“Well, it’s probably good that you did. Now you know how she feels about the idea. Sometimes an idea isn’t worth pursuing.”
“You got that right,” Skip said turning back to look out the window over the sink. The neighbor’s blinds were shut. “It’s tricky, writing about events that deal with people you know. Wellington wanted some major edits to the gold robbery. A story seems to get tangled up with people’s emotions.”
“Sounds like you have lots of questions whirling around in that head of yours, son. If you feel a story is worth telling, then you have to write it and live with the consequences if you bring in people you know, care about.”
Skip sighed. “I’d better go run. Clear my head.”
“Sometimes that’s hard to do—clear it—until you can answer some of the questions residing there. Come up with some answers … then let the questions go,” Gramps said.
Skip smiled. “Week eight. Half way through my training schedule. Fourteen miles today. Maybe I’ll come up with some answers if the strain doesn’t kill me first.”
“You’ll be okay. I’ll have lunch ready for you.”
Skip strode out to do his stretching routine, then began his run at a slow pace to warm up.
His next three hours were hard.
He couldn’t concentrate. He wanted to work on his mental imaging, his focus so complete that running felt good, time would flow by, his feet flying over the pavement. But it wasn’t working for him today. His conversation with Gramps raised concern over what Gilly was doing in Paris. Over that Beaumont guy again taking advantage of her, maybe to the point of kidnapping.
“In. In. In.
Out.
In.” He shouted.
“Shit. I can’t even breathe right.”
He slowed to a walk. Drank eight ounces of Gatorade.
The motorcycle couple shot by him, waving.
“Sure, now you wave. I make a fool of myself telling DuBois you kidnapped Robyn and now you wave.”
He picked up his pace.
“Have to start cross training this week. Go to the gym. Work on the quads, biceps, upper body,” he said to a flock of seagulls overhead.
Returning to Gramp’s house three hours later, he flopped in the kitchen chair. He never felt so tired after a run. Ate half of his sandwich. Finished the cup of tea. Both Agatha and Coco sat in the doorway watching him.
“Gramps, I’m pooped. Think I’ll go on back to Seattle.”
“Oh? No writing this weekend?”
“Maybe back at my condo. I want to go to the gym … do some training with the free weights.” Skip put his plate in the dishwasher. “Thanks for listening to my babble. I’ll see you next week.”
Chapter 37
Beaumont Country Villa
Paris
THE PLANE CIRCLED OVER the twinkling lights of Paris, 8:10 p.m. Gazing out the window, Gilly thought back four years earlier when she eagerly took her first steps into the next phase of learning about the business of fashion design from where the industry was born—the city of lights. Butterflies raised havoc in her stomach then and butterflies of a different sort were at it now.
She yearned to hold Robyn, to kiss her pink cheeks, but she knew some of those butterflies were in anticipation of seeing Maxime … here in Paris … the city she didn’t think she’d ever see again. She didn’t know what to expect, how she was going to feel seeing him once more where they had shared the first blush of passion. The return ticket was burning a hole in her shoulder bag.
Five days in Paris … with him … meeting his family.
Gilly sighed. I can make it through five days, she thought. A smile crossed her face. “Robyn, mommy’s coming,” she whispered to her reflection in the window as the plane pulled up to the gate. “Just a few more minutes, my little angel.”
Gilly pressed forward in the crowd, navigating around sleepy passengers plodding their way to the baggage carousels. Breaking free of the line, her eyes scanning the people standing outside of the rope, she saw him. Oh God, he was holding Robyn so her little face, her eyes were looking right at her. Gilly ran dragging her rolling suitcase. She ducked under the rope, dropped her suitcase handle and ran to the infant. Her eyes only on her child, she lifted her from Maxime’s arms, cradled her, kissed her, stroking her curls, laughing as tears rolled down her face. Robyn’s little arms circled her mother’s neck in a tight hug.
