A Perfect Life: A Novel

by Danielle Steel

  The two airline officials left her at her seat, and the purser on the flight took over, offering her magazines, newspapers, and champagne, and she declined all of it politely, and took out her research, to prepare for the interview the next day. She had brought her own cashmere blanket and a small pillow and continued reading after they took off. She declined the meal, but asked for a cup of tea. She didn’t like eating on late-night flights, and never understood how people could, but she supposed that people felt they had paid for it and wanted their money’s worth. Blaise preferred sleep to indigestion. And when she finished reading, she turned off her light, had the steward turn her seat into a bed, which was why she traveled first class, put on a sleep mask, and was asleep in five minutes, with her cashmere blanket around her. She had asked them to wake her up, half an hour before they landed, so she could brush her teeth and comb her hair and have a cup of tea before the descent. She was being met by a VIP escort from British Air and airport security to get her through customs quickly. She had no time to waste, and the driver from Claridge’s would be at the airport. She glanced out at the British countryside as she drank her tea. And it all went like clockwork when they landed.

  She was in the car from Claridge’s within twenty minutes, and at the hotel forty-five minutes later. She had an hour to bathe and dress, send e-mails, make some notes, and get to Downing Street for the interview. The cameraman was meeting her there. And as soon as she checked into the hotel, they took her to the familiar suite she always requested. It had pale yellow walls and flowered chintz furniture, and looked like a guest room in an English country home to Blaise, and she loved it. She ate a quick breakfast, although it was lunchtime in London by then, but she never suffered from jet lag, which made traveling easy for her. She looked fresh as the proverbial daisy when she arrived at Downing Street, where the cameraman and crew were waiting in a van with all their equipment. He had identified himself to the guards outside, and they were expecting Blaise.

  Three secretaries helped them set up in a pretty sitting room, and by the time the prime minister joined them, promptly and on schedule, they were ready, and Blaise glided into the interview with ease. She found the prime minister extremely astute and charming and very witty. He fielded her questions nicely with a twinkle in his eye, and answered fully those he liked better. It was an excellent game of verbal Ping-Pong, and they were evenly matched. He liked her, had been looking forward to meeting her, and he had been told she was a very clever woman, and he wasn’t disappointed. But he answered enough questions in depth, and with seeming sincerity and candor, that the interview was a success for her. She had gotten what she came for, a glimpse behind the mask of the new prime minister. The interview felt warm and personal, and she had put him at ease. And he enjoyed her enough, and admired her, to answer questions he might not have otherwise, which was what always happened with her subjects. And when he asked her what she was doing next, when the camera was no longer rolling, she told him about the interview in Dubai the next day, and he grinned broadly.

  “Now that’s an interview I’d like to see. He’s a much more interesting subject.”

  “More controversial perhaps,” Blaise said with a gleam in her own eye, “but surely not as interesting, or charming.” She thanked him for the interview then, wished him luck in his endeavors, and they both walked away feeling they had made a friend, which happened to her often. Blaise was very good at what she did, and all her subjects, the men anyway, fell just a little bit in love with her. She came to life on camera as she did nowhere else. And she went back to the hotel, pleased with the interview, and knowing Charlie would be delighted. The prime minister had been an excellent subject.

  She had just enough time at the hotel to change her clothes again, put on something more comfortable, relax for a few hours, take a walk down New Bond Street in the crisp October air, order a quick meal when she got back to the hotel, and leave for the airport again, for the flight to Dubai. It was almost the same length as the flight the night before from New York to London, about forty-five minutes shorter, and she was planning to sleep so she’d be fresh when she arrived. She couldn’t afford to be slow or sluggish or dull-witted for the Saudi prince. He was known to be sly and adept at avoiding key questions. She knew she’d have to be at her best for him, and she went to sleep the moment she got on the plane. And as she requested, they woke her up right before they landed.

