“And nothing has ever turned up? No body has been washed ashore? Or found anywhere else? No information was ever forthcoming from the police?”
“None. I would have told you. Look, Nicky, it was as if Lucien never existed.”
For a moment Nicky did not respond. He had known Lucien, and Larry had introduced the young actor to
Jessica. What a strange story it was. Finally, he said, “I remember her parents came to Paris to be with her, and then they took her back to Texas. But what actually happened to Jessica, Anya? Did she ever marry? Do you hear from her?”
“Oh, yes, I do, I get notes and cards from her from time to time, or a clipping from Architectural Digest when one of the homes she has designed appears in its pages. She’s enormously talented, one of the great interior designers of today, and that’s partly because of her classical background. And no, she hasn’t married. She lives in Bel Air, does a lot of designing for the rich and famous. But she never misses sending me a Christmas card with a lovely message. In fact, I get Christmas cards from Kay and Maria as well.”
“And Alex?”
“Oh, she’s constantly in touch. I get letters, cards, photographs, and phone calls. Alexa has always been very devoted to me, warm, loving.”
“You saw her in New York last year. How was she? How’s her personal life shaped up?”
“Very well, but you know that, Nicky. You know what a success she’s had in theatrical design. I thought she’d been in touch with you.”
“That’s true, she has. But she never discussed her personal life. Never.”
“And you never mentioned Tom Conners?”
“Sure I did. Once. She bit my head off, was really rather snotty. Therefore, I learned my lesson. Hell hath no fury like a woman in love with a man she can’t have because he’s a jerk.”
“Is that what you really think about Tom?” She gave him a hard stare, her brows puckering.
“Yep.” Then he shook his head, looking slightly chagrined. “No, no, not really. In many ways he’s a good man. But Tom had a great tragedy in his life and he’s let it ruin his life, ruin any chance of happiness with a woman. And that’s certainly being a jerk, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I tend to agree. And what’s more, I can’t imagine any man letting a gorgeous young woman slip through his fingers the way he did Alexa.” Anya lifted her cup, sipped her tea, then continued. “It’s funny, isn’t it, how one girl in particular becomes very important in one’s life. I’ve had some truly wonderful students, male and female, over many years of teaching, but there’s never been anyone quite like her. At least, not for me. She was … the perfect girl. No, not perfect, I don’t really mean that exactly, because she was flawed then, as she is now, I’ve no doubt. But she was the embodiment of everything I thought a young woman should be. Do you understand what I mean, Nick?”
“Yes, I do, only too well. I think I was always a bit in love with Alexa when she worked with Larry and me.” He smiled ruefully, took hold of her hand. “Maybe I still am. Do you know the reason why?”
“No, I don’t.”
“It’s because Alexandra Gordon is so like you, Anya, and in many ways. That’s why you love her yourself, you know. She might have been cast from the same mold as you, and she’s a lot more like you than Olga is, and I mean that in the nicest way, I’m not being critical of your daughter. What I’m trying to say is that Alexa is a reflection of you, and quite by accident. Or maybe she modeled herself on you. In any event, she has a lot of your special talents.”
“She does, yes, I think you’re right.”
He laughed. “I’m positive. She’s creative but also very competent, that was most obvious when she worked for us. You know, she can do so many other things as well as design sets. You could give her this school to run, and she’d do it very well. She could design costumes, or fashionable clothes, even decorate a house. She’s that kind of person, and her work will always be excellent. Yes, she’s like you in that sense.”
“I think you might be a bit biased, Nicky,” she answered with a small smile. “And listen to me, on reflection I don’t think we should meddle in her life. I shouldn’t have suggested it.” She patted his hand still holding hers, and gave him a stern look. “Meddling can be dangerous, we mustn’t play God, Nicky.”
“Like I sometimes do?”
“Exactly. Hugo used to say to me, what will be will be. And he was right. You know, life does have a way of taking care of itself. So let us leave everything to life, let things take their course. If we don’t hear from Alexa in a week or so, I’ll phone her, ask her to come to the birthday party. For me.” Her eyes were warm and loving as she went on. “I’m glad we’re having this visit, Nicky, I’ve been worried about you, worried about the way you’ve looked, so strained lately. I know there are problems with Constance. Can you not work them out?”
“I doubt it. The marriage is over, only she won’t accept that. But she’ll have to eventually. I moved out a long time ago. Now I’ve got to move on, get on with my life.”
“Is there anyone else?” Anya asked softly, a brow lifting speculatively. He was very handsome, dark, striking, as Hugo had been, and she knew most women found Nicky irresistible.
“No, there’s no one. I’d tell you if there was.” He let out a long sigh, “Look, she and I have grown apart, and quite aside from anything else, I’ve really been put off by her dieting. Actually, it’s gone beyond that. She’s anorexic. Connie looks really ill, like a skeleton, as if she’s stepped out of one of those wartime concentration camps.”
“Let’s give those horrendous places their correct name, Nick. They were death camps.”
“I know.”
“It’s an illness, anorexia. You know that, just as bulimia is too. She needs help. Can’t you get Connie to see a doctor, one who treats eating disorders?”
