“You're in good spirits this morning,” he teased her. They both were. With good reason. It had been a remarkable night for both of them.
“I was just thinking of the cameras in the elevator. We could really give them something to look at,” she said with another giggle, but by then the doors had opened, and there was a Japanese family waiting to get in. John followed Fiona out and straightened his tie.
They both felt as though the entire world could see what had happened the night before. It seemed so obvious to them. “Is my skirt too short?” she asked, looking worried, as one of the security men let them out through the ordinarily locked Cambon door. They opened it only for her, because then it was just a short walk across the street to Chanel. Otherwise they would have had to go all the way around the Place Vendôme, which made no sense.
“I think your skirt should be shorter,” John said in an undertone as they reached Chanel. There were crowds of people outside, waiting to get in, and the usual group of paparazzi and legitimate photographers. The House of Chanel was small, and the group that attended the couture show was select and elite. The moment they saw Fiona, they made a path for her in the crowd and let her in. She took John by the arm, and he walked in beside her, as photographers snapped pictures of both of them. “Is that all right?” he asked softly, he didn't want to create a problem for her. She was well-known after all, and he didn't know if she minded being photographed with a man. But she smiled at the camera, and then up at him.
“It's fine. You look terrific,” she said, and then walked sedately up the stairs, and a moment later they took their seats.
Unlike the other shows, Chanel started punctually, and the clothes were respectable and terrific. They played Mozart as the models made their way sedately down the designated path through the seats. Every aspect of the show was about elegance and tradition. It was like visiting a grande dame for tea. Karl Lagerfeld had designed a collection that knocked everyone off their feet. The wedding gown at the end was every bit as spectacular as Adrian had told her it would be. The velvet gown with the ermine cape caused everyone to catch their breath, and Lagerfeld himself got a standing ovation when he appeared. Fiona knew the press would go wild with the photographs, and she could hardly wait to print them in Chic. The wedding dress was absolutely exquisite, as the whole collection had been.
“It's a shame it has to be a wedding dress,” John said, as they wended their way through the crowd on the way out. Fiona had stopped for a moment to say hello to Karl, and she had introduced John to him. “It would look incredible on you.” Fiona couldn't help laughing as she smiled at him.
“Thank you for the compliment, and I haven't seen the prices yet, but roughly speaking, that dress probably costs about as much as a small summer cottage. And they don't give dresses like that to editors for free.”
“Too bad, it would be great on you,” he said sincerely.
They were still laughing and chatting when they were let back into the hotel by the security, and had lunch in the garden. After that they hurried to Gaultier with Adrian. Gaultier was his favorite show, and exactly his cup of tea. The entire collection was red this year, including the fur coats, and the theme of the whole collection was Chinese. It was extremely dramatic, but Fiona was less enthused.
The last collection they went to late that afternoon was Valentino's, and it was as elegant as Chanel had been. And as always, Valentino had done a lot with red too. For once even Fiona was tired when they got back to the hotel. She had a million notes and photographs to go through, but she was going to do that in the morning, after John left. For their last night, they had agreed to have dinner at a simple restaurant on a Bateau Mouche and wanted to walk around the Left Bank afterward. And the day after John left, she was going to St. Tropez. Adrian was planning to head back to New York when she did. He had a lot to do. The aftermath of the Paris couture shows always kept them busy for weeks. It was rare for her, but Fiona had decided to go on vacation for two full weeks. She hadn't taken that much time off in years, but felt she needed it.
“You look tired, do you want a cup of tea?” John asked solicitously. She nodded gratefully, happy to collapse on the couch for a while as she went through her messages. The night before had been short, and they hadn't gotten much sleep. He ordered tea for himself too, and they sat relaxing on the couch, talking about the three shows they'd seen that day, and she congratulated him for seeing every important show in couture week. “Thanks to you. I wouldn't even know how to describe it to anyone. It was incredible, Fiona.” And then he leaned over and kissed her. “And so are you.” He hadn't been this happy in years, and had never known anyone like her. She was magical and exciting and fascinating and mysterious all at once. She was like a beautiful animal in the wild, running free, but so unforgettably beautiful and enticing when she stopped to look at you. He was head over heels in love with her and had only known her for a matter of weeks. Fiona was astounded by it, and it amazed him too. She was just as crazy about him. But she was afraid it was just a phenomenon of Paris, and the excitement of the trip. She was afraid that once they got home, it would break the spell, and she said as much to him as they drank their tea.
