“Hmmm.”
“We’ve decided on what we’re doing for Christmas. Would you and Chantal like to join us? If you want to stay with your parents, that’s fine.”
He lifted his head and looked at me, struggling to push aside the lethargy of sleep. “What is the plan?”
When I told him, he guffawed. “Seriously?” he asked.
I nodded, also amused.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll check with Chantal, but assume yes.” He snuggled back down, a snort of laughter erupting every now and again.
“Shh! Go to sleep,” I playfully scolded. I should have asked in the morning, but I had been too excited to wait.
9:45 AM, Friday, December 20
And So It Goes
DENISE APPEARED at my office door, looking excited. “Monsieur Huse would like to see you in his office.”
There could be a thousand reasons, but only one made sense. Worried that I appeared nervous, I asked, “Do I look okay?”
Surprise spread across her face. “You look beautiful.”
I squeezed her hand as I walked past her. “Thanks.”
Clearly he was waiting for me. His secretary sent me straight in. I opened the door and saw Monsieur Detriche sitting near Daniel Huse’s large desk. Both men rose as I entered. I clasped my nervous hands behind my back and said, “You wished to see me?”
“Mademoiselle, good news. Wonderful news for us all. Monsieur Detriche has officially announced his retirement, so that he and his wife can move to Marseille, where their daughter lives. Which means we would like to offer you the position of managing director of administration and finance.”
I wiped my sweaty hands on my skirt before offering one to Monsieur Detriche and wishing him the very best. Then I shook Monsieur Huse’s, assuring him that I was quite excited to take on the added responsibility of managing the division and staying involved in the negotiation process.
When I finally made it back to my office, I gave Denise the good news, adding, “Of course, I would like for us to continue working together.” She accepted the new position eagerly.
“Wonderful. We’ll be moving offices at the end of January. Oh, and there is a nice increase in salary.”
Back in my office, with the door closed, I took a few minutes to absorb the future. When Sébastien and I had gotten back on track, I’d called Aksel Pedersen and told him I would be staying in Paris. He assured me the job was mine, if I should ever want it. “It only proves you are excellent at your job.”
Right now, I wanted to give Sébastien and me time to see where life took us. Accepting the new job at L’Oréal would allow for that. I picked up the phone and dialed him to share the great news. I spent the morning calling the girls one by one, then my mother, Anaïs, and Yvette, telling them all about my promotion.
11:35 AM, Saturday, December 26
Lingerie, Sex, and Men
I ENJOYED THE mindless task of washing breakfast dishes while the girls relaxed, scattered about the room. It had been an ideal Christmas season so far. I was particularly happy to have Sébastien and Chantal with us; Chantal had been pretty excited to meet Des, of course.
“Admit it. It put you over the edge.” While Charlotte snuggled with Sean in an oversized chair, she gave Marian a hard time about their recent Christmas shopping expedition in London.
Marian shot Charlotte the stink eye. “Jaysus, you’re perverse, you are. You tortured me over a pair of fecking boots. You’d think they were the Holy Grail, the way you dragged me around… This I promise you, I am never going shopping with you, postpartum, ever again.”
“They were Liam’s first Christmas gift from Sean. They had to be perfect.” Charlotte had the sense to laugh at herself, while coming to her own defense.
Marian announced to everyone within hollering distance, “If my husband buys me boots as a Christmas gift from my child…”
Whatever she was going to say was drowned out by a loud popping sound and lips smacking. Sean was finished breastfeeding, attracting everyone’s attention. Hillary laid her paper down on the kitchen table, startled. Marian leaned forward, aghast. I smiled at Tiziana, who praised, “Oh darling, he is so perfetto, no?” She crossed the room to coo over him and offer him her finger. “And he has such a strong grip!”
Charlotte propped him over her shoulder to burp him. Only eight weeks old, he seemed happy to be nestled there, chewing on his fist. Pointing to an enormous bag at her feet, she asked Tiziana, “Would you get one of the circular pads out of the side pocket for me, please?” Tiziana rooted around for a minute before pulling out a small, white, circular disk. Charlotte took it and covertly rooted around inside her bra for a moment.
