The Last Time I Saw Paris (5 page)

“It's important I stay here,” he said, sounding suddenly very firm.

More important than I am,
Lara thought, devastated, as he explained the many reasons he was needed there, and that he would be going to India on his way back to check on the new children's hospital in Delhi and offer his help. She couldn't object without sounding selfish. After all, he was saving children's lives.

“I'll call you again soon,” he finished briskly. “Everything all right there? Kids okay?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Everything's okay.”

“Good.” There was a long pause, then he added, “I'm sorry, Lara. We'll do it some other time.”

Lara put down the phone and walked numbly back
out onto the crumbling deck. The bottom had just fallen out of her life.

What sort of a woman am I, anyhow? she silently asked herself, leaning on the deck rail, gazing at the darkening ocean, now I'm no longer the wife and helpmate? No longer the mother? No longer the lover? Who
is
Lara Lewis?

All she knew was that somewhere along the way, in the midst of all that daily living, she had lost her.

D
aniel Holland considered himself an ordinary man. A man who worked with his head as well as his hands, running his small contracting business efficiently. He unfurled the American flag on the Fourth of July and Labor Day, put Santa driving his sleigh in lights on his shingle roof at Christmas, and carved pumpkins for his front porch every Halloween.

Born in the small coastal town of Carmel, where he still lived, he was the eldest son of a building contractor. When his parents had died too young, Dan, as the oldest, had raised his younger brother and sister. Troy was now in medical school, intent on moving up in the world, and his pretty young sister, Hallie, was putting herself through college on scholarships and by winning local beauty contests, and in summers working alongside her brothers, sometimes even manning the jackhammer, but usually hauling stuff in the pickup, or sawing, hammering, and drilling.

As the eldest, Dan had been the first one on the college list, but he had turned down that opportunity. “I guess I'm gonna be the family failure, Dad,” he had said. “But the truth is, working with you is what I really want to do.” So instead he had attended a polytech, gotten himself a grounding in building and design, and now could build a house from scratch. He was proud of that and proud of his accomplishments, and he loved what he did. He even liked the small
jobs, usually undertaken as a favor for one of the guys in the trade, like the one today for Ms. Lewis. It kept the handyman/contractor fraternity going.

He swung the Ford pickup into the narrow unpaved lane that led to the small fifties beach house he called home and parked in front of it. He sat for a moment, thinking of Ms. Lewis and how she had looked in that sexy red bathing suit that might have been a size too small for her. And the crazy diamond necklace she had worn with it. She'd had sand on her bare feet and red polish on her toenails and her legs were long and pale and slender. Her hair had been windblown and the sun had caught her brown eyes, making them gleam like topaz.

He grinned as he swung himself out of the truck, whistling for the dog, who was racing down the lane, running off energy. He'd surely noticed a lot about Ms. Lewis in the short time he had been there. She was different from the kind of women he usually met, which meant the local people he had grown up with, and the weekenders who came out from the city, bringing their high-priced wines and their high-pitched voices and urban sophistication with them to the beach. This woman wasn't like that. She was sort of shy and nervous, not quite sure of herself. Idly, he wondered why, and what could have happened to make her so vulnerable.

He strode into the little weather-bleached wooden A-frame where he lived alone, unless Hallie or Troy happened to be home on a school break. Then he fed the dog, put on Bob Dylan singing “‘Til I Fell in Love With You,” stripped off his clothes, and turned on the shower.

Dan never thought about his good looks, just the fact that he looked like his dad. Rugged, fit, an outdoorsman.
He scrubbed his hard, lean body vigorously, thinking about his life, which had not been easy after his mother and father had died, leaving him with the responsibility of his younger siblings. He grinned as he thought about them. For him, they made life worthwhile.

Before he went out, he sat down and drew up a list of the work needed on Ms. Lewis's deck with an estimate of the cost. He would drop it off first thing in the morning. It wasn't a major job, though it certainly could become one if she didn't take care of it now. It would take several days, and he would have to fit it in between his other work.

