The Woman From Paris (9 page)

The sight of her made his heart inflate with happiness. “I need to talk to you.”

“Really? Well, you’d better come in, then.” She opened the door wide, and David stepped into a small hallway dominated by a spiral staircase built around the original fire pole.

“This is a great house,” he said, taking it all in.

“Isn’t it? It’s so quirky. I love it.” She closed the door and showed him into a surprisingly spacious kitchen/sitting room that led out into a little garden where a couple of finches were busily pecking at a bird feeder suspended from a tree. He noticed a large suitcase on the floor and a coat draped across the sofa.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked.

“Paris. It’s where I live. I’ve only been here for a month, house-sitting for a friend.”

“Oh, I thought you lived here.”

“No, home is Paris. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

David fought his disappointment. “Then I’m intruding . . .”

Phaedra felt bad. After all, he’d come all the way from Hampshire. “Can I make you a cup of tea?” she offered. “I know you Brits love tea.”

He smiled. “We do, but I’d prefer coffee.”

“Okay, I can do that, too. Cappuccino, espresso . . .”

“Black, please.”

“Of course: this machine is genius.” She began to fuss about it with a little carton of coffee and a big blue cup. “Why don’t you sit down?”

David pulled out a bright-red lacquered spindle-back chair. There were three others in blue, green, and purple. A rose-scented candle burned in the center of the table, which was strewn with photographs.

“Excuse the mess, I’ve been going through my pictures.” As the cup filled with coffee, she lifted a box from the floor and hastily began to toss the photographs into it.

“Don’t tidy up for my sake; you should see how I live.”

“Oh good, you’re untidy, too?”

“Very. Untidiness must run in the family, then,” said David, determined to cool his ardor by reminding himself that they were related.

She closed the box of photographs and placed the cup of steaming coffee in front of him. “I know why you’ve come,” she said, pulling out the purple chair and sitting down opposite him.

“Mother’s very upset. She feels she treated you badly when you came to Dad’s funeral. She wants to start again.”

“Look, I should never have introduced myself. I should have left straight after the service.”

“It probably wasn’t the best time to make our acquaintance, but it is as it is. Let’s try to move forward.”

She grinned at his pragmatism. “That’s a good idea.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

“I do. Now tell me if you like my coffee.”

He took a sip. “Very good. Aren’t you going to have some?”

“I’ve had a cup already. If I have another, I’ll be flying. Here, have a cookie. Cookies are my weakness.”

“You and Aunt Rosamunde.” He put his hand in the tin she held open for him and lifted out a circular black biscuit. “Oreos.”

“A little tin of America in my London kitchen.” She watched him take it, then helped herself. “Aren’t they delicious?” They smiled at each other as they bit into their biscuits.

David tried as hard as he could to look upon Phaedra as a sibling, but it was useless. She sat opposite, her beautiful smile turning his stomach to jelly. The air was charged between them. He was sure she must feel it, too, for it almost quivered over the table like heat above the desert. They laughed in unison, and no quip or innuendo needed to be explained. It was as if they were resuming an age-old friendship, and in spite of his efforts every fiber of his body yearned for her as no brother should.

David didn’t relish the thought of leaving and driving back down to Hampshire. It was so comfortable in her kitchen, the allure of her presence so strong, that he wished he could stay. “Have dinner with me?” he asked suddenly, without thinking it through.

“Dinner?”

“Yes, anywhere you want.”

“You’re just like your father, always hungry.” She smiled at him a little sadly. “He was always looking forward to the next meal, even in the middle of the current one.”

“Don’t you think all men are like that?”

“Perhaps. It’s just the way you said it. That spontaneous rush of
enthusiasm. George was impulsive like that.” They both felt a cold wind sweep across the empty plains in their hearts.

David’s gaze dropped onto the table. “Maybe I should just drive home.”

“No, don’t. I’ll cook something here, then we don’t need to go anywhere. Do you like pasta? George liked my spaghetti Napolitana.”

“I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

“Spaghetti Napolitana is no trouble. I like cooking. I find it relaxing.”