Maxime retrieved her suitcase, put his arm around Gilly and gently guided her to the parking garage. Thirty minutes later, Maxime at the wheel of his silver Peugeot was driving them through the streets of Paris. He circled around the Eiffel Tower, then down the Champs-Elysées. Glancing at Gillianne, he was happy to see her eagerly twisting and turning at the sights she had grown to love during the brief period she was in Paris before. Delighted at scenes passing her window, she turned to see what Robyn thought of all the lights but she was sound asleep in her carrier.
“You must be exhausted, Gillianne. I hope you don’t mind if we go straight to my parent’s country home.”
“I never want to sleep again. I’m so thankful to have Robyn back.” Gilly twisted to look at the sleeping baby. Smiling, she turned to the front and Maxime took her hand as she leaned back in her seat, kissing her knuckles, returning her hand to her lap.
He kept telling himself to move slowly, try to win her heart with loving support—watch out for the kisses. Give her time.
The silver car sped out of the city into the country—glimpses of fields, trees and bushes caught in the car’s headlights. He kept glancing at her out of the corners of his eyes. She was beginning to relax. He couldn’t believe she was in the car with him … he could reach out and touch her … she was so close. His little family together. No! Don’t let your mind go there, he thought. It was enough for the moment that she was here in Paris, here sitting beside him.
Turning down a country lane the trees parted revealing a large vine covered house, beige stucco and pinkish-grey slate roof, beautiful and mellow with age. Every window shining brightly with lamps turned on welcoming her.
Gilly turned and laughed. “Little country villa?”
Maxime smiled at her. “I guess it’s not quite little, but you will find it homey.”
The door flew open, a splash of light falling on the old stone steps and a woman, her black hair with wisps of gray drawn back into a bun, stepped out and waved to them.
“That’s my mother, you’ll like her—very warm and understanding.”
“What do I call her … Countess? Madame Beaumont—
“I asked her that. Her name is Madeleine and her friends call her Maddy. She said she wants to be your friend.” Maxime smiled easily. He was looking forward to showing Gillianne his boyhood home and especially the warm welcome he knew awaited her.
His father had melted when he first caught sight of Robyn. Maxime had to practically pry her out of his father’s arms.
Maxime ambled to the other side of the car, removed Robyn from her car seat and placed her in Gillianne’s outstretched arms. The baby snuggled her head under Gilly’s chin, her thumb in her mouth and the other little hand patting her mother’s cheek. Maxime retrieved the slightly worn white bunny from the car and tucked it under Robyn’s arm automatically drawing the stuffed animal tight to her body.
“Mother, I’d like you to meet Gillianne Wilder. Gillianne, my mother, Madeleine.”
“I’m so happy to meet you, Gillianne,” the woman said kissing both of Gilly’s cheeks and giving a tender pat on Robyn’s red curls. “Come in, please. I’ll show you where the kitchen is in the event you need something during the night.”
Madeleine led the way to a big kitchen with copper pots hanging from a wrought iron pot rack and colorful pottery lined up in an old cherry breakfront buffet. White lace curtains framed the windows drawn back with green ribbon. The small window panes were made of old glass. Wide, well worn floorboards were polished to a lustrous sheen.
“There are three baby bottles of milk
and two with water in the refrigerator,” Madeleine explained as she walked around the kitchen … everything ready for Robyn’s return since she left with her father to go to the airport.
“Now, let’s go upstairs to your bedroom. You must be very tired. I had a crib set up in your room. I thought you might like Robyn to be in with you, but—
“That sounds perfect, thank you.”
Maxime was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his body relaxed, face serene for the first time since he realized what a fool he had been to let Gillianne flee from his life. She was here in his boyhood home, the place where the outside world and all that ailed it, ceased to exist. “I put your suitcase in the bedroom. Sleep well.” He kissed her cheek, then Robyn’s and stepped back as Gillianne followed his mother up the stairs.
Gilly paused on the top step to look at him once more. “Thank you, Maxime.”