He was still thinking about Ms. Lewis as he drove into San Francisco to meet his girlfriend, wondering what she was doing out at the beach house alone. And whether there was a husband. Ms. Lewis certainly had stuck in his mind. There was just something about her in that red bathing suit.…

S
he wasn't wearing the red bathing suit when he knocked on her door early the next morning, though. She was just out of bed and in an old pink terry-cloth bathrobe. Her hair was uncombed and she was clutching a steaming mug of coffee. Dan thought she looked tired.

“I hope you slept well,” he said politely when she asked him in. “The sea air around here is supposed to put people out like lights right after supper.”

Lara shrugged wearily. “Not me. I guess I'm too used to it.” She took another mug from the cupboard. “Coffee?”

“Thanks, I'd like that.” He put the work estimate on the table between them. “Here's what I think, Ms. Lewis. I reckon three or four days' work will do it, but I've already got a big job on further up the coast, and I'm afraid I could only work for you in the evenings. It would take longer, but at least it would get done.”

“That's okay.” She studied the estimate in between sips of coffee. “Seems fair to me, Mr. Holland.”

“People always call me Dan.”

She smiled at him then, showing the prettiest small white teeth. He thought her whole face changed when she smiled and realized that before she had seemed a sad person.

“I suppose you must know everyone around here.”
She poured more coffee and passed him the sugar.

“Born and bred in Carmel, ma'am.”

Amusement made her eyes dance with topaz lights again. “Oh, please, if I am to call you Dan, the least you could manage is to call me Mrs. Lewis—or Lara, if you're going to be out here on my deck for hours at a time. Anyhow, I'd rather not be ‘ma'am,' if you don't mind.”

“You got it.” He grinned back at her. “Lara. Nice name, Ms. Lewis. Like in
Doctor Zhivago.”

She shrugged. “Actually, I predate the movie. It was the name of my godmother.”

“You have kids?” He spooned two sugars into his coffee and stirred it.

“A girl, twenty-one, an aspiring movie star out in L.A. And a boy, twenty-three, in med school in Boston.”

“So's my kid brother. Only Troy's at Emory.” He took a sip of his coffee, watching her.

“Are you married?” She blushed as she said it. She hadn't meant to ask such a personal question, it just popped out.

“No, I'm not married.”

“Not yet,” she added quickly.

“Not yet,” he agreed with a smile. “My sister's a junior at USC. Both kids live with me, though, whenever they get home, that is.” He saw her look of surprise and added, “Mom and Dad died ten years ago. I was the eldest and kinda had to look after them. Make sure they went to school, stayed off drugs, help put them through college.” He shrugged. “I'm thirtytwo—not much older than they are, but somehow I feel more like their father than their elder brother. I guess my life experience has been different from theirs.” His blue eyes smiled at her over the rim of
his coffee mug. “At their age I was already building houses.”

Then he thanked her for the coffee and said he'd better be on his way. “I'll be here, say, between four-thirty and five this evening, then, Ms. Lewis,” he said politely. “I'll pick up the timber on my lunch break.”

“See you then,” she called, watching as he climbed into the cab of the red pickup. “Cute dog,” she added as the black Lab gave her a token bark.

“That's Milton. He was a stray, landed on my doorstep a couple of years ago. I called him Milton because I figured when he found a home he'd found the Paradise he thought he'd Lost. Home is where the heart is, hey, Milt?”

Lara waited until she saw the pickup turn into the road. As she closed the door, she realized that for the first time in days, she had not been thinking of Bill, and that she was quite looking forward to four-thirty and the handsome Dan Holland's return. At least it's someone to talk to, she explained to herself.

On the long walk on the beach in the cool gray early morning, her thoughts returned to reality and the canceled Second Honeymoon. Bill hadn't even sounded interested, let alone remorseful.
We'll do it some other time,
he had said so casually. Didn't he realize how much it meant to
her?
How much it
should mean
to him? Didn't he know how carefully she had planned it all, how long it had taken her?