She got up, and David watched her reach for the spaghetti in one of the cupboards above the sideboard. She wore a loose-fitting floral shirt over jeans and trainers, but he could tell she had a lovely, curvaceous body beneath. “As you’re staying for dinner, we might as well open a bottle of wine. There should be some Chardonnay in the fridge. Would you mind?” He found the wine. She handed him a bottle opener and placed a couple of glasses on the table.

“Did you ever call my father ‘Dad’?” he asked, filling the glasses.

She hesitated a moment. “No. It didn’t feel right. I’m not a little girl anymore. I called him George. It suited him.”

“I’m astonished that he managed to keep you to himself for such a long time.”

“Men are good at compartmentalization, don’t you think? Besides, I was living in Paris. The time we spent together was in the Himalayas, not London.”

“So you’re a climber, too?”

“I’ll do anything for a good photo.” She grinned at him. “Even follow some mad Englishman up Mount Pumori!”

“My God, you really are his daughter.”

“We certainly shared a love of adventure and the outdoors.”

He handed her a glass and watched her take a sip. “What did your mother think when you went in search of him?”

“I don’t know. We don’t get along.” Phaedra turned away to cut an onion.

“Did they meet again, Dad and your mother?”

“No. She didn’t want to, and neither did he. It was all in the past. They both decided to leave it there.”

“Very wise. Has your mother remarried?”

“No.” She turned around and grinned at him. “You’re a very inquisitive man, David Frampton. Why don’t you make yourself useful and lay the table. Plates are in there,” she said, pointing to a dresser. “Cutlery in the drawer, and glasses above. There’s water in the fridge, assuming you’re going to dilute your wine before you drive home.”

“I’d stay at Eaton Square if it wasn’t for Rufus.”

“Rufus being a dog, I presume.”

“Right. A big yellow dog who’d be very upset if I didn’t come home tonight.”

“Have you left him all on his own?”

“The farm manager looks after him when I’m away. But he’ll have brought him back and shut him in the kitchen at six.”

“Then you must drive home.” She looked at her watch. It was seven forty-five. “I’ll kick you out at nine-thirty.”

When the spaghetti was ready, they sat at the table to enjoy it. Phaedra had made a thick, sticky tomato and basil sauce, cooking the spaghetti in it for the last few minutes. “You’re a terrific cook,” David complimented her.

“Thank you.” He noticed her glass was empty and refilled it. “Well, isn’t this nice, having dinner with my brother.”

“I can’t say this is something I ever imagined I’d be doing.”

“Did you ever wish for a sister when you were growing up?”

“Not really. Mother wished for a daughter, though. I think all women want a daughter, and my mother is very feminine. She would have loved a little girl to share girlie things with. Instead, she got three rambunctious boys. Not a whiff of pink in the entire house.”

“I love pink.” She laughed bitterly. “When I was little, I had a blue bedroom because my mother loved blue. I wanted pink, like all little girls, but she insisted that blue was the best color for me. Actually, it was just the best color for
her
. But she filled the room with soft toys and a ridiculously grown-up doll’s house that was too fragile to play with.”

“It sounds like she tried her best.”

“Not at all. She gave me everything I could want materially, but not what I needed emotionally.”

“Why?”

“Because she never had time for me. She wasn’t maternal. In fact, I’d go as far as saying that she was interested only in herself and the next man who could look after her. She was desperately insecure, and I was in the way. The field of potential suitors is greatly reduced if you have a daughter in tow. So she’d pass me around her friends and throw money at me—anything to be rid of me.” She shrugged as if it didn’t really matter.

“That’s sad, Phaedra.”

“Oh, don’t think I feel sorry for myself. By most people’s standards, I had a privileged childhood. Anyway, I left as soon as I was old enough. Life got better as soon as I was in the driving seat. My mother’s only a memory now.”

David drained his glass. “Is there anyone special in your life?”

She grinned. “By that you mean, am I in a relationship?”

“I’d hate to think of you being lonely.”

She stared into her glass a moment. “I’m far too self-sufficient to be lonely,” she replied boldly, but there was something about the way she dropped her shoulders that made him disbelieve her.

“So, do you have someone?” he persisted.

“No, I’m unattached.”

“That surprises me,” he said, but he felt his spirits lift.

“Why?”

