Sweet Revenge (8 page)

She had never taken a meal with her father. Because she had the resilience of an eight-year-old, Adrianne found it easy to skip over the words that had been spoken the night before and look forward to her first day in Paris.

If she was disappointed that they would take their meal in the suite, she said nothing. She liked her new blue dress and matching coat too well to complain. In an hour she would truly begin her week in Paris.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this interview, Your Highness.” The reporter, already charmed by Abdu, took her seat at the table. Adrianne kept her hands folded in her lap and tried not to stare.

The reporter had very long, very straight hair the color of ripe peaches. Her fingernails were painted red, as was her mouth. Her dress was of the same shade, cut snug, and its
skirt skimmed her thighs as she crossed her legs. She spoke English with a rolling French accent. To Adrianne, she was as exotic as a jungle bird and just as fascinating.

“It is our pleasure, Mademoiselle Grandeau.” Abdu signaled for coffee. A servant jumped to obey.

“I hope you enjoy your stay in Paris.”

“I always enjoy Paris.” Abdu smiled in a way Adrianne had never seen. He suddenly looked approachable. Then his eyes passed over her as though her chair were empty. “My wife and I are looking forward to participating in the ball this evening.”

“Parisian society is looking forward to greeting you and your beautiful wife.” Mademoiselle Grandeau turned to Phoebe. “Your fans are thrilled, Your Highness. They’ve felt you deserted them for love.”

The coffee burned bitter in Phoebe’s throat as she smiled. She would have traded every jewel she owned for a whiskey. “Anyone who has ever been in love would understand that there is no sacrifice and no risk too great.”

“Might I ask you if you have any regrets about giving up your thriving career in films?”

Phoebe looked at Adrianne and her eyes softened. “How can I have regrets when I have so much?”

“It is like a fairy tale, is it not? The beautiful woman swept off by the desert sheikh to a mysterious and exotic land. A land,” Mademoiselle Grandeau added, “which becomes wealthier every day because of oil. How do you feel,” she asked Abdu, “about the Westerners pouring into your country?”

“Jaquir is a small country which welcomes the advances that oil brings. However, as king, it is my responsibility to preserve our culture while opening doors for progress.”

“Obviously you have an affection for the West, as you fell in love and married an American. Is it true, Your Highness, that you have another wife?”

He lifted a crystal glass of juice. His expression seemed blandly amused, but his fingers gripped tightly. He despised being questioned by a woman. “In my religion, a man is permitted four wives as long as he can treat each of them equally.”

“With the women’s movement growing stronger in the
United States and Europe, do you believe this clash of cultures will cause problems for the countries which come to the Middle East to build?”

“We are different, mademoiselle, in dress, in beliefs. The people of Jaquir would be equally shocked that a woman in your country is permitted to become intimate with a man before marriage. This difference will not deter financial interest on either side.”

“No.” Mademoiselle Grandeau wasn’t there to argue politics. Her readers wanted to know if Phoebe Spring was still beautiful. If her marriage was still romantic. She cut into her crepe and smiled at Adrianne. The child was striking, with the king’s sultry black eyes and Phoebe’s full, sculpted mouth. Though the coloring spoke of her bedouin ancestors, she had the stamp of her mother. The features were smaller, finer, than those of the woman who had once been called the Amazon queen of films. The purity of bone structure, the stunning profile, and the clear-eyed vulnerability were there.

“Princess Adrianne, how do you feel knowing your mother was considered the most beautiful woman to grace the screen?”

She fumbled. The hard, brief glance from her father had her straightening. “I am proud of her. My mother is the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Mademoiselle Grandeau laughed and took another bite of crepe. “It would be hard to find anyone to disagree with you. Perhaps one day you’ll follow her footsteps to Hollywood. Is there any chance that you’ll make another movie, Your Highness?”

Phoebe swallowed more coffee and prayed that it would stay down. “My priority is my family.” She touched Adrianne’s hand under the table. “Of course I’m thrilled to have been asked to come here, to see old friends. But the choice I made, as you said, was made for love.” Over the table her eyes met Abdu’s and held. “Where there is love, there is very little a woman won’t do.”