  There was VIP escort service for her again, a Rolls-Royce Phantom limousine with a liveried driver, and she was taken to the Burj al Arab Hotel. She only stayed at the best hotels when she traveled, particularly in foreign cities, which was in her contract. And they had to provide her limousines everywhere. She had been doing this for twenty-five years, and she had earned it. She took it for granted now, as part of the landscape for her.

  She had been to Dubai before, and she was impressed to see that they had put up even more modern structures since the last time she’d been there, and the hotel where she was staying looked palatial. The suite they gave her was one of the largest and most opulent she’d ever seen, and she had her own butler. There was a helipad for arriving guests. Her interview was scheduled for nine o’clock that night, and she took the opportunity to take a drive around the city with her driver in the Rolls, while he pointed out the sights to her, and it was very impressive, although it was a place she wouldn’t have chosen to come to on her own. But in the context she was seeing it, as a location for an interview, she found it fascinating. And when she got back to her hotel, she had new questions in mind to ask him. She knew that her subject normally lived in Riyadh, but due to the restrictions on women in his city, he had agreed to meet her in Dubai, when he had to go there on business. It was the most liberal of the Arab cities.

  She wore a long sleeved, high-necked, somber but chic black dress as she waited for him to come to her suite, in the living room, where the cameras had been set up. And she looked respectful and subdued, as was fitting. He was actually younger than she was, and she knew he had a somewhat racy reputation when he traveled, with a keen eye for young women, but she had a feeling that he would be more circumspect here, and with her.

  Blaise wasn’t disappointed when she met Mohamed bin Sabur. He came to her suite in an exquisitely cut English suit, made by his tailor in London, and impeccably shined John Lobb shoes from Paris. He was dark and had jet-black hair and a mustache, and he was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. He was thirty-five years old and looked younger, and if she had been less serious about her work, she would have been tempted to flirt with him. Instead they sparred for two hours in the interview. He was clever and amusing and had a great sense of humor. He had been schooled in England.

  For the first hour he dodged most of her questions, but she had anticipated that and had saved the important ones for later, hoping to wear him down and surprise him. And she even dared to ask him about his brother, the alleged terrorist, and he laughed out loud when she asked the question.

  “What an interesting reputation my brother has,” he said easily, without embarrassment. “The only one he terrorizes is me. He beat me up regularly when we were boys, quite mercilessly. And now he charms away all my women. He’s a devilishly handsome man.” He had slipped right through her question with ease.

  “So are you,” Blaise said with the smile that she had been famous for since her youth in television. She was an even match for him.

  “Thank you, Miss McCarthy.” She asked him several more pointed questions then, about oil in the Middle East, and his business in the United States. He answered cautiously but seemed to be sincere, to a point. He was no fool, and he told her nothing he didn’t want said on TV. He was just guarded enough, and just open enough, to make the interview fascinating to their viewers. And he was an incredibly seductive man, with an air of mystery about him. And from his playful answer, she surmised that his brother probably was exactly what was said about him, a terrorist of some kind, but she knew enough not to press the point. And
she drew the interview to an elegant close. He bowed when it was over, and thanked her, and then surprised her totally by pulling a small box out of his pocket and handing her a gift. She was stunned. No interview subject had ever done that before, although a few had sent presents to her afterward, but it was rare, except when they established genuine friendships. This, she knew, was just part of his charm. She opened it while he watched her, and found a gold bangle bracelet from Cartier with small diamond studs on it. It was an extremely generous gift from a very handsome man, and she was touched and flattered.

  “Thank you for a most enjoyable evening,” he said to her. “I was wondering if you would be kind enough to join me for dinner?” She hadn’t expected that either, but Blaise had always been adventuresome, and she accepted without hesitation, and he was pleased. It was nearly midnight, but they were both exhilarated by the interview and wide awake.

