Putnam was silent as he gazed at her. He undid the buckles of the car seat and picked her up as Marcel got the stroller out of the trunk and Isabelle set it up. Putnam assured her he had gotten her a magnificent antique crib at an auction in Deauville. He said it was worthy of a princess. Theo regarded him with interest and didn’t make a sound as he carried her into the château.
“This is your other home, my darling,” he said as he walked her around and took her out on the terrace to observe the view. It was a gorgeous sunny day, and she was wearing a little pink smocked dress with a matching hat that Isabelle had bought for the trip. Theo finally smiled at her father when he kissed her bare feet. It brought tears to Isabelle’s eyes to watch them. She had never expected this kind of emotion from him. He was instantly in love with his child. He insisted on taking them upstairs and showing Isabelle the crib, which was a splendid antique, upholstered with billows of pale pink taffeta and lace, and pink satin ribbons everywhere, and a small pink teddy bear, which he had bought for her too. The crib was set up in the dressing room next to his room, so they could hear her easily during the night. It touched Isabelle to see the familiar bedroom where Theo had been conceived.
“Welcome back, my love,” he said and kissed her again. He didn’t call it home, but neither of them could have imagined this scene a year before. Marcel and the maids fluttered around them like a flock of mother hens, wanting to see the baby, and exclaiming over how perfect she was. And Putnam couldn’t deny how much she looked like him, except for Isabelle’s pale blond hair. He and Theo looked like twins, and she had the same reserve he did, the same cautious outlook on the world. Theo never seemed entirely convinced that she wanted to communicate with her admirers oohing and aahing over her, just as Putnam always looked as though he was about to run away when people were around him. Theo had many of his facial expressions. It was uncanny how much they looked alike. His genes were very strong.
“I hope she’s more gregarious and engaged in life than I am, or she’ll be a very unhappy girl,” he said to Isabelle that night over dinner. “But she has adoring parents, which I never did. That should make a difference.”
“She has a very definite personality,” Isabelle confirmed. “She’s very peaceful, and I think the word I’d use to describe her is reserved,” which was a funny thing to say about a two-month-old baby, but her grandfather had seen it too, while they stayed with him in Newport. She was nothing like the happy baby squealing with delight that Isabelle had been at the same age.
Isabelle was amazed when he produced a baby carrier the next day and put it on, so he could carry Theo everywhere with him. He even walked her down to the beach, and dangled her feet in the waves, and then put her back in the carrier when they walked along the sand.
He and Isabelle had made love the night before, but she noticed with a little disappointment that the fire had gone out of their lovemaking, and he admitted to being afraid that she’d get pregnant again. He had adjusted to it once, to some degree, but said he knew he couldn’t do it twice. He had fallen in love with Theo on sight but insisted that she was unique, and the passion he’d felt for Isabelle the year before seemed to have transferred to their child. He never tired of being with her as the days went by.
He spent a morning explaining Theo’s trust to Isabelle and how it would work. Ultimately Theo would be his sole heir, and there would be appropriate amounts of money when she reached certain ages. The investments in her trust would be handled by his bankers, but he wanted Isabelle to teach her to handle it responsibly too.
“I expect her to do some good in the world,” he said seriously, “however she wishes to do that, either through philanthropy and gifts to causes she’s interested in, or more actively on a personal level. A great deal of responsibility comes with the money I’ll be leaving her one day. She has to put it to good use, not just spend it on herself.”
It was what he did with the causes he supported. What he said inspired Isabelle to learn more about managing money, and she promised him she would. All she knew about was art. She liked Putnam’s view that their daughter should do some good in the world. It made Isabelle realize how fortunate her daughter was. She had always lived side by side with enormously rich people, but had never given it much thought. Now her daughter was going to be one of them. Isabelle didn’t want to benefit from it herself, and didn’t expect to, but she realized that she owed it to Putnam to teach his values to their child. He intended to as well.
“I want you both to come here every summer,” he said to Isabelle one night over dinner. “You can spend the month of August here.” It was all the human contact he could tolerate, and it was a strong dose of it for him to have them in the house for a month, but he wanted to see Theo grow up, and spend time with her every year. “And I want you here too,” he said generously, although he had barely made love to her since she arrived. It made Isabelle sad at first, but reminded her again of how limited Putnam was, and she was grateful that he loved Theo as much as he did. He treated Isabelle more like a daughter or sister or best friend now. The love of his life had turned out to be his daughter, and Isabelle had turned out to be the unexpected vehicle for the gift. It was an adjustment for her because she was still in love with him. She knew that Putnam loved her and cared about her, but not romantically or sexually anymore. He saw her more as a Madonna now, and he took hundreds of photographs of mother and child that summer. She knew he would pore over them in his loneliness after they left.
“You’ll bring her back next August, you promise,” he said, almost pleading with her the night before they left.
“I promise,” she said solemnly. She knew how badly he needed them and how intensely he loved Theo, even if he was willing to be far from her for a year.