“What’s going on over there?” Marian wondered aloud, green eyes wide.
“Really want to know?” Charlotte smirked an evil grin.
“No, but yes.”
“My breast, the one he didn’t nurse on, is leaking. You put the pad inside your bra to absorb the milk. I should have put it in first, actually. I’m still learning.”
“I’m never having children!” Hillary announced. Her face twisted in distaste as she quietly returned to her paper.
Marian leaned back into the cozy loveseat. “You can have children. Just have someone else feed them.”
“What a bunch of wusses!” I chastised, noting that Tiziana was taking it all in her stride.
Dishes finished, I plunked down in a chair opposite Charlotte and rested my feet on the coffee table partially covered in baby paraphernalia. “Seriously, I cannot believe we are here.”
“And in this chair is where I will stay,” Charlotte declared as she turned her gaze to the snowy wonderland outside the window. Chamonix, France.
“Amen!” I concurred. We had a day to ourselves after sending everyone else off to the slopes to ski. After yesterday’s frenzy, today’s quiet and cozy were very much appreciated.
“It seems really strange to have returned to the scene of the crime,” I noted.
I looked about the deluxe accommodations of the massive house where the eleven of us were comfortably housed. Ted had put quite a bit of effort into finding a chateau that was so hidden that, if the paparazzi got wind of Des being in the area, it would practically take a helicopter to follow him. It meant our getting to and from the village was challenging, but, given our last experience there, which had been quite harrowing, we were willing to limit ourselves to a few days of skiing and one or two dinners out. We’d had an excellent chef preparing most of our meals, so we still had plenty of opportunity to relax or dress up.
“I wonder how this place compares to where Ted and Des stayed when we first met them,” I wondered. I couldn’t help but compare our perfectly fine but bare-bones accommodations during our last trip to Chamonix to our current opulence.
***
One minute, we were relaxing happily, and then one phone call from the others had us rushing around, getting ready for dinner out. When it came to driving the sketchy roads to town, I was grateful that we had a large SUV and driver at our beck and call. To pass the time it took to drive from the chalet to town, we shared some favorite Christmas memories.
I told them how my mother and I used to take an annual Christmas ride aboard the Duck Boat, an amphibious vehicle, whose driver would sail up and down the cheerfully decorated one-way streets of Seattle, pointing out historical markers, quoting fun facts, and sharing anecdotes before plunging into the cold gray waters of Lake Union. Then we would putt along the lake’s shoreline, cruising past the houseboats of Sleepless in Seattle, the boathouse for the UW crew team, and Gas Works Park.
I was lost in the memory of my absolute favorite tradition: bundling up and watching the Christmas boat parade, while sipping hot chocolate and waving to the boaters who glided past on the still, dark water that reflected colorful Christmas lights.
When we arrived in town, I could tell from the way Charlotte eyed the slushy sidewalks that she didn’t want to maneuver the stroller, S
ean, and herself down them. When she asked, “How about a coffee?” I was ready to say, “Yes,” but Marian was not having any of it. She shook her head firmly enough that her auburn hair threatened to fall out of her carefully-constructed messy bun. “Jaysus, I need a proper drink. From a bar, not a barista! I want alcohol, not caffeine.”
Charlotte took a deep breath and calmly asked her, “What’s wrong?”
Looking to Hillary and me for backup, she answered, “I’m happy for you. Really. But for those of us without husbands and babies, we aren’t ready to retire to the fecking country and bake. I’d like a proper drink in a proper bar to look for a proper man to chat with for five bloody minutes.”
“The spit-up got to you, didn’t it?” Charlotte teased Marian, trying to lighten the mood. Sean had lost his lunch in the car on the way into town. The car had reeked of sour milk the rest of the way.
“Yes, it fecking did!” Marian said aggressively, as she threw her arm warmly around her friend. “Sorry, but this is all a bit… I love him, but… Jaysus.”
“For me, too,” Charlotte admitted and then turned to Tiziana for help. “Do you see somewhere we can get her liquored up?”
