The Woman From Paris (39 page)

He closed the box and gazed at her fondly. “Mine are the only ones that count.”

“David . . .” she began, but her voice trailed off. They walked to the car, still parked in the shadow of the hedge.

“I don’t want to go,” she said.

“You don’t have to go. You know you can stay here for as long as you like. Fairfield is your home now.”

“I have work to do,” she sighed.

“Give up and come down here. You can finish your book in the peace of the countryside.”

“It’s a tempting thought. But if I lived here, I wouldn’t put together photographic books.”

He smiled playfully. “Tell me, what would you do?”

She smiled back. “Oh, I don’t know . . . I’ve never thought . . .”

“You don’t know? Come now, Phaedra, I know you better than that. Since when have you
not
had an opinion about everything?”

“All right, if you insist. I’d open the grounds to the public and have a farm shop.”

“Would you?”

“Yes. The park and gardens are beautiful. People could picnic on the grass and enjoy the countryside. And I’ve always wanted to be a shopkeeper.”

He laughed. “You’re better than that, Phaedra.”

She frowned at him. “You’re contented driving your tractor; some would say you’re better than
that
.”

“I stand corrected. You’re right. I love being a farmer.”

“So . . . I’d love to be a shopkeeper.”

He nodded his approval. “Then we’ll do it.”

“I’m sure your mother would object.”

“I think you’d be surprised. Mother is longing for something to do.”

She pushed him playfully. “I’d better go.” She climbed into the car and rolled down the window. “Thank you, David.”

“What for?”

She smiled sheepishly. “You know,
everything
.”

“I promised I’d look after you, didn’t I?”

“And you’ve been true to your word.”

She turned the key, and he patted the top of the car. “Go carefully.”

“I will,” she replied, and put the car into gear.

As she drove off she could see him waving in her rearview mirror until she turned the corner. Then he was gone, replaced by the hedge and the drive as she motored down it. She shook her head in despair.
Oh, Phaedra, what a mess!
she thought.
What on earth am I going to do now?

There was heavy traffic as she drove into London. She sat daydreaming about David and listening to Sarah McLachlan, which made her even sadder. Then she thought of George and what he’d make of it all. If he was watching her in heaven, she hoped he’d appreciate the tangle he’d got her into and do all in his power to do something about it.
Oh, George, you got me into this, now you get me out of it!

*   *   *

Rosamunde and Antoinette walked around the garden. The evening light was a soft pink as the sun sank in the western sky, catching the clouds and turning them into candy floss. There was a chill in the wind, and Antoinette wrapped her cardigan tightly around her and sighed with pleasure at the sight of growing shrubs and bulbs, and the sweet smell of viburnum and philadelphus that hung in the damp air. It had been the most delightful weekend. She felt blessed that Phaedra had been dropped into her life and silently thanked George for his parting gift.

Rosamunde thrust her hands into her jacket pockets. “I think I should go home,” she ventured.

Antoinette looked surprised and stopped walking. “Home as in
your
home?”

“Yes, I can’t leave the dogs with Marjorie forever. It’s time I got back to my life.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I can pop back at the weekend if you’re lonely, but I can’t use my hip as an excuse anymore.”

“Do you need an excuse?”

“No, of course not, but you don’t need me now. You’re busy in the garden and up at the folly. You’re back on your feet again. David’s just down the road, and you seem to be getting along much better with Margaret.”

“It’s not a question of my ‘needing’ you, Rosamunde. The truth is that I like having you around. We’re sisters.” Rosamunde smiled gratefully. “What about Dr. Heyworth?” Antoinette added with a grin.

Rosamunde shook her head dolefully. “I don’t think he’s coming up every day to visit
me
.”

“Well, of course he is,” Antoinette laughed, but she sensed what Rosamunde was going to say by the look on her face.

“No, my dear, I think he’s using me as an excuse to see
you
.”

Antoinette was embarrassed. “What nonsense!” she exclaimed.

“Don’t panic. I’m sure he’s got the sense not to leap on you. But he likes you. That’s plain enough to see.”

