by Julia Anders
"But now, distasteful as the idea of subterfuge is, the imperative thing is to get Tonio back in England, at Longridge where he belongs. The D'Allasios are not the right ones to bring the boy up, believe me, Lynne."
What a good executive he is, she was thinking, cutting right to the matter of Tonio's needs, and not trying to tempt me with talking about how I'll benefit from the arrangement. Madelaine has doubtless told him I feel guilty and uncomfortable about going through a pseudo-marriage in order to trick an Italian court, so he's not even mentioning that if I go along with this, it will mean a new start for me, a new life. He knows I'm fond of the boy and want what's best for him.
"After we have him home," Jason said confidently (she noted it was not if, but when) "you are the perfect choice to help him bridge the gap. You can teach him English, prepare him for school. Once he's in school making friends with the other boys his age, he'll do fine, don't you agree? So if you could stay on for a while—"
She felt a surge of annoyance. There he was, manipulating her. If you could stay on for a while. She hadn't even agreed to the first part of the plan.
The waiter brought their Dover sole, perfectly grilled, with a delicate shrimp sauce. Jason applied himself to the food, not mentioning Tonio again. Through the fish and well into the roast beef, he spoke only of impersonal matters, the resignation of an MP, the Queen's visit to Scotland, the ugliness of a new high-rise office building.
But all the time the question lay between them, stretching Lynne's emotions tighter and tighter until suddenly, almost without premeditation, she gasped, "All right, I'll do it."
He laid down his knife and fork and sat back looking at her. He raised his wine glass. "To a successful venture, Lynne, for both of us."
She picked up her glass but she couldn't taste the wine. It was surely the strangest engagement toast any girl had ever had.
To a successful venture.
They had agreed that the quietest possible ceremony was the proper way to do it, with only Madelaine Cheney and Darren Lloyd as witnesses. "A quiet wedding won't be thought odd with my brother so recently dead."
It was to take place as soon as it could be arranged, so they met only once more beforehand. "I'll give you a cheque for your trousseau," he said.
"You've already bought my trouseau, J-Jason"— she stumbled over using his Christian name—"before I came down to Longridge."
He started to object, but seeing the stubborn set of her mouth, he subsided. "Well, you can shop in Paris, then. That might be more fun for you anyway."
"Paris?" she asked, surprised.
"Yes, we're going to drive to Florence—on our honeymoon tour. I think it would look rather suspicious if we suddenly married and descended immediately on the D'Allasios, don't you? I'm cabling them about our marriage, telling them we're touring the continent and hope to visit them and Tonio en route."
"You think of everything, don't you?" she said slowly.
"Not quite. I nearly forgot to give you this." He took a small blue velvet box from his pocket and opened it.
It held a perfect, emerald-cut diamond ring, the stone set simply in platinum with no adornment. "I thought a plain stone would be easier for you to have reset later," he explained, "if you should like to have it made into a dinner ring perhaps."
Her eyes misted. It was hardly the moment a girl dreamed of, receiving her engagement ring—a breathtakingly beautiful ring, too, just what she would have chosen—and all the while being told it had been selected because it would be easy to reset when the marriage was over.
As if she'd keep it afterward! Let him get it reset himself—for Justine.
Why had she let herself get involved in this deception? It was all wrong. If, sometime in the distant future, she should fall in love with someone who loved her, and marry, some of the beauty of it would be spoilt because of this. She had already had an engagement toast ("To a successful venture") and now she had been given a ring. No other ring would be as beautiful as this, and yet this one meant nothing.
The tears in her eyes refracted the lights of the facets on the diamond, splintering them into tiny points of green, blue, and gold, each sharp enough to pierce her heart.
When he saw that she was not going to take it out of the box, he did so himself and slid it on her finger. If only it had been too large or too small, she thought in wild, unreasonable protest. Why did he always have to be so inhumanly efficient?
Before she went to pieces completely, she fled.
