The Kiss (7 page)

“What about breakfast at nine? I'll pick you up on the way downstairs,” he offered, standing very close to her.

“That would be nice,” she smiled again. “I had such a good time tonight… thank you …” she whispered as he opened the door with her key, and then kissed the top of her head.

“I had a rotten time,” he said, smiling at her as she stepped into her room and looked back at him and laughed.

“I'm glad,” she said as he waved and then disappeared down the hall to his room. And all she could think was how lucky she was to have a friend like him, as she quietly closed her door and took off her shoes.

Chapter 3

Bill knocked on the door
of Isabelle's room the next morning, and she was dressed and waiting for him, this time in a beautifully cut navy blue linen suit. She was wearing a navy blue Kelly bag, and navy alligator shoes, and she had a bright green scarf around her neck, and emerald and sapphire earrings. She looked pretty and young and fresh, and as always, very chic.

“You look wonderful today,” he commented as they walked down the stairs side by side. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a rock,” she said with a smile. “How about you?”

“I think I had too much to drink. I'm not sure if I fell asleep or passed out, but I feel great today.” He hadn't seemed drunk to her the night before, and she didn't think he was. He was just teasing her, and he looked in good spirits as they walked into the dining room. He had called and reserved a table, and he ordered a huge breakfast for both of them.

“I can't eat all that,” she complained. She looked at what he had ordered—eggs, waffles, bangers and bacon, croissants, oatmeal and fruit, orange juice and
coffee—more than enough for a starving army, she commented with a smile.

“I didn't know what you like for breakfast,” he grinned at her sheepishly, “so I ordered everything. What do you usually eat?” he asked with curiosity, he liked knowing every little detail about her.

“Usually, coffee and dry toast, but this is more fun,” she said, putting waffles and eggs and bacon on her plate, and then adding some strawberries. And much to her own surprise, she ate a huge amount of what he had ordered, and he polished off most of the rest. And by the time they left the hotel, they were both in high spirits and teasing each other about how much they'd eaten and how fat they would get. “It's a good thing I only see you a few times a year,” she said as they got into the waiting limousine. “I'd be obese if I saw you more than that,” she added, but he looked odd as he glanced at her. He'd been thinking how nice it would be to have breakfast with her every day. She was such good company, and so easy to be with. It was rare for him to hear her in a bad mood, even when he called her several times a week on the phone. Cindy always said that she hated dealing with humans before noon. But Isabelle was chatty and informative all the way to the Tate.

She was telling him all about the paintings they were going to see, their history, their provenance, the technique and details that were most remarkable about them. She'd done her homework and was excited about seeing the exhibit with him. It delighted him to share her enthusiasm with her. And once they got to the exhibit, she was totally absorbed in each
painting, studying intricately the most minute details, and pointing everything out to him. It was a whole new experience going to a museum with her, and by the time they left at noon, he felt as though he had taken an extensive art course.

“You're incredibly knowledgeable. Why don't you do something with all that, Isabelle? You know too much about art to just waste it.”

“I don't have time anymore,” she said sadly, “I really can't leave Teddy.”

“What about doing restoration work in the house, so you could be near him? From the sound of it, you could set up a studio somewhere. The house must be big enough for you to do that.”

“I think Gordon would make it very difficult,” she said quietly, with a tinge of regret in her voice. “He never liked the idea of my working. He thought it was a far too bohemian existence when I was working at the Louvre. I don't think it would be worth the headaches it would cause.” She had given up the idea of working long since, not only for Gordon, but for their son.

“I think it would be great for you,” Bill said practically. He admired her knowledge, and the gentle way she had shared it with him. It was like sharing her passion with him, he never felt that she was showing off or making him feel ignorant, although he was far less knowledgeable than she was about it. But there was an amazing grace and humility about everything she did and said to him. “Do you paint yourself?” he asked with interest.

“I did. I'm not very good at it, but I used to love it.”

