Roxy's Story

by V. C. Andrews

  “Hi,” I heard, and turned to see him standing there in a white silk jacket and a black tie, with black slacks, hardly the attire of someone who wanted to spend the day lounging around a pool.

  “Hi. What’s up?”

  “I’m on my way to Cannes for a business meeting and wondered if you would like to go along. It won’t be a long meeting, and we could have dinner on the way back. We can spend some time there, too. Just walking on the Croiset in Cannes is fun for me, and I’m sure it will be for you.”

  The Croiset in Cannes, I thought, remembering my mother describing it to me. Her father had taken her family to Cannes for a little summer holiday when she was about my age. The Croiset, was just a long street that ran parallel to the ocean, but along the way there was so much to see, such as the shops that featured the major fashion houses and the art galleries, restaurants, and hotels that formed the backdrop. Many had been featured in old movies, and some were used in films to this day. My mother described the people who populated the Croiset in the evening as the “beautiful people,” wealthy and glamorous people in their haute couture and their expensive cars.

  “It was as if I had stepped into a movie myself,” she’d told me. “Someday I’m sure you will go there and see what I mean.”

  Yes, I had thought. I will go there, Mama, but when I do, I will be one of the “beautiful people.”

  And here I was on the verge of making that happen. I would put on something expensive, wear the jewelry Mrs. Brittany had bought me, and drive into Cannes in Paul’s $350,000 car.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let me get dressed. How much time do we have?”

  “Whatever you need. They wait for me, not I for them.”

  “It’s a mistake to tell a woman she has whatever time she needs. I might take hours.”

  “Something tells me you won’t,” he said.

  I laughed and hurried in and up the stairs.

  Of course, he was right. I didn’t take hours. I was too excited and wanted to be with him. Besides, I had already been well schooled in how to look like a million dollars in a matter of minutes, not hours. It was practically written on a plaque above the salon at Mrs. Brittany’s estate: A Brittany girl is never ever at a disadvantage.

  On the way to Cannes, he told me how much he had missed me and how much he regretted not being able to do much about it. He knew that Norbert and Caesar were filling in. Despite their being gay, he sounded jealous when I described all the fun we had been having.

  “Doesn’t sound like you missed me all that much,” he complained.

  “Oh, I did. Occasionally,” I teased.

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “I like you a lot, Paul,” I said in a very serious tone, “but I won’t suffer because of any man.”

  He looked at me, my hardness surprising him. Any good psychoanalyst would probably say my attitude stemmed from my poor relationship with my father, but Paul knew nothing of that.

  “I wouldn’t want you to suffer,” he said. “Ever.”

  It was all he came up with. I was disappointed but let it go.

  While he had his meeting at one of the major hotels, I went shopping in the row of shops nearby and met him in the lobby afterward. He had my packages put in his car, and then, holding hands, we went walking along the Croiset. We window-shopped, listened to a street musician on an accordion, and then had a gelato and sat people watching for nearly an hour before we started back to Beaulieu, stopping for dinner in Nice at the famous Negresco Hotel restaurant.

  I never asked him anything about his future fiancée or anything about his family the whole time, but I could feel it all hovering above us like a small but dark and angry cloud that constantly threatened to empty cold drops of rain on every warm smile, small laugh, or look of passion.

  He mentioned going out on his yacht again. “I just have to clear the schedule,” he said.

  “Well, don’t do anything yet. Mrs. Brittany is coming in two days, and I will have to wait to see what plans she has for us before agreeing to anything.”

  “Yes, of course. How long is she staying?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He was thoughtful. I knew he was wondering if Mrs. Brittany’s arrival meant that my stay was coming to a quick end, but he didn’t ask.

  This time, when we returned, he spent the night with me. I knew that meant he didn’t want me in his house while his parents were there. I doubted he had even mentioned me to them.

  He was up early in the morning and gone before breakfast, telling me he had a breakfast meeting in Monte Carlo with his father to discuss a major European acquisition they were contemplating.

  “Do you think rich people want to get richer out of greed or ego?” I asked him before he left.

  He thought a moment and said, “Probably both. My father says when you’re satisfied, you’re ready for the long sleep.”

  “So he’s always dissatisfied?”

  “Let’s say always hungry. Which reminds me. I want to take you to another of my favorite restaurants tonight, okay?”

  “I can be hungry,” I said.

  He laughed, but I could see him looking at me a little askance, wondering why I was putting this new sharpness in my voice.

  We had dinner again that night at a restaurant in Villefranche-sur-Mer down by the water. As it was everywhere else we had dinner, the staff, managers, and owners knew him and had a certain table reserved for him.

  “Don’t you ever eat at home?” I asked.

  “When I’m sick,” he replied. “How could I not want to take you out, Roxy? You make me look good.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re accepting a compliment? No wisecracks?”

  “Just this once,” I joked. “Because this time, I’m sure it’s true.”

  He laughed so hard everyone at the restaurant turned to look at us. I could fall in love with him, I admitted to myself. I wondered if he was considering any long-term relationship between us now as our time together was winding down quickly. Was I a naive fool to think that marriage wasn’t impossible? I decided to test the water.

