“So you didn’t forget, after all,” he said to Ashling as she kissed him.
“Of course not, you ninny!” she laughed.
Then they were all upon him, clapping him on the back and offering gifts.
“I need a drink,” he said, to much laughter, and Brandon handed him a glass of champagne. “What a surprise – but a lovely one.”
The night went with a bang. Hugh was introduced all round and everyone loved him, with the exception of Yves – he was very quiet all night but everyone assumed that it was because it was his first day out of hospital.
Brandon sat with him for a while. “That’s a pretty little secretary you have,” he remarked casually.
“Chantal? Yes, she’s hot – and very talented – if you know what I mean.” He winked at Brandon. “What a body!”
As Brandon had suspected, Chantal had shared her favours with Yves. Maybe she still was doing so, for all he knew.
“She’s a nice kid,” he said nonchalantly, changing the subject.
Jazz tried to avoid Yves all night but she was aware of his eyes on her every moment. He tried to take her to one side but she felt it wasn’t the time to talk, not with Hugh and Sophie both there, so she excused herself.
“So that’s the lucky man,” Hugh whispered to her after he’d been introduced to Yves. It was obvious to him that Yves was crazy about Jazz. He never took his eyes off her all night. Mind you, Sophie was pretty gorgeous too. Lucky sod, Hugh thought.
Taylor was as high as a kite. She had taken two Vicodin and an Oxycontin before leaving the house, anticipating a boring evening. Topped up with the champagne she consumed at the party it was no surprise that she was spaced out. Ashling thought that she must have had quite a skinful before arriving at the party to get so drunk so quickly. Even Felicity was having trouble understanding her. Taylor kept going on about Felicity and Lord somebody or other. It was obviously embarrassing Felicity who kept moving away. Ashling had prepared a cold buffet and so, luckily, people weren’t stuck beside Taylor at the dinner table all night. Brandon took her away quite early, furious with her as he’d been having a great time. He couldn’t understand how she was so drunk. In New York she had never let herself get into this state. Here in Paris she didn’t seem to care. He wondered if it was more than just alcohol she was taking. Despite Taylor’s behaviour he felt very relaxed, thanks to his session with Chantal. He hoped they’d get together again soon. He’d forgotten just how great sex could be.
Felicity was really enjoying herself and had even found the courage to chat with Jazz, who she’d discovered was lovely and not a bit stuck-up.
Why was I so silly? Felicity asked herself. Just because she’s beautiful, I was intimidated by her. So stupid! Jazz was interested in the cookery course and asked her all about it. She also wanted to hear about her trip to Versailles and Felicity happily regaled her with all the details. Jazz really was a charming girl, she decided.
As she thanked her hostess for a lovely evening, Ashling asked her if she’d like to visit the Musée d’Orsay the following Tuesday.
“I’d love to,” Felicity beamed.
Max was thrilled with this new woman his wife was becoming. He privately thanked Ashling for her help.
Everyone left the party saying what a great night they’d had. Ashling was pleased and when Kieran took her to bed and made love to her it seemed like her world was perfect.
23
Yves was in and out of Jazz’s office all day on Monday on some pretext or other.
“He’s like a hen on a hot griddle,” Brandon remarked after Yves’s sixth visit. Jazz guessed that he was trying to get her alone. His chance finally came late in the afternoon when Brandon was out of the office.
“Please, Jazz, I really need to talk to –” he started.
She pre-empted him. “Okay, Yves. I’ll meet you.”
His face lit up and he took her hand to his lips. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “I cannot stop thinking about you.”
She found herself melting under his intense gaze and she was trembling with excitement. They arranged to meet on Wednesday evening after work. For the rest of the day she was floating on air. This was what she’d hoped for and she longed for the time to fly by until she could be with him.
Brandon was also waiting for Chantal to say something about another meeting. He was really looking forward to being with her again but he didn’t want to push it. His patience was rewarded when she emailed him on Tuesday and asked him to meet her on Thursday evening, at her place. He, like Jazz, was full of anticipation. Their office fairly buzzed with excitement.
Taylor was bored. She had hoped that some of the Americans she’d met in the Hôtel de Ville might have invited her to drinks or dinner but the only invitation that had come her way was to a book-club meeting. It was the most boring two hours she’d ever spent in her life. The only good thing about it was that she’d secured the names of two American doctors who, she was told, were very generous with their prescriptions. Thank God for that! The Vicodin she’d brought with her from the States wouldn’t last forever. Luckily she’d had some in her bag that day, which helped her get through the boring afternoon. The women were just like the snooty, old-money matrons of New York. All a clique – no newcomers welcome! Well, she didn’t need them. They were boring old farts anyway. What she needed was fun and she knew just the person to provide it.
That evening she phoned her friend, Marilyn, in New York.
“You absolutely must come over to Paris,” she cried. “I’m dying of boredom here.”
“Hey, I’d love to, honey,” Marilyn drawled, her Texan accent even more pronounced over the phone, “but I’m flat broke. That bastard Frank is late with the alimony again.” Frank was her latest ex-husband who had fallen on hard times and was working his butt off just to meet his alimony payments. He knew that Marilyn could spend in a day what it took him a week to earn.