“I’ve tried, so has her sister. She’s very resistant to the idea, it’s like she has blinders on.”
“That’s part of the illness, I’m told.” Anya leaned back against the chair. “If there’s anything I can do, you have only to ask.”
“Thanks, Anya.”
A compatible silence fell between them. But eventually, Anya murmured in a reflective voice, “Life is strange, unpredictable, so is this world we live in. Here we are, Nicky, sitting in the Meurice so relaxed, having afternoon tea. But just think, sixty years ago the Nazis were installed in this very hotel, running the German Occupation of France. Why, they had the very destiny of France in their hands. How they were feared and hated. And then, suddenly, they are finished. The conquerors are defeated. French Resistance forces march into Paris and liberate the city. And everything changes yet again.”
“Uncle Hugo used to say that the only thing that’s permanent is change.”
PART THREE
Quest
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ANYA HAD CONVINCED HER TO CHANGE HER MIND.
And so, here she was, in Paris in the spring. In May, to be exact. Three weeks before the birthday party on June the second. Far too early. On the other hand, Alexandra Gordon knew she had plenty to occupy herself with during this period.
She planned to spend some special time with Anya; she was going to do quite a lot of serious shopping, wanting to treat herself to new clothes, which she needed, and felt she deserved after the many long months of hard work on the Broadway play. Also, since she had just agreed to work with Nicky on a new movie, which would start shooting in October, it was imperative that she have a number of meetings with him immediately.
And then there was her hidden agenda.
Tom Conners.
She fully intended to seek him out. She needed to understand where he was at this stage in his life. And where she stood with him. And there was something else … she had to know how she actually felt about him. After all, she had not seen him for three years; perhaps when they did finally come face-to-face her feelings would be quite different.
In her own mind—most of the ti
me—it was over.
He had ended it, telling her there was no future for her with him, that he could not marry her, would not. Nor anyone else. Seemingly, his past had claimed his future.
And yet in a certain way it wasn’t over for her. Part of her still secretly yearned for him. He occupied a large part of her, continually crept into her thoughts when she least expected. But lately she had come to recognize that none of this was very healthy, and that she could not live with the situation any longer.
Alexa accepted that she had to be emotionally free in order to move forward, that she could not marry Jack Wilton until she had confronted the demons that haunted her. It wouldn’t be fair to Jack, who was such a decent human being, or to herself, for that matter.
If she was going to marry Jack, it must be with a free heart, with love in her heart only for him. Anything else would be shoddy.
And so she had come to slay the dragon in his lair.
After that, perhaps she could turn the page, so to speak, and get on with her life. After all, she was almost thirty-one, and it seemed to her that time sped by faster than ever these days.
Alexa had admitted to herself that she had felt much more relaxed once she had made the decision to see Tom. Not only comfortable about coming to Paris for Anya’s landmark celebration, but more at ease within herself. It was as if just making the decision to deal with Tom had lifted a burden from her.
————
SHE HAD ARRIVED in Paris on Thursday morning, having taken a night flight from New York, and after unpacking and resting for most of Thursday she was now ready for action.
It was eleven o’clock on Friday morning, May the eleventh, and the temptation to call Tom Conners was strong. But Alexa resisted picking up the receiver. She was not quite ready to face him just yet.
And so she glanced around the bedroom, making a last-minute check, and picked up her bag. On the desk, where she had put them, were her dark glasses, her address book, a notepad, and her cell phone, plus the door key. Scooping everything up, dropping them into her bag, she left the room and headed for the elevator.
A few seconds later she was walking across the elegant marble-floored lobby of the Hotel Meurice, which Anya had recommended several weeks before. She was glad she had taken Anya’s advice; her room was comfortable and pleasant, and the hotel’s location was ideal for her.
Alexa went through the revolving door and down the steps, stood outside in front of the hotel for a moment, undecided what to do. She was invited to Anya’s house for lunch at one o’clock, so she had two hours to fill. And lots of options.
She was in her most favorite city in the world, and she knew it well, and since she had not been there for three years, she was filled with excitement, enormous nostalgia, and the desire to visit much-loved parts of the city.
If she turned left, she could walk down to the Louvre, where one of her favorite paintings hung, and it would certainly give her a great deal of pleasure to see it again.
Or she could turn right, walk along the rue de Rivoli, looking in shop windows until she came to the Place de la Concorde, the Champs-Elysées beyond, with the Arc de Triomphe at the top. Always a heartstopping sight to her.
Then again, the Place Vendôme was just behind the hotel, as was the rue du Faubourg St. Honoré, where some of her favorite clothing boutiques were located. But she was not really in the mood for shopping, trying on clothes. She would do that another day. All day. Making a snap decision, she set off walking toward the Louvre.
What a glorious day it was.
Paris shimmered under a shimmering sky. It was brilliant, awash with sunlight, and there was not a cloud visible. The sky appeared to be high flung, a great arc that looked like an upturned bowl with its inside glazed a soft powder blue. There was no breeze; it was not sultry either. It was, very simply, the most perfect weather.