The day before the ceremony Madelaine Cheney came to her flat. "I'm bringing you a wedding gift from Mr. Corey," she had said on the phone. What in the world now? Lynne had thought. She was no bride in the true sense of the word, and surely she'd made it clear she wasn't out to get more than their agreement had called for, which was merely the money to pay back Uncle Simon, and afterward to get started in a teaching career, with living expenses in between. So why was he sending her a bridal gift?
When she opened the door to Madelaine, she saw that Johnson, Jason's chauffeur, was standing behind her on the landing.
"Put them inside, Johnson," Madelaine directed, "and then you can go. I'll be staying on for a bit."
Johnson carried in several huge parcels and a smaller one. After setting them down and wishing her a good day, he left.
Lynne looked at them in perplexity and finally, at Madelaine's urging, started stripping the paper from one of them. It proved to be a magnificent piece of blue leather luggage, the other parcels containing matching pieces.
"Oh, dear, they must have cost the earth! They are lovely. I suppose you chose them."
"As a matter of fact, I didn't," Madelaine said. "I'm only delivering them. I was coming to see you anyway because I have a little gift for you myself." She put a beautifully wrapped, flat white box in Lynne's hands.
"Oh, Madelaine," Lynne cried. "I wish everyone wouldn't keep treating me like a bride, instead of like a partner in a business arrangement. It makes me feel so—so dishonest."
"There you go being tiresome again," Madelaine said briskly. "Where does it say business can't be enjoyable?"
Lynne untied the white satin bow but, before she could lift the lid of the box, Madelaine laid her hand on it. "Before you open it and start protesting, let me say at once that it's intended for the benefit of the hotel waiters."
"What?" Lynne said, puzzled. She opened the box to reveal the loveliest negligee she had ever seen, chiffon in a pattern of misty swirls of blue, lavender, and turquoise. She gasped in delight, but then her eyes flew to Madelaine's in dismay.
Madelaine turned back a fold of the chiffon. "You. see? It's lined. Fully opaque. High necked. So it's quite proper. I didn't know if you had thought about it, but in France and Italy the hotels are seldom prepared for people coming down to breakfast. They expect to bring a tray to your room. And I thought that brown robe we chose for you to take to Long-ridge was just too utilitarian for a bride to wear. You don't want waiters all over the continent thinking Mr. Corey has a drab and dreary bride, do you? But this is not at all revealing, so it's very proper," she said emphatically.
Lynne laughed. "I know you're making fun of me, and you're right. I guess I have been acting like a prig. You're a dear to give me such a beautiful gift. I don't know how to thank you."
"Don't try. Perhaps someday you'll be able to do something that will—gratify me highly," Madelaine said.
Lynne was puzzled, wondering what she could mean, but then she forgot all about it as she discovered that with the negligee was a nightgown of matching chiffon. She held up the soft transparent wisp of color, saying mischievously, "I suppose this is perfectly proper, too?"
"Well, they came as a set." Madelaine had a twinkle in her eye. "And you don't need to let anyone see you in it—unless you want to."
The next day dawned fine and clear.
It had been a point of pride with Lynne to buy her own dress for the wedding ceremony and the flight to Paris. She had felt horribly extravagant,
but traveling with Jason would be first class all the way, she knew, and she didn't want him to be ashamed of her. She had used her last salary cheque and her small emergency fund to buy her outfit.
She wore a raw silk suit dress with a soft cowl neckline in an apricot shade which lent a becoming bloom to her complexion and brought out the golden glints in her ash-blond hair.
She saw in Jason's eyes that he approved of her appearance. He gave her white orchids, the first she had ever had, and if her hand was trembling as he slipped the plain platinum band on her third finger, he took no notice.
After the simple ceremony, the wedding party adjourned for a festive luncheon. Darren kept up a flow of light conversation and Lynne smiled and nodded at appropriate times, trying not to let her inner turmoil show.
Darren drove them to Heathrow. Johnson would drive one of Jason's cars to the ferry at Calais and deliver it to Paris in a few days, but Jason had thought the flight over would be less fatiguing for Lynne. She thought wryly that it might be all too easy to become accustomed to such luxuries if she didn't keep firmly in mind that this was only a brief interlude in her life.
