Her Own Rules

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “And then one night last September the past came back to hit me in the face. Ariel returned from Zaire, and she brought her fiancé to meet me. His name was Sebastian Locke.

  “I will never forget that night, Vivienne. How I got through it I will never know My mind was floundering, my senses swimming. Also, I saw what a wonderful man he was; I ached inside because I had been so cruelly deprived of my son.”

  I leaned back against the cushions, feeling depleted, then I finally finished, “And that is the story of my life. Now you know it all. . .”

  Drawing closer, Vivienne took hold of my hand and held it in hers. “You have moved me so much, Countess Zoë. My heart aches for you when I think of what you’ve suffered. I don’t know how you’ve lived through it.”

  “Very few people have an easy time in this world, Vivienne. What counts most is that we survive, endure.”

  Vivienne was silent for a few moments and then she said in a voice so low I could hardly hear it, “You told Sebastian, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did. What else could I do?”

  “And that’s why he killed himself, isn’t it?” she whispered.

  “Yes, Vivienne, I believe it is.”

  “You must have told him after he and I had lunch together on that Monday.”

  “Yes, that’s so. I saw him on Wednesday.”

  “You came to New York?”

  I nodded. “Ariel went back to Zaire. Sebastian flew to New York. I followed him. I telephoned him at the Locke Foundation, explained that I was in New York and had to see him urgently. He agreed. Why wouldn’t he? I was the mother of the woman he was planning to marry.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  “At his townhouse. I must admit, I was extremely distressed, in a turmoil inside. But I managed to hide it. I plunged right into my story. I told him I had once been married to Cyrus Locke, that he was my son who had been stolen from me by his father. And then I told him I was also Geneviève Brunot. He was stunned, reeling from shock. And of course he didn’t believe a word of it. Not at first.

  “However, I had the documents to bear me out. His birth certificate. And my own. My marriage license. Ariel’s birth certificate. And the photograph of Joe Anthony and Geneviève Brunot, taken at La Chunga in July of 1960. The thing that baffled him was that this woman confronting him with a most horrifying story was Geneviève, the pretty young woman he had known in Cannes. I convinced him she and I were the same person. I explained that I lied about my age, had dropped ten years because he was so young. I had too many pertinent details about those four days we’d spent together. He had no option but to believe me. I also showed him some other photographs of me that had been taken that year. They helped to convince him that I was Geneviève Brunot.

  “When he asked how I had found out about everything, I explained how Sam Loring had contacted me in Paris, blackmailed me, and told me of Joe Anthony’s real identity. Before I could stop myself I confided some of the things I’ve told you today, Vivienne. About Cyrus Locke’s abuse of me—”

  I paused for a moment, then I said slowly, “I destroyed Sebastian, of course. I know that. But I had to prevent a great tragedy from occurring. I told him he must never again see Ariel.”

  Vivienne gave me a hard stare and shook her head. “And later that week Sebastian took his life. But he needn’t have done that. He could have broken off his engagement to Ariel, and he didn’t even have to explain why he was doing so.”

  “Yes, Vivienne, you’re right.” I let out a long sigh, clasped her hand all that much tighter. “All I knew that day was that I had to stop them from marrying. I never imagined he would kill himself. But I should have known, I should have guessed when he said, ‘However am I going to live without her. She’s the only person I’ve ever really loved.’ I wept when he said that and so did he.”

  Vivienne was very still. Her eyes were brimming and slowly the tears ran down her cheeks. She could not speak. Neither could I. We just sat there holding each other’s hands, caught up in our own thoughts.

  After a while Vivienne roused herself. “You told me at the beginning that no one else knows any of this. Why did you tell me?”

  “Because you had such a need to understand why Sebastian killed himself. I realized that if I didn’t explain everything, you would be haunted by it for the rest of your days.”

  “Thank you, Countess Zoë, for confiding in me,” she answered very softly.

