The Affair

by Danielle Steel

  “Yeah, I think she’s married to some French guy,” Charity said, her head pounding.

  “She’s married to Nicolas Bateau,” Betty said softly. Betty was twenty-five years old and scared to death. Charity had a temper and was unpredictable and indiscriminate as to who she would unleash it on. She stared across her desk at her assistant in disbelief.

  “Holy shit…are you serious? No wonder Rose wants us to go easy on the story, and not make him look like a hero and them like Romeo and Juliet. God…what a mess.” Even in her initial shock, and with a fearsome headache, she couldn’t fault Rose for her ultimate decisions. She had agreed to let them have Pascale on the cover, and to the interview as the main feature, but she didn’t want Nicolas in it, or to have Mode glamorize them either. But Charity realized now how dicey it was for Rose to be making the decisions she had, and how uncomfortable it must have been for her, with her daughter as the injured wife in the story. She remembered then that Rose had just gone to Paris for the weekend. She had assumed it had something to do with work, since that was all Rose ever did. Her whole life centered around the magazine. Charity had never known another editor to work as hard. “Wow, I have to hand it to her for not saying anything. It’s going to be tough on her daughter when the story comes out. I wonder if he’s divorcing her to marry Pascale.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it from what I’ve read in the tabloids,” Betty said, blushing. She was fascinated by them, and touched by how in love they were, and now a baby. It was her mother who had mentioned Nadia to her, and who felt sorry for her. She said she was a smart, beautiful, talented woman with two little girls. This put a new spin on it for Betty, and even for Charity, as she thought about it.

  “Maybe Rose’s daughter is divorcing him. Rose never talks about her personal life. She’s famous for it. She wins the prize for this one. Let’s keep it between us for now,” she said, showing more respect for their boss than Betty had expected. Charity was tough, fought for what she believed in, and had a big mouth, but she admired the editor-in-chief and her decisions, now more than ever. “It must have nearly killed her to agree to put Pascale on the cover, as the feature.” She had new respect for her. “Make that two Advil,” she said to Betty. “And a martini…just kidding about the martini,” she added so her assistant didn’t think she was a lush. The girl was very literal in her interpretations. “I’m happy I’m not writing the interview.” The staff writer who had been chosen to do it was known for her bland, upbeat pieces. She was not out to set the world on fire. She had volunteered and Rose had agreed to let her do it. Charity was now sure Rose must have been relieved by that. “Jesus, life is complicated sometimes, isn’t it?”

  Charity was forty years old, divorced, and felt like she had to fight to stay on top every day. She loved the dog-eat-dog world of fashion, but underneath it, she wasn’t out to hurt anyone, just to get the best shoots she could into the magazine and build her reputation. She was looking forward to working with Pascale. It was going to be a lot more interesting and exciting than styling the First Lady, who was almost seventy years old.

  Betty brought the Advil and Charity kept the bottle on her desk. She had a lot to think about. It was daunting to realize that even with something as benign as fashion, people could get hurt. She was suddenly glad the final decision to put Pascale on the cover and run an interview with her hadn’t been hers.

  * * *

  —

  There were stacks of fabric samples in bright colors and sketches piled high on Venetia’s desk, as she dug through the piles frantically, looking for something. She had her mane of red hair pulled up helter-skelter in clips and three pencils stuck through it. She gave a victorious shout when she found what she was looking for. It was a sketch of a sexy black see-through dress for their resort collection. She went running down the hall with it to their head designer, and showed her where she had gone off course from the original design, while the designer explained to her that the fabric hadn’t responded the way they expected, and didn’t drape the way they thought it would. The way the dress fell was the whole genius of it, and they sat together for almost half an hour, playing with the fabric and altering Venetia’s design subtly until it worked.

  “You are a master,” the young designer said admiringly.

  “No, believe me, I’ve made plenty of mistakes. As long as we make them pre-production, we’re fine.” She squinted then, and suggested a dusting of tiny black beads and sequins, just enough to make the dress shimmer, which was Venetia’s genius. She knew just what to add and where for a surprising effect. It made every one of her evening gowns feel like a party when women put them on, and her daywear was just plain fun. Venetia was wearing jeans with a sexy red sweater and leopard platform shoes when she ran back down the hall to her office. She wore high heels to work every day, just as she always had. Nothing had changed about the way she dressed when she turned forty, or now at forty-one. She dressed like a twenty-year-old, and had the energy and figure for it. She insisted that her designs weren’t for young women, they were for everyone, and she knew that there were grandmothers who wore them, and young girls if they could afford them.

  She took her hair out of the clips, and let it cascade down her back. She was wearing no makeup and didn’t need any, but her perfume was a mysterious warm aroma that she’d had made specially for her in Paris by Serge Lutens. Everything about Venetia was special, appealing, and sensual, and she worked harder than anyone in her company. Her friends and co-workers knew how much she loved her three kids and husband. She wished she could spend more time with them, she was constantly dashing to some school event, and then came back to the office to work until midnight or one a.m. Her husband, Ben, was used to it. He wanted more time with her, but knew how much her work meant to her, and he respected her enormous talent. The business model he had designed for her was working brilliantly. Her brand, Venetia Wade, was a dazzling success and sound as a bell, as her mother said.

