Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2)

by Celia Kennedy

  “Sorry! Is she all right?” I was genuinely worried for my friend.

  “Watch it. That’s the mother of my child. She’s beautiful. But to answer your question, the doctor assures me everything is okay. The baby has dropped, which is why she’s moving so slow. He/she might be early.”

  Charlotte had given up and lowered herself into a chair; she winced. He sighed while observing her. “I’ve been scouting personal trainers and plastic surgeons.”

  I punched him hard on the shoulder. “Ow! She asked me to.” He rubbed the spot, giving me a pained sidelong glance. I immediately apologized.

  “What was that for?” Charlotte asked suspiciously when we reached her, overlooking the pleasantries of saying hello.

  “Your husband was making fun of my outfit,” I improvised. I wore a beautifully tailored charcoal-wool Armani suit with a crisp white linen shirt.

  Charlotte summed up the situation quickly. “You’re both terrible liars. The doctor says I’m fine. Being tired and swollen is normal. Well, normal-ish.”

  Once she stood up, she reached up and hugged me. “I’m so glad to see you. I need the distraction.”

  “Anything I can do. You name it. Maybe a massage or pedicure?” I offered. Liam and I stood on either side of her and walked slowly. Without thinking, I said, “You’re kind of like a Weeble Wobble.”

  She stopped, grasped my arm, and threw her head back, laughing. “That's so funny.” Her reaction was pure Charlotte. I laughed with her, harder by the minute. Soon, we had a fit of the giggles.

  Utterly confused, Liam wondered, “Did you say Weeble Wobble?”

  Catching my breath, I answered, “Yes, they’re toys—well, were toys—from when we were little. They had round bottoms, like a ball. If you pushed one over, it would roll back up. ‘Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down,’ was the slogan.”

  He chuckled, but it was obvious he didn’t find it nearly as funny as we did. Instead, he took my weekend bag and guided us to the car. By the time we were buckled in, dinner at a Mexican restaurant on the Sutton high street had been decided upon.

  Once seated in the tiny restaurant, we ordered the moment the waiter arrived. Charlotte, pointing at her belly, made him promise to return quickly with two orders of garlic mussels, a Pink Cadillac for me, a pint of lager for Liam, and a glass of water for herself.

  “Come here often?” I asked, inhaling the shockingly pink cocktail once it arrived.

  Charlotte, foraging her way through a vast bowl of mussels, spoke as she parted creatures from their shells. “What makes you say that?”

  Liam nodded while gulping down half his drink. “Charlotte’s only craving has been for Mexican food. I think we’ve tried all the Mexican restaurants in London. We really like this one.”

  Sipping my drink suspiciously, I was delighted with its sweet-and-sour flavor. “Wow, tasty.”

  “Isn’t it? I love them. I’m living vicariously through you. Again,” Charlotte said, holding a hand in front of her mouth as she chewed. “How goes the apartment? Get any ideas last week?”

  I nodded. “Actually, I was inspired by the bar at the Hotel Cambon. I’m thinking something very zen and calm. Nothing fussy.” This would prove a departure for me, since I had a tendency to get carried away by a theme and then have to pare back. The idea of starting with simple and keeping it simple would be the tricky part.

  Liam inserted himself into my thoughts. “Kathleen, since we have you here and you are a decorating genius, how about some decorating tips? The house, guesthouse, nursery, garden… anything! We need help with it all.”

  Brilliantly done, I thought to myself. I leapt in. “I can’t wait for a tour. I heard from Hillary it has great bones. I’d be happy to offer my two cents.”

  Looking down at her plate, Charlotte missed the smile that passed between Liam and me, but answered, “Absolutely. We’ve got the baby’s room sorted, but that’s about it. I’m not sure when we’ll get much done. If not you, we’ll probably have to hire a decorator.”

  His smile grew cartoonish as he silently nodded.

  “Can’t wait to see it,” was all I said.

  It wasn’t until I was confronted by the school-bus-yellow nursery that I fully understood Liam’s desperation. It was truly awful.

