Fingers crossed, he said to himself. Fingers crossed.
‘I do like this suite,’ Lorne announced in his mellifluous voice, walking through the large sitting room and opening the door at the other end. ‘Oh, Tessa, look, here’s another bedroom. Well, my darling, this is a treat.’ He swung around to face his twin sister, and added, ‘When I spoke to Dad in New York the other day he said he’d made sure we had a large suite we could share, and he’s done us proud.’
‘And then some,’ Tessa agreed, glancing around the beautifully-furnished sitting room of the Paris O’Neill Hotel at the very end of Avenue Montaigne. ‘And it’s nice to have that bird’s eye view of the Eiffel Tower.’
Hurrying to her brother, she hugged him. ‘I’m glad I came with you, Lorne. Thanks for making me. I’ve been very down, so I think this trip will cheer me up, like you said.’
‘Just as long as you’re going to relax and not worry about Adele. She’s absolutely as safe as houses with Elvira and Linnet at Pennistone Royal, and Evan’s there as well, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she’s been working at the Leeds store with India, but I suppose India’s staying with Dusty Rhodes at the moment, and not at Pennistone Royal. Gideon and Julian will be spending the weekend with Evan and Linnet, they’re arriving tomorrow night, Linnet told me. So I’m fine with it, honestly. Now, which bedroom do you want?’
Lorne glanced over his shoulder, looking into the room he’d just discovered, and said, ‘I think this is the more feminine of the two, and the larger. Why don’t you take this one, Tessa, and I’ll use the one at the other end of the sitting room.’
The doorbell rang and Lorne went to answer it. He ushered in the bellboy with the bags, directed him on the placement of the luggage, and tipped him.
Alone again with Tessa, Lorne said, ‘Now, Tessa my darling, I want you to get all spruced up. We’ve got a special evening ahead of us.’
‘We do? Where are we going? You didn’t mention anything before on the plane coming to Paris.’
‘I thought it would be a nice surprise. First we’re going to a book party–a sort of cocktail party and book-signing combined–and after that we’re going on to dinner as guests of the author.’
‘Who’s the author? I suppose it’s a beautiful woman, knowing you, brother of mine,’ Tessa murmured, throwing him a pointed look.
‘No,’ Lorne said, shaking his head, smiling at her, his eyes full of mischief. ‘It’s Jean-Claude Deléon.’
Staring hard at him, Tessa frowned. ‘You say his name as if I should know him. Do I?’
‘You did meet him once. Briefly. At an opening of mine. But I don’t know that he registered on you that night. However, you should know him, Tessa, since he’s the most famous intellectual in France after Bernard-Henri Lévy.’
‘I’ve never heard of him either. Who’s Bernard-Henri Lévy?’
‘Oh, Tess, don’t be such a dunce. Lévy is the first most famous intellectual in France, and look, both men are renowned, they’re celebrities.’
‘I don’t think I want to go. This party’s pas ma tasse de thé.’
‘It is your cup of tea, don’t be so silly. Anyway, the party’s seven to nine. So we’ll go at eight-fifteen for forty-five minutes, then go on to dinner with him and a small group of his friends.’
‘Even forty-five minutes sounds too long to me. Can’t I come for the last ten minutes?’
‘No, you can’t,’ he exclaimed sharply. ‘It’s about time you got out and about. We’re in Paris, you agreed to do whatever I wanted before we came, so we’re going to the book-signing. At eight-fifteen.’
‘All right, all right, don’t get your knickers in a twist!’ she exclaimed, and glanced at her watch. ‘It’s six-thirty, an hour earlier in England, so I’m going to phone Elvira and Adele, and then I’ll get ready.’
‘I want you to look gorgeous and glamorous,’ Lorne instructed, and hurried to his bedroom to get ready himself.
An hour later Tessa stood staring at herself in the bathroom, the walls of which were entirely mirrored. Turning this side and that, she was wondering if she had chosen the right outfit.
Perhaps she should have worn something a little more dressy for the book party. Lorne had told her that Jean-Claude Deléon was a national celebrity, and a special favourite amongst the chic in the worlds of literature, theatre and society. Therefore it would be full of sophisticated writers and intellectuals and the beau monde of Paris, as well as actors. And certainly this outfit was simple, to say the least.
