Impossible

by Danielle Steel

  “Thank you, darling. I'm relieved to hear it.” She glanced at her watch then. She had promised to meet Arthur at six, and it was already ten after. She loved talking to her son. “I hate to do this, but I promised to meet your father at home ten minutes ago. We're driving out to the Hamptons after dinner.”

  “I figured you would. I just wanted to check in.”

  “I'm glad you did. Anything special planned for this weekend?” She liked knowing what he did, and Tatianna as well, although she checked in less often. She was trying to spread her wings. And she was more likely to call Arthur these days than her mother. Sasha hadn't spoken to her all week.

  “I'm not doing anything. The weather has been disgusting. I thought I'd paint.”

  “Good. I'm flying to Paris on Sunday. I'll call you when I get in. Do you have time to come over and see me this week?”

  “Maybe. I'll talk to you Sunday night. Have a nice weekend. Give Dad my love.”

  “I will. I love you… and tell your friend to keep his pants on next time. You're lucky you didn't both wind up in jail. Causing a riot, or indecent exposure, or having too much fun or something.” Xavier always had a good time wherever he was, and apparently so did his friend Liam. Xavier had mentioned him before, and always said he wanted his mother to see his work. One of these days she would, although there was never enough time. She was always rushing, and when she went to London, she had artists to visit whom she already represented, and wanted to see Xavier. She had told him to tell Liam to send her slides of his work, but he never had, which suggested to her that he was either not serious about it, or didn't feel ready to show it to her. Either way, he sounded like a somewhat outrageous character. She already represented several of those, and wasn't sure she wanted one more, no matter how entertaining Xavier thought he was. It was a lot easier dealing with artists who were serious about their careers, and behaved like grown-ups. Badly behaved nearly forty-year-old men who took their clothes off in public were a headache, and she didn't need one more of those. “I'll talk to you Sunday.”

  “I'll call you in Paris. “Bye, Mom,” Xavier said cheerily, and then hung up, and Sasha smiled as she rushed out of her office. She didn't want to keep Arthur waiting, and she still had to make dinner for them. But it had been wonderful talking to her son.

  She waved at everyone as she left the office in a hurry, and hailed a cab for the short ride to the apartment, still thinking of Xavier. She knew Arthur would be waiting for her, and anxious to leave town. The traffic was always awful on Fridays, though slightly better if they waited until after dinner. The weather had been gorgeous. Even though it was October, it was warm and sunny. She sat back in the cab for a minute, and closed her eyes. It had been a long week, and she was tired.

  The apartment she was going home to was the only thing in their life she felt she had outgrown. They had lived there for twelve years, since they had moved back from Paris, and now that the children were gone, it seemed much too large for them. She kept trying to get Arthur to sell it, and move to a smaller co-op on Fifth Avenue, with a view of the park. But if they were going to move back to Paris when he retired, they had agreed to wait until they firmed up their plans. If they moved to Paris, all they needed was a tiny pied-à-terre in New York. It was one of those rare times in their lives when she felt their life in flux. It had seemed that way to her since Tatianna graduated and moved to her own place. Sasha's life felt empty at times now with the children gone. Arthur teased her about it whenever she said it, and reminded her that she was one of the busiest women in New York, or anywhere else. But she missed the children anyway. They had been an integral and vital part of her life, and she felt sad at times, diminished and less useful now that they were gone. She was grateful that she and Arthur enjoyed traveling and spending time together. If possible, they were even closer now than they had ever been, and even more in love. Twenty-five years had not diminished their love and passion for each other. If anything, familiarity and time had added a bond to them that attached them more and more to each other with age.

  Arthur was waiting for her at the apartment when she got home, and smiled the moment he saw her. He was still wearing the white shirt he had worn to the office, with his sleeves rolled up. His jacket was casually tossed over the back of a chair. He had already put a few things into a bag for the weekend at their house in Southampton. She was planning to toss a salad and put some cold chicken on a plate. They liked leaving after the traffic; it was murder on summer and fall weekends.

