by Harper Bliss
“Babe,” Juliette said. “Maybe you should take Phénix for a walk. Let Steph and me decide about Claire’s future at Barbier & Cyr.”
“Fine. I’m sick of hearing Claire’s name, anyway.” Nadia whistled and Phénix’s ears perked up instantly. “Come on, mon amour. Let’s go for a walk.” Phénix gave an excited bark. “If only our friends were as loyal as our pets.” Nadia kissed Steph goodbye and she and Phénix left the living room.
“She has taken it hard,” Juliette said as soon as they heard the front door click closed. “I’m no psychotherapist, but I think there might be some unresolved feelings about Claire sleeping with that bloody neurosurgeon.”
“Dievart?” Steph asked.
Juliette nodded. “We haven’t talked about it yet. We haven’t talked about Marie Dievart in a long time, but I think Nadz is having such a hard time with Claire because it’s making her question herself in some way.” Juliette shrugged. “Anyway, back to Claire.”
“How are your anger levels?” Steph looked her friend in the eye.
“Don’t put me in the same room with her yet. You?”
“I keep oscillating between thinking that we were perhaps a bit too hard on her and that we could never be hard enough.” A knot of anguish formed in Steph’s stomach—again. “I’m so ambivalent about it.”
“Maybe that’s what friendship is all about.” Juliette was staring out of the window. “Learning to accept the inevitable ambivalence that comes with it.”
“Ambivalence might very well be Claire’s middle name.” Steph looked around Juliette and Nadia’s living room. Next to a picture of Juliette and Nadia on their wedding day, hung a picture of Claire and Margot on theirs. Would they, at some point, be adding one of her and Dominique? And what did it say about Juliette’s friendship with Claire that both pictures claimed an equal amount of space on her wall? If this whole business with Claire was tearing up Steph inside, it must be killing Jules. “You’re right, Jules. She can’t just resign and we can’t just fire her.”
“But she can’t work at Barbier & Cyr either.” Juliette sighed. “Nor can we just buy her out.”
“What do you propose?”
“The only option will be for her to take a leave of absence. That way, we’ll all have time to figure out what we want to do. With Claire out of the picture, Barbier & Cyr won’t be the same.” Juliette rubbed her chin. “And I won’t be scaling down to a thirty-hour work week any time soon.”
“We have Zoya.”
“If…” Juliette paused. “If Dominique decides to run, I’m not even sure how we’re going to manage. You and I will have to work for the campaign. We can’t leave Zoya to her own devices to take care of all our other clients.”
“Do we need to hire someone?” Steph asked.
“It all depends.”
“It all depends on Dominique.” That phrase might as well be Steph’s mantra in life since Dominique had taken office. “I promise that she will have made a decision after the weekend.”
“In the case that she decides to run, do you have any leads on who we could hire?” Juliette asked.
“Claire is nigh on impossible to replace.”
“We wouldn’t be replacing Claire,” Juliette said quickly. “We’d just be hiring someone to help with our existing client base while we work on Dominique’s campaign.”
“Got it.” Steph gave Juliette an encouraging nod. “Are you going to tell Claire about the leave of absence, or should I?”
“I’ll do it,” Juliette said. “We are the founders of the firm. Only I can tell her that.”
Steph was glad she didn’t have to be in the room for that conversation.
“Are you getting any sleep?” Steph had been quite dazzled by Juliette’s performance at the Elysée, but she could see now that it had taken a lot from her.
“A bit, but I have to admit that when I’m lying awake at night, I sometimes dream about selling the whole lot. In fact…” She didn’t finish her sentence.
“Yes?” Steph prodded.
“If we can get Dominique re-elected, we could fetch a really nice sum for the firm.”
Steph chuckled. She’d only ever known Juliette as a partner at Barbier & Cyr. That was how they’d met. “You could only sell the firm with the promise that its biggest asset would keep on working there.” She leaned forward. “That’s you, Jules.”