“And you’ll let me know if you need anything.” They had settled on an amount that he would send her every month, but she wanted to keep it to a bare minimum and support Theo herself to the degree she could. It was important to Isabelle to maintain her own independence and integrity, and he admired her for it, and respected her all the more. Even Marcel had understood that “Mademoiselle” wanted nothing from his employer. Putnam had given her a pearl necklace that had been his mother’s, as a gift for giving him their remarkable child, and she wore it every day, but it was all she would accept from him for herself.
“I don’t need anything, Putnam,” she insisted. “I’m starting a job as soon as we go back. You’re paying for the apartment, and the sitter, that’s more than enough.”
“You’ll need more when she’s older,” he reminded her.
“I hope I’ll be making a decent salary by then.” She smiled. She had every intention of working hard and making a good living. She wanted to be one of the curators of the gallery one day, although she would never make a fortune like his or the Vanderbilts’, or even what her daughter would have, but she intended to make some money and put it away.
“I want her to go to private school,” he said, thinking ahead.
“She’s a lucky little girl,” Isabelle said, still amazed by her good fortune, and her daughter’s, but she knew that he was right too, and one day Theo would have a responsibility to those less fortunate than she. They would both have a lot to learn about what that meant.
On the morning they left, Putnam held them both tightly in his arms for a long time and then carefully put Theo in her car seat and strapped her in. She looked healthy and rounder and gently tanned by the sun, and seemed much bigger than when they had arrived. She was even more alert now and observant of the world around her.
“I’ll write to you,” he promised Isabelle when he kissed her goodbye. Marcel drove them to the airport, and Isabelle watched Putnam disappear into the house as they drove away. She felt sorry for him as she never had before. She was taking his life’s blood with her, and all the joy he’d ever had. He wanted it desperately and it was within easy reach, but he simpl
y didn’t have the emotional fortitude to grab it and hold it close. What he wanted most in life had just slipped through his fingers, and he was alone again.
Chapter Four
Their August together in Normandy became an annual tradition. The gallery where Isabelle worked closed in August, so it was easy for her, and she didn’t like being in Newport then, when her father was busy with the Vanderbilts in residence.
More and more, Putnam was their benefactor and the safety net under them, even though he was unable to participate in their daily life. He loved hearing about Isabelle’s job, and her regular promotions.
Within a few years, she was dealing with some of their more important clients, and her salary was commensurate. She was making a good wage for how young she was. Putnam delighted in watching Theo grow up too, and shared information with her far beyond what most children could absorb at her age. She was bright and seemed to understand everything he told her. He was a doting father when he was with her, and a kindly presence through letters and phone calls when he wasn’t. Even as a very young child, Theo had no doubt that her father loved her.
He helped Isabelle in the few ways she would allow him to, and had bought several paintings from her at the gallery. He knew she would appreciate the commissions. She referred to him at work, and among people she knew, as her ex-husband now, she didn’t use his last name and no one ever questioned it. In the art world, he was known as an important collector, and her employers loved it when he bought paintings from them.
Away from work, Isabelle focused entirely on her daughter, and even her father had to admit it had worked out well. Isabelle was an exceptionally good mother despite her youth. Maeve had stayed with them, and was someone Isabelle could count on. Theo adored her and loved the stories she told her, and Maeve loved the little girl almost as much as one of her own.
Isabelle had offered to bring Theo to Normandy to spend Christmas with Putnam, but he hated the holidays and was content to see them once a year in August. She continued to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with her father in Newport. He loved his only grandchild too. He would take her around the gardens and to see the horses, and he told her all about the estate. She was as fascinated by it as Isabelle had been when she was growing up there. It had never dawned on her as a child that she wasn’t really part of it. In the same way, it never occurred to Theo either, since her own father’s property in France was even larger than the Vanderbilts’, the château even more imposing, and the art collection equally impressive. Theo’s lineage, thanks to Putnam, was every bit as distinguished as theirs, although she was too young to know that yet. Isabelle’s arrangement with Putnam was unusual, but it had worked out well so far.
The only thing that concerned Jeremy was that Isabelle’s life was one of duty and responsibility. To the best of his knowledge, there had been no man in her life since Theo was born. She was still in love with Putnam in a remote, surreal way, and her father frequently reminded her that she needed fun in her life too. She always said that Theo and her month with Putnam in Normandy were fun enough for her.
“I love my work,” Isabelle countered, and made no effort to meet anyone. She went to no parties in New York, had declined invitations to dinner from co-workers at the gallery, and had unwittingly become as solitary as Putnam, despite her circumstances and her age. Jeremy hoped to see her happily married one day. She had time, but he still thought her lifestyle wasn’t healthy for a girl her age. “You did the same thing when we moved to Newport, Dad,” she reminded him.
“That was different, I was nearly forty and widowed after a loving marriage. And I went out with women from time to time. I was just discreet about it, so it wasn’t obvious to you.” She knew he had had a “close friendship” with the main housekeeper, a lovely Englishwoman, when Isabelle was in her teens. But the woman had eventually gone back to England and married someone else. Jeremy had never wanted to remarry, which discouraged most women after a while. Isabelle was far too young to give up on romance in her life, but the passion she had shared with Putnam, and deep affection she still felt for him, were hard to match. Putnam had said the same things to her in the past year or two, and warned her not to become a recluse, like him. But unlike her father, Putnam felt sure she’d meet the right man eventually.
