Summer Desserts

by Nora Roberts

  She’d thought it would be good for her. The people, the elegance, the celebratory atmosphere. It had done no more than show her that she didn’t want to be in Rome exchanging small talk and drinking wine. She wanted to be home. Home, though it surprised her, was Philadelphia.

  She didn’t long for Paris and her odd little flat on the Left Bank. She wanted her fourth-floor apartment in Philadelphia where there were memories of Blake in every corner. However foolish it made her, however unwise or impractical it was, she wanted Blake.

  Now, flying home, she found that hadn’t changed. It was Blake she wanted to go to when she was on the ground again. It was to Blake she wanted to tell all the foolish stories she’d heard in Enrico’s dining room. It was Blake she wanted to hear laugh. It was Blake she wanted to curl up next to now that the nervous energy of the past few days was draining.

  Sighing, she tilted her seat back and closed her eyes. But she would do her duty and go to her mother’s suite. Perhaps Monique’s little party was the perfect diversion. It would give Summer just a bit more time before she faced Blake again. Blake, and the decision she had thought was already made.

  B.C. ran a finger around the inside of the snug collar of his shirt and hoped he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. Seeing Monique again after all these years—having to introduce Lillian to her. Monique, my wife Lillian. Lillian, Monique Dubois, a former lover. Small world, isn’t it?

  Though he was a man who appreciated a good joke, this one eluded him.

  It seemed there was no statute of limitations on marital transgressions. It was true that he’d only strayed once, and then during an unofficial separation from his wife that had left him angry, bitter and frightened. A crime committed once, was still a crime committed.

  He loved Lillian, had always loved her, but he’d never be able to deny that the brief affair with Monique had happened. And he couldn’t deny that it had been exciting, passionate and memorable.

  They’d never contacted each other again, though once or twice he’d seen her when he was still actively working in the business. Even that had been so long ago.

  So, why had she called him now, twenty years later, insisting that he come—with his wife—to her suite at the Philadelphia Cocharan House? He ran his finger around his collar once again. Something was choking him. Monique’s only explanation had been that it concerned the happiness of his son and her daughter.

  That had left him with the problem of fabricating a reason for coming into town and insisting that Lillian accompany him. That hadn’t been a piece of cake, because he’d married a sharpminded, independent woman, but it was nothing compared with the next ordeal.

  “Are you going to fuss with that tie all day?” B.C. jumped as his wife came up behind him. “Easy.” With a laugh, she brushed the back of his jacket, smoothing it over his shoulders in a habit that took him back to their honeymoon. “You’d think you’d never spent an evening with a celebrity before. Or is it just French actresses that make you nervous?”

  This one French actress, B.C. thought and turned to his wife. She’d always been lovely, not the breath-catching beauty Monique had been, but lovely with the kind of quiet looks that remain lovely through the years. Her pure, rich brunette hair was liberally streaked with gray, but styled in such a way that the contrasting colors enhanced her looks.

  Lillian had always had style. She’d been his partner, always, had stood up to him, stood by him. A strong woman. He’d needed a strong woman. She was the best damn first mate a man could ask for. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her, quite tenderly.

  “I love you, Lily.” When she touched his cheek and smiled, he took her hand, feeling like the condemned man walking his last mile. “We’d better go. We’ll be late.”

  Blake hung up the phone in disgust. He was certain Summer would be back that evening. But though he’d called her apartment off and on for over an hour, there’d been no answer. He was out of patience, and in no mood to go down and be sociable in Monique’s suite. Much like his father had done, he tugged on his tie.

  When all this was over, when she was back, he was going to find a way to convince her to go away with him. He’d find that damn island in the Pacific if that’s what it took. He’d buy the damn island and set up housekeeping. Build a chain of pizza parlors or fast-food restaurants. Maybe that would satisfy the woman.

  Feeling unreasonable, and just a little mean, he strode out of the apartment.