Juliette shook her head. “No, it’s us. The three of us. I guess we won’t be fetching any big sums any time soon.”
Claire
Claire’s heart was hammering in her throat. The president might have been a guest at her wedding and, on a good day, she might consider them to be something akin to friends, but today was by no means a day like that. It was Claire’s day of reckoning. It was the day that she had a task she never thought she’d be faced with.
She had to ask the president for forgiveness.
“Please follow me,” Madame Moreau said.
Claire wondered when Dominique’s personal secretary would ever retire. Perhaps she was waiting until Dominique was no longer president. As they approached the double doors leading to the president’s office, all thoughts about Madame Moreau’s retirement fled Claire’s brain.
“Thanks for seeing me, Madam President,” Claire said as soon as she’d been shown into Dominique’s office. To her relief, Solange wasn’t present. But Claire knew she could show up at any moment.
“Claire.” Dominique fixed her with a frosty glare.
Claire thought herself very foolish for even considering that she and Dominique were friends—even something close to friends. There was not a smidgen of friendly atmosphere in this office.
“Claire, Claire, Claire,” Dominique repeated. “What have you done to yourself?” She gestured for Claire to sit.
“I can only apologise.” Claire sat. She had practised the words last night in bed with Margot—it was the most action she and Margot had gotten up to in bed in months.
“While that is definitely true.” Dominique leaned back in her chair. “It’s not me who you’ve hurt the most. It’s not as if you went to Le Matin with the news I might not run. You took a silly gamble and told Aurore.” A quick up and down tilt of the head. “And who could ever have guessed that Solange is so lovable that a dyed-in-the-wool socialist like Aurore would confide in her instead of my political opponent?”
“I just—” Claire started.
Dominique cut her off by holding up a finger. “I don’t have the luxury of time to question you about your motives. This is something that has happened and that I’ve moved on from, unscathed. But you hurt Steph. And when you hurt Steph, you hurt me as well. I can only imagine how Juliette feels right now.”
Rub it in, why don’t you, Claire thought. Maybe that was why Dominique had agreed to see her.
“You’re quite ruthless, Claire.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re built for politics and PR. So it’s a real shame that you and I won’t be working together ever again.”
“About that.” Claire’d had enough of being reprimanded. “I just want you to know that Juliette had nothing to do with this. Please give her and the agency another chance. I don’t work there anymore. If you do decide to run, please go with Barbier &…” It was a hard habit to break to not just say their two last names in one breath. She had done so for decades. “I know that what I did was extremely disloyal, but it was my doing. Not Juliette’s. Jules is…” This was probably the hardest thing to say. Not because Claire was sitting in front of the president, but because of all the things that Juliette meant to her. “She’s extremely loyal.”
“Is that why you wanted to see me? To convince me of Juliette’s loyalty?” Dominique asked.
“Yes, but I also wanted… to see you.” Claire needed to see the look in Dominique’s eyes. She had expected it to be filled with much more disdain.
“If you’ve come for a chastising, you’ve come to the wrong address,” Dominique said matter-of-factly. “But now that you’re here,
I would like to ask you one thing.”
“Of course.” Claire’s ears perked all the way up.
“Since you were so keen to sell me out as soon as you heard about my doubts… Do you think I should run? Or did you approach the Socialists because you think Rivière would be a better president than I am?”
Claire noted a slight tension in Dominique’s tone.
“Perhaps, of everyone I know, you’re the only one ruthless enough to tell me what you really think,” Dominique added.
“Look, Dominique,” Claire started. “I have the utmost respect for you. As president, but also as Steph’s partner—”
“Respect?” Dominique waved her hand about. “Funny way you have of showing that. Let’s dispense with the niceties, shall we? Just tell me what you really think.”
Damn. Dominique was being deadly serious. That glare in her eyes demanded that Claire speak nothing but the truth. She thought about Margot and what she would want Claire to say. But this wasn’t about what Margot wanted, nor anyone else. This was about Claire’s opinion.