  Standing in the middle of the room with her, I watched as Charlotte chewed her lip. “It looks better during the day, not quite so… bold. You’ll love it in the daylight. The windows let in a lot of light.”

  “Wow! It’ll be great to see it with natural light,” I said, while thinking that sunglasses might be required.

  When I settled into my bedroom for the night, I unpacked a few things into the wooden dresser. I loved the dark mahogany pieces that had once been Liam’s bedroom suite and fit easily in the large room. Climbing into bed with my cell phone, I saw a text from Sébastien.

  Back in Paris. It isn’t as beautiful without you. How’s London?

  I had sent him an email letting him know I’d decided to go to London at the last minute. I knew it was cowardly, but I needed time and space. If I’d stayed in Paris, I would have spent the weekend in turmoil, which would have only led to questions and unhappiness.

  Looking at the time, I saw he had sent it a few hours ago. Deciding it was too late to respond, I turned off my phone. I’d text him in the morning.

  ***

  Waking up startled, I searched the room for the crying baby before realizing I’d only dreamt the wailing infant. After trying to fall back to sleep, I gave up and decided to use my time to figure out how to pull the house into the twenty-first century without losing any of its old-world charm. I tugged some thick socks and a heavy wool sweater on over my pajama top before prowling around the house as silently as possible.

  A few hours later, Charlotte found me sitting on the floor of the baby’s nursery, lost in thought. When our eyes met, she asked, “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “No. Too much whirling around in my head. How about you?”

  She snorted. “I haven’t slept well for months. The baby makes it hard to breathe, and then there are the endless trips to the bathroom.”

  “Sounds like fun,” I said as I rose to my feet. “Still not selling pregnancy.”

  “Am I supposed to be selling it? I never had the impression that having a baby was something you wanted,” she said candidly, as she pushed the curtains aside.

  I turned my back to her to hide my uneasiness. She seemed to accept my silence, as together we watched the sun rise beyond the bay window, past the shrubs at the back of the garden, beyond the distant oak trees. We watched the purple sky give way to hues of pink and orange and finally streaks of yellow.

  Finally, Charlotte proposed breakfast. Helping her down the stairs, I let go of my worries and chattered happily about the house’s potential. This was interspersed with Charlotte listing off all the potential breakfast options. Deciding upon eggs and toast, we set about cooking and brewing coffee.

  Liam joined us just in time to take charge of the toast. “Kathleen!”

  I looked up to see him holding a piece of toast. I pushed the eggs around the pan some more and said, “Two.”

  Charlotte gave Liam a concerned look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You want ‘two’ on your toast. What’s going on, Kathleen?”

  Charlotte had given me an opportunity to confide in her… and Liam.

  ***

  Liam massaged Charlotte’s legs, causing her to sigh.

  “You’re in a tough spot.” Her somber voice mirrored my feelings.

  “Thanks for the recap.”

  Liam took a different route. “It’s early days in your relationship with Sébastien to be considering him in the decision, isn’t it?”

  “I seem to remember you and Charlotte fell hard and fast. Or am I remembering things incorrectly? Would you have made different decisions?” The idea of not considering Sébastien or his feelings on the subject made my heart clench. Moving, working for
Aksel, living in Aarhus: it was all too much to absorb. Besides, my heart already belonged to Sébastien and was letting me know it wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

  Still pondering, Charlotte added, “A job at a start-up, though? That doesn’t sound like you.”

  To be fair, I had been all “fashion, fashion, Paris, and L’Oréal” for years. Other than my biennial remodeling of a new apartment, I had kept my artistic side under wraps. Many people were going to be surprised if I uprooted myself and moved to Aarhus. Close to the top of that list was going to be me.

  I acknowledged her question with a confused shrug. I’d read the packet Aksel had given me, and I was definitely excited about being involved in a project from the ground floor. “The job, yes. It means less pay, hard work, more responsibility, less… fashion. But something about it speaks to me. It feels… exciting—they want to do very creative work, build kinetic art.” I showed them the installation at the Changi Airport in Singapore on YouTube. “Things like that!”

  “Wow!” they said in unison.