  “You know, Vivienne dear, I’ve never understood why it all happened . . . why I had to meet Joe Anthony in Cannes all those many years ago. Chance? Fate? I cannot explain . . . I don’t think anyone could . . .”

  “How tragic it is,” Vivienne murmured. She looked at me closely. “I loved him so very much. Always.”

  “I know you did . . . and that’s another reason why you had to know the truth. The truth sets us free, Vivienne.”

  PART FIVE

  VIVIENNE

  HONOR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Countess Zoë’s house on the Faubourg Saint-Germain was very quiet when Hubert let me in. Quieter than usual, I thought as I followed him across the grand marble foyer.

  “How is Countess de Grenaille?” I asked him as we went up the wide curving staircase together.

  “A little better today,” he said. “She has rallied again. She is a most remarkable woman, Madame Trent. And she is looking forward to seeing you.”

  “As I am her, Hubert.”

  He led the way down the corridor, opened the big double doors to her bedroom, ushered me in, excused himself, and disappeared, as always the perfect butler.

  I glanced toward the antique bed and saw to my surprise that it was draped in its silk coverlets and was empty.

  “I’m over here, Vivienne, sitting near the fire,” Countess Zoë said in a voice that was stronger than I had expected. This morning, on the phone, she had sounded weak. I had been alarmed, worried for her health.

  I turned to her, and, smiling, I walked across the room in the direction of the fireplace. And I could not help thinking how well she looked. Hubert was right, she was remarkable, extraordinary really. Her chestnut hair was stylishly coiffed and she wore makeup, expertly applied. I was again struck by the arresting looks of this seventy-three-year-old woman.

  This afternoon she was wearing delphinium-blue silk lounging pajamas, most obviously couture, and sapphire earrings. The color of the silk outfit and the sapphires exactly matched her wonderful eyes. From the first moment I met her I had recognized her great beauty, and there had been odd moments when she had seemed very familiar to me. Puzzled, I had not been able to fathom why this was so. I knew now. She reminded me of Sebastian. It was her eyes, of course. Bits of sky, I thought, as his had been, and their mouths were identical. Sensitive, vulnerable mouths.

  As I drew to a standstill at her side, she said, “I’m glad you’re back in Paris, Vivienne, I’ve been longing to see you. Thank you for coming, my dear.”

  “I was planning to run over today,” I answered bending down, kissing her on both cheeks. “I was just about to phone you and invite myself to tea, when you called the hotel.”

  Smiling at me, she patted my hand resting on her arm. “You’ve become very special to me, Vivienne.”

  “As you have to me, Countess Zoë.” I was carrying a shopping bag of books and I placed them next to her chair and went on, “These are for you, I hope you like them.”

  “I’m sure I will, you seem to know my tastes very well, and how kind you are, my dear. Thank you.”

  I went and sat down on the chair opposite and looked at her expectantly.

  “I wanted to see you because I have something for you.” As she was speaking she turned toward the Louis XV end table next to her chair and picked up a small package. Leaning forward slightly, she offered it to me and added, “This is for you, Vivienne.”

  I was surprised, and as I took it from her I exclaimed, “But Countess Zoë, you don’t have to give me gifts!”


  She laughed lightly. “I know I don’t . . . come along, open it.”

  I did as she said, removing the ribbon and the gold wrapping paper. The small velvet box in my hands looked old, and when I lifted the lid I gasped, more surprised than ever. Lying on the dark red velvet was a heart-shaped brooch covered entirely with small diamonds and there was a slightly larger diamond set in the center. “Countess Zoë! It’s beautiful! But I can’t accept this, it’s far too valuable!”

  “I want you to have it. Harry Robson gave it to me when we were married in 1944 and I’ve always liked it. I think you will enjoy it too. It’s a pendant as well as a brooch. If you look on the back you will see how it works. There’s a little hook, so it can hang on a chain.”

  “But this is something you should give to Ariel or your daughter-in-law.”

  “Hasn’t it occurred to you that you are my daughter-in-law? Or were, when you were married to Sebastian.”