  Monique surveyed the suite and nodded. The flowers were a nice touch—not too many, just a few buds here and there to give the rooms a whiff of a garden. A touch—only a touch of romance. The wine was chilling, the glasses sparkling in the subdued lighting. And Max had outdone himself with the hors d’oeuvres, she decided. A little caviar, a little pâté, some miniature quiches—very elegant. She must remember to pay a visit to the kitchen.

  As for herself—Monique touched a hand to the chignon at the base of her neck. Not her usual style, but she wanted to add the air of dignity. She felt the evening might call for it. But the black silk pants and off-the-shoulder blouse were sexy and chic. She simply couldn’t resist the urge to dress with a bit of flair for the part.

  The scene was set, she decided. Now it was only a matter for the players….

  The knock came. With a slow smile, Monique went toward the door. Act one was about to begin.

  “B.C.!” Her smile was brilliant, her hands thrown out to him. “How wonderful to see you again after all this time.”

  Her beauty was as stunning as ever. There was no resisting that smile. Though he’d been determined to be very aloof and very polite, his voice warmed. “Monique, you don’t look a minute older.”

  “Always the charmer.” She laughed, then kissed his cheek before she turned to the woman beside him. “And you are Lillian. How lovely that we meet at last. B.C. has told me so much of you, I feel we’re old friends.”

  Lillian measured the woman across the threshold and lifted a brow. “Oh?”

  No fool, this one, Monique decided instantly, and liked her. “Of course, that was all so long ago, so we must get to know each other all over again. Now, please come in. B.C., you’d be kind enough to open a bottle of champagne.”

  A bundle of nerves, B.C. crossed the room to comply. A drink would be an excellent idea. He’d have preferred bourbon, straight up.

  “Of course, I’ve seen you many times,” Lillian began. “I’m sure you haven’t made a movie I’ve missed, Ms. Dubois.”

  “Monique, please.” In a simple, gracious gesture, she plucked a rosebud from a vase and handed it to Lillian. “And I’m flattered. From time to time I would retire, this last occasion has been the longest. But always, going back to the film is like going back to an old lover.”

  The cork blew out of the bottle like a missile and bounced off the ceiling. Calmly Monique slipped an arm through Lillian’s. Inside she was giggling like a girl. “Such an exciting sound, is it not? It always makes me happy to hear champagne being opened. We must have a toast, n’est-çe pas?”

  She lifted a glass with a flourish, and looked, to Lillian’s thinking, just like the character she’d played in Yesterday’s Dream.

  “To fate, I think,” Monique decided. “And the strange way it twists us all together.” She clinked her glass against B.C.’s, then his wife’s, before drinking. “So tell me, you are still enchanted with sailing, B.C.?”

  He cleared his throat, no longer certain if he should watch his wife or Monique. Both of them were definitely watching him. “Ah, yes. As a matter of fact, Lillian and I just got back from Tahiti.”

  “How charming. A perfect place for lovers, oui?”

  Lillian sipped her wine. “Perfect.”

  “Et voilà,” Monique said when the knock sounded. “The next guest. Please help yourself.” It was now Act two. Having the time of her life, Monique went to answer. “Blake, so kind of you to come, and how charming you look.”

  “Monique.” He took the hand she extend
ed and brought it to his lips even as he calculated just how long it would be before he could make his escape. “Welcome back.”

  “I must be certain not to wear out the welcome. You’ll be surprised by my other guests, I think.” With this she gestured inside.

  The last two people he’d expected to see in Monique’s suite were his parents. He crossed the room and bent to kiss his mother. “Very surprised. I didn’t know you were in town.”

  “We only got in a little while ago.” Lillian handed her son a glass of champagne. “We did call your suite, but the phone was busy.” Just what stage is this woman setting? Lillian wondered as Monique joined them.

  “Families,” she said grandly, helping herself to some caviar. “I have a great fondness for them. I must tell you both how I admire your son. The young Cocharan carries on the tradition, is it not so?”

  For an instant, only an instant, Lillian’s eyes narrowed. She wanted to know just what tradition the French actress referred to.