  I went to the window and stared out at the brightly colored autumn leaves fluttering. Immediately, I remembered painting scenes like this. I could hear my old mentor, John Harper, say, “Kathleen, you were meant to do this.” Was I? Was I meant to paint canvases? Or was I meant to help others bring their visions to fruition. I could do both. But, could I change my life that much? I’d been struggling with that question ever since I’d read Aksel Pedersen’s proposal.

  I floated the sensible solution. “Maybe the thing to do is to wait until Monsieur Detriche’s position is filled. If I don’t get it, there would be more to think about.”

  We sat digesting options for quite some time. Charlotte broke the silence. “Sounds like a good plan, a safe plan. You and Sébastien will have had more time together, and, if it doesn’t turn out how you hoped and you have somehow made peace with living in Aarhus, you could contact Aksel Pedersen and see if he/they are still interested.”

  “That’s a lot of ‘ands.’” It was a strange situation to be in. In order to take this incredible opportunity with Aksel Pedersen, I had to bet against every other aspect of my life. Or, my brain whispered, you could try to have your cake and eat it, too. I shook my head to clear it. It was all too much.

  Since she’d offered me sound advice, I offered her some back. “Charlotte, that yellow is atrocious. Why not just paint it a nice warm white and call it done? Then, boy, girl, twins, it doesn’t matter. Use accessories to add color to the room.”

  Liam’s mouth hung open. Charlotte pushed away from him and looked up into his green eyes. “Admit it, you asked her to pick out another color!”

  He had the grace to admit it. “Yes. I’m sorry, my wee Weeble, but that shade of yellow is dreadful.” He shot me a thankful but harsh look.

  “You really think that a warm white is better?” Her voice was a little woeful.

  Hormones. I softened my tone. “Yellow is a really tricky color to get right—ambient lighting and all that.”

  She countered by saying, “Think of all the handprints and scuffmarks on the walls.”

  Liam let out a sigh. “That will happen anyway.”

  “Thank god for housekeepers,” she said.

  “Amen!” Liam said enthusiastically, giving her a gentle squeeze and a chaste kiss. “Now, can I go to the DIY and buy the paint for the baby’s room?”

  Wee and Weeble

  Charlotte took me by surprise when she pressed me. “Kathleen, tell me one thing about Mikkel.”

  “Life with him seemed limitless.”

  She reached over and held my hand firmly in her grip, as if trying to lend me strength. “You’ve never had a chance to talk about him. Maybe this is where you start.”

  Her words hung in the air between us. Then, haltingly, I began to tell her about the first time I’d kissed him. “It was the perfect summer evening. We’d gone to an Italian restaurant, really cheap but good food. More importantly, a lot of food. He was a big guy with a big appetite. He ate all of his food and half of mine.

  “Afterwards, we went to a party at a friend’s house, and hung-out, danced. We’d gone out a few times already, but this was our first ‘we are a couple’ date. Oddly, he still hadn’t tried to kiss me. When he dropped me off at home, he walked me to the door, and we talked. When he said goodbye, he went to do the European kiss thing, and instead, I grabbed his head and kissed him. I kept my eyes open. And so did he.” I looked at Charlotte, and saw that her smile mirrored mine. “You know what he said to me?” I asked her. She shook her head. “He said, ‘You’re taller than I thought you’d be.’”

  “Oh my god. He didn’t!” she squealed.

  “He did.” I flushed, thinking back on the memory and how embarrassed I had been. I laughed and felt all the joy of that summer night pulse through me. As I gave voice to our story, I drifted along the timeline of our love affair and found myself laughing and crying at memories. When she laughed and cried with me, I felt all over again how much I had loved him.

  She surprised me when she asked, “Sébastien has a daughter, right? Does that bother you?”

  “Not at all. I can’t lie. I’m glad she’s older, and I don’t have to deal with a young child. I’m not ready for that.”

  “How old is she?”

  “She’s almost twenty-one.”

  Liam came downstairs and called out, “I’m going to put the kettle on! Anyone want coffee? Tea? I bought some ginger biscuits.”

