Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) (8 page)

A lengthy silence followed.

“I know this is going to sound
ridiculous, but how did we not notice?” asked Marian, her eyes swollen and red,
tears dampening her cheeks.

“For better or worse, we were
happy, seeing what Kathleen wanted us to see,” Charlotte answered in a ragged
voice, bearing the same signs of sadness.

“I don’t know… I feel like I’ve
been such a crap friend.” Marian broke down.

Seeing such a fierce, strong woman
shake with sorrow became everyone’s undoing. I held her tightly while we cried
together. Eventually, I was able to reassure her. “You mustn’t think that. I
needed you to be who you were. I had to believe that life had purpose, that
happiness existed. I needed, desperately, for all of you to think I was the
same old me.”

“But you weren’t, bella!” Tiziana
exclaimed through a thick breath. “Thinking back, before Mikkel, you were the
easiest going of all of us. Afterwards, you became so determined. You had this
big life plan… which included men too impossible to meet.”

Hillary reflected quietly, “We
teased you about searching for your prince. How did you bear it? It seems
punishing.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way.
“I think your teasing me about men was easier than dealing with Mikkel’s
death.”

An occasional sniffle and heavy
sigh punctuated the silence. I looked at my watch. An hour of grueling
revelations; an hour of reliving memories. Honestly, I longed to see Mikkel’s
blue eyes dance before me and be enveloped in his arms. I still missed him. I
knew I always would.

Charlotte, in a soft voice, asked,
“Is there more?”

There was more, but nothing I
could bear sharing. “I’m sorry it took so long to tell you. I couldn’t figure
out how to tell you, when to tell you. I’m really sorry.”

“Oh for feck’s sake, you don’t
have to apologize. Just don’t do it again. Christ!” Marian’s green eyes blazed
at me through her tears.

I felt a twinge of guilt at
keeping the rest of my story to myself, but I was willing to live with it.
Images tugged me backwards, and I was lost there until Hillary’s words penetrated.
“Have you ever been to Denmark? To visit his grave?”

I gave a tremulous smile. “Can we
do this another time? I know there’s more you want to ask, but can we agree to
discuss this later, whatever that means, and just enjoy our time together? This
week was supposed to be fun. See some gorgeous clothes, eat amazing food.
Please?”

I received varying answers, but
the overall consensus seemed to be that doing what I needed took precedent.
Relief flooded me. So many secrets. Some revealed, some kept, all of them
excruciating.

***

When all
but Tiziana had piled into the car, I told her, “Long story short, I told
Sébastien the other night, when I was drunk. I didn’t know about his wife. I
feel terrible.”

“Bella, not to be cruel, but since
your Mikkel died, hasn’t someone told you about someone they loved dying?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you do?”

“My heart broke for them. I
listened to them.”

She gave me a look that said it
all: he had done the same for me.

I needed to talk to him.

AFTER A FEW
hours of restless
sleep, I woke up with a pounding headache. Feeling bleak and fuzzy, I lay in
bed realizing that I couldn’t hide behind closed doors, stacks of paperwork,
and a computer screen. Time to reinvent the Kathleen everyone expected to see.

Unfolding myself from the nest that was my bed, I extended
one foot to the smooth hardwood floor. The other foot followed, and, mercifully
for me, the rest of me slithered along without too much complaint. Turning the
shower on to blazing hot, I leaned against the travertine tiles, gradually
moving under the showerhead so that scalding water plastered my hair against my
body. After a few minutes, fatigue melted away, allowing me to move through my
familiar morning routine. Somewhere between sudsing and rinsing, the past had
been compressed back into its tidy beige box, the lid again firmly in place.

I was determined to make an impression on anyone who saw me.
Somewhere during the night, I’d convinced myself that the past was the past and
I needed to continue to move forward. I carefully chose an Andy The-Anh color-block
dress in
dark and light brown with taupe trim, a
square neckline, and cutaway straps. The straight skirt accentuated my legs—I
sent a silent thank you to my mother for giving me legs that appeared to begin
just under my armpits. I paired the dress with Dolce and Gabbana leopard-print
pumps.
Purposefully, I added a bit of asymmetrical whimsy to my clean-lined
dress by pulling my hair up, slightly off to the side, in a tangled, twisted
knot.

More importantly, it said, “Look at my outfit, not in my
eyes.”

***

I arrived at my desk very early,
needing to review the final set of documents on the purchase of a US chain that
L’Oréal was procuring. As I was reading, my secretary stepped in. “You have a
call. A Ms. Hillary Cavendish.” I smiled my thanks as I picked up the phone.
“Hi, Hill.” She hated that nickname.

“Kathleen, do you have a minute?”