“Don’t worry about money, sweetie. I’ll book your flight. How soon can you come?”
“Oh, honey, you’re soooo generous. I’d love to come. To tell you the truth, I need to lie low for a while here. You know that politician I was goin’ out with? Well, blow me down if the press darn well didn’t’ get hold of the story. All friggin’ hell broke loose. Like all men, he chickened out an’ so I’m here with the paps parked outside my door, afraid to show my purty little face outside. It’s worse than bein’ Tiger Woods’ mistress, I’m a tellin’ ya!” She roared with laughter.
Taylor laughed with her. “God you’re a tonic, Marilyn! I need you here. Please say you’ll come.”
“Well, if you really need me, honey, what can I say? Sure I’ll come. I miss you too and anyway I’m sick of American men. Have some nice guys lined up for me.” She was laughing her husky laugh again as she rang off.
Taylor was over the moon. This was just what she needed to brighten up her life. Marilyn was such fun. She was outrageous. The matrons of Paris better watch out and lock up their menfolk! With Marilyn around anything was likely to happen.
They’d become friends as teenagers, both thrilled to have landed a job in Saks and both on the lookout for a rich husband. Marilyn had found four. Her boredom threshold was low and no husband had lasted more than five years. They’d kept in touch throughout and Taylor was now looking forward to having her visit. Giggling, she mixed herself another martini before going online to check for flights.
Ashling didn’t make it to Les Deux Magots on Monday as she had a lot of cleaning up to do after the party and then on Tuesday she went with Felicity to the Musée d’Orsay. They loved all the Impressionist paintings and had settled into an easy friendship.
As they walked along the Seine to the bistro they’d spotted earlier, Felicity confided, “I have to call my mother tonight and I’m dreading it.”
“Is she really so bad?” Ashling asked.
“She’s worse.” Felicity made a face. “It sounds crazy, I know, but she intimidates me so much that
I end up a nervous wreck in her presence and that drives her ballistic. I just can’t seem to say or do anything right when she’s around,” she sighed.
Ashling couldn’t even imagine how that could be possible. She had such a warm, loving relationship with her mother and couldn’t wait for her to come and visit. She rang her at least twice a week and loved talking to her. She felt sorry for poor Felicity. Her mother sounded like a dragon.
“Maybe you should just stand up to her. You know, she’ll probably admire that. She probably hates you being so submissive.”
“Yes, probably,” Felicity said, without much conviction, as they arrived at the bistro.
They ordered and settled down to their lunch.
“You look wonderful, Ashling,” Felicity remarked admiringly. “I can see you’ve lost more weight and your new hairstyle really suits you.”
“Thanks. I’m delighted with what I’ve lost and also with my new hairdo. It has given me a boost.”
“I know what you mean. I wish I could look smarter,” Felicity confided, patting her mousy hair.
“A new hairstyle would do wonders for you, you know,” Ashling suggested gently, conscious that she was now stepping into the role Sophie had played in her own case. “Why don’t you let me make an appointment for you with Odette, the girl who did my hair?”
“Oh, would you? That would be wonderful,” Felicity’s eyes were shining. “I’m always overwhelmed by these smart salons.”
“No need to be, she’s really sweet and I’ll come with you,” Ashling reassured her, delighted that Felicity had agreed to go. Once she got her inside the salon she’d make sure that her friend got the whole works. She was determined to make the appointment for as soon as possible.
Felicity finally screwed up the courage to ring her mother after she’d had two gin and tonics.
“Hello, Mummy,” she started.
“This must be you, Felicity,” her mother barked. “You know I don’t want to be called ‘Mummy’. For God’s sake, my name is Georgina. Can’t you manage that?”
Instantly, Felicity found herself like a terrified child again. “Sorry, Mum . . . eh . . . Georgina,” she mumbled. She would never get used to calling her mother by that name. “How are you and how’s Father?” She could never call her father Nigel either and she knew he wouldn’t want her to.
“Nigel’s fine,” her mother dismissed him with a sniff. “And how are you getting on with those dreadful French people? Have you seen sense and decided to come back to civilisation?”
Listening to her mother, Felicity began to realise why she herself was so bigoted against other nationalities. She’d been raised with these blinkered ideas. God, her mother would have a fit if she knew that her best friend was Irish! This thought almost made her giggle. Somehow that gave her the courage to reply; “Actually, Georgina, I’m quite enjoying it here. The French are surprisingly civilised.”
She heard her mother’s sharp intake of breath and sensed her disbelief. She continued quickly before her mother could start a tirade.
“Actually, the reason I’m ringing is because we’re coming back to the UK next weekend to collect the girls and I thought we might visit you and Father on Saturday.”
“Felicity, you know Saturdays are very busy for me. I can fit you in on Sunday morning.”
The familiar haughty tone boomed across the line. Years of her mother’s dominance and her own acquiescence almost made Felicity agree. Then she remembered Ashling’s advice.
“Sorry, Georgina, but that doesn’t suit me. We’re taking the girls out on Sunday to Lulworth Castle and heading straight back to Paris from there. Well, don’t worry. Maybe we’ll catch up next time I’m home. Love to Dad. Byeee!”