  I simply stared at her without speaking. And of course she was correct. But the brooch was obviously extremely valuable and I was reluctant to take it.

  She continued, “However, that is not the reason I am giving it to you. I want you to have a memento, something special to remember me by . . . ”

  “Oh Countess Zoë, I’ll never forget you, how could I! You’re the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met in my whole life.”

  “Please accept the brooch, Vivienne, you’ll make me very happy if you do. It gladdens my heart to think that every time you put it on you’ll be reminded of an old lady who has grown very attached to you.”

  “You sound as if you’re not going to see me again. And you are! Every time I come to Paris!” I exclaimed.

  “I sincerely hope so. But let us be realistic, my dear. I am an old woman and I am very ill. You know that, Vivienne. And I am not going to be on this earth forever. But enough! Let us not get maudlin today. Please accept the brooch. Do it for me.”

  “Well of course I accept it, Countess Zoë, and thank you very much. It’s beautiful and you’re very generous . . .”

  I rose and went to kiss her. Then I looked down into her upturned face and said, “Just so long as you know that I don’t need the brooch to be reminded of you.”

  “Yes, I do know that,” she replied. Her vivid blue eyes were suddenly sparkling.

  I could tell she was happy and this pleased me. I took out the diamond heart and pinned it on the jacket of my suit. “There, how does it look?”

  “Dazzling,” she said, glanced over at the desk near the window, and went on, “Would you please bring me the letter case on the desk, Vivienne?”

  Nodding, I did as she asked. Then I went and sat down in my chair again. Leaning against the antique tapestry pillows, I watched her open the case and sort through the contents.

  This woman had captivated me the moment I had entered her house and we had bonded almost instantly. I had fallen completely under her spell; there was something wholly unique about her. She had an understanding heart, was intelligent, wise, and brave. So very brave. When I thought of the painful things that had happened to her in her life, I wondered how she had ever stood it all, how she survived. It was miraculous that she had lived through those tragedies the way she had, so courageously. Zoë de Grenaille was indeed an indomitable woman. I was filled with admiration for her and I had grown to love her.

  “Vivienne?”

  “Yes, Countess Zoë?”

  “This is Sebastian’s birth certificate. Please burn it.” Handing the document to me, she continued. “You can read it if you wish . . .”

  I nodded, glanced down at the paper I was now holding. The facts were written there. They were exactly as she had told me. The names danced before my eyes. Cyrus Lyon Locke. Mary Ellen Rafferty Locke. Sebastian Lyon Locke. Reddington Farm, Somerset County, New Jersey. And Sebastian’s date of birth, June the third, 1938. How often I had celebrated his birthday with him on that date.

  “This was the beginning . . . the beginning of a great tragedy,” I whispered.

  “Burn it, Vivienne. Please.”

  “Immediately.” I went to the fire, knelt in front of it, and let the flames consume Sebastian’s birth certificate.

  “Now this one. My marriage license.”

  I held the piece of paper that had legalized the union between Mary Ellen Rafferty and Cyrus Lyon Locke and a wave of anger swept through me. He was at the root of it. Cyrus Locke. How evil he had been. I tore the marriage certificate in half and dropped the pieces into the fire.

  “This is the photograph taken at La Chunga in 1960,” Countess Zoë went on, handing it to me. “Consign this to the flames as well.”

  My eyes dropped to the picture. I was compelled to look at it, I could not help myself. It was a Sebastian I did not know who stared back at me. I recognized him immediately, there was no question who he was. But how different he looked from the Sebastian I had known. The older man. He was so young here, so untouched by life. And the Zoë next to him was the most glamorous of women. Her beauty was in full bloom. She looked glorious. No wonder she had been irresistible to men.

  Conscious of her eyes on me, I placed the photograph on top of the logs and watched it curl and burn until it was no more, then I swung my head to look at her.

  “You wished you could keep that, Vivienne,” she said slowly “And for a moment I almost told you that you could. But it’s better to destroy everything. It’s not that I don’t trust you with the photograph, but—” Her voice faltered and she glanced away.