“Hollywood’s loss is obviously Jaquir’s gain. There is a great deal of speculation that you’ll wear The Sun and the Moon tonight. It’s considered one of the world’s greatest treasures. Like all the great jewels, The Sun and the Moon has legends and mystery and romance attached to it and
people are eager to see the fabled necklace. Will you wear it?”

“The Sun and the Moon was a gift from my husband on our marriage. In Jaquir this is considered the bride price, a kind of reverse dowry. It is, second only to Adrianne, the most precious gift Abdu has given me.” She looked at him again with a hint of challenge. “I’m proud to wear it.”

“There won’t be a woman in the world who won’t envy you tonight, Your Highness.”

With Adrianne’s hand still caught in hers, Phoebe smiled. “I can say only that I look forward to this evening more than any other in years. It will be glorious.” Her eyes met Abdu’s again.
“Inshattah.”

As Phoebe had suspected, they were joined by two guards and a driver when they left the hotel. She was ecstatic over her first victory. She had stopped at the desk and requested her passport on which Adrianne traveled as her minor child. The guards were chattering, apparently believing she was inquiring about the performance of some trivial service, and never even noticed when the clerk returned from the rear office and slipped the leather-encased document into her hand. She could have wept with joy … and the first glow of pride she’d felt in years, but she disciplined herself to betray nothing. Now she had no real plan, only a fierce and edgy determination. Beside her in the limo, Adrianne all but bounced with excitement. They were truly in Paris now, with hours to spare before she would have to go back to the hotel. She wanted to ride to the top of the Eiffel Tower, to sit in a café, to walk and walk and walk and hear the music of the city she had only imagined.

“We’ll shop a little.” Phoebe’s mouth was so dry she had to force her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “There’s Chanel, Dior. Wait until you see all the beautiful clothes, Addy. The colors, the materials. But you have to stay close to me, very close. I don’t want to lose you. Don’t wander. Promise.”

“I won’t.” Adrianne felt her own nerves begin to rise. At the times when her mother talked like this—very fast, with the words jumping out on top of each other—she soon and always fell into depression. Then she would grow so quiet, so
removed, so closed in upon herself and unmindful of others that it terrified Adrianne. Frightened about what she knew was about to happen, Adrianne kept up her own chatter, staying glued to Phoebe’s side as they were escorted into the most exclusive shops in Europe.

It was like another dream, different from the vision of Paris at dusk. The salons were bright with gilt tables and velvet chairs. In each one they were ushered in with a deference Adrianne had never received in her own country. She was cooed over by women with glossy faces, served lemonade or tea and tiny sweet cookies while models with thin limbs and frail-looking bodies glided out draped in the latest fashions.

Phoebe ordered with abandon, dozens of cocktail dresses with skinny straps and layers of beads, slim suits in raw silk and linen. If her plan succeeded, she would never wear a stitch of what she recklessly purchased. It seemed a kind of justice to her, the smallest and sweetest of revenges. She swept from salon to salon, ladening the silent guards with boxes and bags.

“Well go to the Louvre before lunch,” she told Adrianne as they settled in the limo again. She checked her watch, then sat back and shut her eyes.

“Can we eat in a cafe?”

“Well see.” She groped for Adrianne’s hand. “I want you to be happy, darling. Happy and safe. That’s all that matters.”

“I like being here with you.” Despite all the cookies and tea and lemonade at the couturier’s she was hungry, but she didn’t want to say so. “There is so much to see. When you told me about places like this, I thought you were making up stories. It’s better than a story.”

Phoebe opened her eyes to stare out the window. They were driving along the river in the most romantic city in the world. Recklessly, she lowered the glass and drew in a deep breath. “There, Addy, do you smell it?”

Laughing, Adrianne leaned closer, like a puppy, to let the breeze race against her face. “The water?”

“The freedom,” Phoebe murmured. “I want you to remember this moment.”

When the car stopped, Phoebe alighted slowly, regally, not sparing a glance at the guards. With Adrianne’s hand in
hers, she entered the Louvre. There were throngs of people-students, tourists, lovers. Adrianne found them as fascinating as the art her mother pointed out as they strolled through the galleries. Voices echoed off the high ceilings, a variety of tones and accents. She saw a man with hair as long as a woman’s, wearing jeans torn off at the knee and carrying a battered knapsack. When he caught her staring, he grinned and winked, then held up two fingers in a V. Embarrassed, Adrianne looked down at her shoes.