How magnificent Paris looks today, she thought as she glanced around her, walking along the rue de Rivoli at a steady pace. Then she made a mental note to visit Le Louvre des Antiquaires in the Place du Palais-Royal nearby. She hoped that in this unique gallery of antiques shops she would find something really special and original for Anya’s birthday. There might be something Russian or English, some small memento that would evoke all the right kinds of memories in Anya.
A flood of her own memories engulfed Alexa; they made her heart clench with their bittersweetness. Memories of Tom and the two years they spent together … their sensual lovemaking, their joy in each other. Memories of working on different movies with Nicky and Larry. Such exciting days with them, from whom she had learned so much … such exciting nights with Tom, from whom she had also learned so much … including heartbreak, heartache.…
She was assaulted all of a sudden by the fragrant, mouthwatering smell of fresh coffee. Tantalizingly, it hung on the air, floated to her. Abruptly she came to a stop outside a sidewalk café; immediately she sat down at one of the tables, unable to resist.
“Café au lait, s’il vous plaît,” she said to the smiling waiter who instantly appeared in front of her.
“Mais oui,” he said, hurrying off.
Alexa sat back in the metal chair, thinking how wonderful it was to be here, how foolish she had been to stay away for so long.
A few seconds elapsed, and then the waiter was back, placing a pot of coffee and a jug of steaming hot milk in front of her. “Voilà, mademoiselle!” he exclaimed with a nod, and brought more items to her table swiftly.
“Merci,” she said, smiling back at him as he put down a basket of breads, and then she picked up the pot, poured coffee into the large cup, added the frothy milk.
The first sip was delicious; then she eyed the basket of different breads. She could smell the fresh croissants, which had also miraculously appeared on the table, along with small slabs of creamy-looking butter on a plate, plus a dish of dark raspberry jam.
Oh, what the hell, why not? she thought, and took a croissant, broke a piece off, added a touch of butter and a generous blob of the jam. It seemed to melt in her mouth, and she thought of all those breakfasts she had had, just like this one, when she had been a student here.
Nine years ago. She had been just twenty-one when she had started at Anya’s school. And from the first day to the last she had enjoyed every moment, never once been disappointed.
There was an extraordinary atmosphere in the school. The series of adjoining buildings along the rue de l’Université were filled with a special kind of … happiness. That was the only word she could think of to describe the mood in the many different classrooms and art studios. This feeling of genuine euphoria and excitement enveloped everyone who came there. Of course it emanated from Anya, who else? And yet the other teachers were just as inspired, and as inspiring, as she was.
They all inculcated a love of learning in her and the other pupils, and they were the best, always the greatest experts in their given fields, and specially chosen by Anya Sedgwick for a variety of qualities as well as their talents.
How wonderful those years were, she thought now, leaning back in the chair, reminiscing, letting her mind fill with memories of those days. They had been filled with wonder, anticipation, expectation, and a sense of adventure. Everything was ahead of her, her whole life, and the future glowed before her eyes. It held so much promise, glittering prizes.
Yes, all of her hopes and ambitions had been encouraged here by Anya and her other teachers. And what dreams of glory she’d had. Thanks to Anya, so many of them had come true … at least as far as her work was concerned. But so much else had gone wrong … in her personal life. But that wasn’t Anya’s fault. And now she aimed to put it right. She had come to deal with unfinished business.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE WOMAN WAS SO STRIKING AND DRAMATIC-LOOKING, heads turned as she passed.
She was tall, about five feet ten inches in height, well built but not overly heavy, and there was a certain regality to her posture, fluidity in the way she moved with a meas
ured grace.
But it was her face that made people look at her again. The woman was startlingly beautiful, with a thick mane of jet-black hair falling halfway down her back, perfectly curved black eyebrows above dark eyes that were huge, set wide apart, and a most voluptuous mouth.
Her clothes were simple yet elegant in their cut. She wore a black, light gabardine pantsuit, a man-tailored shirt of white silk, and high-heeled black sandals. A black leather bag was slung over her shoulder, and she carried a pair of dark glasses in one hand.
This simple elegance was carried through to her jewelry. There was nothing ostentatious about the watch she wore on her left wrist, the gold bracelet on the other, or the small diamond studs in her ears.
This morning she moved at a slow, leisurely pace through the quiet halls of the Louvre, stopping now and then to gaze at a painting that caught her eye, in no great hurry to get to the picture she had actually come to see. She had plenty of time before she had to leave to keep her luncheon date at the Ritz Hotel in the Place Vendôme, which was not too far away from the museum.
The woman became aware of the stir she caused as she meandered along, self-contained and slightly aloof. She marveled to herself about this. Three months ago she would not have believed it possible that she, of all people, could create such an astonishing reaction in others.
But Maria Franconi had undergone an enormous transformation, and one so extraordinary, so radical, her brother Fabrizio could describe it only as unbelievable and miraculous. And indeed it was both. The miracle was not accidental. It had occurred because of tremendous hard work, rigid discipline, many deprivations of various kinds, and total dedication to a cause: Immense weight loss in the shortest possible time.
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