“Oh, Rosamunde, are you sure? You two were getting on so well.”

“I noticed when he danced with you. He didn’t look at me once.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong.” But she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t noticed, too, although she had dismissed the notion as soon as it had come.

“Usually I am. I’m not very sensitive in these matters, as you know. But a woman knows when a man’s not interested. At least, I do. It’s something I’ve been used to all my life. I don’t think I’m suited to romance, Antoinette. I’m too old, too set in my ways, and as much as I like the idea of it, the reality is, well, inconvenient. I mean, I couldn’t possibly share my house with someone. A man would drive me up the wall with all his foibles and funny habits. No, I’m not cut out for it. I liked the attention, but that’s as far as it went. Truthfully, it’s a relief. Really, it is. I’m relieved.” Antoinette listened to her sister, and the more she listened, the more she realized that her sister was, in fact, a little hurt by the doctor’s rejection. Quite apart from perhaps liking
her
, Dr. Heyworth had certainly led Rosamunde to believe that
she
was the object of his affection.

“I think he’s behaved rather badly,” Antoinette said, walking on.

“No, he’s behaved like a gentleman at all times. He came up to see my hip. It is I who misinterpreted his intentions. I’ve behaved like a teenager.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve done nothing of the sort.”

“I had a crush. I should know better at my age.”

“You keep mentioning your age. You’re not yet sixty. That’s not old.”

Rosamunde heaved a sigh. “Oh, it’s too old for romance.”

“Only if you think it is.”

“He didn’t notice my hair down.” She laughed at that silly act of flirtation. “I should have guessed at that point.”

“Your pride is intact.”

“Perhaps.”

Rosamunde decided to leave the following morning after breakfast. Antoinette went to bed that night pondering what her sister had told her. Could Dr. Heyworth
really
have developed feelings for her after so many years of treating her as a patient? Was Rosamunde imagining it? He had sought her out at the folly, for sure, and given her the music to play on the piano. She remembered the dance and flushed. It had felt good to be in the arms of a man. But George had been gone such a short time, she wasn’t ready to start thinking of someone else. It felt like a betrayal of George, and she wanted more than anything to honor his memory. If Dr. Heyworth liked her, then they would remain friends and nothing more. She was flattered but not willing.

However, the thought of being on her own without Rosamunde just down the corridor filled her with dread. She didn’t know if she was ready for that, either.

25

P
haedra returned to London with a heavy heart. Cheyne Row wasn’t home. She didn’t
belong
there. As she drove up the Embankment she reflected on a life of stepping-stones and the lonely sense of always stopping over, never belonging—constantly hopping to the next stone in the hope that it might feel right. Just like her mother. In fact, she mused, all her adult life she had been propelled by the—usually subconscious—yearning to belong.

She wondered whether her marriage had simply been a manifestation of that yearning. She had certainly never felt at home in Geneva: only in Paris, but now even Paris, the one city she had ever truly loved, was beginning to feel remote and out of reach. Fairfield was special. It didn’t wave her off like a hotel at the end of a vacation, it didn’t make her feel like a guest; it gave her a taste of permanence.

She thought of Antoinette and the sweet way she was beginning to mother her. She pictured Margaret and smiled at the thought of having a grandmother for the very first time. She was beginning to love them as they loved her. Then her mind turned to David, and her heart filled with dread. He was so determined to live in the moment and not think about the future, but Phaedra now stared right into it. After all, she understood it better than he did. She knew what secret lay in its kinks and how to untangle it. And yet, were she to untangle it, she’d risk losing David, Antoinette, Margaret, and Fairfield forever. There would be no going back.

She parked her car outside the Catholic church and gazed up at the impressive facade. “My fate is in Your hands now,” she said quietly, her spirits sinking lower than ever because she feared that a knot as tightly twisted as hers could never be undone.

She stepped into her little hall and dropped her weekend bag on the tile floor. The kitchen was stuffy, for the windows had been closed all weekend, so she wandered across the sitting room and slid open the glass door that led onto the patio. She could hear the distant rumble of traffic on the King’s Road and imagined people going out for dinner with their lovers and friends, and the loneliness pinched her heart with cold fingers. She was a fool to imagine that she could ever be with David. She looked across at her big suitcase, which was still in the middle of the sitting room. She’d been living out of it now for weeks. It was time she decided where she wanted to be.

