The Last Time I Saw Paris (31 page)

“Oh, did she?”

“She said you were having a good time?”

Lara tried to make her voice sound cheerful. She said loudly, “I'm having a great time, fantastic. Paris, the beach, the sunshine, the clothes.”

“And your companion?”

Lara was stunned into silence.

“I found out you didn't travel alone, Lara.”

“I guess that makes us even, then,” she snapped. “And by the way, how was Beijing?”

“Fine. I did some good work there, made some valuable connections.”

“You would,” she said acidly, knowing that was the true reason he had gone there.

“I came home early.” All of a sudden he sounded hesitant. “I was thinking about you, Lara. Thinking about what had happened between us.”

“What you had done, you mean,” she retorted. “With Melissa.”

“Okay, what I had done. I admit it, Lara. And I'm sorry. Truly sorry about it. That's what I was calling to tell you. That I miss you. The house is so strange
without you.… You were always there whenever I came home.…”

The truth dawned on her. “Melissa dumped you, didn't she?”

“No . . . well, shall we say we had a disagreement.”

“Oh, come on, Bill, admit it.”

“Well, Melissa did find someone else,” he agreed, “an oil tycoon from Texas. My God, the man is old enough to be her father.”

“And you are not?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“What do you want me to do, Bill?” she finally asked.

“I want you back, Lara. I need you. I'm ready to forgive your indiscretions. We've been together so long, and remember, there are the children to think of.”

She gave a disbelieving snort. “Bill, don't you know your children are grown up? It's too late to play their father. And I don't need your forgiveness. I had a great time.”

He ignored that. “I'll fly to Paris to meet you. I can get a flight tonight. I thought we would stay at the Ritz, the way we did on our honeymoon, remember?”

Lara shook her head, disbelieving. “Oh, Bill, I remember. …”

“I can be there tomorrow afternoon. I'll call the hotel, get the honeymoon suite—”

“Bill,” she interrupted him. “It's too late. It's been too late for years.”

“What do you mean?” He sounded incredulous; she had never said no to him.

“It's over, Bill. But thanks for the try,” Lara said. And she put down the phone.

She sat for a long while on the edge of the bed, staring into space, rerunning the conversation in her head. She had just told her husband of twenty-five years that she was not coming back.

She looked in the mirror at the little diamond lover's-knot necklace gleaming at her throat. Reaching up, she unclasped it, held it in her hand. She no longer needed the talisman. She no longer needed Bill.

The room was very still. Warm, scented air drifted in from the window, bringing memories of the day. But something about it was different. It was too neat in here, too bare.…

Dan's things were gone. His clothes, his hairbrush, the travel alarm clock Hallie had bought him, the paperback mystery he was reading …

With a moan, she dropped her head into her hands.

He's left you,
the little voice said triumphantly.
Didn ‘t I tell you he would?

After a little while, she went back downstairs and spoke with the
patron.
Monsieur had paid the bill, he told her, smiling. He had apologized for having to leave so abruptly but had told them that madame would be staying on for another day.

Lara stared blankly into her empty future. It was over. She had lost him after all.

V
ery early the next morning Lara carried her bags downstairs and said good-bye to the
patron
and madame.

The dusty, battered baby-blue Renault that had carried the two of them on their stumbling journey through France started on the first try, humming slowly through the cool morning streets. The sun glittered off the sea, the sky was a pure, clear blue. It was just another day on the Côte d'Azur.

She circled onto the Autoroute du Soleil, heading for Paris, only this time there would be no detours of discovery, no lingering in romantic inns, no lovemaking in fields of poppies. Putting her foot on the gas pedal, she headed through the blue morning haze, determined not to get lost.

She stopped only a couple of times at cafes on the autoroute for coffee—with caffeine because she needed a jump-start—and a croissant, or a ham sandwich, much like the one she and Dan had eaten together at the Bar Jurassic in that rain-sodden village in the Loire, so long ago, it seemed now. The past few weeks were like a dream, her old life a harsh reality, the future uncertain.

