Precious Gifts (21 page)

She went to sleep feeling tired and discouraged, and lonelier than she'd felt in a month. It was as though none of it had ever happened and he was just a dream. And Timmie's angry call about the litigator was hardly a warm welcome home. As usual, Timmie had forgotten to ask her mother how she was or what she'd been doing. It was no wonder she told them nothing about her life, Véronique thought as she drifted off to sleep. More often than not, her relationship with her children was a one-way street, with all the love and effort flowing from her to them.

V
éronique had Arnold draw up the papers for the money she was advancing Juliette from her own estate, against her share. He had the other girls sign off on it, so they couldn't claim later that they were opposed to it, or didn't know. And as soon as she received the funds from her mother, Juliette paid both her sisters the agreed-upon amount. And the same amount was wired to an account set up for Sophie Marnier in Nice, and she was thrilled. The other two girls were equally pleased. And Sophie was now off the hook for the château, and delighted to be.

Juliette had received some additional money from her mother that she needed for repairs, and was waiting for the sale of her sandwich shop to complete the rest. Timmie had added her money to what she planned to spend on a house to start her shelter, and she was still looking for the right one. And Joy put it with the money from her father to further her acting career, and support herself between jobs.

Joy had admitted that she was dating Ron, her new manager, and was crazy about him. He was helping her with her career, but beyond that she said he was incredibly nice to her, and they were seeing each other almost every night. And for once, she and the man in her life were in the same city, and not on separate continents on tour, which Véronique thought was a hopeful sign. At twenty-six, she was having her first serious relationship that seemed to work, although it was still very new. Véronique was hoping to meet him, but Joy said they had no plans to come to New York. Some things hadn't changed. Joy still kept her distance and was more independent than both her sisters. And her whole life was in L.A., not New York. But she sounded warmer than usual, happier, and more relaxed.

And Juliette was meeting with restaurant brokers to try and settle the sandwich shop. She'd had a couple of nibbles and no bites yet. She had called Jean-Pierre Flarion several times on Skype to keep him interested in the project, and he told her not to worry. He would be available when she was ready to move ahead. He was formal and polite with her, and very professional. She could hardly wait to start work on the château. All she had to do now was sell her business.

Véronique organized a meeting with Brian McCarthy and Timmie and Juliette to discuss the lawsuit, and Timmie got in a fight with him again. Bertie had asked for depositions, and his lawyer had made a formal request, still to annoy them, and Timmie again said she had no time. And she was looking for a building for her shelter. Véronique couldn't believe how rude she was to him and how stubborn. Brian got red in the face, and remained calm, but Véronique apologized to him after Timmie left. And by then, Véronique had guessed what the problem was. He was the image of Timmie's ex-fiancé, who had cheated on her, only bigger, and Timmie couldn't separate the two in her head. And she was hostile and distrustful of men anyway.

Véronique mentioned the similarity between the two men, when she spoke to Timmie on the phone that night, after pointing out how rude she'd been, and Timmie got angry at her, too.

“Don't be ridiculous.” She denied it too heatedly to be honest. “They don't look anything alike. That's psychotic.”

“Yes, they do,” Véronique said firmly. “There's no point making this more difficult for all of us. We hired the man to handle the suit for us. Let him. You don't have to like him, just let him do his job.” Timmie had sounded like a shrew at the meeting, and Juliette had rolled her eyes at their mother. When Timmie got a bee in her bonnet, or disliked someone, she was a witch. But so far Brian hadn't quit, which Véronique thought was a miracle, after what she'd seen that day. But he was clearly not enjoying the case.

She spoke to Aidan several times a day, and he was as lonely and unhappy as she was. She felt like she'd been in New York for a hundred years after two weeks.

“When am I going to see you?” he said mournfully. There was a heat wave in London, and he was sitting in his loft in his underwear, in no mood to do anything. He sounded depressed, and so did she. She was tired of the battles with the estate, and Timmie's war on their litigator. She felt swamped by what she was doing in New York.

“I don't know,” Véronique said miserably.

“They're not children, for God's sake,” he complained. “Why can't you just leave?”

“I'm trying to help them with the estate, and we have to set up depositions. Timmie hates the litigator, so she's declared war on him. It's all small stuff but it adds up to a giant mess.”