Tiziana turned in a circle and pointed to a bar nearby. “I wouldn’t mind a drink, myself. Even though I’m married.”
Marian had the grace to blush in embarrassment at her outburst.
While we crossed the street, Charlotte sarcastically asked Tiziana, “You did remember to take the cake out of the oven, didn’t you?”
“Jaysus! I’m sorry. All right?” Marian held her hands up in surrender.
I linked arms with Marian and said sotto voce, “I could murder a beer right about now.”
“What, no wine?” Marian asked with mock severity.
“Years of living in France hasn’t rubbed off enough, I suppose. Every once in a while, I want to bust loose and get a beer at a sports bar.”
“When your mam gets married, we should go to one in Seattle! There must be dozens.”
“We should!” I smiled as I thought of these women sitting on barstools with a basketball game playing on a big-screen TV. “Do you think it would be safe to take Tiziana and Des, though? Could be pure mayhem.”
“My god, you’re going all perverse on me. Don’t get me wrong, I love you all the more for it. But we can’t get too out of control. After all, it’s poor Ted who’ll take the beating.” Marian’s green eyes shimmered in eager anticipation.
***
Sean’s squalling rose above the din of the bar. “I think he’s tired.” Charlotte wore a worried expression as she stood, holding him, and began to sway back and forth.
Just as Hillary opened her mouth to speak, a squelchy sound emitted from his diaper, causing her to push her chair back. Marian yelled, “Jaysus” and belted out laughter. Tiziana and I joined in. One little boy was testing all our modesty and discretion.
Charlotte, looking more worried, said, “That’s not good! I need to change him.” She immediately disappeared, looking for a place to clean him up.
Tiziana sniffed the air. “Mio Dio! That’s powerful, no?”
Hillary sniffed in Tiziana’s direction, placed a finger under her nostrils, and breathed through her mouth. “I’m never having one. Ever!”
When Charlotte returned, she apologized, and looked unsettled. Tiziana and I endeavored to reassure her. She confessed, “It’s pretty challenging to feel and smell fresh, let alone exotic, when handling a baby morning, noon, and night. Fortunately, Liam is so dazzled by the size of my boobs, he doesn’t care what I smell like.”
Hillary looked surprised and amazed the rest of us by asking, “Surely you two aren’t… already?”
Charlotte laughed at Hillary’s horrified expression. “I never thought you’d be the one to bring that up! No. We have to wait, which is fine by me. When it happens, I want it to be fabulous, not rushed in between feedings.”
“Considering the number of babies you’re planning on having, you won’t be able to wait for that!” Marian snorted.
Before Charlotte could respond, Tiziana purred in a lowered voice, “Darling, all men enjoy a quickie! When you’re ready, buy some provocative lingerie and embrace ten minutes of bliss.”
Charlotte glanced at her sleeping baby. “I’ve got them, but between working and taking care of Sean, while I want sex, I’m too tired by the time I climb into bed.” She looked genuinely befuddled. “When do you suppose all the planets are going to align?”
“How the conversation has changed!” Marian stated.
Tiziana, always the romantic, said, “What? We’re talking about lingerie, sex, and men while we drink. What’s changed?”
Hillary rested her index finger beneath her nose and nodded her head at the sleeping baby, who had just emitted, indelicately. “That!”
***
Since he was sore from a day of skiing, I offered to give Sébastien a massage. He lay stretched out on the bed, belly down, while I straddled him, sitting on his bum and massaging his back and shoulders. “Are you sure they don’t mind?”
He snickered at my concern. “Of course not. They understand. They are happy for me. Chérie, has it occurred to you that this is the first Christmas that I’ve spent with a woman who loves me, whom I love, in many years?”
I stretched out on top of him, feeling his spoken and unspoken words. I drew in a deep breath of his new cologne, a gift from Chantal.
“What do you think of it?” He pushed himself onto one elbow, rolling me off him, then scooped me near.
“It’s… marvelous, incredible, manly, sexy.” I tried to find the perfect combination of words.
