The Woman from Paris

by Santa Montefiore

  Rosamunde looked on uneasily as the object of her desire put his arm around her sister’s waist and led her across the grass. While they danced, they laughed, locked their heads to be heard, and moved in sync to the beat. Rosamunde told herself that he had asked Antoinette only out of politeness. Had she not declined, he’d be pressing himself against her instead.

  David poured himself another glass of wine. He lay back on the rug and commented loudly on the extraordinary spectacle before him, but his eyes never left Phaedra, not for a moment.

  The festive mood carried them all through the rest of the afternoon. Roberta left at teatime to take Amber and Kathy back to the main house, but the others remained at the folly. “Tomorrow we paint,” Antoinette announced. “So no Sunday best, please.”

  “Does anyone know yet who built it?” Dr. Heyworth asked.

  Antoinette looked hopefully at Phaedra. “Did you get anything out of her?”

  “Arthur built it soon after they married,” she replied lightly. “A romantic gift, don’t you think?”

  “Very,” Antoinette replied, wondering why she had never been told.

  Phaedra glanced at David. He knew she wasn’t telling the whole truth. She looked back at Antoinette. “She says she’d have told you had you ever asked.”

  “Oh, so there’s no mystery?” Antoinette was disappointed.

  “No mystery.”

  “Why doesn’t she ever come up here, then?”

  “You’ll have to ask her that yourself. I forgot.”

  “Perhaps it’s too painful,” she mused.

  “Perhaps,” Phaedra replied. Again she caught David’s eye. It wasn’t a story she’d relish telling him.

  That evening they all dined at Margaret’s. She had gone to great trouble to choose a menu they all liked. Arthur’s cellar had been opened, and David had chosen the finest wine. It was as if they had something important to celebrate. After dinner they played charades, and even Margaret joined in, performing a very convincing Cruella De Vil to riotous applause from her astonished audience.

  Antoinette watched her family unite in the most unlikely way, in the most unlikely place. Margaret’s house had always been a place of rigid formality and few laughs. Now it was the center of the revelry. She looked at Phaedra, in the middle of it all. She seemed to glow with a particularly golden light that drew everyone into her orbit, like a beautiful star—everyone except Roberta. Antoinette wished she’d make more of an effort to get to know her. She was sure Roberta would like her, if she gave the girl a chance.

  Later, Tom went outside to smoke, taking Joshua with him. Rosamunde and Antoinette returned home, and Margaret retired to bed. David seized the opportunity to speak to Phaedra alone. They went into the drinks room under the pretense of replenishing their glasses. Roberta seized her opportunity and hurried up the stairs to the yellow room.

  “So what’s the real story?” David asked. Phaedra was reluctant to tell him, but even Margaret had said Arthur’s affair was no secret, so she repeated what his grandmother had told her. He looked appalled. “That explains a lot,” he said finally. “Poor Grandma. I can’t believe Grandpa could have done that to her, so soon after they married, too. He didn’t look the type. I remember him as a very decent, respectable man.”

  “He must have learned his lesson.”

  “The folly is one hell of an apology. He must have felt really bad.”

  “It’s no surprise that she never goes up there. I don’t suppose she ever got over the hurt.”

  “You’d never have guessed, seeing them together.” He looked down at her solemnly. “Are you going to tell Mother?”

  “It’s not for me to tell her.”

  “I will,” said David after a moment’s thought. “It explains a great deal about Margaret.”

  “We are all the sum of our experience,” said Phaedra gravely.

  “Don’t look so sad. What’s your experience?” He grinned playfully.

  She shook her head. “Not for now.”

  He frowned. “Are you ever going to tell me?”

  “There’s little to tell.”

  But he didn’t believe her. “I get the feeling you’re keeping things from me.”

  “We’re all allowed a few skeletons.”

  “I can’t imagine you have many.”

  “One or two.” She gazed up at him. For a fleeting moment she thought he was about to kiss her. He grew suddenly very serious and bent his head slightly. She caught her breath. She wanted him to so much. The moment seemed to last for an age, giving her time to see the last eighteen months flashing before her eyes. Just as his lips were about to brush hers, Tom shouted from behind the door.

  “What’s going on in there?”

  He opened it and burst in. “What are you two plotting?”

  “The truth about the folly,” said David. “Come in and we’ll tell you.”

  “Oh good, I love a scandal,” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Phaedra said. “I think I’m going to go to bed.” And she left, ignoring the silent plea in David’s eyes.

  She escaped to her room and closed the door. Her heart was beating wildly, throwing itself against her rib cage like a frustrated parrot. She closed her eyes and took a deep, relieved breath. That had been close. If Tom hadn’t disturbed them, David would most certainly have kissed her, and then what? “Oh, God!” she sighed out loud, retreating into the bathroom to change for bed.

  She washed her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. What was she thinking? She should just walk away, but she was in far too deep now to turn her back on the Framptons—and she liked them too much.

  She pulled on her pajamas and climbed into bed. She took a swig of water then switched off the light. The sound of creaking floorboards alerted her to the possibility that David might come up to find her. She stiffened, but all she could hear was her breathing—and the loud ticktock of the clock.