  “We’re both very proud of Blake,” B.C. said with some relief. “He’s not only maintained the Cocharan standard, but expanded it. The Hamilton chain was an excellent move.” He toasted his son. “Excellent. How’s the turnover in the kitchen going?”

  “Very smoothly.” And it was the last thing he wanted to discuss. “We start serving from the new menu tomorrow.”

  “Then we timed our visit well,” Lillian put in. “We’ll have a chance to test it firsthand.”

  “Do you know the coincidence?” Monique asked Lillian as she offered the tray of quiches.

  “Coincidence?”

  “But it is amusing. It is my daughter who now manages your son’s kitchen.”

  “Your daughter.” Lillian glanced at her husband. “No, it wasn’t mentioned to me.”

  “She is a superb chef. You would agree, Blake? She often cooks for him,” she added with a deliberate smile before he could make any comment.

  Lillian held the rosebud under her nose. Interesting. “Really?”

  “A charming girl,” B.C. put in. “She has your looks, Monique, though I could hardly credit that you had a grown daughter.”

  “And I was just as surprised when I first met your son.” She smiled at him. “Isn’t it strange where the years go?” B.C. cleared his throat and poured more wine.

  Weeks before, Blake had wondered what messages had passed between Summer and his father. Now he had no trouble recognizing what wasn’t being said between B.C. and Monique. He looked at his mother first and saw her calmly drinking champagne.

  His father and Summer’s mother? When? he wondered as he tried to digest it. For as long as he could remember, his parents had been devoted, almost inseparable. No—abruptly he remembered a short, turbulent time during his early teens. The house had been full of tension, arguments in undertones. Then B.C. had been gone for two weeks—three? A business trip, his mother had told him, but even then he’d known better. But it had been over so quickly, he’d rarely thought of it since. Now…now he had a definite idea where his father had spent at least some of that time away from home. And with whom.

  He caught his father’s eye—the uncomfortable, half-defiant look. The man, Blake mused, was certainly paying for a slip in fidelity that was two decades old. He saw Monique smile, slowly. Just what the hell was she trying to stir up?

  Almost before the anger could fully form, she laid a hand on his arm. It was a gesture that asked him to wait, to be patient. Then came another knock. “Ah, excuse me. You would pour another glass?” Monique asked B.C. “We have one more guest tonight.”

  When she opened the door, Monique couldn’t have been more pleased with her daughter. The simple jade silk dress was soft, narrow and subtly sexy. It made her slight pallor very romantic. “Chérie, so good of you not to disappoint me.”

  “I can’t stay long, Mother, I have to get some sleep.” She held out a pink-ribboned box. “But I wanted to bring you a wedding gift.”

  “So sweet.” Monique brushed her lips over Summer’s cheek. “And I have something for you. Something I hope you’ll always treasure.” Stepping aside, she drew Summer in.

  Not like this, Summer thought desperately when the first shock of seeing Blake again rippled through her. She’d wanted to be prepared, rested, confident. She didn’t want to see him here, now. And his parents—one look at the woman beside Blake and she knew she had to be B.C.’s wife. Nothing else made sense—Monique’s kind of sense.

  “Your game isn’t amusing, Mother,” she murmured in French.

  “On the contrary, it might be the most important thing I’ve ever done. B.C.,” she said in gay tones, “you’ve met my daughter, oui?”

  “Yes, indeed.” With a smile, he handed Summer a glass of champagne. “Nice to see you again.”

  “And Blake’s mother,” Monique continued. “Lillian, may I present my only child, Summer.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you.” Lillian took her hand warmly. She wasn’t blind and had seen the stunned look that had passed between her son and the actress’s daughter. There’d been surprise, longing and uncertainty. If Monique had set the stage for this, Lilian would do her best to help. “I’ve just been hearing that you’re a chef and responsible for the new menu we’ll be boasting of tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” She searched for something to say. “Did you enjoy your sailing? Tahiti, wasn’t it?”

  “We had a marvelous time, even though B.C. tends to become Captain Bligh if you don’t watch him.”