“You could do that too, if you had a studio. I think it would be a wonderful outlet for you.” She smiled at the idea, but she knew how angry Gordon would be. He had been constantly irritated by her work before she had Sophie, and he had absolutely insisted she stop all of it once the child was born. He thought it was beneath her somehow, and her artwork didn't suit the image he had of her, or wanted for her. All he had wanted from her at that point was to have his children and run his home. All that she had been before they married, everything she had once done and loved, was no longer of any consequence to him. She was his now, to direct and control, and treat as an object he owned. Possession was important to him.

“I think Gordon would take it as an affront if I went back to painting or restoring now. He made it very clear to me when we had children that that was part of my youth, and not a suitable pastime for a married woman.”

“And what is a suitable pastime for a married woman?” Bill asked, sounding annoyed. Bill realized that he hated the man, and everything he stood for. He was snobbish and superficial and controlling, and it was obvious to Bill that he had absolutely no respect for her. And no interest whatsoever in what she liked to do, or who she was. She was just a “thing” he had acquired to enhance his career and his social position, and once she'd done that for him, he had no further interest in her. It seemed so incredibly unfair to Bill. She deserved so much more.

“I think running a home is pretty much all Gordon wants me to do. Taking care of the children. Keeping
out of the way until my presence is required, which isn't often anymore. I think he might tolerate it if I did some kind of charity work someday, as long as it's on a committee that meets his approval, perhaps with other people he considers useful or worthy of him. Gordon never believes in doing anything unless it serves some useful purpose, otherwise he thinks it's a waste of time.”

“What a sad way to live,” Bill commented dryly.

“He's gotten a long way on that. He's probably the most important banker in Europe, certainly in France, and his reputation is very established in the States as well. Everyone on Wall Street and in all the major countries in Europe knows who he is.”

“And then? At the end of the day, Isabelle, what does that give you? Who are you when it's all over and all you have is your career? What kind of human being are you? I've been asking myself that a lot in recent years. I used to think that was all that mattered too, that your business connections think you're important. But then what? What does that do for you if you have no family life, your wife doesn't care if you live or die, and your kids can't even remember the last time they had dinner with you? I want people to remember more than that about me.” It was one of the many things she loved about him, the fact that Bill's values and sense of priorities were crystal clear. But she also realized that they hadn't always been as well established, and he had paid a high price for the lessons he had learned. His marriage was as empty as hers, and there was no denying that, although he loved them, he wasn't close to his girls. He had been
gone too much of the time, chasing politics and making presidents, at times that would have mattered to his daughters when they were little girls. In recent years, he had made an effort to spend more time with them, with fairly good results. Both his daughters enjoyed his company and were proud of him, although he still traveled a lot of the time. But now when he was gone, he made a point of calling the girls. But his increasing estrangement from Cindy had taken a toll on the family. They rarely spent time together as a group, and when he saw his daughters, it was usually one on one, which worked too. In many ways, Isabelle was luckier than he, the one thing that truly mattered to her was Teddy and Sophie, and she spent a lot of time with them, and always had. But Gordon couldn't have said the same. His children were strangers to him, even Sophie, whom he preferred.

“I don't think Gordon has reached your state of enlightenment,” Isabelle said honestly, “and I don't think he ever will. Those things don't matter to him. He's very happy with just being important in the financial world. The rest is of no importance to him.”

“He'll wind up a sad man one day. But then again,” Bill said, looking ruefully at her as they walked back to the car, “maybe I will too. I figured it out for myself eventually, but a little late in the day. I share more real life with you, Isabelle, than I ever did with Cindy or the girls. I'm afraid I missed that boat a long time ago. I was never there for them.”

“I'm sure they understand why,” Isabelle said gently. “The girls are nearly grown up now, they still have a lifetime to share with you.”