There were clouds beneath them as they crossed the channel. It added to Lynne's sense of unreality to be suspended between a bright blue sky above and a blanket of white clouds below.
When they began their descent and plunged into the cloud cover, Lynne found it so alarming that she closed her eyes, but soon Jason touched her arm and said, "Any minute now you'll have your first glimpse of Paris."
Sure enough, the clouds began to thin; she could see occasional dark patches below, and then only shreds of white, and suddenly there was the city, off on the horizon. She could see the Eiffel Tower, like a tiny toy, and she caught her breath. She did not realize it at first, but she had reached out instinctively and caught Jason's hand.
He held it firmly in his until the plane touched down.
With his customary efficiency, Jason got them through customs, and had their luggage collected and loaded into a taxi.
The outskirts of the city were somewhat disappointing; they could have been the suburbs of any large city. But once they were in the old part of town, Lynne gazed with delight on the wide avenues, the huge trees, the mellow creamy stones of the buildings.
Their hotel was on the Rue de Rivoli. As Jason helped her out of the taxi he said, "The park across the street is the Tuileries Gardens, and just over there is the Louvre."
Jason checked them in and when the desk clerk said, "I hope you have a pleasant stay, Madame," she tried not to look startled. It was the first time she'd been called Madame. Mrs. Corey. Mrs. Jason Corey. What an improbable sound it had.
One uniformed porter took them up in the lift; another would follow with the luggage. Their suite had two bedrooms. The first was large, light, and airy with a huge carved wardrobe and a delightful antique desk in front of one window.
"Would you like this room?" Jason asked.
"It's lovely," she said, but then she glanced into the second bedroom and saw that, while it was smaller and had only one window, the bed was an antique-style four poster with gold brocade curtains. "Oh, could I have this one please? When I was a child I used to dream of sleeping in a bed like that—like a princess. I'll feel like Catherine de Medici!"
He laughed aloud. She looked at him quickly, but he did not seem to be making fun of her. "What is it?" she asked. "You look so pleased."
"Do you realize," he said, "that that is the first thing you've ever asked of me? Usually it's 'No, Jason, I don't need that,' or 'Whatever you'd like, Jason.' This is really a milestone—the first time you've shown a preference."
She was silent, thinking about what he had said, and he added, "I like being able to do something to please you."
She was filled with dismay. He had done many thoughtful things; had she seemed so ungrateful, then? She started to speak but then the man arrived with the luggage and the moment was lost.
"I'll give you twenty minutes to unpack and freshen up and then we'll go out for dinner. Don't change. You look perfect just as you are."
As the taxi drew up to the restaurant he had chosen, he said, "I thought we'd save the grand luxe restaurants for later. This little one happens to be a special favorite of mine."
And no wonder, she thought. It was small and cozy, the linen snowy, the service perfect. "The pate maison is excellent here," he said. She found he was right. Everything was delicious. He ordered champagne and this time the toast he proposed was "To your happiness, Lynne."
"And to yours, Jason," she said, feeling very touched.
After the leisurely meal he asked, "Are you too tired to walk a bit?"
"No, I'd like that."
She was surprised then when he hailed a taxi, but the direction he gave to the driver was "Place de la Concorde."
"I thought it would be pleasant to walk around the square," he explained to Lynne.
"I must have seen a thousand pictures of Cleopatra's Needle," she said as they stood at its base looking up at it, "but it's impossible to realize how impressive it is, how huge this whole plaza is, until you see it."
"I wanted you to see it first at night," he said. "The Parisians have lit this city so beautifully. Notre Dame at night is another must."
They circled the place, then walked slowly back to the hotel under the arcade of the Rue de Rivoli.
When they reached their suite, Lynne had anticipated an awkward moment, but in a matter-of-fact way Jason asked what time she'd like breakfast sent up. "Good night, then, Catherine de Medici; sweet dreams in your regal bed."
She laughed and went into her room, not feeling embarrassed after all.