“It adds up to our not being together,” he said unhappily. “I miss you.” Aidan was frustrated and impatient and annoyed by how much time she dedicated to her children, when they seemed to spend none with her. The inequity had struck him from the beginning, and she didn't seem to see it, or even mind. She was used to the lopsided relationship she had with them.

“I miss you, too. I should be able to leave for Paris in a couple of weeks,” she promised. But then what? She couldn't see beyond the next trip. How would they ever have more than that? He had a career in London, she had obligations in New York, and an extended life in Paris and three daughters, who had been her whole life for twenty-nine years. And the question of who fit into whose life, with her and Aidan, wasn't clear yet. “Let's just take this step by step,” she tried to say reasonably. Aidan's porcupine quills were showing again. And she was trying to keep him calm, and reassure him, while taking care of what she needed to do in New York.

It was another two weeks of legal calls, meetings with Brian about the lawsuit, and talking to Arnold about the resolution of Paul's estate, when she had a quick dinner with Juliette and Timmie at the end of September. Juliette was exhausted from trying to sell the sandwich shop, unsuccessfully so far, and Timmie was looking at buildings in all her spare time, and hadn't found the right one yet. Juliette said she was going to Cape Cod for a weekend to take a break. And Timmie had been invited to the Jersey shore to stay with someone she worked with. And Véronique suddenly realized she was sticking around for nothing. They had no time to see her, had their own lives and plans, and she was there in New York, in case someone needed her. There was no reason to, he was right, they weren't children. She couldn't wait to call Aidan when he woke up.

“I'm done. For now anyway. What are you doing this weekend? I don't know what I'm here for. Let's go to Paris. Do you have time?”

“Do I have time? I've been waiting for you for a month. Get your ass over here. When can you come?”

She thought for a second. “Tomorrow. I'll get organized in the daytime, and take the red-eye. Shall I meet you in Paris?”

“I'll be there!” he said, elated. He had begun to feel as though she didn't exist, and their love affair even less. And she felt that way, too. She had realized that night after talking to her girls that part of her mothering was a habit, and it wasn't as necessary as she liked to think. They liked knowing she was around if they had a problem. But the rest of the time, she was obsolete.

Véronique was excited, too, as she got ready to leave the next day. The girls didn't call her, and she hadn't told them yet that she was leaving. She texted them both at the end of the day: “Going to Paris for a few weeks, love Mom.” They were used to it and didn't seem to care, and she had handled a lot of the legal details for them since she'd been back. She texted Brian, too, with her French contact numbers, in case he needed to reach her about the lawsuit. And she got on the plane that night with a broad grin. She could hardly wait to see Aidan. He was arriving an hour before she would, and was going to wait at the airport for her, so they could go into the city together. She was excited about showing him her apartment on the Île St. Louis. It was the perfect counterpart to his loft, unlike her large, serious Fifth Avenue apartment in New York, which was much more daunting, and not as much fun. Paris was where she relaxed, and she was excited to do so with him.

The plane arrived on time, and she was the second person off, and hurried toward customs. She hadn't requested assistance from the airline this time. She wanted to be alone with him when they met. They had been apart for almost four weeks, and it felt like a lifetime.

She saw him the minute she came through the doors from customs at Charles de Gaulle Airport. He was wearing jeans and a black leather jacket as he swept her up in his arms immediately and kissed her. They couldn't move for a few minutes and kept standing there and kissing. And then finally they walked out of the terminal and hailed a cab. She had brought only one suitcase, as she had a full wardrobe in Paris, and Aidan only had a small bag and his camera. He was looking forward to taking pictures in Paris, particularly of her.

“My God, it's so good to see you,” he said, smiling at her. “I was beginning to think you were never coming back, and I had imagined you.” He looked relieved.

“Me, too.” She couldn't even remember what she'd done for all those weeks, but she'd been busy, mostly with Paul's estate. And Bertie's lawsuit had been time-consuming, with all the material he wanted for discovery, from all of them, and her, too.

The drive into the city took half an hour, and the cab stopped along the Seine on the Quai de Béthune, as the Bateaux Mouches drifted by. Aidan instantly lifted his camera and took a shot, and then followed her into the ancient building. As they walked up the stairs, Véronique mentioned that they were crooked because the building was so old. It was a prime location, and she had waited years to find it.