“I hope they see it that way. They have their own lives now, and their mother has tried to convince them of what a selfish bastard I am. And maybe she's right,” he said, and then smiled down at his friend. “You've brought out the best in me. She never did. She's not a warm person. I'm not sure she ever really wanted me to be who I am now. I think this would actually be frightening to her, the kind of intimacy we share, even if it is on the phone most of the time. She didn't want to bare her soul to me, or deal with mine, she just wanted me to be there, to go to parties with her. And that's not who I am. I like having a good time, but I never realized how much I missed having someone to talk to. Cindy and I manage to miss the point with each other completely, and wind up feeling alone, even if we're sitting in the same room. That's never going to change.”

“It might,” Isabelle said, trying to sound encouraging and hopeful for his sake, “if you did. Maybe if you gave her a chance and opened up to her, she might learn to be intimate with you.”

“That's not Cindy,” he said as something hardened in his eyes, “and that's not what I want anymore. It's over for us, and actually, I think it's better that way. There's no disappointment, no pain. As long as I show up once in a while for one of her benefits, and keep paying the bills, and don't forget to come to the girls' graduations, that's all she wants from me now. We live in different worlds. I think we both feel safer that way.” He was remarkably sure of what he felt, and was afraid to feel.

“It's amazing what we do to our lives, isn't it?” Isabelle
said with a sigh as they settled into the back of the limousine again and he gave the driver the address of the restaurant where they were having lunch. Isabelle had heard of it, but didn't know where it was. It had been a favorite with Princess Di for years. “You've allowed yourself to drift apart from Cindy and your children. I've allowed Gordon to shut me out without saying a word. Why are we so willing to let people do that to us? Why do we let others make that choice without speaking up, and at least making ourselves heard?” Thinking about it now amazed her. It all seemed so clear, more than it ever had before.

“Because that's who they always were. At some level, we both knew going in that this was how it would wind up. Cindy was adorable when she was in college, she was bright and cute and a lot of fun, but she was never warm. She's probably the most selfish, manipulative, calculating woman on the planet. And Gordon is cruel, cold, and controlling. Nothing we did would ever have changed that. The trouble is, that was what we were willing to settle for, whether we admit it or not. The question is, why did we think that was all we deserved?”

“My parents were like that,” Isabelle said softly, looking at him with her enormous green eyes, and he nodded. “I loved them, but they were very distant and reserved.”

“So were mine. My parents hated kids, and had decided not to have any, and then I came along in their forties, as a surprise. They never let me forget it, and always let me know, or made me feel, that they were doing me a huge favor having me around at all. I couldn't
wait to get the hell out when I went to college. And they both died in a plane crash when I was twenty-five. I never even cried. I felt as though strangers had died when the airline called. I didn't know what to say. I don't even know who they were, just two very intelligent people who let me live with them for eighteen years, and were relieved when I finally moved on. I don't know what they'd ever have done if I'd hugged them, or kissed them or told them I loved them. I don't remember my mother ever hugging or kissing me as a child. She always spoke to me from across the room, and my father never spoke to me at all. Cindy's like that. She always speaks to me from ten feet away, farther if she can.”

“It's a wonder you're as sane as you are,” Isabelle said sympathetically. She could barely imagine his childhood, in some ways, and yet hers hadn't been much different. There had been hugging and kissing, but mainly the form of it, and beneath the form, there had been very little love. “My mother was very English. I think she wanted to love me, and she did probably, but she didn't know how. She was very proper and very cold, she had lost her own mother when she was a baby, and her father had been very cold to her. He sent her to boarding school when she was nine, and left her there until she married my father. She met him at her presentation at court, and I think my grandfather arranged the marriage to get her out of the house. And once she was gone, he remarried, a woman he'd been involved with for years, even before his wife died. The British side of the family was full of skeletons and secrets, and people we weren't allowed to mention or
talk about. All we had to do was dress properly, be polite, and pretend that everything was fine. I never had any idea how my mother felt about anything, and my father was so involved in politics, I don't think he knew we were alive. My mother died when I was in my teens, and my father never had time to talk to me, or be with me, although I think he was a nice man. Their marriage was a little like mine and Gordon's, which may be why it doesn't shock me more than it does to have a husband who has shut me out. I've never given it much thought, but it's the only model I know.”