Determinedly, she pushed the future to the back of her mind, turning up the radio and concentrating on her driving. God, though, how she missed him sitting beside her, how she missed catching his eyes when
she glanced sideways at him, at those blue, blue eyes that laughed at her, admired her, loved her. He
had
loved her, hadn't he?

Many hours later, she was battling her way through the fierce Paris traffic. She leaned angrily on the horn, eyes blazing, then she smiled, suddenly realizing it was a when-in-Rome situation. She had become more French than the French.

Paris glimmered in the twilight as she drove around the roundabout where they had had the accident; past the Café Flore, where, after the disastrous dinner at Lucas Carton, they had eaten a
croque monsieur
and drunk brandy and watched the street performers; down the rue Jacob, where Dan had whirled her in his arms; and past the Hôtel d'Angletene, where they had made passionate love and she had never dreamed of leaving him.

When she finally pulled up in front of the Ritz, the smart doorman opened the door of the battle-scarred baby Renault as though it were a Rolls.

Now that's class, Lara thought, scrambling out and stretching her long, cramped legs. She knew she must look awful, hot and dusty and shabby, but the desk clerk did not bat an eyelash and this time she had the right day and a room.

It wasn't the same room she had shared with Bill. She didn't know if she could have stood the truth those memories might have brought back. She opened the gold silk curtains and gazed out at the beautiful Place Vendôme, wishing Dan was with her, and wondering where he could be. Finally, she took a shower and fell into the big brass bed, too tired even to eat. She was asleep in minutes and that night she dreamed of no one. Nothing.

Of course she woke too early. A soft, pearly light
filtered through the luxurious silk curtains and she half turned, as if expecting to find Dan beside her. The reality that she would never again wake in his warm, loving arms felt like a wound that would never heal. She lay for a moment remembering their nights together in the funky hotel near the station, wondering how Dan would have liked the Ritz. She had called it so wrong on Lucas Carton, she thought he might have hated this too.

Later, alone and lonely, she visited the Rodin museum, lingering over the massive marble sculptures, thinking of Dan. She wandered through the museum's gardens, not seeing the glittering, golden day and the beauty all around her, cursing herself for being a fool, such a stupid fool.

A ragged little brown dog tagged along behind her. “Scrounging a walk?” she said with a half-smile. She sat on a bench and the dog sat in front of her, waiting. “Do I know you?” she asked, and it gave a delighted little
wuff.
“That's a French
wuff,
of course,” she said, bending to stroke its wiry fur. Then she smiled and said, “Oh, excuse me, I meant a
Parisian
wuff.”

The terrier's eyes were a dark reddish brown. Intelligent eyes, Lara thought. He was a streetwise little guy, still young, but she guessed he had seen it all. She laughed at herself. Was this what loneliness did to you? Had you analyzing a street-dog's psyche?

“You know what, mutt?” she said softly. “I'm the greatest fool there ever was. This was supposed to be my voyage of self-discovery. So what have I discovered—other than the fact that I'm a fool?”

She frowned, thinking about Bill, and the mutt cocked his head, waiting. He gave an encouraging little whine.

“I see now how hard Bill worked to impress me
on our honeymoon with his man-of-the-world act.” Lara smiled as she remembered how they had fought, bickered, bitched. “Only trouble is, he never quit that act. Oh, I loved him then, there's no doubt about it; he was the only man I ever really wanted. And in his fashion, I suppose he loved me.” She thought for a minute, then her eyes met the mutt's again. “But y'know what?” she asked him solemnly. “Were we ever really friends? Companions? Sharing things together? The small pleasures, the high points as well as the lows? Oh, no. Never.” She shook her head, wondering how many other women had found out that bitter truth.

“Don't think I'm going to cry.” Determinedly, she sniffed back a tear. “Because I'm not. No, sir. No more tears.” But they were already trickling down her cheeks. “Oh, hell, what am I, Superwoman or something? Why shouldn't I cry when the guy I love ditches me because I wounded him? Hurt his feelings. His pride. Of course, I'm going to cry.”