I looked at my clock. “One minute, exactly.”

“Do you know if Jean-Victor Meyers is in town?

“As in Lilliane Bettencourt’s grandson?”

“That’s the one.”

I had no idea. Just because his grandmother owned a third of
the company and he was once an assistant product manager at L’Oréal didn’t mean
he strolled the hallways making sure we put our shoulder to the wheel. “No. I
can ask. What’s up?”

“There are several people in town who I want to meet. I was
hoping you could introduce me.”

“I dunno. He and I aren’t exactly on a first name basis.”

Hillary worked for the Institute for Philanthropy in London,
and Mr. Meyers represented the Bettencourt-Meyers family on several boards. I
assumed that was why she was asking but didn’t have time to get into it.
Instead, I said, “I’ll let you know what I can find out.”

We finished our call, I organized myself, and then, before
hurrying to the bathroom, I gave a packet of documents to Denise, asking her to
distribute them to members of the team for review. “Do you happen to know if
Jean-Victor Bettencourt is about?”

She shook her head. “No, but I can find out.”

I called thanks as I left to go to the restroom. In the
mirror, I touched up my lipstick and muttered to my reflection, “This is any
other day.”

With false confidence, I walked to the lobby and greeted my
colleagues. I noted a few regarded my outfit with appreciation. My boss, Monsieur
Detriche, a man in his early sixties and the epitome of a well-dressed
businessman, was the first to greet me. “Very stylish, Mademoiselle Ehlers.”

Daniel Huse, Monsieur Detriche’s boss, joined us. “You do represent
the company well. I received your email regarding the Niely Cosmeticos Group
early this morning, Mademoiselle Ehlers. I would like to meet with both of you
later this week, if possible, to discuss the details of the acquisition.”
Monsieur Detriche immediately set about bobbing his head. I nodded. Once.

Monsieur Huse wore a dry look of amusement. I appreciated
his recognition of my work and possibly my attire, though I was somewhat
uncertain of the latter. He, himself, looked quite handsome in his expertly
cut, obviously expensive suit. It took me surveying his suit to realize that he
was handsome, in a very classic, French sort of way: lean, well-groomed with
wideset eyes, defined jawline.

I had been worried that my passion for fashion while
climbing the corporate ladder would be detrimental to my career ambitions. I
had tried bland suits and benign shoes. In the end, it was Marian’s sage advice
that I took. “Don’t be a slut! Just wear something tasteful, lose the Lucite
heels, and use your brain.” No sooner had those words been spoken than I’d donated
my bland suits and shoes to a charity and hit the shops.

I contemplated this on the ride to the Balenciaga showing at
the historic Laennec Hall.
How did Balenciaga manage to get a showing here?
I wondered as we entered the church. The simple, clean architecture was the
perfect foil for couture.

Knowing that the girls would be here, I was on the lookout.
Tiziana was not one to disappoint. I saw her and Ted posing for photographers.
The girls stood near the makeshift seating and made faces at her, causing her to
giggle. Her ample cleavage quivered in a low-cut, black-lace Balenciaga gown. To
reach them, I took a wide arc around the long reflecting pools that ran the
length of the central aisle. Instead of splitting off from me, the entire L’Oréal
team had followed me.

It immediately occurred to me they wanted an introduction to
Ted. “I’m sorry,” I whispered in Ted’s ear, just before introducing the heads
of our five divisions. While he politely made small talk with them, I found
myself in Tiziana’s embrace. “Are you all right, bella?” she whispered. Knowing
she was referring to last night’s conversation, I nodded, though, in truth, I
still felt like a truck had backed over my heart a time or two.

I turned to the others. “How about you? How are you?” They
took my lead, immediately filling me in on the gossip. Apparently, the night
before, at Vivienne Westwood’s after-party, everyone had been gossiping about some
incident involving her driving a tank up to David Cameron’s front door in
Chadlington, a few weeks back.

“Jaysus, that woman has balls. Feck, I would have paid a
million euros to see her straddling that beast. The tank. Not David Cameron.”
Marian took a breath, ending the tale with a flourish.

Tiziana, looking confused,
glanced around cautiously before asking sotto voce, “I still don’t understand.
Why is she protesting fucking?”

My jaw dropped. While
Tiziana stood in confusion, we laughed to the point of tears.
God, I needed
that!
Once we’d recovered, Marian explained the difference between “fucking”
and “fracking.” She quickly wrapped up her explanation as
a hand came to
rest lightly on my back, startling me.
Sébastien
. My heart pounded.