“Because you’re very beautiful. I’d imagine someone would have snapped you up by now.”

“Oh, someone did. For a brief time I was desperately, deliriously, and overwhelmingly in love.”

David’s inflated spirits were punctured with jealousy. “Really?”

“Yes. But I lost him.” Her eyes glistened, and she seemed to shrink with sorrow.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You weren’t to know.”

“What happened?”

She smiled at him in an attempt to brush off the sting that smarted constantly. “I don’t want to talk about it. But I’m not sure I can ever love like that again. I invested everything in it: my heart, my soul, my future. But there wasn’t to be a future. I won’t ever let anyone hurt me like that again.” She sighed deeply and took a gulp of wine. “How about you? Have you ever been in a serious relationship?”

“I’ve never been in love, not as you describe—desperately, deliriously, and overwhelmingly in love. I’m still holding out for that.”

“You’ve had girlfriends, surely?”

“Of course. But there’s an ocean of difference between a girlfriend and someone you can’t live without.”

Her eyes glittered again. “I know what that’s like.” She bit her bottom lip. “I feel so empty, David.”

“We all do.”

“It was so sudden. I keep expecting George to call me, but he never will. I thought I had a future, but he took it with him, and now I’ll never get it back. But you know what haunts me the most? The last time we spoke was in . . .” She seemed to swallow the word, as if it was too painful to utter.

“Was in . . . ?”

She sighed in defeat and dropped her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I never said good-bye.”

Propelled by her stricken face, David moved to the chair beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. She dropped her head onto his chest and cried. David pulled her close, savoring the vanilla scent in her hair and the feeling of her body against his. He closed his eyes and felt his own heart slump with unexpressed grief. Unlike Phaedra, he found that tears didn’t come so easily; they seemed to get stuck at the top of his throat, where the muscles contracted and ached from the effort of withholding.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered after a while. “I’m just so devastated. I found him, then lost him.”

“Come and stay at Fairfield, Phaedra,” he pleaded. “You’ll find comfort in his family.”

“I can’t.”

“I insist.”

“You know nothing about me. I’m a stranger. I can’t impose.”

“I hardly think you’re going to murder us all in the night.”

She sniffed. “Of course not. But still, I don’t feel comfortable accepting hospitality from your mother.”

“She wants you to come.”

“No, I’ve created enough trouble. I should really go back to Paris.”

“Please. Don’t run away. We’ve only just discovered you. Mother wants to get to know you. You’re family. My father would like to think of you down at Fairfield. It’s where you belong.”

There was a long silence. Phaedra had never belonged anywhere. The thought of having a family was very seductive. Perhaps Paris could wait. One weekend wouldn’t hurt. She lifted her head. “If you promise you’ll look after me.”

“Of course I will.”

“Okay, I’ll come.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then, noticing the damp patch on David’s shirt, attempted to wipe that, too. “Oh dear, looks like I’ve cried all over your shirt.”

“It’s only a shirt.”

“I can dry it with my hair dryer.” She laughed at the expression on David’s face. “Or not.”

“What do you take me for? As if I care about a damp patch on my shirt.” They both laughed. “It’ll be dry before I get home, so it won’t offend Rufus.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s past nine-thirty, and I said I’d kick you out.”

“No need. I’ll kick myself out. Must get back to my roommate.”

She stood in the doorway as he stepped out onto the pavement. “I’ve had a good time tonight. You really cheered me up,” she said.

“I’m not sure I cheered you up,” he replied, looking at her tearstained face.

“Oh, you did. No doubt about that. It’s good to talk about George with someone who knew him.”

“I’ll see you Friday.” He put his hand on the small of her back and bent down to kiss her cheek. It was still damp.

“Friday it is,” she replied. “Don’t forget to look after me.”

She watched him walk beneath the streetlamps to his muddy car. He turned and waved before climbing inside. She remained in the doorframe as he pulled out and motored slowly down the street. So she was about to be embraced by George’s family, after all. She felt as wretched as a repentant thief.

Later, as she climbed into bed, her mobile telephone rang on the bedside table. She reached over and picked it up. She saw Julius Beecher’s name displayed in the window. Reluctantly, she answered it.