At that moment her thoughts were disturbed by the ringing of the doorbell. She wondered who could be calling at this time on a Sunday evening. Expecting someone from a charity requesting money, she was pleasantly surprised to see Julius. He was almost as surprised to see her.

“Julius! What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I was driving home from Gloucestershire, and I thought to myself, I wonder if Phaedra’s home yet and whether she’d like to come out for dinner.”

She smiled, grateful for his friendship. “I’ve just got back, actually.”

“What luck. We can go somewhere local.”

“Why don’t we walk to Daphne’s? I like it there.”

“Good idea. It’s a lovely evening.”

“Come in. I’ll just change out of these clothes. I was painting a house this morning.”

“Whose house?” he called out as she made her way up the spiral staircase with her weekend bag.

“It’s a little folly on top of the hill,” she shouted down.

“Really. I’ve never noticed a folly.”

“It’s been hidden away for years. Antoinette is restoring it, and we were all helping her.” She felt a pang of homesickness as she thought of the day before, when they’d all been dancing to Tom’s stereo. “It was such fun being part of it,” she said, but her voice trailed off, and Julius didn’t hear.

A few minutes later they were striding up Glebe Place. Phaedra had slipped on a polka-dot sundress with a denim jacket. In her plimsolls she was only marginally taller than him. Her hair was loose and curly, bouncing over her shoulders as she walked, but she didn’t notice the admiring looks from both men and women as she passed. Julius did, and he was proud to be walking alongside her. He sensed tonight was the night it was all going to come together.

They chatted the entire way to Draycott Avenue without pause. It was a balmy evening. The sun was still hot, the streets full of people making the most of the last few hours of their weekend. There was a sense of celebration in the air, for spring had finally come after a long, cold winter. The trees were woolly, the skies blue, the air warm, and it was still light at half-past eight. People spilled onto the pavements outside pubs and laughed together as their spirits thawed and their limbs loosened in the sunshine. Their mirth was infectious, and it seemed the whole city vibrated with a sense of summer.

Julius was welcomed in the restaurant with the same respect he’d been accorded at the Ivy and Le Caprice. They were shown to their table, a round one in the corner by the window. A pleasant breeze swept in, and Phaedra sat back in her chair, grateful that her loneliness had been plugged for a while. Julius wasted no time in ordering a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc and a plate of
zucchini fritti
while they decided what they wanted to eat.

“This is very nice,” said Phaedra, taking a sip of wine.

“A good way to finish the weekend,” Julius laughed. “When you’ve grown tired of Fairfield, you must come and stay with me in Gloucestershire. I have a big house near Tetbury. You could say I’m a neighbor of the Prince of Wales.”

“Very grand,” she replied indulgently. “Do you ever ask him over for dinner?”

“Sadly, we’re not yet acquainted. Still, the house was on for three million, and I got it for two point seven-five. Bargain, considering the location and the size of it.”

“You live there all alone?”

He looked at her steadily. “At the moment, yes. I go down at
weekends. One day I hope to marry and fill it with kids. It’s got a tennis court and a pool. Great for children.”

“Sounds ideal.”

“I’m a good catch, you know, Phaedra. I can offer a woman a comfortable life.”

“I’m sure you can.”

He watched her take another sip of wine. “I’m glad you’re relaxing tonight. You’ve been tense lately.”

“Have I?”

“Yes, but it’s okay. I understand. Let me get a waiter, I’m ready to eat.” He clicked his fingers.

Phaedra chose from the menu, and Julius ordered for her. The
zucchini fritti
were placed in the middle of the table, and Phaedra tucked in hungrily. Julius helped himself to a handful and added a heap of salt. He watched her eat. He liked a woman with a hearty appetite; it meant she was hearty in bed, too. Women who picked at their food picked at life. He couldn’t bear skinny women who ate only lettuce.