Madeleine pushed open a tongue-and-groove paneled door, its rich patina soft to the eye. Gilly stepped into the bedroom—a room she had only dreamed of in pictures. The white embroidered canopy over the antique four-poster bed was made up with a colorful patchwork quilt. It too showed its age with a fray here and there from loving use over the years. The crib beside the bed was covered with a matching baby quilt. Gilly couldn’t have felt more honored— she was allowed to see pieces of life that had existed in this home over many decades.
“You can open the windows if you like although the night air is a bit chilly this time of year. There’s a bathroom across the hall. It’s all yours. Is there anything else you might need?”
Gilly laid the sleeping baby in the crib, pulled the quilt up under her chin and looked down marveling that she could once again touch her.
“Get up whenever you like,” Madeleine said with an easy smile. “Although I guess the little one will let you know when it’s time. I want to thank you, Gillianne, for giving my husband and me a few days to get to know you and your beautiful baby.”
Gilly turned, smiling.
“Gilly, please call me Gilly,” Gilly said in a whisper.
“Then you must call me Maddy, dear.” Maddy gave Gilly a quick hug and turned to leave.
“Thank you, Maddy … for everything.”
The two women looked into each other’s eyes, understanding and cherishing their special bond. Smiling, Maddy softly closed the door behind her.
Chapter 38
───
THE COUNTRY KITCHEN WAS warm and cozy in the soft glow of the recessed lighting under the cabinets. Gilly opened her mouth so Robyn would mimic her as she slid the last spoon of baby cereal into her mouth. Wiping her chin and cooing what a good girl she was, Gilly lifted her from the highchair, picked up the baby bottle with a few drops of milk left and padded back to her bedroom. Robyn was asleep before the last of the bottle was gone, and Gilly laid her in the crib.
The sun was rising revealing a beautiful, cloudless sky as Gilly snuggled back under the down comforter falling asleep as quickly as Robyn.
Hearing conversation outside, Gilly glanced at the clock—she had slept two hours. Glancing at Robyn and seeing she was still asleep, Gilly retrieved her black slacks from the chair and a fresh white long-sleeved white blouse from the top of her suitcase. She finished dressing and quickly tied her soft waves with a black ribbon at the nape of her neck. Pushing her feet into her black flats, she left the bedroom, quietly closing the door. Pausing to put on silver hoop earrings, she scampered down the stairs and out the French doors to a flagstone patio.
Shielding her eyes from the sun, she saw Maddy across an expanse of lawn painting at an easel which stood outside an open barn door. A bouquet of colorful mums in a cobalt-blue vase sat on a white lace doily to the side of the easel. Smiling, Maddy waved to her, motioning for her to come over.
Gilly looked up at her bedroom window, wondering, then crossed the grass to Maddy’s side.
“I’ve asked Gertie to come meet you as soon as she sees you’re up. She’ll let us know if she hears Robyn, actually she’ll keep checking on her. She’s been thrilled to have a baby in the house. Are you comfortable having Gertie on the lookout?” Maddy asked.
“Yes, and thanks. She was sleeping soundly, but you never know.”
“Did you see the intercom by the crib? I left it on all the time. We weren’t taking any chances on not hearing her.”
“I did see it. Is there a speaker out here?” Gilly asked.
“There, on the barn door. It’s turned up to full blast,” Maddy said laughing.
Gilly stood looking at the painting on the easel. “Very pretty … I can see the morning sun on the petals.”
Maddy nodded her head to go into the barn. “Help yourself to coffee. It’s probably stronger than you like. I usually have a shot of espresso to get me going in the morning.”
Gilly returned and sat on an old weather-beaten chair a few feet from where Maddy was painting. Maddy wiped off her brush, picked up her coffee cup and sat on a matching chair beside Gilly. Both women stretched their legs out in front of them, raising their faces to the warmth of the sun’s rays.
“Maddy, you really are an artist. The barn, if you can call it that with the white-washed wood, your gallery?”
“Yes. Painting keeps me centered. It’s so peaceful compared to the city. We’re spending more and more time out here. Blackie began to change a few months ago. Slowed down.”
“Blackie?”