I breathed in his cologne when he
greeted me with a single kiss on my cheek. I waited while he kissed Tiziana and
Charlotte, too, and warmly shook Hillary’s hand. When he reached for Marian,
she took a step back dramatically and pointed at me. “I don’t think so! You
gave her one kiss, Charlotte and Tiziana got two, and then you shook Hillary’s
hand. What do I get? A poke in the eye?”

He chuckled at her comment. “I like you.”

Marian raised her eyebrow and cast a playful come-hither
look at him. Sébastien continued graciously, “I have yet to poke a woman in the
eye!” He slowly extended his hand to hers, still laughing. “May I?” She
trepidatiously let him approach, offered her hand, and was rewarded with a kiss
to each cheek.

She turned to me afterwards. “My god, he smells like
heaven.”

I know!

Hillary shushed Marian. “Lower your voice, for heaven’s
sake. Think of where we are, and remember, Kathleen is at work.”

Marian quickly sneaked a peek at the people around us. “Who
exactly is your boss? Are any of them available? You could set us up.” She
nudged Hillary, who looked absolutely horrified.

Monsieur Huse chose that moment to end his conversation with
Ted. “The president of the consumer product division is unattached. I believe
it is time, Mademoiselle Ehlers.”

As Marian candidly assessed my boss, my jaw dropped again. I
couldn’t believe her…
or
Monsieur Huse. I continued to ponder him and his
comments as he and Sébastien shook hands.

“I need to beg a moment, Monsieur.” I tipped my head to
Sébastien, silently asking him to talk to me away from the group. He followed,
eyes twinkling. “Are you available for dinner?” I asked.

His eyebrows rose. “Yes. But I assumed you would be busy.”

I had made a bold decision while getting ready for work.
“They’ll be there, too, but I would like to find an opportunity to talk to you
without all this.” I gestured to the opulence, the crowds.

“So no romantic dinner for two?” His words made me blush. My
rosy cheeks made him smile. “Text me the information.”

“I need your number.”

In response to my comment, he pulled out his phone, asked
for my number, and texted me. “Now we have each other’s numbers.” The intensity
in his eyes left me feeling fizzy with happiness. All I could do was offer a
smile and a nod.

Returning to my boss, I said, “
Après vous, monsieur
.”
I gave Sébastien a quick glance over my shoulder and added just the teeniest
bit of bounce to my walk, flirting with him and hoping to keep his attention.

While walking next to Monsieur Detriche with my armor
restored, I updated him on the paperwork I had reviewed that morning.

“You must have arrived quite early. I appreciate your
dedication. Being out of the office most of the day and keeping the ball
rolling on the NYX Cosmetics merger must be challenging.” His compliment was
genuine, and I felt pleased at his acknowledgment.

***

It was an odd juxtaposition to
listen to Dr. Dre and Tupac while I watched the models, clad all in white,
wearing angelic pieces, saunter alongside the reflection pools. I was in awe of
Alexander Wang’s talent.

In this last showing with Balenciaga, Alexander Wang
seemed to have taken “taking flight” literally but angelically. The celebrity
cast of models wore ruffled slip dresses and low-slung, billowing trousers
paired with crop tops in wistful shades of white. This collection of
lace-covered knit, shimmering satin, and delicate embroidery begged to be
touched.

Once the designer took his final, exuberant bow and followed
the models off the runway, I was distracted from my mental purchase list when
Monsieur Detriche spoke candidly. “I hope Monsieur Langevin is not trying to
lure you away from us.”

I shook my head. “No. We met by chance last weekend. He is
an old friend of the Blackwells. Mrs. Blackwell and I were at Oxford together,”
I answered factually, seeing no reason to offer him more details.

Daniel Huse quickly intervened. “Monsieur Detriche,
Mademoiselle Ehlers has proven her dedication to L’Oréal. To keep her, we must
show our appreciation, and if we have done our job well, she cannot be lured
away.”

Pleased with this unsolicited review of my abilities, I
smiled my thanks and let the conversation drop. Monsieur Detriche offered an
apology and quickly joined another conversation. It was then that Monsieur Huse
said, with a nod in my boss’s direction, “He is excellent at his job but a
little outdated in his approach. I hope you do not find his comments or
expectations uncomfortable.”
Was this behind the grin earlier?

I quickly assured him that Monsieur Detriche and I had a
comfortable working relationship. “Good. I just wanted to make sure,” was all
he said, before excusing himself. “I need to call the driver.”

As I walked toward my friends, I checked my phone. There was
a text from Denise. “Monsieur Meyer is in town.” I quickly sent a thank you and
let Hillary know.

“How are you going to get an introduction?” I asked.

She swiveled to Tiziana and Ted. “Of course.”
Silly me!
Having added Ted to our arsenal appeared to be a definite boon.