And yet her reflection now told her that she looked pretty, and this pleased her. She hadn’t felt pretty in the longest time, weighed down by worries about the divorce, her sense of failure that the marriage had ended. And then there had been the dreadful experience of Adele’s abduction; she could not deny that the fear had taken its toll, rendered her helpless at times.
One of the reasons she had chosen the outfit she was wearing was the weather. It was as hot here as it was in London, and a short while ago, as she had looked over the clothes she had brought with her, she had settled on this skirt and top made of white voile. The voile was gauzy and light as air; the three-quarter-length skirt, that fell to just above her ankles, was relatively full and intersected with bands of narrow lace. Each band was set into the voile at intervals from the hip down, and the same narrow lace trimmed the hemline. The matching top was sleeveless and had a draped neckline that was flattering to her, very becoming, she thought. A white leather belt clinched her waist and matched her high-heeled sandals, and her only jewellery was a watch and chandelier earrings made of pearls.
Glancing at herself one more time, she nodded, decided she’d done the best she could, and went back into the bedroom. Picking up a small white leather purse, she opened the door to the sitting room and walked in.
Lorne was speaking on the phone, and he looked across the room as he heard the door opening. ‘Got to go, Phil. My date’s arrived. See you tomorrow,’ he murmured and hung up.
Coming towards her in long strides, her brother let out a low wolf-whistle, and exclaimed, ‘You’ve done me proud, Ancient One! You look absolutely bloody wonderful!’
Tessa laughed. ‘And you don’t look so bad yourself, Lorne Fairley. Now isn’t it great that you’re wearing black. We blend very well, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I would. And thank God I didn’t wear my white shirt and trousers, we’d have looked like some awful double act, the two of us in white.’
‘Never,’ she shot back. ‘We could never look awful, Lorne. I might, but not you, sweetie pie.’
‘Oh, you’re just prejudiced because you’re related to me. Little me, a famous actor,’ he said in his self-deprecating way, laughing. ‘Now, come on, let’s get a move on, I don’t want to get there any later than eight-fifteen.’
‘But it’s early, only twenty to eight–’
‘Ah, but the traffic is worse here than London,’ he cut in. ‘And we have to get to the Faubourg Saint-Germain.’
‘So come on then, slowcoach, let’s get going,’ Tessa replied, and hurried towards the door of the suite. ‘I’m assuming you arranged for us to have a car.’
‘Of course we’ve got wheels, silly girl,’ he exclaimed, taking hold of her arm and opening the door at the same time. ‘I’m very well organized. The Harte training, you know.’
She looked up at him and began to laugh, suddenly feeling happy for the first time in ages, happy to be with someone who cared about her, loved her as Lorne did, and to be in Paris, a city she had a very soft spot for. Their mother had brought them to Paris when they were quite young, and they had been coming here ever since, often on their way to the south of France and the Villa Faviola, which they visited several times a year. As they went down in the lift she felt a sudden sense of anticipation, and wondered why.
Once they were settled in the car and the driver was edging away from the hotel, Tessa said, ‘I like the seventh arrondissement, in fact I’ve often thought I’d like to h
ave an apartment in that district. Actually, anywhere on the Left Bank would be fine by me, I’ve always enjoyed it, felt at home there.’
Lorne was taken aback, and he looked at her in surprise, and exclaimed, ‘Anywhere around the Faubourg Saint-Germain costs an arm and a leg, but those private houses are quite beautiful.’
‘I wasn’t talking about a private house, just a little garret for me and my child. It might be a nice escape from time to time.’
‘Well, why not,’ he murmured, wondering if she was serious. Then he said, ‘I like the area, too, because it’s such a great mix, an enclave for aristocrats and a haven for students, artists and writers. And aside from all the historic buildings such as Napoleon’s tomb, the French Academy and the Rodin Museum, there are two of the most famous hangouts for writers and artists, the Café des Deux Magots and the Café de Flore. Both of which I love.’
‘I know, and what about all the little antique shops, and bistros and art galleries? It’d be a wonderful place to have a little hideaway around there–it’s charming.’