  I looked at the clock. “Don’t you need more than that?”

  A few hours had passed and, in pregnant-woman time, that seemed like a long time without a solid meal. She shook her head. “No, that’ll be perfect.”

  “I think our Americanism is fleeing us. If we were home, it would be coffee and doughnuts! I’ll go help Liam.” Truthfully, I needed a break and a change of view.

  For the rest of the afternoon, I focused on being my usual self: dragging Charlotte around the house with paint samples, giving her some ideas to consider.

  “Well, I can probably have the painting done before the baby arrives. The furniture will have to wait,” Charlotte decided as she yawned.

  “No furniture is perfect. Give yourself time to pick the perfect pieces. Just rent what you need to get by,” I suggested, as we stood in the center of the empty formal dining room. “Have you considered pulling up these dreadful carpets and seeing if there’s any decent hardwood underneath?”

  “I have an answer for that!” Charlotte gave me a devious grin. I raised my eyebrows when she said, “We’re having new carpet put down, everywhere but here. Hardwood is too cold in this environment for babies to crawl around on.”

  I countered, “Radiant heat is great, and hardwood is easier to keep clean.”

  Charlotte called up to Liam, who was painting a second coat in the nursery, “What do you think of hardwood floors?”

  He dashed down the stairs at a quick clip. “Hardwood? I thought carpet.” He seemed annoyed.

  “Yes, but I thought we had decided on yellow, and you’re up there painting white!”

  Liam gave me a look of betrayal. “Traitor!”

  I smiled at him. “It works both ways, my friend.”

  Looking at his wife and seeing her determination, he quickly agreed. “Fine! But I get to help decide what color the wood will be stained.”

  I intervened once again. “Fine, so long as it’s dark.”

  11:00 PM, Sunday, October 11

  Hello Seattle

  DEEP IN THOUGHT over my job offer from Aksel Pedersen, I didn’t realize I had a phone message until I had been home for a few hours.

  “Hi, Kathy. It’s Mom. When you get this message, can you give me a call? Thanks, honey. I hope you’re out having fun.”

  Looking quickly at the time, I saw that it was 2:00 in the afternoon in Seattle. I lay back against the cushions of the couch and let the phone ring then scoffed when I got her voicemail.

  “Hello! This is Terr
y Ehlers. Please leave a message, and I will return your call as soon as possible.”

  I let her know I’d be up another hour or so.

  My mother still lived in the bungalow I grew up in in Seattle’s Ravenna Park neighborhood, an older section of the city with small houses on small lots. It had always seemed cozy; perfect for the two of us. Thinking of my mother caused my mind to wonder about old friends, and what life would have been like had I stayed… And, of course, about Mikkel. Before I went too far down a tragic path, the phone rang.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  Initially, our conversation meandered through the happenings in our lives. She enthusiastically praised me for the runway show; I had emailed her a video. She knew about the photo shoot in Bali, but I let her know it would be in the December issue of Forbes; she sounded so excited to show it to her friends and co-workers. I was about to tell her about Sébastien when she excitedly announced, “Honey, I’m getting married!”

  I bolted upright. “What? To whom? I didn’t know you were dating anyone. When?”

  Peals of laughter echoed over the phone. “Mr. Harper. I’m marrying John Harper. It’s been a couple years since Sarah, Mrs. H., passed away. Anyway, we ran into each other at the grocery store in University Village last spring.”

  I was stunned. “Mr. Harper? Really?” I sat stunned, trying to think of what to say and how I felt.

  She gave me all of about thirty seconds to reflect before asking, “Kathy, what do you think?” Her voice quavered. She was nervous.

  “Sorry. You just caught me by surprise. Congratulations. I’m really happy for you. Tell him that I think he’s one very lucky man.”

  She sighed in relief. “Do you want to tell him yourself? He’s sitting here.”

  Er, no! I have no idea what to say to a man I haven’t talked to in years! Instead, I enthusiastically agreed, “I’d be delighted to.” I tried to put my best foot forward and welcomed him to the family, assuring him I was excited for the both of them.