  I said, “I know you trust me. And you’re right, it’s better this way. You’ll feel easier in your own mind.”

  She sighed to herself and murmured, “Let me see what else is in here. Ah yes, my marriage license from Caxton Hall in Westminster where I married Harry Robson. No need to destroy that. However, here is my own birth certificate. Please burn it.” Handing this to me, she settled back in her chair.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “I mean, there’s no real reason to throw this away, is there?”

  She was thoughtful. Eventually she said rather softly, “Ariel and Charles know that I was an actress when I was young, and that my name was Zoë Lysle. They’re aware that I was widowed when I married Édouard, the widow of Harry Robson, supposedly my first husband. But they’ve never heard the name Mary Ellen Rafferty, and I want everything burned that could ever link me to the Locke family. Put it on the fire, my dear. Please.”

  I did as she asked and then pushed myself to my feet.

  Countess Zoë said, “It was wise to get rid of the damning evidence. I wouldn’t want Ariel or Charles to find it later. But I’m glad I told you everything, Vivienne. I think I’ve lifted a burden from you, taking you into my confidence, and it’s lifted a burden from me, sharing my secret with you. That has weighed me down for twelve years, it’s been a relief to speak of it with you.”

  I got up and went and crouched next to her chair. Looking deeply into those startlingly blue eyes, I said, “I will honor your confidence. I will never tell anyone as long as I live.”

  Leaning closer, Countess Zoë kissed my forehead, touched my cheek gently. “I know you won’t reveal anything I’ve told you. You’re such a fine person, so honest and loyal. And honor is bred in the bone with you. You could no more do a shoddy thing than Ariel could.” She paused and looked at me intently when she said, “You’ve become like another daughter to me. I’ve grown to love you, Vivienne.”

  “Thank you for saying those lovely things, Countess Zoë, and I want you to know that I love you too.”

  A smile touched her mouth and was gone in an instant. A sudden sorrow seemed to settle over her and her eyes filled with tears. Reaching for my hands, she said, “It’s as though I took a knife and plunged it into him. I’m responsible for Sebastian’s death, Vivienne. I’ve lived with that ghastly knowledge for over seven months, and it’s overwhelmed me. The sorrow is unendurable.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Please, please, don’t blame your
self,” I said. “You had to tell Sebastian the truth. There was nothing else you could do. You couldn’t let him marry Ariel. That would have been unconscionable.”

  She fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. “His death is a shadow on my heart,” she said.

  I continued to console her and eventually she took hold of herself, became composed at last.

  Hubert brought in the tea tray, poured for us, and left.

  We sipped our tea in silence for a while. It was Countess Zoë who spoke first. She said, “Love is the only thing that’s worthwhile in this terrible and incomprehensible world we live in. It’s the only thing that makes any sense. Take the advice of an old woman who’s seen almost everything and experienced much . . . don’t make any compromises when it comes to marriage. Oh yes, you’ll marry again, Vivienne, I’m absolutely certain of that. But you must only marry for love.”

  “I know, and there is no other reason, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “When the right man comes along, you’ll know it. You’ll be swept off your feet, but you’ll be very sure of your feelings, I don’t doubt that.”

  “I think I will, Countess Zoë.”

  There was a faint smile on her face, but I could see the tears glittering in her eyes when she said softly, “Oh, I don’t doubt you, Vivienne. Not at all.” There was a pause before she finished, “Your whole life is ahead of you. Live it well from this day forward.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  I went straight from Countess Zoë’s house to the restaurant where I was meeting Jack for dinner.

  As I sat back in the cab, after giving the driver the address of Chez Voltaire, I wondered whether I should remove the diamond heart. It was still pinned to my jacket and looked wonderful against the black wool. I decided to leave it where it was.

  Jack was already there when I arrived, and he rose as I was shown to the table. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, kissing me on the cheek.

  We both sat down. I looked across the table at him and said, “And so are you, darling.”