  “How was your day?” he asked, planting a kiss somewhere on the top of her head. She wore her dark hair pulled back in a knot, as she had for her entire lifetime. In the Hamptons on the weekends, she wore it down her back in a long braid. She loved wearing old clothes, jeans, tattered sweaters, or faded T-shirts. It was a relief not to have to be dressed as she was in the gallery every day. Arthur loved to play golf and walk on the beach. He had been an avid sailor in his youth, as their children were, and he loved playing tennis with her. Most of the time, on the weekends, she did some gardening, or curled up with a book. She tried not to work on weekends, although she brought papers with her sometimes.

  Like the city apartment, the house in the Hamptons was too large for them now, but it bothered her less there. She could easily imagine grandchildren there one day, and the children often came to stay and brought their friends. The house in the Hamptons always seemed alive to her, perhaps because of their view of the ocean. The apartment in the city seemed lonely and dead to her now.

  “I'm sorry I'm late,” she apologized as she hurried into the kitchen, after kissing him. After all these years, they still loved each other and had fun together. “Xavier called just as I was leaving.”

  “How was he?”

  “A little drunk, I think. He'd been out with some very badly behaved friend.”

  “A woman?” Arthur asked with interest.

  “No. An artist. He took his pants off at the pub.”

  “Xavier took his pants off?” Arthur looked stunned, as Sasha tossed the salad.

  “No, his friend did. Another crazy artist.” She shook her head as she put the chicken on a platter.

  Arthur stood and chatted with her, as she organized dinner for them, and set it on the kitchen table, with linen placemats and napkins, on pretty plates. She enjoyed doing things like that for him, and he always noticed it, and complimented her.

  “That's a mighty full briefcase you brought home, Sasha,” he said, eyeing it as he served himself some salad, looking relaxed and happy. He loved their weekends at the beach. They were sacred to both of them. They never allowed anything to interfere with their weekends, except major illness, or some sort of unavoidable event. Otherwise, every Friday, rain or shine, winter or summer, they were on the road to Southampton by seven P.M.

  “I'm leaving for Paris on Sunday,” she reminded him as they ate their salad, and she served him a piece of the chicken the housekeeper had left for them.

  “I forgot. How long are you staying?”

  “Four days. Maybe five. I'll be home by the weekend.”

  They exchanged the classic patter of people who have been married forever, and were used to each other. Nothing important was said, it was just good to be there together. He told her about someone retiring, a minor business deal that hadn't gone according to plan. She told him about a new artist they'd signed, a very talented young painter from Brazil. And she mentioned that Xavier had said he'd try to come to Paris to see her the following week. He was good about doing that, and made his own schedule, unlike Tatianna, who was at the mercy of the photographer she worked for. Her employer worked long hours, and she liked spending the rest of her time with her friends. But then again, she was two years younger than her brother, and still fighting for her independence.

  “Who's the girl of the week?” Arthur asked with a look of amusement. He knew his son well, as did Sasha. And as she looked over at Arthur with a smile, she noticed, as she often did, how handsome he s
till was. Tall, lean, fit, with chiseled features and a strong chin. She had been in love with him since the moment he walked into her life. More so now than ever, in fact. She knew how lucky she was. Many of her friends in New York were divorced, one or two were widowed, and none of them ever seemed to be able to find a man. They never failed to tell her how lucky she was. She knew it anyway. Arthur had been the love of her life since the day they met.

  “The last time I asked it was some artist's model he met in drawing class.” Sasha grinned. Xavier was famous among his friends and in the family for having a constantly changing chorus line of adoring women at his feet. He was extremely handsome, and a nice person on top of it, and women always found him irresistible. He was equally unable to resist them. “I don't even ask their names anymore,” Sasha said, clearing the table, as her husband smiled admiringly at her. She put their dishes in the dishwasher. They had a low-maintenance life these days, although when the children were still at home, they had had serious dinners together every night. Now he and Sasha ate a light, easy meal at night in the kitchen, which was simpler.