  He took her to one of the finest restaurants in Dubai, Pierre Gagnair’s Riflets, in his Ferrari, and she felt totally at ease with him. Whatever his reputation with women, he was also very much a gentleman, and extremely sophisticated and civilized. He spent considerable time in Paris and London every month, with frequent trips to New York on business. She had fun with him. He seemed very taken with her, and she was intrigued by him. She had a strong sense that whatever she was seeing was what he wanted to show her, and who he really was remained well hidden. But what she did see was entirely likable. She wore his bracelet on her wrist all evening, and when she thanked him sincerely for both the gift and the evening, he thanked her for the interview again. She promised to send it to him on a DVD after it ran, and she hoped he’d be pleased.

  “May I call you when I’m next in New York?” he asked politely, and she smiled at him.

  “I’d like that very much,” she said warmly, but she was sure he never would. She wasn’t nearly racy enough for him, and it was unlikely that they’d become friends. But he had made her brief stay in Dubai a lot more fun, and she had a sense of adventure as she went back to her suite, and looked at the bracelet again. She wrote him a note of heartfelt thanks to send the next morning before she left. He had been generous and cooperative and kind, as well as interesting as a subject. Her trip to Dubai to interview him had been well worth it, and a total success, which wasn’t always the case.

  She sent what they had to Charlie by computer, and he called her two hours later.

  “My God, Blaise, what did you do to the guy? You had him eating out of the palm of your hand.” It was even better than he had hoped. Bin Sabur had looked completely smitten with Blaise.

  “Not exactly, and I’m not sure how honest he was with me. Like about his brother, and on a number of other subjects, but he gave a great interview.”

  “You got a great interview out of him. He didn’t just sit there and spill his guts, you pulled it out of him like silk scarves out of a magician’s hat. Lady, you are good.”

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling at the compliment, and even she had to admit it had gone well. She was anxious to see it for herself. “He gave me a diamond bracelet too, from Cartier,” she said with a giggle.

  “Did you sleep with him?” Charlie sounded shocked, and worried. He didn’t want her getting arrested for something she shouldn’t do, but Blaise was too smart for that.

  “Of course not. It was a gift to thank me for the interview, when it was over. He’s actually a nice guy, and very flirtatious. I let him take me to dinner. And after that I came back to my room.”

  “Well, lock your door in case he shows up tonight. He looked like he wanted more on the feed I just saw. Guys don’t give diamond bracelets for nothing.”

  “Guys in the States expect to get laid if they feed you dinner. At least here they hand out diamond bracelets. It’s a better deal,” she teased, but she was in good spirits. She had had fun with him, and he made her feel young and sexy again. Not having a man in her life for four years since Andrew made her feel as though she were no longer a woman at times, and wonder if she ever would be again.

  “Just be careful until you leave. I don’t want to have to get you out of jail, if you break any laws. Or look for you in Riyadh if he kidnaps you.”

  “He won’t. He admitted on camera tonight that he has three wives, and I’m older than he is, by about ten years.”

  “So? That didn’t seem to be slowing him down, neither your age nor his wives. Besides, I think they’re allowed three or four, or five.”

  “Don’t worry, Charlie, I’ll be home tomorrow. And this was good for him too. It gives him great PR in the States. It was a win-win for us both, and I got a diamond bracelet on top of it. I’d say Dubai was a success.”

  “Just get your ass home. I’ll feel better when you’re back in New York.” She would too, but she had enjoyed it and was pleased it had gone well. As it often was in the life she led, interviewing fascinating subjects, it was more than just work. Sometimes it was magic, when it clicked. And it had. Perfectly.

  She didn’t hear from Mohamed bin Sabur again before she left, and she left her thank you note to him at the front desk to be delivered to his hotel, and she caught her flight back to New York. She felt a little bit like Cinderella after the ball. But instead of losing a slipper, she had a beautiful Cartier bracelet on her wrist and smiled every time she looked at it on the way home. She arrived in New York after the fourteen-and-a-half-hour flight, and she was back in her apartment three days after she had left. And both interviews looked fantastic when she saw them at work the next day. All of her producers were thrilled. It had gone particularly well. And Charlie made sure he checked out the bracelet when he saw her and looked impressed.