“Don't be so cynical, Fiona,” he chided her. “Don't you think you can fall in love at our age? People do it all the time. People a lot older than we are. Why shouldn't this be real?”
“What if it isn't?” she said, looking worried. She wanted it to be. More than she had wanted anything in years. She had never known anyone like him either. Strong, solid, sensible, warm, affectionate, intelligent, kind, reasonable, and he seemed perfectly able to tolerate the occasional insanity of her career, even during couture week. He liked Adrian, who was a mainstay in her life. She was not entirely certain of the future of the relationship between him and Sir Winston, but that could be worked on. The rest seemed perfect, although she knew nothing was, and this couldn't be. But it sure looked it. He seemed to be everything she had ever wanted all rolled into one human being. Her dream prince, and he was not only handsome but distinguished and sexy, and very intelligent too. They had chemistry galore.
“Don't be such a scaredy-cat,” he said confidently. He also wanted her to meet his children. He was sure his girls were going to love her, if only because he did.
“I'm going to miss you when I go to St. Tropez,” she said, nibbling a cookie. Now she was sorry that she was going. It was going to be boring and lonely without him. And she had gotten a message the day before that the friends who were meeting her with their boat were stuck in Sardinia, due to bad weather and rough seas, and they had decided to stay there. So she was going to be on her own at the Hotel Byblos in St. Tropez.
“We could do something about that, if you want to. But I don't want to intrude on your vacation, Fiona. You need it. And you'll only be gone for two weeks.” It seemed like an eternity to him too.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked with interest.
“It sounds a little crazy, but if you'd like, I can reshuffle some meetings. At this time of year, almost everyone is on vacation. And my girls are busy. If you want, I could come with you. But if you'd rather not, I understand perfectly. I can keep busy for the next two weeks.” But she was already beaming at him.
“Would you do that? Could you?” It was a crazy thing to do, she knew, but she didn't care. She was loving being with him, and she wanted to go to St. Tropez with him, if he could arrange it.
“I could, would, and would love to. Does it sound good to you too?”
“It sounds terrific,” she assured him.
He called his secretary half an hour later, while Fiona showered and dressed for the evening. She emerged wearing beige silk slacks and a little beige silk sweater that you could almost see through, but not quite. She always managed to look elegant and sexy, and she was wearing little red silk mules for their informal evening on the Bateau Mouche.
“Could she do it?” Fiona asked, like a kid waiting for Christmas, referring to his change of plans, and he
laughed at the question.
“I didn't give her a choice, I told her she had to. It's a little crazy, but what the hell, Fiona, you only live once. Who knows when we'll get the chance to do this again, we're both so damn busy. You've already got the time off, the least I can do is arrange my schedule to suit you.” He was smiling at her, sitting on the bed in the bedroom of her suite, and she put her arms around him, grateful to have found him, and to be with him.
“You are truly amazing.” But it was he who thought she was.
An hour later they were on the Bateau Mouche eating steak and pommes frites for dinner, and drifting along the Seine, looking at the lights and monuments of Paris. It was a corny, touristy thing to do, but the idea had appealed to both of them, and they were delighted they'd done it. They were talking about their plans for St. Tropez, and John wanted to call a boat broker he knew to see if he could get a charter for a day or two. It sounded incredibly romantic to Fiona, and in the meantime, they had her room at the Byblos, which would be fun too. She felt as though she were dreaming every time she looked at him.