She hung up before her mother could say another word and perhaps reduce her to a quivering jelly, as she so often did. Felicity’s hands were shaking and clammy as she replaced the phone on its stand. She couldn’t believe what she’d just done. She’d stood up to her mother, on her own, for the first time in her life. She let out a whoop of joy and punched the air, whirling around just as Maxwell came through the door.
“What the hell?” he exclaimed, totally taken aback to see Felicity behaving in this way.
“I did it, I did it!” she cried exultantly. “I stood up to my mother – excuse me, Georgina – and it feels great!” She punched the air once more.
He laughed, delighted and happy. “Well, it’s about bloody time, is all I can say,” he said, hugging her.
“It feels great,” she admitted, a little more subdued. “I feel a great release all of a sudden, like I’m free.”
“You always have been, sweetheart,” he said. “You just never had the courage to see that.” He kissed her then and she felt safe and secure and most of all, loved just for herself.
Meanwhile, Georgina stood looking at the phone unable to believe what had just happened.
“I don’t believe it,” she said aloud.
“Don’t believe what, dear?” her husband Nigel, who had entered the room, enquired.
“Felicity hung up on me.”
“Surely not. Felicity would never do that.”
“That’s what I thought too but she just did.” Her aristocratic, plummy voice was full of dismay and disbelief.
“Did you upset her?” her husband asked uneasily.
“Of course not,” she snapped back at him. “I told her I wasn’t free for her to visit on Saturday and that I would see her on Sunday morning instead, but she said she wasn’t free then. And then she hung up, just like that. Can you believe it?” Her voice was filled with awe, then fury. “How dare she!”
Nigel hid a smile, wary of being caught up in this battle his wife had waged on his gentle daughter since forever. Felicity had been such a sweet child, always anxious to please, but of course nothing she could ever have done would have pleased Georgina. He wished he could have protected her from her mother’s wrath but he had been equally intimidated by his domineering wife. He often felt that he’d failed his daughter. She’d always been timid and nervous and became more so with each year that passed. This had infuriated Georgina even further.
He had been happy when, for the first time in her life, Felicity had defied her mother and insisted on marrying Max. It was a good marriage but Felicity’s confidence had not improved very much. She’d been too browbeaten by her mother who still had her at her beck and call.
He had hoped that a year in Paris, away from her mother’s influence, would help his daughter to gain in confidence and stand on her own two feet. And now it looked as though that may very well have happened. As Georgina banged and stalked around the kitchen, he prayed that Felicity had found the strength, as he never had, to finally stand up to her mother.
Jazz spent the days counting down the hours, and finally the minutes, until she would meet with Yves. Time had never seemed to go so slowly but eventually the hour had come and it was with a mixture of apprehension and excitement that she entered the bar where he had suggested they meet. It was just around the corner from her apartment.
He was waiting for her and her heart soared when he took her in his arms and kissed her. She knew then that whatever he might say to her, she would not be able to resist him for long. It was as if it was completely outside her control. He had a bottle of champagne on ice and as she sipped it his hand was in contact with her body all the time, caressing first her back and then her thigh. She was waiting for him to mention their previous affair but he didn’t. In fact she couldn’t remember afterwards what he’d said to her, she’d been in such a state of excitement and arousal, and more than a little nervous. It was obvious that he was very nervous too.
They finished the champagne and, taking her by the hand, he whispered, “Come!”
They left the bar and walked until they reached – “Oh God, I don’t believe it,” Jazz murmured. He does remember, she thought. It was the Hôtel de Lutèce where he had first brought her as a twenty-one-year old. She was touched. Entering t
he lobby, she had a sense of déjà-vu. It looked shabbier than she remembered but then in those days she’d thought it was paradise. God, she’d loved him so much. She was surprised that he had a key and didn’t have to check in. She felt like a wanton woman as she followed him up the stairs and couldn’t wait for what she knew would be a magical reunion.
It was the same room and pretty much as she remembered, but it seemed much smaller. As soon as he closed the door she was in his arms and then they were kissing, panting and pulling off each other’s clothes. Falling on the bed, they clung to each other.
“Jazz, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he whispered in her ear, in between kisses. “I’ve never seen a more voluptuous body. You drive me crazy with desire.”
Caressing her gently and kissing her all over, he finally entered her and it was every bit as good as before. He was as accomplished a lover as she remembered.
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he whispered in her ear, his tongue nuzzling it, giving her a delicious sensation. “I’ve never been with a woman like you before.”
Her heart plummeted. Had she misheard him? No, she had not – and such a statement could only mean one thing . . .
As she lay there she tried to come to terms with the fact that he didn’t remember her at all. How was that possible? She couldn’t believe it. He had been her life for nine months and it had taken her years to get over him. In fact, she suspected now that she never had. I know I should get up and leave, she thought, as a tear slid out of the corner of her eye, but somehow she couldn’t. She was ashamed of her weakness and when he started to make love to her again, all her scruples were forgotten.
Many hours later they said goodbye, clinging on to each other.
“I’ll be counting the hours till we meet again,” he said.
A Year Like No Other Page 13