“Maxime’s father. A nickname from his grade school days—his big black eyes. I’m about the only one who calls him that now. Anyway, we’re spending more time away from the law firm. He loves his horses, riding and grooming them. Something he used to leave to his property manager. But when he caught sight of Robyn, his granddaughter,” she whispered. “Well, the change became more dramatic. Overnight really. In the last twenty-four hours I’ve caught him wiping tears from his eyes as he waited for Maxime to bring the baby and you to our home.”
“Are you worried about his health?”
“I wasn’t at first—the change happened slowly. I did call his doctor and he told me that his last checkup showed nothing but a very healthy man. But that checkup was over six months ago. And then suddenly, in the last few weeks, he lost weight. He’s a skeleton of the man he was at your age. I catch him staring off into space. I don’t know what he sees or what’s going on behind that blank stare. When I ask what’s bothering him he doesn’t answer me.”
They fell silent in the warmth of the sun, Gilly’s eyes following the lines of the flowerbeds, not manicured as the gardens in the Paris parks, but casual, inviting. You could pick one of the flowers and not feel like you’d get your hand slapped.
“Blackie started to change at the same time Maxime changed.” Maddy picked up the conversation where she’d left off. “It was as if they shifted positions. Come to think of it, they changed about the time Maxime learned you had given birth to a baby girl. Blackie must have known about you, but I didn’t. When Maxime came to me, told me about you, I was furious with him. So angry at how he had treated you.”
Gilly squinted, sat up straight looking at Maddy. This sophisticated, beautiful woman was sharing her private thoughts, talking through what had happened over the year. She was revealing her love for her husband and her son and how she felt powerless to help them when, to her, they needed her the most.
“But Maxime …” she looked over at Gilly. “I saw a man torn up inside. He shouldn’t have been. He had won the Senate seat—a seat Blackie had groomed him for. But it didn’t seem to matter. Oh, he attacked his new duties, does a good job in my estimation, but the light was gone from his eyes. It wasn’t long after that that he divorced Bernadette. Banished her from their Paris apartment. He was generous seeing that she had a house in the south and the money to handle it. Although Bernadette never had enough money.” Maddy chuckled. “Blackie and I spoke many times over the years about what a mistake we had made pushing those two into marriage. A loveless marriage.”
Gilly reached ou
t, touched Maddy’s arm. “You did what you thought best. Don’t beat yourself up over things past. From the looks of the man, I’d say you and Blackie did a good job,” Gilly said smiling.
Maddy laid her hand on Gilly’s and then both women leaned back in their chairs. “You are very wise for your age, Gillianne.”
“That’s more my Gramps talking. He has a way of setting me straight,” Gilly said with a soft chuckle.
“Thank you, dear. I feel our family is close for the first time.” Maddy gazed at Gilly. “Family. I haven’t thought of that word for years. Seeing Blackie and our son holding … Robyn, oh my, I feel we are a family. You’ve given us … these few days mean so much. Thank you again, Gilly. And now before I start blubbering, I’d better get back to my painting. I see that son of mine heading our way.”
Chapter 39
───
MAXIME STRODE ACROSS THE lawn to the two women with a happy baby in his arms. Both watched him approach—one seeing her beloved son, the other seeing a strapping man nine years her senior, dressed in jeans, white shirt with his sleeves rolled up bearing down on her with their baby, her heart skipping a beat.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to leave you two alone together,” he said smiling as he kissed his mother’s cheek and throwing caution to the wind kissing Gilly’s hand then her cheek.
Gilly opened her arms accepting the hand-off, bouncing Robyn on her knee.
Maxime stood towering over her with his hands on his hips. “Don’t think you’re going to spend this beautiful day watching my mother paint. I’ve asked Gertie—
“Gertie?” Gilly stood shading her eyes with her hand.
“I think he’s talking about her job of overseeing all things kitchen related,” Maddy answered enjoying the by-play between the two.
“She’s packing a little picnic for us. Two picnic baskets that will fit strapped to the handlebars of our bikes.”
Murder by Design Trilogy Page 55