They walked around the Left Bank afterward, had a glass of wine on the terrace of the Deux Magots, and he bought her a silly little painting from a street artist, as a souvenir of their first days together in Paris. And at midnight they went back to the hotel, nearly raced to her room, and made love for hours. So much so that she overslept in the morning, and didn't wake until Adrian pounded on her door to say good-bye. He was leaving for the airport. His work in Paris was done.
“I thought you were supposed to be working,” he said in an accusing tone, but she knew he didn't mean it.
“I am… I mean I will… I was exhausted,” she apologized.
“So am I. I've been working my ass off since six, and you're still sleeping at ten-thirty. When I grow up, I want your job.” As he said it, he saw a pair of men's shoes, neatly sitting under the coffee table, and Adrian beamed at her. “Unless your feet have grown, or you're cross-dressing, I assume that means you're no longer a virgin.”
“Mind your own business,” she said softly. She had closed the door to the bedroom, and John was still asleep. They hadn't gone to sleep until four in the morning, but it had been well worth it.
“How much will you give me not to tell Sir Winston?” Adrian said conspiratorially.
“My entire fortune.”
“And your turquoise bracelet? I can have it remade to fit me,” he said wickedly.
“The hell you will. Go ahead and tell him.”
“I may just have to do that. Are you still going to St. Tropez?” He had never seen her look like that, and he absolutely loved it. All he wanted was for her to be happy. He had liked John since the moment he met him. He thought he was terrific for her. As far as he was concerned, they were both lucky, and she deserved it. In all the years Adrian had known her, Fiona had never had a man in her life he approved of. Especially not the married architect from London. Adrian had loathed him. And he thought the conductor who wanted to marry her was silly. John was the only man he'd ever seen her with who he thought was worthy of her.
“Yes, I'm still going to St. Tropez,” she said innocently, but Adrian knew her better.
“Is he going with you?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, grinning mischievously.
“You naughty children! Well, enjoy it,” he said, hugging her. “Call me if you need to tell me anything, and FedEx me everything before you leave.” She had a lot of work to do that day before she started her vacation, and she intended to do it. In love or not, Fiona was a woman who met her deadlines. And nothing was going to change that.
“I promise. Fly safely…. I love you,” she said, and hugged him again, and he left in a flourish of bags, and his straw hat, and red alligator briefcase to match his sandals.
“I love you too. Say hi to John for me. Tell him I'll handle Sir Winston.” And with a last wave, he disappeared into the elevator as she hung out the door of the suite, and then closed the door softly. She didn't want to wake John, but he was stirring anyway when she slipped back into bed beside him.
“Who was that?” he asked sleepily, throwing an arm around her, and turning toward her. She loved the way he looked in the morning.
“Adrian. He just left. He tried to blackmail me, and said he's going to tell Sir Winston. He wants my turquoise bracelet. I told him to forget it.”
“He knows?” John opened an eye and looked at her cautiously. “You told him?”
“He saw your shoes under the table.”
“Oh. How much does he want not to tell the dog?”
“He's not a dog.”
“Sorry, I forgot…. Come here, you gorgeous thing, you…” he said, pulling her closer, and the day began as the night before had ended.
Chapter 7
Fiona got all her work done and sent it to Adrian before they left for St. Tropez, and John managed to find a hundred-and-forty-foot sailboat for them to charter. The broker had promised she was a beauty, and they departed for St. Tropez in high spirits. John had left a message for both his girls that he was staying in France for another two weeks, but both had been out when he called them.
As soon as they got to Nice, Fiona had a limousine waiting for them to drive them to St. Tropez and the Hotel Byblos. She had an adorable suite there. The boat was meeting them the next morning.
They spent an hour on the beach that afternoon, and then wandered through the shops, and stopped at a café. That night, she took him to her favorite bistro. It was as noisy and crowded as she had warned him it would be, and after walking for a while, they went back to the hotel, and were content to fall into bed in each other's arms. They fell asleep this time almost as soon as their heads hit the pillow. It had been a long week, full of passion, people, and excitement, and they were both thrilled to be on vacation alone.