She thought of the tickets sitting in the top-left-hand drawer of his desk. Bleakly, she guessed she had better call Delta and cancel them,
and
all those hotels and auberges. It had taken her endless research just to find them again after twenty-five years, tracing their route from the old scrapbook, where she had pasted every receipt from every cafe and restaurant, as well
as menus and little cocktail napkins with the names of bars on them. She had saved postcards of villages and small hotels and had even made little maps of their routes. It had all been so glamorous and different—so
wonderful
.

“Oh, Bill, you
bastard,”
she wailed. “Why are you doing this to me? To
us? Why?”

Her only answer was the scream of the gulls floating in the misty gray sky and the everlasting boom of the surf hitting the shore.

She picked up the phone. She needed to talk to Delia.

“I guessed you must be out at the beach,” Delia said. “I called you at home last night. When there was no reply, we figured that's where you were. We decided not to disturb you.”

Despite her worries, Lara smiled. Delia's upbeat, bouncy voice always gave her a lift. “Thanks, but I could use a little disturbing. The only person I've spoken to, apart from the gulls, is the local building contractor who's going to fix my deck. And Bill.”

“He called, then?” Delia's voice slipped into neutral as she asked the loaded question.

“He called. He said he couldn't make the French trip. He's too busy.”

“He canceled the Second Honeymoon?”
Delia's voice trembled with outrage. “But you've been planning it for almost a year; he should bloody well make the time.”

“I guess the truth is, he doesn't want to.” Shoving her long, wind-blown hair out of her eyes, Lara said tearfully, “Oh, Delia, what am I to do?”

“Is Melissa still with him? I mean, you're
sure
about that, Lar?”

“I know she's there now. And he told me that he
has to go on to India, to Delhi, to look at some new children's facility.” Her voice shook as she added, “I don't know whether he's going alone.”

There was a long silence while Delia thought about it, then she said, “Are you going to fight this, Lar? Or are you just going to walk away from it and let her have him? Is that your plan?”

“I don't have any plan. I'm still just trying to deal with it. I mean, what can I do, Delia? If he wants her that bad, he'll leave me anyway.” Anger kicked in suddenly. “And goddammit, I don't know if I want a guy who's lusting after another woman.”

Delia's laugh floated over the line. “ ‘Atta girl, Lara. A little anger is what's needed here. Blast the bastard when he gets home. Lay him on the line and stomp all over him. See what happens then.”

Lara was laughing as they said good-bye. Delia was right; a change of attitude was what was needed. And the first thing she would do was pluck up her courage and plunge into that icy ocean.

She put on an old black bathing suit and with Dex at her heels ran down the steps to the beach. Shrieking, half in delight, half in shock, she plunged deep into the icy waves. She swam for a while then staggered back out, shaking seawater from her hair.

“What's needed here, Dex,” she gasped, “is a breath of fresh air to clear the cobwebs from my befogged brain.” The dog shook himself vigorously, spattering ice-cold drops over her, and she shrieked again, laughing. “Race you to the house,” she yelled, pounding up the steep sandy slope.

Dex got there first and Lara was puffing and panting, dripping seawater as she climbed the wooden steps to the deck. And looked directly into Dan Holland's deep-blue eyes.

“Sorry if I startled you, Ms. Lewis,” he apologized. “I just came by to drop off the lumber. When no one answered the bell, I guessed you were out and came in by the side gate. I hope you don't mind.”

No man had looked into her eyes like that in years. For ever. Certainly not Bill. It took her breath away. She glanced at the pile of lumber stacked neatly on the deck. “Oh, no. No, of course not. Any time I'm not here, please feel free.”

“Great, thanks. I'll be back around four-thirty, then.” Lara was still standing on the top step as he turned away.

He paused with his hand on the wooden gate at the side of the deck. “Mind if I ask you something?”

She shook her head.

“Do you always wear a diamond necklace when you go swimming?”

There was a bemused look on his face and Lara laughed. “Always,” she replied demurely, touching her hand to the lover's knot.