  “I haven't asked Xavier the names of his girlfriends in years.” Arthur laughed at her comment. “Every time I called one of them by name, it turned out he'd had five since then. I know better now.” He went to change into khaki pants, and a comfortable old sweater, and Sasha did the same.

  Twenty minutes later they were ready to leave, and took off in Sasha's station wagon. She still kept it after the kids left, because it was useful to pick up work from young artists. She had some groceries in the back, and a small overnight bag for each of them. They kept their beach clothes in Southampton, so they didn't have to bring much with them. She also had her suitcase for Paris, and the bulging briefcase he had mentioned. She was planning to go to the airport from Southampton on Sunday morning, and would be leaving nearly at dawn, in order to get to Paris at a decent hour in the evening. When she had to, she took the red-eye, but there was nothing pressing, and it made more sense for her to take the day flight, although she hated to miss Sunday with Arthur.

  They were in Southampton at ten o'clock, and Sasha was surprised to realize she was tired. As always, Arthur had done the driving, and she had dozed off on the trip out, and was happy to climb into bed with him before midnight. They sat on the deck before that, and looked at the ocean in the moonlight. The weather was warm and balmy, the night crystal clear. And once in bed, they fell asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow.

  As they so often did at the beach, they made love when they woke up in the morning. Afterward, they lay together and cuddled. Their loving had not suffered from boredom over the years, if anything it had gotten better from familiarity and deep affection. He followed her into the bathroom afterward, and she bathed while he showered. She loved their lazy Southampton mornings. Afterward, they went down to the kitchen together, she made breakfast, and they took a long walk on the beach. It was a glorious day, hot and sunny, with barely even a breeze. It was the first week in October, and fall would put a chill in the air soon, but not just yet. Summer still seemed to be here.

  Arthur took Sasha out to dinner on Saturday at a small Italian restaurant they both loved. They sat on the deck at the house afterward, drinking wine and talking. Life seemed easy and peaceful. They went to bed early that night, as Sasha had to get up early the next morning to go to the airport and catch the flight to Paris. She hated to leave him, but it was an ordinary occurrence in their lives. Leaving him for four or five days was nothing. She snuggled up to him in bed that night, and kept her arms around him, her body pressed close to his as they fell asleep. She had to get up at four, and leave at five, to be at the airport by seven, for a nine A.M. flight. It would land her in Paris at nine P.M. Paris time, and she'd be at their house by eleven at night, local time, and get a decent night's sleep before working the next day.

  When the alarm went off at four, she heard it and turned it off quickly, held Arthur for a long moment, and then got up regretfully. She tiptoed to the bathroom in the dark, and dressed in blue jeans and a black sweater. She wore a comfortable pair of old Hermès loafers that had seen better days. But she had long since stopped dressing fashionably for long flights. Comfort seemed more important. She usually slept on planes. She stood for a long moment and looked at Arthur before she left, and then she bent to kiss him gently on the top of his head, so as not to wake him. He stirred anyway, he always did, and smiled in his sleep. A moment later, he squinted at her through half-closed eyes and his smile grew broader, as he held out a hand and pulled her close to him.

  “I love you, Sash,” he whispered sleepily. “Come home soon. I'll miss you.” He always said things like that, and she loved him all the more for it. She kissed him on the cheek after he said it, and then tucked him in just as she used to do for their children.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep. I'll call you when I get to Paris.” She always did. She knew she'd catch him before he drove back to the city, and wished she could stay there with him.

  It would be nice when he retired and could travel everywhere with her. She liked the idea of that more than ever, as she softly closed the bedroom door behind her, and then walked out of the house. She had called for a cab the night before. The driver was waiting just outside, and hadn't rung the bell, as she'd requested. She told him what airline and which airport, and looked out the window as they drove, smiling to herself. She was well aware of her blessings. She was a lucky woman with a lucky life, a husband she loved who loved her, two children who were terrific, and two galleries that had given her endless joy and a good living all her life. There was nothing more she wanted, or could have. Sasha de Suvery Boardman knew she had it all.