  Venetia’s cellphone rang as soon as she got back to her desk, and she saw at a glance that it was her sister in Paris. She wondered why Nadia was calling, and hoped that some new horrifying story about Nicolas hadn’t surfaced. She knew that Nadia had been through the wringer for the past month, and Venetia couldn’t imagine how she was getting through it. She and Ben had never had problems, but she realized that they were unusual and very lucky. She swore that sex three times a week was their secret for success, and her sisters couldn’t figure out how she managed it, with a company to run, six collections a year to come up with, three children to raise, one of them on the cusp of becoming a teenager, and a husband who needed her attention too.

  “I barely have time to brush my teeth and go to yoga class once a month,” Olivia had said, and Athena said that she and Joe were lucky to have sex once a month. Nadia had been discreet about her sex life when the sisters had had a couple of glasses of wine and told all at Christmas. Nadia had their mother’s reserve, and they sometimes teased her for being prudish, but she still didn’t tell them what the others shared and they wanted to know. Now Nicolas was having sex with someone else. They all felt sorry for her.

  “Hi, Squirt, what’s up?” Venetia addressed her and Nadia laughed. Nadia was the shortest of her sisters, and she accused them of being giants. They considered Olivia short too and she was several inches taller and a few pounds heavier than Nadia, the “baby.”

  “I think Mom and Dad ran out of tall genes when they got to you two,” Athena would say to Nadia and Olivia when they got together. Athena and Venetia were even taller than their mother, who was six feet.

  “I’m trying to organize a sisters’ reunion on the Fourth of July weekend,” Nadia said, sounding hesitant. It had been their mother’s idea, and Nadia was sure they would all be too busy with their mates and children, and Athena with her dogs and Joe. “What are you doing for the fourth?” Nadia asked her. Venetia stared into space and thought ab
out it for a minute.

  “We’re going to the Hamptons. I guess Ben could handle it without me. We go to our neighbor’s for a big barbecue and picnic every year.”

  “I’m sure you don’t want to miss it,” Nadia said shyly and Venetia laughed.

  “Actually, I do. The boys will argue about which red, white, and blue flag shirt to wear, India always hates the dress I pick out for her, Ben eats ribs and drinks beer all night and passes out the minute we come home. I gain five pounds eating apple pie with ice cream. I think I’d rather come to France and skip it this year. Why? What do you have in mind?”

  “Mom suggested a sisters’ weekend, and she might come for the last two days, if she can get away. You can stay as long as you want,” Nadia said generously.

  “I’ve got to finish the spring line, but we’re getting there. A long weekend in Paris wouldn’t kill me,” Venetia said, considering it.

  “I was thinking about doing it at the château, so we can really relax.”

  “Great idea,” Venetia said enthusiastically. She was always up for an adventure, especially with her sisters. She wanted to be there for Nadia in the crisis. “Count me in. I’ll tell Ben he’ll have to manage without me this year.”

  “Will he be pissed?”

  “No, he’s a good sport about those things, and he loves you. I’ll tell him you were crying when you called me and begged.”

  “Don’t make me sound pathetic!” Nadia pleaded.

  “He has a soft spot for you.” Venetia grinned. “What about the others? Can they do it?”

  “I called you first. I’m not sure we can keep Olivia off their sailboat for four whole days, but I’ll try. And I’m not sure when Athena’s show goes off air for the summer.”

  “Call them, and tell them they have to come.”

  “I will,” Nadia promised, excited that Venetia was coming. The two of them had always been close. Venetia got along with all of them, and they all got along with each other. Although Venetia didn’t say it, this was a sister crisis now, and they all wanted to be there for Nadia. It also sounded like a ton of fun to Venetia. She told Ben about it that night and he agreed to be full-on dad for the whole Fourth of July weekend so she could go to France to see Nadia and all her sisters.

  “I knew there was a reason why I love you,” she said, as he slipped a hand under her sweater, and she locked the door to their bedroom before the kids could interrupt them. She was going to miss her handsome husband for four days, but it would be that much sweeter when she got home. They were just as attracted to each other now as they had been when they got married sixteen years before.

  * * *

  —

  When Nadia called to invite Olivia to Normandy for the Fourth of July weekend, she caught her during a brief break in court proceedings. She was in her chambers reading a document the defense counsel had just submitted. She was concentrating on it when she heard her cellphone vibrate on her desk, glanced at it, and saw that it was Nadia. She answered in a hurry. She didn’t want to let Nadia’s call go to voicemail in case something new had happened.

  “What’s the bastard done now?” she said curtly for openers.

  “Nothing. Did I get you at a bad time?” Nadia said, daunted by her sister’s tone.

  “I’m in trial, but it’s okay, I’ve got a few minutes. I’m in chambers by myself. We just called a recess so I could read something.” Decorating and interior design seemed so insignificant to Nadia compared to what Olivia did. She was always slightly intimidated by her next oldest sister, who had the most important career of all of them, or at least the most serious.

  “You must have everyone in the courtroom trembling,” Nadia said, and Olivia laughed. “You just scared the hell out of me.”