“I think Rivière’s a very strong candidate.”
Dominique nodded. Surely she had heard that one a million times before.
“But I also strongly believe that you’re the one to beat. Not only because you’re the sitting president and your approval ratings are not too bad for someone approaching the end of their first term. Historically, they’re actually rather high.” Claire took a breath. “Therefore, it’s my opinion that you should run again. It will be a hell of a race, but you have everything and everyone in your corner to win it.”
“Everything and everyone… except you.”
Claire nodded.
“Can you promise me you won’t go to work for the Socialist campaign?” Dominique asked.
Claire chuckled. “I think I’ve hurt my friends more than enough without adding that particular insult to their injuries. Not to mention my wife would divorce me if I did.”
“Somehow,” Dominique pursed her lips, “I get the feeling that not even all of that could stop you.”
“A leave of absence,” Claire repeated what Juliette had just said. It was about all Jules had said since Claire had arrived at her apartment—they’d met there at Claire’s insistence. She didn’t much feel like taking the walk of shame that surely awaited her at the Barbier & Cyr office.
“You won’t receive a salary,” Juliette added.
“I wouldn’t expect one.” Claire tried to find Juliette’s gaze but it was proving very hard to find. “Jules, I’m really sorry for what happened.”
“Yes well, this time, getting me a puppy isn’t going to make everything go away.”
“I went to see Dominique yesterday,” Claire said. “I think I managed to convince her that whatever I had done shouldn’t keep her from working with you.”
“Oh, please.” Juliette shot out of her chair. “Neither I nor Steph need you to do our bidding for us. We had squared that away with Dominique long before you felt a twinge of remorse. So if it’s making you feel any better about any of this, it shouldn’t.”
“Oh.” It had, in fact, made Claire feel better. “I didn’t know that.” Dominique hadn’t let on about that. “That’s great, though, Jules. You won’t lose her…”
“Great? Steph is engaged to her. Have you any idea what this has put her through? It’s hard enough for her to take a back seat to everything while Dominique is president. Then you put her so squarely between a rock and a hard place.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Oh yeah, yeah. You didn’t mean for any of it to happen. Of course you didn’t. But guess what? It did happen, Claire. And I keep wondering.” Juliette spat out the words. “Why? Why did you do this? Were you so bored at the office? What was it? Little Claire didn’t get what she wanted so she decided to give the tree a good old shake. But that tree, that’s your friends’ lives, Claire. I hope you can get that through that selfish skull of yours.”
“I know.” Claire couldn’t remain seated. “I’m sorry, Jules. I know it will take time before you can forgive me.” She thought better of walking over to Juliette and putting her arms around her.
“Forgive you?” Juliette bristled. “I will never forgive you until I can at the very least understand. Do you even have an explanation?”
Claire shook her head. “No.” Not one I can give to anyone right now. Claire was still trying to figure out why. Deep down, in her heart of hearts, she had an inkling, but it would take a while before she could find the words to explain it. “I’ll take the leave of absence. You’re right. It’s the best solution for the company right now.” She cast one last glance at Juliette, whose heartbreak was so visible on her face, it was about to break Claire’s heart in return. “If there’s anything you need or that I can do, let me know.”
“Just…” Juliette’s hands dropped to her side. “Keep your distance.”
“I will.” Claire couldn’t stand to look at Juliette any longer. She needed air. And she could do with some distance herself. “Bye, Jules.”
She exited the building and wondered what her life as a housewife would be like.
Dominique
Dominique didn’t know how it had really come to pass. It had involved a plane and a helicopter, that much she knew, and probably a lot of haggling on Solange’s part, but on Saturday, at four in the afternoon, she found herself in her family’s house in the South of France.
She was as alone as she would ever be as long as she was president. There were a few secret service people outside and a few members of staff in the house—that had been non-negotiable. The president of the republic could not be expected to make her own cup of coffee in the morning.