  Chapter 2

  The flight to Paris was uneventful. Sasha had lunch, watched a movie, slept for three hours, and woke up as they landed at Charles de Gaulle airport. She knew most of the attendants on the flight, and the chief purser, and knowing her habits, they left her alone. She was an easy passenger and pleasant person, who drank nothing but water on the flight. She was well versed in what to do to avoid jet lag. She ate lightly, slept, drank water, and went to bed as soon as she got home, and she knew in the morning she'd be fine, and adjusted to the time change. She had been commuting between Paris and New York for twelve years.

  The weather in Paris was cool and rainy. Although it was Indian summer in New York, it was winter here. She had brought a cashmere shawl to put over her jacket when she landed, and as always, a car and driver were waiting for her. They chatted about the weather and the flight on the drive in to Paris, and the house was quiet when she got home. The cleaning woman who came daily during the week had left food in the refrigerator, as she always did. And as soon as Sasha walked in the door, she picked up the phone and called Arthur. It was five in the afternoon for him and he sounded delighted to hear her. He was just closing up the house in Southampton and about to head home.

  “I miss you,” he said, after she reported on the weather in Paris. Sometimes she forgot how depressing the winters were there. “Maybe you should open a gallery in Miami,” he said, teasing. He knew that despite the bad weather, in her heart of hearts she wanted to move back to Paris, and he was willing to do that with her, in the coming year, when he retired. He had enjoyed living there too in the early days of their marriage. He liked both cities. All he cared about was being with her, and he enjoyed sharing life with her.

  “I'm going to Brussels for the day on Tuesday, to see a new artist, and check on one of our old ones,” Sasha mentioned.

  “Just be home for the weekend.” They had plans to go to a birthday party for one of her best friends. The honoree had been widowed the previous year, and was going out with a new man no one seemed to like. She had dated several people in the last year, none of whom was a hit with her friends. Everyone was very fond of her, and hoped the latest new man would vanish soon. Her late husband had been one of Arthur's closest friends, and had died a long, slow death fr
om cancer. He had died at fifty-two, and his widow was the same age. She made bad jokes about how depressing it was to be back on the market after twenty-nine years of marriage. Arthur and Sasha both felt sorry for her, so they put up with her grim dates. Sasha knew better than anyone, from their conversations, how lonely she was.

  “I'll try to come home Thursday, otherwise Friday. I want to see Xavier and it depends when he can come.” Sasha filled him in on her plans.

  “Give him my love,” Arthur said, and they chatted for a few more minutes. She made herself a salad after they hung up, went through some papers the gallery manager had left for her to look at, and opened her Paris mail. There were invitations to several parties, a flood of announcements of art openings, and a letter from a friend. She rarely went to dinner parties in Paris, except when given by important clients, where she felt she had to go. She didn't like going out without Arthur, and enjoyed the quiet life they led, except for art events, or dinners with close friends.

  She called Xavier, as promised, and he was out. She left a message on his machine. She was in bed by midnight, asleep shortly after, and in the morning awoke at eight to the sound of her alarm. It was raining and misty, and looked like the heart of winter. She put on her raincoat to run across the courtyard to the gallery at nine-thirty, and met with her manager at ten o'clock. The gallery was closed on Mondays, which gave them all a peaceful day to work. She and Bernard, the manager, were planning shows and ad schedules for the following year.

  She ate at her desk, and the afternoon sped by. It was nearly six o'clock when her secretary told her that her daughter was on the line from New York. Xavier called her far more often than Tatianna, and she had spoken to him twice that day. He was coming to have dinner with her on Wednesday, so she could get back to Arthur on Thursday. Sasha picked up the phone with a smile, anticipating more complaints about the photographer Tatianna worked for. She just hoped Tatianna hadn't quit. She was headstrong at times, and didn't like being subservient to other people, or treated unfairly, and Sasha knew she thought her new boss wasn't treating her well. With a fine arts degree from Brown, she had expected to do more than pour him coffee and sweep the studio after he left.