  “I hope so. That’s what the state pays me for,” and the chance to use her Yale Law School education. Olivia loved being a judge, much more than she had being a lawyer. She had been a family law attorney, worked for the ACLU for two years in her liberal youth, and had done a lot of pro bono work for the courts. And she had progressively become more conservative over time. It had put her on the fast track and she’d become a superior court judge eight months before. She finally felt that she was in the right place doing what she was supposed to, taking tough positions with criminals.

  “Can I help you with something?” Olivia asked. She still had to read the document in front of her, but she was relieved to know that nothing more had happened in the current soap opera that was her sister’s life. Olivia had told her mother how she felt about it. She wanted Nadia to divorce Nicolas immediately, to teach him a lesson. But if she did, it was going to be a very long-term lesson for them and their children, like forever. Olivia hoped her sister was strong enough to see it through, and not go easy on him.

  Olivia had become a firm believer in accountability and harsh sentences. She had been instructing juries accordingly since she’d been on the bench. She felt that society and the individual could only benefit from tougher consequences for their actions, and that was what the victims were due. She felt that way about her younger sister too, and she wanted Nicolas to really hurt for what he was doing to her. She had expressed it clearly to Nadia, their mother, and her other two sisters. Olivia was a force to be reckoned with. She was no pushover. She was very much afraid that Nadia was too forgiving by nature, and still too much in love with Nicolas to see clearly and make him pay a hefty price for his crimes.

  “I’ll try to make it quick,” Nadia said, sounding flustered. She didn’t want to deal with another tirade from her sister about how fast she should get divorced. She hadn’t come to that place yet, and was still living their situation day-to-day.

  “I know you’re busy. I’m trying to get all of us together here for the Fourth of July weekend, just the girls, if you can get away. I don’t know if you can leave Harley and Will for the holiday weekend, but I wanted to ask. Venetia said she’ll make it for the whole four days. Mom is going to try to come over the weekend, but you know how that is. If there’s a crisis with a deadline, she won’t make it. I haven’t called Athena yet.” But their oldest sister was more easygoing than the others. If she didn’t have to do her show, she was the most likely to come, and Olivia the least. She planned everything, stuck to her schedule as though it was set in stone, and never left her husband and son for a weekend, or a trip. There was a silence at the other end that lasted so long Nadia thought they had been disconnected. “Hello?…Hello?…Ollie?” She still called her that, even after all the years since they’d grown up.

  “I’m here. I’m thinking. We’re going to Maine, and Will is bringing a friend. I’m not sure Harley wants to deal with two fourteen-year-old boys all weekend,” but her son was very well behaved, and as serious as his parents. There was no teenage rebellion at their house. It wouldn’t have been tolerated by either parent. Nadia liked her brother-in-law, but he was extremely straightlaced and sober at sixty, but so was her sister, who was not quite forty yet. Olivia seemed much older than her years in her behavior, not her appearance. She was a beautiful slim blonde, and looked a lot like their mother, in a smaller version. She and Nadia looked as different as night and day, the one dark, the other fair, and they were so close in age and size that people had always mistaken them for fraternal twins.

  “I’d love it if you came,” Nadia said gently, “but I understand if you can’t. It’s short notice, but I’ll be alone at the château with the girls for the first two weeks in July and it would be so much fun to be the four of us for the Fourth of July weekend, especially now.”

  “Where’s your shit of a husband going to be then?” Olivia asked harshly.

  “In the South with friends for a couple of weeks.”

  “Has he moved out yet?” Olivia always went straight to the heart of the matter, like their mother, but in a much tougher way.

  “Half-assedly,” Nadia ans
wered. “We’re working on it. I told him he needs to get an apartment, that he can’t keep bouncing back and forth between the two of us. I think he’s afraid that if he moves out, I’ll never let him back in, and it really will be over.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Olivia said in a clipped tone. “It is over, Naddie. You just have to get used to that idea. And so does he. I’d say her being pregnant clinches that.” Nadia knew that that was not necessarily true, but didn’t argue the point with her sister, knowing she wouldn’t win. Her sister was as American as the flag, and there were no compromises or turning back with her. As far as she was concerned, they were done. Nadia wasn’t quite as sure. She thought it was over, but what if their marriage could be salvaged? It was a living, breathing entity to her, and she wasn’t ready to euthanize it yet, even if part of her agreed with her sister and thought she should. Another part of her didn’t. Her hope for their marriage was dwindling daily, but the ashes weren’t cold yet.

  “I’ll talk to Harley and Will and see how they feel about it. Can I call you tonight?”

  “Of course. I’d love it if you’d come,” she said again.

  “I’d better get back to work,” Olivia said. “I’d love to see you,” she said, sounding gentler. “Harley’s in a regatta that weekend, I don’t know how badly he wants me there. But at least he’ll be busy.” They hung up a minute later, and Olivia turned her attention to the document on her desk, thinking about Nadia in Paris, and how nice it would be to spend four days with her sisters. They didn’t do it often enough, and Nadia’s marital disaster gave them an excuse. Olivia was tempted to do it, if her husband didn’t object.

  * * *