“Let me show you how manly I am,” he flirted with me.
9:30 AM, Sunday, December 27
Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be
“MERDE. SALAUD!” I was shocked. I had never heard Sébastien swear or even seen him this kind of angry before. Keeping a blank face, I cautiously inquired what the problem was. He held up the newspaper. A picture of Chantal and Des racing down the slopes together graced the cover of the local newspaper. Des Returns to Sample the Local Cuisine was the headline. Everyone around the breakfast table inhaled. In sync, we swiveled our heads toward Des. Before he could say anything, Charlotte burst into laughter, merriment brightening her eyes.
“What happens in Chamonix doesn’t stay in Chamonix!” She turned her attention to Des and wondered aloud, “Are you going to place a restraining order against her?”
While everyone but Des and Sébastien laughed, Chantal snatched the paper from her father’s hands, and read the entire article for herself. “What, Papa? This is in-depth journalism. The writer…” She paused to search for the byline. “…Jean Rene Bernard, has all his facts quite correct.” She listed them ironically. “I am a beautiful young waitress, born and raised in the village, who wants to break into the modelling business. Bon! Now I know what my past and future are.”
She read silently again and then turned a woeful gaze to Des. “Mon Dieu, it seems that I am only using you for your connections. I was seen with an older man in the village last night.” She held up the paper. One picture showed her looking adoringly at Des. Another was taken from outside the restaurant where we’d eaten, featuring her and Sébastien looking relaxed and happy together. A third photo showed Chantal kissing her father’s cheek. She turned her focus on Des. “It’s not true, mon amour. My heart belongs to you. Do not worry, I shall never leave you.” An impish smile spread across her face.
Des smiled back and dared a glance at Sébastien, who was looking more relaxed.
“You are right, chère, there is no point in being angry. Merci.”
Chantal dropped another kiss on his cheek and returned to her interrupted cup of coffee.
“If my advice counts for anything, hide,” Charlotte said sagely. “It’ll only get worse if you say or do anything.”
***
It got worse. Quickly. While we stood in line for the chairlift, the paparazzi sw
armed Chantal, shoving Sébastien aside in their efforts to reach her.
“Where is Des? Are you in love? What’s your name? When did you meet? Which restaurant do you work at? Who’s the other man? Did Des leave you because of the other man?” The succession of questions came fast and furious and in different accents. This had received worldwide attention.
Sébastien was about to respond, so I grabbed him and forced him out of the way. We floundered around on our skis while I tried to reason with him. “Don’t! Charlotte is right. If you respond, if they see you, things will just get worse. I’ll take care of Chantal. Get in line, and we’ll find you at the top.”
The anger in his eyes faded to worry, and, with a slight nod, he shuffled forward in the queue. I went to rescue the poor girl, and what I found was a disaster. She smiled broadly, flicked her hair over her shoulder, and struck a few poses while wearing a pouty look.
“What the hell?” I asked her.
The paparazzi began shouting more questions at me. “Are you another girlfriend? Her mother? Her agent? Where is Des?”
I scowled. “Have you said anything to anyone?” The lawyer in me rose to the surface, and she immediately looked contrite and shook her head. “Good. Stay quiet. Just take my arm, and let’s get in line. Don’t look at them, either.”
She nodded and kept her head down. I was certain several thousand photographs of her had been taken already. I had learned from Charlotte’s experience that they would be filed and reused at some other point in Des’s life. Thank god he isn’t here! What a mess that would be.
Once settled on the chairlift with Chantal tucked in tightly next to me, I asked her if she was all right. She bubbled with happiness. “What is that saying? This is my ‘fifteen minutes of fame.’ Tomorrow, someone else will take my place. Now, my friends will have to believe me when I tell them I spent Christmas with Des Bannerman.”
Silly girl! I’d watched Charlotte start out strong and then chase her lost confidence across the globe, looking for redemption. It was hard, but I didn’t say anything. I was certain Chantal’s father would handle that, especially when he saw the photographs and manufactured truths in the newspaper tomorrow.
Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) Page 23