The next morning when they saw the boat, they were both awestruck by her beauty. They spent the day sailing her with a crew of nine, spent the night in the port in Monte Carlo, and had a quiet romantic dinner on the aft deck, drinking champagne and reveling in the joy of being together in glorious surroundings.
“How did this happen?” Fiona asked him in amazement. “Did I miss something? When did I die and go to heaven? How did I get this lucky?” She had never even dreamed of finding anyone like him. And he felt exactly as she did. Fiona was magic.
“Maybe we both deserve this,” he said simply, and believed it.
“That's too simple. I feel like I won the lottery.”
“We both did,” he corrected.
For the next two weeks their time together was idyllic, beyond hopes and dreams and wishes.
They had the boat only for the first week, and made good use of it, and their time together after that was a little more prosaic. But they enjoyed that too, and had a good time in St. Tropez going to the beach and trying out new restaurants. The vacation ended all too quickly. It seemed like only minutes later that they were back in the airport in Nice, flying to Paris, and then flying home to New York together. For once, Fiona wasn't even excited about seeing Sir Winston. And on the flight home, they discussed how to handle the rest of the summer.
John had already explained that his girls were away until Labor Day, his housekeeper was off visiting family, and his dog was at the kennel for the summer. She needed a lot of attention, and he couldn't take care of her properly with his housekeeper in North Dakota. And after spending Labor Day weekend with him, both his girls were going back to college, although he saw them regularly throughout the school year. Courtenay came home often for weekends since she was only in Princeton. Hilary did her best to come home from Brown once a month, except when she had exams. He said she was a very serious student. She wanted to be an oceanographer, and was doing an internship that summer at a lab in Long Beach, California. John had said a million times that he was certain Fiona was going to love them. There was no question in his mind that they would fall in love with her, just as he had. That part was easy. He w
as a little less sure of Fiona's reaction to them, since she had never had children of her own. But they weren't babies, they were women. So Fiona should be perfectly at ease with them, he told himself, and he was sure they would become the best of friends. His girls needed adult female companionship, since both of them missed their mother so much. Fiona had already said that she was going to go shopping with them. She didn't know much about kids and young people, but shopping was one thing she was good at, and she thought it would be an easy way to get to know his girls.
“So what are we going to do when we go home?” Fiona asked as they sat in the first-class lounge at Charles de Gaulle, waiting for their flight to New York.
“About what? I was thinking that maybe we could find a house in the Hamptons to rent for the weekends.” There might be one available that no one wanted, and they both loved the beach and getting out of town. Failing that, he could always charter another boat, which appealed to both of them as well. The possibilities were infinite, but she had another plan in mind. They had gone straight from dating and first blush to wanting to be together all the time. He had already said as much to her himself in St. Tropez.
“Do you want to stay at my place with me until your housekeeper comes home?” Fiona asked. He had thought of it himself, but didn't want to be presumptuous and suggest it to her.
“How do you think Sir Winston would feel about it? Do you think we should ask him first?”
“Don't worry. I'll negotiate the deal with him. How do you feel about it?”
“I think it's an excellent idea. My place is hard to take care of without Mrs. Westerman. And I have no one else to do the cleaning. There's a service that comes in once a week, but that's about it. Your place runs a little more smoothly, with Jamal, and it's easier for you with the dog… sorry… your son, I mean, Sir Winston.”
“That's better,” she said with a grin. She liked the arrangement very much—and then suddenly thought of her closets in a panic. She didn't have an inch of spare closet space, and she was going to have to find some for him fast. She was wondering if he would mind going down a flight of stairs to the guest room. She had her fur coats and ski clothes there, but she could probably squeeze out some space for him. Maybe. Or… maybe her office closet, but there was no hanging space… the bathroom closet… it was full of her nightgowns and robes and beach clothes, and some old evening gowns. She'd have to work out something. He was a consummate good sport. He had been on the trip, whenever anything went wrong, although very little had. But he was unfailingly polite and easygoing, and she loved that about him. He didn't seem to have a temper, and had a happy disposition.
Second Chance Page 8