  “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here,” I said, knowing what he probably had suspected. “It might be a matter of a few days.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mrs. Brittany is coming tomorrow. I might go back with her.”

  “I see.”

  He was pensive a moment, and then someone he knew waved, and the moment seemed to float off like a balloon caught in the wind. He didn’t voice any regrets or predict any terrible heartbreak if I should leave as quickly as I suggested. I didn’t want to believe he wouldn’t feel that. I concluded instead that it was too painful for him to talk about it.

  The following morning, I woke up realizing that this was the day Mrs. Brittany was to arrive. No one had called to let me know when she would be here. I hurried down to breakfast and was just sipping my first cup of coffee when the phone rang. Margery brought it to the table.

  “It’s Mrs. Brittany,” she said.

  “Oh? Thank you,” I said, taking the receiver quickly, thinking she might be calling me from the plane.

  “Hello, Mrs. Brittany. Are you close?”

  “I’m not able to come over there just now, Roxy,” she said. There was something in her tone of voice that was unusual. She sounded weak, her voice wobbly.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s Sheena,” she said after a short pause.

  “What about her? Was she in an accident?”

  “She’s had a setback. I took her for her six-month examination, and the results of her tests . . .”

  “What?”

  “The cancer has returned. It’s more aggressive than we had expected.”

  “Oh, no. Will she be all right?”

  “I’m flying her to a new doctor and a new clinic tomorrow.”

  “I’d like to come back to be with her.”

  “We’ll see,” she said. “I’ll call you in a day or so.”

 
; “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Yes. I know. Watch yourself,” she added, and hung up, leaving me feeling as if I was dangling in space. I imagined she had called Norbert, too, and then I thought, actually hoped, he had called Paul to let him know I was back to being free. It wasn’t much more than an hour later when Paul called.

  “I understand Mrs. Brittany has been delayed,” he said, without mentioning why. Had Norbert told him the reason or just told him she was delayed?

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to take you onto the yacht for dinner tonight. I have my father’s chef at our disposal. Will you come?”

  I was depressed about Sheena, but since there was nothing I could do, I thought anything that would distract me from thinking about her and her situation would be good. Besides, perhaps this was going to be the night I dreamed of. Perhaps he was planning to propose to me, and what more romantic spot than on the deck of his yacht, sipping champagne and looking out at Monte Carlo all lit up?

  What would I do and say if he did propose? Would I feel any sense of guilt? Surely something like this was always a danger for Mrs. Brittany with any of her beautiful and sophisticated women. Why wasn’t it possible for a wealthy man to fall in love with one and woo her away? Had that happened in the past? She would never discuss any of her other girls in any detail. Anyway, we had risks. Why shouldn’t she? Obviously, nothing like this had put her out of business, I thought.

  “Okay,” I said. “I have yet to be on the sea.”

  “Well, this might be more than just being on the sea. Maybe pack a little bag for an overnight.”

  “Just a little bag?” I teased.

  “Pack a trunk if you want,” he said. What did that mean?

  I informed Margery that I wouldn’t be home for dinner and maybe not breakfast, either. Less than an hour later, Paul arrived. I had only an overnight bag when I appeared.

  “You look disappointed with my overnight bag,” I said.

  He laughed. “My mother’s idea of an overnight bag is five suitcases and one bag just for shoes. It’s not that she needs it all. It’s that she likes to have the same sorts of choices she has at home.”

  “I didn’t think we would need that much clothing on your yacht,” I said, and he laughed.

  “I gave the ship’s crew the night off,” he told me when we pulled up to the dock, “but we have some staff to help with our dinner.”

  There were so many yachts anchored, and I didn’t know which one was his family’s. He took my bag, and we started down the dock, passing one yacht after another, all luxurious and big to me, but when he stopped, I was shocked at the size of his.

  “How big is this?”

  “Only one hundred twenty feet,” he said. “Sleeps ten, with a crew of five.”

  We boarded, and he showed me the luxurious living quarters with a big-screen television and the dining area with a table that could seat ten. There were two settings at the moment. Then we entered the galley, where his father’s chef was preparing Lobster Fra Diavolo for our dinner. He introduced us and then showed me the owner’s cabin. It was as big as the suite I had back at Mrs. Brittany’s estate on Long Island.

  I didn’t want to sound like some country bumpkin, so I didn’t tell him how surprised I was to discover that rooms on a yacht could be as big as some apartments, if not bigger than many.

  “Do you want to change for dinner?” he asked.

  “No. I’m okay. You?”

  “I always go casual on the yacht. My parents like to dress as if we were on the Queen Mary at the captain’s dinner.”

  “Sounds like sometimes you’re barely tolerated in your family.”

  “Sometimes. Maybe more than sometimes,” he said, laughing. “C’mon. We’ll have cocktails on deck.”

  A waiter was there already, fixing our drinks. We sat looking up at the city, the lights just starting to go on. From where we were sitting, it looked like a show put on just for us.

  “There’s a special event tonight,” Paul said.

  “Oh?”

  “I didn’t know it until late today, but we’re going to have fireworks.”