  She gasped in horror. Who had put it back? Margaret? Jenny? She slid beneath the sheet, wanting the mattress to swallow her up. Would they have thought she intended to steal it?

  * * *

  “I’ve got it!” Roberta hissed to Joshua, finding him in the sitting room.

  “That was quick,” he replied.

  “Doesn’t take long. Her hairbrush was in the bathroom. I just pulled a bit out.” She patted her trouser pocket. “Safe in here.”

  “Lucky she didn’t catch you in her room.”

  “I’m far too clever for that. I saw her in the hall and dived into the next-door bedroom. Once she’d gone into her room, I ran downstairs. Simple.”

  “You’d make such a good detective,” he flattered her.

  “I know. I’m rather loving it, actually. I’m closing in. Soon it will all be over. You wait and see.”

  24

  The following morning Margaret and Phaedra breakfasted together again in the conservatory. Gray clouds gathered in the sky. It looked as if it might rain. But Margaret was in an exuberant mood, sitting in her best dress and pearls ready for church. She took great pleasure reviewing the evening before and pronounced it an unprecedented success. “It’s been a very long time since the whole family got together like that. I’m not sure we’ve ever had such fun, even at Christmas,” she gushed, buttering a piece of whole-wheat toast. Phaedra could not share her enthusiasm. She felt heavy-hearted; David had almost kissed her—and she had wanted him to. She poured herself a strong coffee and tried to look animated.

  Margaret didn’t mention the clock, so Phaedra didn’t bring it up. Perhaps Jenny had found it and replaced it on the mantelpiece. Surely she would have worked out why Phaedra had hidden it. There was no reason for the guilty conscience—but right now, Phaedra felt guilty about everything.

  After breakfast Margaret went to church with Joshua and Roberta, leaving Kathy in the house with Amber. Phaedra had made sure she was dressed in jeans and T-shirt in anticipation of spending the day painting, and waited n
ervously in the hall for David. She was disappointed when Tom arrived instead. She knew then that an invisible line had been crossed in the drinks room the night before.

  Up at the folly Antoinette, Dr. Heyworth, Rosamunde, and David were already rolling up their sleeves and opening paint pots. Tom marched in and announced their arrival with gusto, as if he were an actor stepping onto the stage. They all greeted Phaedra warmly, except David who avoided meeting her eye. Antoinette gave Phaedra an overall and paintbrush. “You can help Rosamunde with the woodwork,” she instructed. “Make sure you use the eggshell.” She noticed the coolness between her son and Phaedra immediately and wondered what had happened to make them so awkward together. They had been getting along so well.

  Tom put on the radio, and they worked away to pop music that Rosamunde likened to savages let loose on drums. Dr. Heyworth was full of joy and chatted happily to Antoinette as they painted the back wall with big rollers. Phaedra and Rosamunde tackled the woodwork together, but Phaedra didn’t feel like talking. She was too aware of David, who was up a ladder quietly painting the ceiling. Rosamunde talked for both of them, giving her opinion on modern music and lamenting the lack of talented singer-songwriters like the ones she had admired in her day. “Music is far too overproduced these days,” she complained. “You see, in my youth we had the Beatles and Marianne Faithfull—nothing can compare to them.”

  Once or twice Phaedra caught David looking at her, but he quickly turned back to his task. She missed his banter and the laughs they shared, and suffered a terrible sense of loss. His presence filled the whole room, and as much as she tried to concentrate on her brush and Rosamunde’s dull chitchat, she couldn’t forget that he was ignoring her, and felt hurt by it.

  Rufus lay on the grass outside with Basil and the Great Danes, who’d been brought up to join in the fun. The sky brightened, and the rain never came. Joshua and Roberta appeared late morning, and while Roberta helped Phaedra and Rosamunde with the woodwork, Joshua helped David and Dr. Heyworth lift all the furniture back into the middle of the room. Phaedra was aware of Roberta’s coldness towards her, but she didn’t care. She cared only about David and whether or not their friendship had been irretrievably broken.

  They finished the first coat by lunchtime. Antoinette had arranged for everyone to eat at her house, including Margaret, and they all threw off their overalls and piled into the drawing room for refreshments.

  The celebratory atmosphere continued for all but Phaedra and David, who moved about the room, careful to avoid each other. Margaret asked how their project was going, but when Roberta suggested she come up and have a look, she shook her head and pursed her lips. “I have no wish to see what memories you’ve disinterred, thank you very much. They were fine as they were, buried beneath years of dust and debris. It hasn’t belonged to me for decades.” Then, aware she was sounding like an old sourpuss again, she smiled tightly. “But you must all enjoy it. Arthur would be tickled pink to see it restored to its former glory.”

  “He’d be more tickled to see you up there,” Antoinette ventured.

  Margaret stiffened. “Well, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction, and that’s that.” Antoinette was confused: surely his romantic gesture had been a good thing?

  She thought it best to place David and Phaedra at opposite ends of the dining table. They had said nothing to each other all morning. For Phaedra, the situation was getting desperate. She knew she’d be leaving for London after lunch. If they didn’t talk before she left, it would be very awkward coming back again. She ate her roast beef and tried to pretend that she was as jolly as the rest of them. She was a good actress, but this stretched her ability to the limit.