  “Nonsense.” He slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “This is the only woman I’d ever trust at the wheel of one of my ships.”

  They adore each other. Summer realized it and found it surprised her. Their marriage was nearing its fortieth year, and obviously hadn’t been without storms…yet they adored each other.

  “It’s rather beautiful, is it not, when a husband and wife can share an interest and yet be—separate people?” Monique beamed at them, then looked at Blake. “You would agree that such things keep a man and woman together, even when they have to struggle through hard times and misunderstandings?”

  “I would.” He looked directly at Summer. “It’s a matter of love, and of respect and perhaps of…optimism.”

  “Optimism!” Monique clearly found the word perfect. “Yes, this I like. I, of course, am always so—perhaps too much. I’ve had four husbands, clearly too optimistic.” She laughed at herself. “But then, I think I looked always first, and perhaps only, for romance. Would you say, Lillian, that it’s a mistake not to look beyond that?”

  “We all look for romance, love, passion.” She touched her husband’s arm lightly, in a gesture so natural neither of them noticed it. “Then of course respect. I suppose I’d have to add two things to that.” She looked up at her husband. “Tolerance and tenacity. Marriage needs them all.”

  She knew. As B.C. saw the look in his wife’s eyes he realized she’d always known. For twenty years, she’d known.

  “Excellent.” Rather pleased with herself, Monique set her gift on the table. “This is the perfect time then to open a gift celebrating my marriage. This time I intend to put all those things into it.”

  She wanted to leave. Summer told herself it was only a matter of turning around and walking to the door. She stood rooted, with her eyes locked on Blake’s.

  “Oh, but it’s beautiful.” Reverently, Monique lifted the tiny hand-crafted merry-go-round from the bed of tissue. The horses were ivory, trimmed in gilt—each one perfect, each one unique. At the turn of the base, it played a romantic Chopin Prelude. “But, darling, how perfect. A carousel to celebrate a marriage. The horses should be named romance, love, tenacity and so forth. I shall treasure it.”

  “I—” Summer looked at her mother, and suddenly none of the practicalities, none of the mistakes mattered. “Be happy, ma mére.”

  Monique touched her cheek with a fingertip, then brushed it with her lips. “And you, mignonne.”

  B.C. leaned down to whisper
in his wife’s ear. “You know, don’t you?”

  Amused, she lifted her glass. “Of course,” she answered in an undertone. “You’ve never been able to keep secrets from me.”

  “But—”

  “I knew then and hated you for almost a day. Do you remember whose fault it was? I don’t anymore.”

  “God, Lily, if you’d known how guilty I was. Tonight, I was nearly suffocating with—”

  “Good,” she said simply. “Now, you old fool, let’s get out of here so these children can iron things out. Monique—” She held out her hand, and as hands met, eyes met, things passed between them that would never have to be said. “Thank you for a lovely evening, and my best wishes to you and your husband.”

  “And mine to you.” With a smile reminiscent of the past, she held out her arms to B.C. “Au revoir, mon ami.”

  He accepted the embrace, feeling like a man who’d just been granted amnesty. He wanted nothing more than to go up to his own suite and show his wife how much he loved her. “Perhaps we’ll have lunch tomorrow,” he said absently to the room at large. “Good night.”

  Monique began to giggle as the door shut behind him. “Love, it will always make me laugh. So—” Briskly, she began to rewrap her gift and box it. “My bags are being held for me downstairs and my plane leaves in one hour.”

  “An hour?” Summer began. “But—”

  “My business is done.” Tucking the box under her arm, she rose on her toes to kiss Blake. “You have the good fortune of possessing excellent parents.” Then she kissed Summer. “And so, my sweet, do you, though they weren’t suited to remain husband and wife. The suite is paid for through the night, the champagne’s still cold.” She glided for the door leaving a trail of Paris in her wake. Pausing in the doorway, she looked back. “Bon appétit, mes enfants.” Monique considered it one of her very finest exits.