And when they walked into her apartment, the floors had a gentle slope, too, and the view was beautiful and typically Parisian as they looked across the river at the Left Bank.

They set their bags down, and he put his arms around her and held her, smelling her hair, feeling her cheek on his, and just inhaling the beauty of her.

“Would it be rude to ask this soon where the bedroom is?” he asked, grinning at her, and she laughed. She pointed with a smile and a mischievous look, and he carried her into her bedroom and deposited her gently on the bed, sat down next to her, and kissed her. And a moment later, their clothes were on the floor and their bodies wrapped around each other, and all the loneliness and worry of the last few weeks vanished with their lovemaking. It was the perfect homecoming for both of them, and a long time before they lay back, relaxed in her comfortable bed, as he glanced around the room. It was homey and cozy, and very feminine in pale blue silk, but he liked it. She walked around with him then and showed him the living room, her study, the dining room and kitchen, and two small guest rooms where the girls stayed when they came to Paris. And he could see that she loved it, the apartment was perfect for her, and he felt totally at ease there, too.

They sat in her ancient bathtub afterward, planning what they were going to do. She wanted to show him all her favorite places, and he had a few of his own to share with her. They went out for a walk, and had lunch at a restaurant in the Place du Palais Bourbon, and then walked along the Seine for a while, and eventually bought wine and cheese, salami and pâté for that night, to eat in her kitchen, with a fresh baguette. Suddenly everything about her apartment and their life together felt incredibly romantic. And the lights on the Bateaux Mouches lit the Seine as they drifted by that night, while they sat on the couch and ate dinner, and wound up making love again. He couldn't keep his hands off her, and she lay there, looking at him, wondering how she had gotten so lucky. And they slept soundly in her bed that night, as though they had always lived together. Their relationship had a feeling of always been.

Their second day in Paris was even better. They walked to the Grand Palais to see an exhibit, spent some time in the Louvre, walked through the Tuileries, and sat on a bench talking for a long time. It was like every city they'd been in that summer, perfect for them, and their discoveries about each other. And that night they had dinner at Le Voltaire, her favorite bistro in Paris. The food was incredible, and they walked home afterward, looking at Notre Dame all lit up.

“What are you thinking?” he asked her, as they walked along hand in hand.

“How happy I am with you. You're so good to me, Aidan.” She was just as good to him, and he was wise enough to know it.

“I told you. It was destiny. We were meant to meet each other. I was meant to meet you in Rome, and save you from a speeding Ferrari, driven by a mad Russian. Actually, I think the kiss under the Bridge of Sighs did it,” he said, smiling at her. It had certainly been an unforgettable summer, and they had moved into fall together. They walked back to her apartment, and sat in her study for a while, talking, and then went to bed.

The next morning she got a call from the guardian at her parents' house on the Left Bank. They were having a problem with the roof, and he wanted her to look at it and decide whether they should redo the roof, or patch it and wait another year. About once a year, something like that came up, and she told Aidan over breakfast of café au lait and croissants that she needed to go there.

“You still have your parents' house?” He looked surprised. She had told him but he'd forgotten, and it sounded strange to him, since he knew her father had been dead for thirty years.

“I never had the heart to sell it. I grew up there, and Paul and I stayed there when we were first married. We used it when the children were small. And after the divorce, I stopped using it. Too many sad memories. I thought about staying there when I came to Paris, a few years ago, but then I found this apartment and it's easier and more fun. And the girls like it here better.”

“Why don't you sell the house then, if no one uses it?” He looked mystified. There were so many ghosts in her life, and relics of a distant past, too many of which seemed to be painful for her.

“It's too special to sell,” Véronique said simply. “My mother inherited it from my grandfather. She left it to my father, for me one day. And I suppose I've been saving it for my girls. I guess they'll sell it. I don't have the heart to. It's a seventeenth-century house on the Left Bank. It's older than the château.” She smiled wryly. “And in much better shape. I'm a better proprietor than Paul.” She still spent considerable money every year to maintain it. She'd had offers to buy it several times over the years, mostly from wealthy Arabs, and once from an American, but she had no desire to sell it, and doubted she ever would. “Do you want to see it?” she asked him, as they finished breakfast.