  “I’ll bet you hear from him when he’s in New York.”

  “I doubt it. Saudi men just give very generous gifts. Believe me, it doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “I gave my wife a Cuisinart for our tenth anniversary,” Charlie said, looking at her. “I didn’t give her a bracelet like that.” She laughed.

  “That’s why I’m not married anymore. I’d rather buy my own Cuisinart. You’re not supposed to give household appliances, Charlie, after ten years.”

  “She likes to cook,” he said, looking miffed.

  Blaise’s first day back went well, but the time differences caught up with her that night. She went to bed at eight o’clock and fell asleep in five minutes, and she was up at five the next morning, in time to see the sun rise, as she went over some research for interviews she was doing the following week. She was still thinking about going to California to cover the UCLA shooting, but the story seemed a little cold now. Pat Olden was still in a coma, and the doctors were no longer sure he’d come out of it, nor what his brain function would be if he did. It was tragic but not necessarily newsworthy anymore, it was just sad.

  And as she sat in her kitchen reading the newspaper online at seven, she thought of visiting Salima at school. She had said she might, and she wanted to see her.

  She had no plans for the weekend and she had the time. She looked at her watch and decided to do it. She was wide awake for the three-hour drive to Springfield, Massachusetts. She could be there by ten o’clock that morning, spend the day with Salima, and come home that night, which was what she usually did. There was a bed and breakfast near the school, where Blaise occasionally spent the night, but she preferred coming home to her own bed, and Salima didn’t mind. They packed so much talking and hugging into a day’s time that one day together seemed like enough to sustain both of them until Blaise came up again.

  She showered and dressed, got her car keys out of her desk, and called the garage to get her car ready. She only used it occasionally on weekends, and to go out to the Hamptons in the summer. Mostly she used it to visit Salima. She was smiling as she left the building. It was a beautiful sunny day, and it had been warm when she got back to New York the day before, in typical Indian summer fashion. She loved this time of year in New York. She could hardly wait to see her, and it was always a pretty trip. She
was feeling happy all the way to the garage, and as she started her car, she noticed the diamond bangle on her wrist again from the handsome Saudi man she had met in Dubai. She remembered what they said about her then, that she led a perfect life. And for once, she had to agree. It really was.

  Chapter 3

  The drive to Springfield was peaceful and beautiful, and by the time she took the turnoff, three hours after she’d left New York, she felt happy and relaxed. Coming here was like going on vacation. It was another world, far from the stresses of New York. And when she came to visit her, she focused on Salima and nothing else.

  She saw the familiar landmarks on the road to Caldwell School, where Salima had spent the last eleven years, and she noticed a new house that had been built, and a church that had been restored. But essentially, nothing ever changed here. Most of the houses had been built a century before. And Blaise turned into the driveway with a sigh, anxious to see Salima. The students lived in cottages of three or four, with a monitor living with them, since they were younger than Salima. The seniors were in two-person cottages. And Salima had the only single small house on the grounds. Blaise had encouraged her to stay on after she graduated. She went to a community college nearby and was driven there every day. Salima came home for vacations, but Blaise felt it was a better life for her here, and Salima agreed. She didn’t want to live in New York anymore. She wanted to stay in the quiet rural community that had been home to her for eleven years. Blaise was hoping she’d stay through college. She was a sophomore now, and the community college she attended was small. It wasn’t challenging enough for her, but it was easy for her to manage. She had considered going to Dartmouth, but didn’t want to live in the dorms. And going to a community college, she could stay at Caldwell. She liked having her own cottage here, and she was getting straight A’s at school, which looked good if she ever transferred. She had gotten great grades and was a diligent student at every age.