  We were served champagne cocktails and some wonderful hors d’oeuvres.

  “I understand Mrs. Brittany has some family problems,” he said after a while. “Her granddaughter is very sick?”

  “Yes.”

  So Norbert had told him some things, after all, I thought. What else had he explained?

  “And you know her well?”

  “Very well. At the moment, she’s my closest friend.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. So you want to return to see her?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. He was silent so long that I was convinced he was working himself up for some very serious proposal, but before he spoke, we were informed that dinner was ready. The sliding doors of the dining area were wide open to give us the feeling we were eating on deck. I couldn’t imagine ever having a more wonderful gourmet dinner with expensive wines and impeccable service. A second waiter appeared to open the wine and clear the dishes as we ate.

  I didn’t know whether Paul talked out of nervousness or simply because he was afraid that pregnant silences would give birth to sad thoughts, but from the moment we sat until the moment we had our coffee on the deck, he never stopped. He told me more about his family company, the projects and plans they had for the coming year, the places he was going to visit in Europe and Asia, and then some ideas he had to innovate and expand even more.

  I listened attentively and asked good questions as my training as a Brittany escort kicked in. I could hear the main points of Mrs. Brittany’s lessons.

  “Always give the man you’re with the sense that you’re with him, that you are attuned to everything he says and interested in everything he says.

  “Don’t let your mind drift, and never change the subject. He has to be the one directing word traffic in these tête-à-têtes, Roxy. You’re there to be his audience, an admirer.

  “Never bring up anything about yourself. Be polite when and if he asks questions about you, but always keep your answers general. It’s part of the tease and the cachet, the mystery. Most of the men you escort will respect your privacy. Occasionally, you’ll meet one who is more demanding. I’d rather you disappoint that sort and let him drift away than compromise yourself or our company in any way. Understand?”

  It bothered me that I was putting on my professional persona with Paul tonight, but his avoidance of anything really warm and personal between us nudged me into it. Was he really happy with my phony smiles, my nods, my almost inane comments and praise? Couldn’t he see through it, or didn’t he want to see through it?

  Afterward, when the fireworks began, I thought his passion for me was rushing back in. He had his arm around me. He kissed me and was more like a younger man again, filled with the same level of excitement I was feeling. The fireworks were elaborate, building to a crescendo.

  As always, when I had a moment to stabilize myself and return to earth, I contrasted where I had been with where I was. Regardless of what happened between Paul and me, this was going to be my world now, and I was determined to succeed in it. I’d be nobody’s poor, mixed-up, lost little girl again. I’d eat caviar and lobster in the most expensive restaurants in the world. I’d wear furs and jewels that would draw looks of envy. I’d fly in private jets and ride in limousines, be disdainful of budgets, and titillate the most powerful and wealthy men with my smiles, my gestures, and my promising kisses.

  Paul and I made love in the owner’s suite. With every kiss and caress, he told me how beautiful and wonderful I was and how much he enjoyed being with me, how grateful he was that he had met me. I kept waiting for that proverbial second shoe to drop, that next sentence, that proposal or idea to keep us together in some magical world of tomorrow, where neither of us would grow old or sick or tired of each other’s company.

  It didn’t come.

  I fell asleep with tears icing the lids of my e
yes. He was up before me in the morning, and when I appeared, he was out on the deck having his coffee and looking at the sea like someone in a daze. His staff hurried to get me some breakfast. I had only petit déjeuner. Paul waited until I had something to eat and drank my coffee before he told me that Norbert had called.

  “He said Mrs. Brittany wanted you to be at the airport this afternoon.”

  “Oh. Did he tell any more? I mean, anything about Mrs. Brittany’s granddaughter?”

  “No, nothing. Your things are being packed. I told him I’d drive you to Nice.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “I don’t know when I’ll be able to get to New York,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “But when and if I do . . .”

  “Okay,” I said, cutting him off. I didn’t want to hear any promises. Right now, they were like flowers thrown on the water and drifting out with the tide.

  “I want you to believe that I really care about you, Roxy.”

  I gave my best professional smile. Mrs. Brittany had actually taught me what that was.

  “I . . .”

  “Paul, please. Let’s just—”

  “No, you don’t understand,” he said. “I didn’t see you this week because this was the week I got formally engaged. My father actually bought the ring for me.”

  I looked away. This would be the first and the very last time I would ever invest my emotions in a man, I vowed. From this day forward, I’d be the one who broke hearts. As God is my witness, I told myself.

  “I’ll see you again. I swear,” Paul added.

  Sure you will, I thought. But it will cost you.

  17

  Sheena went through a horrendous four months of chemo and radiation treatments. I didn’t think anything I would ever experience would be as painful to watch. Through it all, she never lost her wonderful joie de vivre. She wouldn’t permit me to feel sorry for her or be sad in her presence. On her good days, she wanted us to do “sisterly” things like shop and go to fun restaurants and movies. Mrs. Brittany arranged for everything. She didn’t have to come out and say it. I could see in her face that the prognosis was not good. I knew she was putting me on hold so I could be with her granddaughter for her final days.