It worried Putnam at times that a new man might not want her spending a month with him at the château every year, so he didn’t push her too hard. He hoped that by the time she did meet someone, Theo would be old enough to visit him alone. He was no longer possessive about Isabelle, but he didn’t want to lose his daughter to another man who would take his place, and he had expressed that to Isabelle many times. She understood and promised him that he would never lose Theo, no matter what happened.
She did everything to strengthen the bond between father and daughter during the year. Their apartment was full of photographs of him taken during their visits, and Isabelle talked about him constantly to Theo. She read his letters to her, and whenever she said she wanted to hear her papa, they called him, if it was a reasonable hour in France, and now and then when it wasn’t. He was always delighted to hear his daughter, no matter how much he disliked taking phone calls from others. They talked to Marcel occasionally too, when Putnam was on his sailboat or walking somewhere on the estate, and Marcel was just as pleased to hear her as her father. He had developed a warm affection for Isabelle too. In Putnam’s mind, Isabelle had become his family, and had a role of vast importance in his life, and had lived up to all his expectations. She had given him life’s greatest gift with Theo. Isabelle had never disappointed or lied to him, and they treated each other with the greatest respect.
In the September after their visit when Theo was four, she started nursery school and called to tell her father all about it. She said she already had two best friends. Isabelle was happy and busy and on the board of a major charity event she had volunteered for, to benefit a new wing at NYU hospital for breast cancer treatment and research. The gala they were organizing was going to be the New York social event of the year, with a major art auction, and an auctioneer from Christie’s. Her gallery had donated a small Renoir drawing which was expected to go for a big price. Many galleries from cities all over the United States were involved, and she was on the committee to help set up and organize the booths, and decide who would be placed where. The art to be auctioned was an impressive collection of major and minor works by well-known artists from around the world. Their hope was to make at least five million dollars from the sale, and they had a benefactor who had promised to match what they made. And Putnam had made a large donation in Theo’s name to get the event off to a good start, for which Isabelle was very grateful.
The behind-the-scenes politics of the event were complicated, with the more powerful galleries wanting the best spots for their booths, and the lesser ones wanting to show their work advantageously as well. She had just resolved several disputes between rival galleries. Other board members were on the committee for the black-tie dinner before the auction, and a well-known band had been hired to provide dancing afterward. The ticket prices for the evening spanned a broad range, with those in the “platinum” seats paying ten thousand a person and a hundred thousand for a table. They had one table of “diamond” guests for twenty-five thousand each. That table had to be in the front row for the auction, and right next to the dance floor, to satisfy the donors. Isabelle had a million details to attend to.
They had taken over part of Lincoln Center for the evening, and Isabelle had bought a simple black evening gown at Bergdorf that she knew she could wear again at gallery events. But her mind was occupied with far more important things than what she would wear. Each gallery wanted their setup to look impressive, and as soon as the auction was over, the empty booths had to be dismantled rapidly when the dancing began. The evening promised to be magical, but she was one of the magicians who had to make it all happen, which was incredibly stressful, but
hopefully rewarding for the hospital in the end. Just as she was hoping to grab a sandwich at three o’clock the day before the event, she was called on the walkie-talkie to come and talk to a dealer who was in a heated debate with another committee member about where his booth had been placed.
“What can I do to help?” she asked pleasantly as she arrived on the scene to find a strikingly handsome man in a blue shirt and jeans arguing with two women from the committee who were at their wit’s end, while he flatly refused to accept the booth he’d been assigned.
“I don’t give a damn,” he was saying to them. “I have the biggest clients in California, and twenty buyers flying in from Las Vegas who took two platinum tables. They don’t want to see me shoved in a back row somewhere behind some gallery from Podunk, Iowa. I’m not going to let you make me look bad to my clients.” He was almost shouting at them. One of the women was near tears. He was a force to be reckoned with.
“This is about raising money for the hospital for breast cancer,” Isabelle reminded him in a pleasant tone, glancing at the name on his badge and looking it up on her list, which described him as a contemporary art dealer in Newport Beach, California. She’d never heard of him before, but she was unfamiliar with dealers of contemporary art, except for the most elite ones in New York. “Everyone’s trying to be good sports about where they’re placed, since it’s a charity event,” she reminded him as he looked her over and assessed whether or not she was important enough to include in the argument. Her looks and calm demeanor told him she was, her beauty alone caught his attention, if nothing else. The two women he’d been arguing with were considerably older. “This really isn’t about getting new clients,” she said, but they both knew that wasn’t entirely true. The booths being set up by a fleet of carpenters and electricians and still being painted would catch the eyes of collectors and potential buyers from around the country. It was part of the draw to encourage galleries to donate work, even if it wasn’t fully representative of what they had to sell, since they weren’t donating their very best work. It was a major undertaking, and Isabelle had enjoyed working on it for several months. Her employers were delighted she was doing it. She was well respected by her peers and superiors.
Blessing in Disguise Page 5