  After lunch she hastily retreated to the upstairs bathroom. She remained in there for a while, sitting on the side of the bath, head in hands, feeling miserable. But she knew she couldn’t hide all afternoon. As she walked back across the landing she saw George’s room at the end of the corridor. His door was ajar, beckoning her to enter. She wondered whether Antoinette had done any more clearing out since she had last been there. Slowly, she walked towards it, her heart thumping because she knew already that if she found herself alone, she’d begin to look for things—incriminating things that she didn’t want Antoinette to find.

  Gingerly, she pushed open the door. The room was empty. She could hear the low rumble of voices from the drawing room downstairs and knew that she was quite safe for a while. She inhaled the smell of George, and for a moment her heart stalled. Once again she was faced with all his belongings and the false hope that he might suddenly appear from the bathroom, as if he had never gone at all.

  She began to snoop about the various trinket boxes that sat on the table at the end of the bed. She didn’t know what she was looking for, and perhaps there was nothing that would make him look bad, but George had been a man who didn’t like to throw things away. He had kept everything: letters, mementoes, memories . . . lots of memories; and it was those that she wanted to erase.

  Suddenly, she felt the presence of someone at the door. She spun round and jumped when she saw Roberta, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe. “Sorry, did I startle you?” she asked.

  “Not at all.” Phaedra felt the blood rush to her cheeks, making her look instantly guilty.

  “Going through his things, are you?”

  “Just remembering. Antoinette and I began a couple of weeks ago . . .”

  Roberta sighed. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me,” she said coldly. “I already know you’re lying.”

  Phaedra was stunned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re not George’s daughter, are you?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “I know you and Julius cooked the whole thing up. Trouble is, no one else believes me. That’s because they like you. But if you think for one minute that you’re going to—”

  She was cut off midsentence by David. He registered Phaedra’s pale face and jumped to the conclusion that Roberta was being unkind. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Phaedra and I are just having a little chat,” said Roberta silkily. “I found her in here going through George’s things.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, Roberta,” he said in Phaedra’s defense.

  “I know. She’s being very helpful.” She turned to go, then paused and turned round again. “Did you have a good dinner with Julius the other night at Le Caprice?” Phaedra didn’t know what to say. She stood there looking guilty, wishing she could flee. “Josh and I were there with friends. You obviously didn’t see us. Well, it was busy, wasn’t it?” She gave an insincere smile, followed by a little sniff. “I could see how close you and Julius are. Very touching.”

  When Roberta disappeared, Phaedra began to cry. “I feel sick,” she wept. “I came in here for no reason at all. The door was ajar, and I wanted to feel close . . . Roberta thinks Julius and I have concocted a plan to steal money. It’s dreadful.”

  David’s heart buckled at the sight of her tears, and he went over to wrap his arms around her. “I’m sorry, she’s got it into her head that you’re an impostor. Nothing we can say will change her mind. Give her time, she’ll get over it.” He pulled her close. “The main thing is that none of us believe her.”

  “She was so mean. So I had dinner with Julius. Where’s the malice in that?”

  “Was he the one you said was harassing you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said you owed him.”

  “He’s been so kind. Ever since George’s death he’s taken me by the hand, explaining the will and advising me what to do. I wanted to go back to Paris, but he told me to stay and get to know you all. I’m glad I did. He’s very persistent, but I don’t want to be rude.”

  “Look, let’s go back downstairs and forget all about Roberta.”

  She pulled away and wiped her face with her sleeve. “Are we friends again, David?” she asked solemnly.

  He smiled, relieved there was no
longer any awkwardness between them. “Of course we are,” he replied.

  They returned to the drawing room separately. Dr. Heyworth was at the piano, his fingers moving deftly over the keys, while Margaret held court in the armchair, her eyes misty as the music transported her, and the rest of the party, including Roberta, crowded around the piano, listening with admiration.

  Phaedra sat on the sofa next to Margaret, who mouthed, Isn’t this lovely, and patted her hand fondly. Harris brought in a tray of tea and coffee, and Phaedra deliberately ignored David when he sauntered into the room a few minutes later. Had Antoinette been less enthralled by Dr. Heyworth’s music, she might have noticed the rosy hue on Phaedra’s cheeks and the contented grin that curled David’s lips at the corners, even though the music was sad and up until this moment he’d had nothing to smile about.

  “You’re so talented,” Rosamunde gushed when Dr. Heyworth finished playing.

  He looked pleased. “I had no choice but to learn piano. It’s my mother’s greatest passion.”

  “You know Mother has taken up playing again,” David said, lifting the Sunday Times off the coffee table and flopping onto the sofa opposite Phaedra.

  “Have you played the piece I gave you?” Dr. Heyworth asked Antoinette.

  She blushed, anticipating the horror of being made to perform in front of everyone. “Yes, it’s really lovely. I’ve been practicing, but I’m not very good at it yet.”

  “Go on, Mum. Give it a go,” said Tom.