itself perfectly to the kind of art I collect. It has all the space I need, will be great to entertain in, and I have a guest room if I need it. It wouldn’t have had enough closets for either of my wives,” but there were two good walk-in closets for him, which was more than he required. Nadia liked the strong, masculine, clean feeling to it. There were no little fussy details or precious spaces that annoyed most men, except if they were trying to please their wives. Since he’d spoken of his two wives and marriages with a certain sarcastic irony, he didn’t seem to her like a candidate for marriage, and she had the strong sense that he expected to live there alone and wasn’t unhappy about it.
Everything about him personified to her American businessman at the top of his field. He was more than just a bank president, he was an investment expert, and clearly had done well with his own.
“So what do you think?” he asked her again. He got straight to the point on every subject. After living her whole adult life in Europe, she wasn’t used to men like him. Even her wealthiest and most important European clients had a softer edge to them than Gregory. And yet she found his whole demeanor fascinating. He was like a brilliantly constructed missile, designed to hit the most minute target with infinite precision. She could tell he didn’t like wasting time and wanted everything handled rapidly and immediately. And she liked how direct he was. Clients like him were a pleasure to work with. “What’s your vision?” he asked, and the way he said it made her feel that he expected a full-on presentation of what to do, twenty minutes after she had walked into the house with him. He was presenting her with a major challenge. She would have to work fast, deliver the goods, meet every deadline, and come up with creative solutions that appealed to him. She suspected that she’d never had a client quite as tough or clear, and who had set the bar as high for her. It was stressful, but also very exciting, and she wanted to satisfy him and prove to him and herself that she could.
The Affair Page 17