The mutt whined anxiously as the tears streamed down her face, trickling into her ears and down her neck, soaking her shirt.

“You want to know what else I've found on my journey of discovery?” she sniffed. “That life is a matter of give-and-take. I have to give up my old life and look for the new. I have to give up what I was—and take what is. And if I'd been honest with myself and not filled with false pride, I might have been looking forward to a future with Dan. For better, for worse. And for as long as it might have lasted.”

The dog cocked his head inquiringly to the other side.

“And you know what else I know? That age would not have mattered. Time would not have mattered. I
would not have spent my life worrying about the future. Today would have been enough.” The little mutt barked approvingly and Lara laughed at it through her tears.

She went to a cafe, bought a chicken sandwich, and left the terrier hungrily wolfing it down on the sidewalk. He didn't look at her as she walked away and she smiled. Yesterday's Lara would have said food was all the dog had wanted from her, anyway. But not today's Lara. This one was ready to take what she could get.

As she swung through the doors back at the Ritz she heard her name called and she spun around.

The light left her eyes as she stared at Bill. Her husband, the famous surgeon, the distinguished man of the world, immaculate as always in a dark suit. He was looking at her with that superior little smile, confident that she would not say no to him. After all, no one ever did.

Her eyes glittered angrily. “What are you doing here? I told you it was over.”

He took her arm, moving her out of earshot of the interested bellhops. “Now come on, Lara. I said I was coming to get you and I'm a man of my word. And remember, you
are
my wife.”

She jerked her arm away. “Hah! Since when did that make a difference?”

He rolled his eyes, sighing. “I can understand you felt a little neglected; things were a bit rough there for a while, I admit it. But now it's over. I'm prepared to forgive you—and I can't say fairer than that. I promised you the honeymoon suite and that's what I've got. I've already asked them to move your things in.”

She flung away from him, stalking down the long
aisle with its sparkling windows of expensive baubles. He hurried after her, took her arm again.

“I have reservations at my favorite restaurant. And let me tell you, they were not easy to come by. It's lucky they knew who I—”

“
Bill!”
She turned to look at him, chest heaving, anger flashing. “For God's sakes, don't you ever
listen
to me? Don't you hear what I'm
saying!”

He stared back at her, really looking at her, seeing the new Lara. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I must say you're looking terrific, Lara. A great improvement. I always told you, you should take better care of yourself.”

“Jesus Christ!” People turned to stare but she didn't care. Her hands curled into fists; she wanted to punch him.

“Really, Lara, people are looking.” He took her arm again, walking back down the red-carpeted aisle. “By the way, Minnie sends her love. Y'know she misses us, Lara. Really misses us. She and Josh both. They want us home, they want us back together.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, saw her hesitate, knew he was getting her where she was really vulnerable. “We are their reality, sweetheart. You and I. Mom and Dad. We've always been there for them and they expect us to be there for them now. After all, isn't that their right?”

Lara looked doubtfully at him. “Minnie said that?”

“Let's talk about it over dinner,” Bill said triumphantly. “You'll feel better after something to eat.”

O
f course they went to Lucas Carton. As the maître d' swept them to an excellent table, Lara figured wearily she might have known. It suited Bill perfectly; he was in his element being shown to a good table, being fawned over.

“If this is all you need to keep you happy, Bill, then you're a lucky man,” she said. Ignoring the sharp glance he threw her, she looked for the table where she had sat with Dan, where he had spilled the champagne, been shocked by the prices, hating it. Hating
her.
She shrugged, sighing. Well, now she had two guys hating her, because despite what Bill was saying, she didn't believe him.

Bill studied the menu, consulted with the head-waiter, ordered for both of them. He chose the wine with the sommelier as though it were a life-and-death decision, just the way he had twenty-five years ago at the Tour d'Argent on their disastrous honeymoon. Lara sat back, disinterested. She had deliberately not worn the Paris dress because that was part of her life, brief though it was, with Dan. Now she guessed she would never wear it again. Like a Mafia widow, basic black would be her style.