“So much has changed,” Phoebe said. “It seems like a different world. The way people dress, the way they talk. I feel like Rip Van Winkle.”

“Who?”

With a sound perilously close to a sob, Phoebe bent to hug her. “It’s just a story.” As she straightened, she glanced toward the guards. They were a few paces behind, bored. “I want you to do exactly what I say,” Phoebe whispered. “Don’t ask questions. Hold tight to me.” Before Adrianne could agree, Phoebe pulled her into a group of students. Moving fast, elbowing and shoving when necessary, she worked her way through, then sprinted down a long corridor.

There were shouts behind her. Without breaking rhythm, she scooped Adrianne up and raced down a (light of stairs. She needed a door, any door that led to the outside. If she could get to the street, somehow get out and into a cab, she had a chance. Whenever a corridor snaked off, she took it, barreling her way past visitors and staff. It didn’t matter whether she was heading out of the building or deeper into it. She had to lose the guards. She heard footsteps pounding behind her and ran blindly, like a hare trying desperately to outrun a fox.

Paintings flashed by as she ran. Her labored breathing grew loud as she streaked by the most treasured art in the world. People stared. Her hair had fallen from its neat twist to tumble wild and red around her shoulders. She saw the door and nearly stumbled. Gripping Adrianne, her heart about to burst, she broke free of the building. But she did not stop running.

She could smell the river again, and the freedom. She stopped, gasping for breath, a beautiful, terrified woman clinging to a child. She had only to lift a hand and a cab
swerved to the curb. “Orly airport,” she managed to say, looking right and left as she bundled Adrianne inside. “Hurry, please, hurry.”

“Oui, madame.” The driver tipped his cap, then pushed down the accelerator.

“Mama. What is it? Why did we run? Where are we going?”

Phoebe covered her face with her hands. There was no going back now. “Trust me, Addy. I can’t explain yet.”

When Phoebe began to shake, Adrianne cuddled close. Clinging to each other, they drove out of Paris.

Adrianne’s lip trembled as she heard the roar of planes. “Are we going back to Jaquir?”

Phoebe fumbled with her wallet, recklessly giving the driver double his fare. The fear was still with her, a metallic, ugly taste on her tongue. He would kill her if he caught her now. Kill her, then wreak the rest of his vengeance on Adrianne.

“No.” She crouched down on the sidewalk so that her face was even with Adrianne’s. “We’re never going back to Jaquir.” She looked over her shoulder, certain Abdu would leap out of the next car and make her words a lie. “I’m taking you to America, to New York. Believe me, Addy, it’s because I love you. Now, hurry.”

She pulled Adrianne inside. For a moment the noise and rush confused her. It had been years since she had gone anywhere alone. Even before her marriage she had traveled with an entourage of publicists, secretaries, and dressers. The panic nearly overwhelmed her until she felt Adrianne’s small, tense fingers link with hers.

Pan American. She had asked for Celeste to have the tickets waiting at the Pan American counter. As she hurried across the terminal, Phoebe prayed that her friend had come through. At the ticket counter she pulled her passport out of her bag and offered it and her most brilliant smile to the clerk.

“Good afternoon. I have two tickets, prepaid, for New York.”

The smile dazzled him so that he blinked. “Oui, madame.” Star struck, he lingered over the paperwork. “I have seen your movies. You are magnificent.”

“Thank you.” She felt some of her courage return. She hadn’t been forgotten. “Are the tickets in order?”

“Pardon?
Oh, yes, yes.” He stamped and scribbled. “Your flight number,” he said, pointing at the ticket jacket. “Your gate. You have forty-five minutes.”

Her palms were clammy with sweat when she took the tickets and slipped them into her purse. “Thank you.”

“Wait, please.”

She froze, poised to run as her hand locked on Adrianne’s.

“You would give your autograph?”

She pressed her fingers to her eyes, giving way enough for one quick laugh. “Of course. I’d be delighted. What’s your name?”

“It is Henri, madame.” He handed her a scrap of paper. “I will never forget you.”

She signed, as she had always, in a generous, looping hand. “Believe me, Henri. I will never forget you.” She gave him the autograph and a smile. “Come along, Adrianne. We don’t want to miss our plane. God bless Celeste,” she said as they walked. “She’s going to meet us in New York, Addy. She’s my closest friend.”