‘If you really mean it, we can look at some real estate in the next few days. Actually, I’d enjoy it,’ Lorne remarked, deciding to call her bluff, still wondering if she was merely daydreaming.
‘Maybe we can do that; it would be fun, a little adventure,’ Tessa murmured, then said, ‘When actually do you have to check in for work?’
‘Shooting starts on Monday, but I’m not on call until Wednesday morning. Why?’
‘No reason, you hadn’t really said and I just wondered. Anyway, Lorne, tell me about Jean-Claude Deléon.’
‘I’ve told you.’
‘No, you haven’t. All you said is that he’s famous, a celebrity, an intellectual, and a good friend of yours. Tell me a bit more about him, so I don’t feel a total fool when I meet him.’
‘Let me see…he’s a journalist as well as an author of books, and he also lectures. He’s considered to be one of the great modern thinkers in France today, and he’s certainly thought of as a philosopher, ranks second to Lévy. He’s genial, charming, a great bloke. You’ll like him, and I think you’ll enjoy the evening.’
‘How do you know him?’
‘I met him in the south of France a few years ago, when I was staying at Villa Faviola with Gideon, Toby, Uncle Winston and Dad. If you remember, we had that all-male weekend together. Jean-Claude came over with one of Toby’s friends, and we hit it off. Spent a lot of time talking about the theatre and films. And then whenever he was in London he called me, and we got together if we could.’
‘And is there a Madame Deléon?’
‘No, there isn’t. And I don’t think there ever has been. To my knowledge Jean-Claude has never been married. Mind you, he does have quite a reputation…as being something of a ladies’ man.’
‘Oh, so he’s young then?’ Tessa asked.
‘Maybe he’s forty-nine, fifty, I’m not sure.’
‘And where are we going to dinner after the party?’
‘Tessa, darling, I’ve no idea. He simply said, “Bring your sister to the book party and afterwards you’ll both join me for dinner with a few friends.” So your guess is as good as mine. We’ll just have to wait and see.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
He saw her the moment she walked in. A vision in white. Ethereal, almost otherworldly. He moved his head slightly, to see her better. He knew at once who she was: Tessa Fairley, Lorne’s twin sister. Lorne was holding her elbow, moving her through the group clustered near the door, moving her towards him, bringing her to him.
He was sitting at a bureau plat at the far end of the grand entrance foyer, in one of the great private homes on the Faubourg Saint-Germain, signing his latest book. Except that he wasn’t signing at this moment. He was sitting waiting for the woman in white, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, breathtaking in her beauty.
As she drew nearer her eyes met his, registered his concentrated stare, and she blinked, appeared to recoil for a split second, but she continued to walk towards him and her eyes never left his.
The chattering around him became just a dim noise in the background; no other person present interested him any longer. Only this girl, for that is how he saw her, so young, so fresh, so innocent-looking, a little unworldly even.
He was suddenly on his feet, walking around the writing table, waiting for her to come to him.
‘Jean-Claude, good evening,’ Lorne said, as they drew to a stop.
‘Ah, Lorne, quel plaisir de vous voir.’
The two men shook hands, and then Lorne went on, ‘This is my sister, Tessa.’ As he spoke Lorne moved her forward slightly, closer to Jean-Claude.
‘Enchanté,’ he said, and switching to English he added, ‘I am happy you could come.’ To Jean-Claude his voice sounded gruff, even hoarse.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, too, Monsieur Deléon,’ Tessa answered in a clear light voice, offering her hand to him.
He took it in his, held it tightly.
She smiled at him. The smile, her silvery eyes, that pale, silken hair were heartstopping. His gaze fastened on hers. They were mesmerized by each other, stood staring.
He forgot where he was for a moment. She seemed like a dream…Inside him was a mystery he’d never been able to fathom, to solve. In her were all of the answers to those innumerable questions in his mind and heart…answers that suddenly seemed just within his grasp. He knew she held the secret to so much, to many things, things which he had been searching for…
‘I think I’ve got to break this up, people are staring at the two of you,’ Lorne said softly, with a slightly embarrassed laugh.