But the staff and the secret service agents were nothing if not discreet and they were professional enough to give her the sense that she was alone.
It was a strange feeling. Her first instinct, as soon as she arrived, was to call Steph, to just have a chat. She wasn’t used to this kind of silence anymore. The house wasn’t on the beach but, if she listened really closely, she could hear the waves crashing onto the shore in the distance.
She tapped her phone against the palm of her hand. She’d gotten used to having a sounding board. At the very least, just someone to think out loud with. It was odd how complete and utter silence, which could be such a powerful source of not only restoration, but also the kind of creative thinking any head of state needed to rely on often, had been so absent from her life. It wasn’t the sound or rather the absence of it, but the time for silence that had been denied her. If she were to ask for silence in the Elysée, everyone would do their utmost to walk on their tiptoes, but it wasn’t the same. The kind of profound silence she found here didn’t exist in Paris—it no longer existed anywhere else in her life.
In that respect, Steph had made a good call sending her here. This was where she needed to be if she wanted to draw the conclusion that so many people were waiting for now.
If, after this weekend, she decided to run again, it would be announced promptly, and the whole circus would start up again. A year of campaigning, followed by, if she won, another five years of the most intense, demanding, but rewarding job on the planet.
She sat in her father’s chair. How would Xavier react if she told him she had doubts? Would he be a politician first or a father? Definitely the former, Dominique decided. He’d always been a politician first. A father too, but the kind to project all his own dreams onto his daughter.
He had primed Dominique for the presidency from the youngest age possible. He had put her on the path. To confess her doubts to him now would only hurt him, even though his dream had already come true. His daughter was president.
But Dominique couldn’t let her father’s dream dictate the rest of her life—not even the next five years. That decision could only come from her. All the sacrifice it took had to be worth it.
She had to ask herself the question: could a worthy rival like Anne Rivière do a better job
than her?
A question, she was fairly certain, none of her male predecessors would have bothered asking themselves. Most men—especially in politics—always believed they were the right person for any job.
She put her hands on the leather armrests where her father’s had lain throughout the decades. She could so easily imagine him sitting in this very spot, looking out over the garden. That old tree to the left, which he had trimmed every year, “so it will survive as long as I can come here”. Then the thoughts of her ageing father led her to the question that might, once and for all, inspire her to make the right decision.
On her death bed, would she regret not having gone all out for a second term?
The silence around her seemed to deepen, and she could better hear the roar of the waves. Dominique closed her eyes and, because of the complete lack of sensory input, and the fatigue that had accumulated over the past four years, she promptly fell asleep.
Dominique woke with a crick in her neck and a blanket draped over her. So much for the illusion of being alone. When she peered out of the window, it was too dark to see anything but her own reflection. Someone, probably the same person who had covered her, had switched on a non-obtrusive lamp in the corner of the room.
Dominique glanced at the clock on the wall and concluded it must have broken since she was last here. It showed that it was almost nine o’clock in the evening. Then she remembered that in any residence the president might frequent, someone would make sure all the clocks ran on time. She really had slept that long. Had her phone not rung once? Steph must be running some army-like interference at the Elysée. So must Solange, her most loyal soldier.
Dominique remembered the question she had asked herself before she’d nodded off. She threw the blanket off her and stretched her legs. One of the perks of being president was that bottles of excellent wine seemed to appear everywhere she went. Maybe that would be something she wouldn’t be able to live without anymore. She could very easily do without being waited on hand and foot, but all that delicious wine at her disposal whenever she wanted it… She walked to the table and picked up the bottle. Saint-Julien. Glorious. She suspected Stéphanie had been influential in selecting this. Ah, Stéphanie. She missed her. Even more so because they didn’t get enough time for the two of them to be alone and she felt guilty for spending this me-time without her. But Steph was the one who had sent her here—and with good reason.