Still, she thought, after she had bathed and brushed her hair and put on the gown that had been Madelaine's gift to her, still it was a very strange wedding night. Paris, illuminated with its soft white lights, was magnificent for anyone. What must it be like to share it with someone you loved—on a real honeymoon?
CHAPTER SIX
Lynne awoke, rested and refreshed, ten minutes before the breakfast tray was due. She could not remember having any dreams at all, regal or otherwise.
She splashed cold water on her face, brushed her touseled hair into shape, and took the new negligee off its hanger. Suddenly she was glad to have something pretty to wear. Paris was too beautiful to greet in the morning looking drab. She giggled to herself at the irrationality of the thought.
She heard the door buzzer from the hallway, and then Jason knocked on her door. She opened it to find the waiter putting the tray on the little antique desk. Jason drew up two chairs.
"Oh, Jason, I didn't realize—you can see the Eiffel Tower from this window. Imagine, the Eiffel Tower! How can it look so absurd and so pretty at the same time?"
"Distance lends enchantment," he said in an amused tone. "Well, what shall it be today, sightseeing or shopping?"
"Oh, sightseeing, please."
"Now, how did I know you were going to say that?" he teased.
"Well… I've shopped before, but I've never gone sightseeing in Paris."
"Ah, but you've never shopped in Paris either. Caught you that time."
"Touché. However, could we possibly take one of those little boats on the Seine? It's so sunny today, and who knows, it might rain tomorrow."
"The vedettes? Yes, of course. They have larger boats that serve dinner, if you'd like to do that one night. I've never tried it, so I can't vouch for the food, but the boats look very romantic gliding along all lit up. Would you like to go up the Eiffel Tower, by the way?"
"Oh, Jason, I'd rather not. I'm sure you're right about distance lending enchantment. I should think all that bare steel would be ugly close up. Besides, I'm a terrible coward about heights."
She tried one of the croissants. "Mmm, delicious."
"Let's see what we have in the way of jams," he said, peering at the little individual glass pots and reading from the labels. "Fraise, framboise, cerise."
"Framboise, please
."
"Ah, the perfect traveling companion, who leaves the fraise for me," he said, spreading strawberry jam on his croissant.
It was strange, she thought, but he was a good traveling companion, too. He was knowledgable, eager to please her, and yet at the same time tactfully impersonal. She felt grateful to him for making this so much easier than she had feared. He was not being the arrogant man of business that she had first disliked. Nor was he allowing her to feel any embarrassment over the intimacy of their situation. It was as if they were merely a pair of friends off on holiday.
The next few days were a kaleidoscope in Lynne's mind. They wandered through the picturesque streets of Montmartre and visited the Sacre Coeur. They went to the dome of the Invalides in which Napoleon's great porphyry sarcophagus lay enshrined. They visited the book stalls across from Notre Dame and spent an afternoon in the cathedral. Lynne felt as if she were drowning in the glorious light streaming through the magnificent stained-glass windows.
On the way back to the hotel she said, "I've been walking your legs off and you've seen all these things before. You must be tired and bored to death."
"A person would have to be quite blasé to be bored by Paris," he told her. "Besides, when you see it through the eyes of another person, it's fresh and new all over again."
As they stopped for the room key, the desk clerk handed Jason a message. He glanced at it; his face changed and he folded it quickly.
"Bad news?" she asked.
"No, just business. I'm going to have to call London. Maybe you'd like to go to that little terrasse around the corner and have coffee or a citron presse. I'll join you when I can."
"Of course," she said instantly.
Sipping the cool, sweet citron, she thought that whatever the call was, he didn't want to chance having her overhear from her bedroom. Could it have been Justine calling? It would hardly be remarkable if she wanted to keep tabs on him. It must be infuriating for her to have her fiancé off on a honeymoon with another woman—no matter how platonic the honeymoon was. Well, she needn't worry about Lynne poaching on her territory. This was a business arrangement, but as Madelaine had said, there was no reason business couldn't have its pleasant side. The unpleasant part would come later, when they met with the D'Allasios and had to resort to subterfuge to convince them that they were a happily married couple.