Jean-Claude blinked and murmured, ‘Excuse me, I must continue with the signing.’ Reluctantly he let go of her hand, smiled at her, and walked around the desk, where he sat down once again. To Lorne he said, ‘I shall now sign books for the two of you, mon ami.’ As he spoke he pulled one towards him, signed it, handed it to Tessa and then signed one for Lorne.
‘Thank you,’ Tessa said as she opened her book. After reading the inscription she stared at him, her expression puzzled, her eyes questioning.
Jean-Claude looked at her intently. A small smile struck his mouth when he saw the bafflement on her face, and then he looked at Lorne, gave him his signed book. ‘Take Tessa to meet our hostess, Marie-Helene. You’ve met her with me before. She’s in the salon. I have more books to sign. After, we go to dinner.’
‘Thanks for the book, Jean-Claude, that sounds great,’ Lorne murmured.
Jean-Claude nodded and glanced around. It seemed to him that all those who had crowded around him had dispersed, drifted away, and he shrugged and wondered if he could bring the book-signing to a close sooner rather than later. But no…here they came again, once they saw he was alone. His friends and acquaintances flooded around the desk once more, wanting the book, his signature, and so he smiled and signed, and wished he were alone with the young woman who had disappeared from his sight. Later, he thought, I will be with her later.
Lorne had propelled Tessa through the vast and handsome marble foyer with its wall-hung tapestries, crystal chandeliers and elegant furniture, and, once there was enough distance between them and Jean-Claude, he whispered, ‘My God, what was that all about? What happened back there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tessa muttered, and thought: I met Destiny. I met the man who is my destiny. As bizarre as she knew this thought was, she also knew she was right. Unexpectedly a strange calmness settled over her, like a soft transparent veil. And her heart was suddenly perfectly still. Tessa thought of the words he had written in the book and suddenly knew what they meant. He felt the same as she did. Of course. But hadn’t she known that before reading his words? She had seen it on his face…and in his eyes. They had reflected what she was feeling exactly.
‘You’ve suddenly gone very quiet,’ Lorne murmured, searching her face. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m perfect,’ she replied, and gave him a small smile.
/> ‘Then let me take you to meet the hostess of this event.’
‘Who is Marie-Hélène?’
‘She’s a socialite, married to a French industrialist, Alain Charpentier, and they’re old friends of Jean-Claude’s. I think they’re coming to dinner, along with another couple, and Jean-Claude has invited his editor as well as us. We’re eight.’
‘He said you’d met Marie-Hélène before, but do you know any of the others?’
‘I’ve met Alain, her husband, and Jean-Claude’s editor, Michel Longeval, several times before, but I don’t know who the other couple are. Anyway, we’ll soon find out. In the meantime, there’s Marie-Hélène over there near the fireplace, let’s go and say hello.’
A moment later Tessa was shaking hands with one of the chicest women she had ever seen, including her mother. It was the kind of elegance that only a French woman knew how to achieve. Marie-Hélène, a slender blonde of medium height and indeterminate age, wore a simple black linen sheath with a round neckline and no sleeves, which was obviously haute couture. On her ears were pearl-and-diamond studs, and around her neck a single strand of large pearls–South Sea pearls. They’re not as beautiful as Great-Aunt Edwina’s, Tessa thought, and this made her smile to herself. She couldn’t help wondering, all of a sudden, what Edwina would make of Jean-Claude Deléon.
Their hostess was charm personified and chatted away to Lorne and Tessa in the most entertaining way, while they sipped from their flutes of Dom Pérignon. Lorne was the one who mostly chatted back and, Tessa vaguely noticed, flirted in a mild way with the older woman, who on close inspection looked to be in her late fifties.
She herself nodded occasionally and said only a few words because her concentration was elsewhere. Her mind was on the man in the entrance foyer signing his latest book.
He elected to sit in the front seat with the driver, whilst Lorne, the editor Michel, and she sat in the back of the car.
Alain and Marie-Hélène had taken the other couple to the restaurant with them. They were called Natalie and Arnaud; she hadn’t caught their last name, but they had seemed very pleasant when they were introduced in the house.
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