“I agree,” Kay answered, thinking that of the four of them, she was the least to blame. It was the others who had created the problems, not her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ALEXA LOOKED AT HER WATCH AS THE PHONE BEGAN TO ring.
It was exactly six-thirty. Snatching up the receiver, she said “Hello?” in a tight voice that didn’t sound like her own, clutching the phone so hard, her knuckles shone whitely in the lamplight.
“It’s Tom. I’m in the lobby.”
“I’ll be right down,” she managed to answer, dropped the phone into the cradle, picked up her bag and shawl from a chair, and left the room.
As she waited for the elevator, she glanced at herself in a nearby mirror. Her hair was sleek, her makeup perfect; she wore a tailored black linen dress that would go anywhere, her only jewelry her watch and pearl earrings.
She took a deep breath as she stepped into the elevator. She was taut, so eager to see him she could hardly wait as the elevator slid downward. She saw him immediately, the moment she stepped out. He stood off to one side, near the entrance to the Jardin d’Hiver, but something had obviously distracted him and he was looking toward the main lobby and the concierge’s desk.
Stupidly, ridiculously, she found she was unable to move. She stood, rooted to the spot, staring at him, shaking inside.
His face was in profile, but she saw at once that he was as handsome as ever, and immaculately dressed. He wore a dark blue blazer, gray trousers, and a blue shirt. His tie was silk, a blue-and-silver-gray stripe; his brown loafers gleamed.
She swallowed, trying to get a grip on herself, and then started in surprise as he suddenly turned his head abruptly and saw her at once.
His face was serious, unsmiling, as he walked toward her, his step and his demeanor full of confidence. But then he smiled suddenly, showing his perfect white teeth. His eyes were very blue. She saw, too, that his hair was now gray at the sides.
“Alexa,” he said, taking hold of her arm, leaning toward her, kissing her cheek.
She pulled away almost at once, afraid he would hear the pounding of her heart. Swallowing, her mouth dry, she said, “Hello, Tom.”
His vivid blue eyes searched her face for a split second, and he frowned. Taking hold of her arm, he said, “Let’s have a drink, shall we?” He didn’t wait for her answer, and in command, as he always was, he led her forward. They went into the Bar Fontainebleau that faced out through bay windows onto the Rivoli arches, positioned in front of the hotel’s main entrance.
He guided her to a small table near a window in a corner, where they both sat down. A waiter was with them in an instant.
Tom looked across at her and raised a dark brow. “The usual?”
She nodded.
“Deux coupes, s’il vous plaît.”
As the waiter disappeared in the direction of the long mahogany bar on the other side of the room, Tom looked at her intently, nodding his head, obviously in approval. “You haven’t changed. You look exactly the same, except for your hair.”
“I cut it.”
“I can see that. It suits you. Très chic.”
She said nothing.
After a slight pause, Tom went on. “I’ve read a lot about you, Alexa. In the show business trades. You’ve been having a great success with your theatrical sets.”
“Yes, but I’ve been lucky in many ways.”
“I would say it has much more to do with talent.”
She smiled at him weakly, wishing her heart would stop clattering in the way it was. She also wished she didn’t have the overwhelming urge to clutch his hand resting on the small table between them. It took all of her self-control not to touch him.
The waiter was back at the table, depositing the two flutes of champagne in front of them.
Once they were alone, Tom picked up his glass and clinked it to hers. “Santé.”
“Santé,” she said, and gave him a wide smile.
He put down his drink. “At last,” he murmured. “I thought that grim look was never going to disappear.”
“I didn’t know I was looking grim.”
“Take it from me, you were.” He leaned across the table, focused on her, the expression in his eyes more intense than ever. “I’m glad you called … I’m glad to see you, Alexa.” When she remained silent, he asked, “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. “Such a poor little yes. So timid.”
“Not at all. I am happy to see you, Tom. I wanted to see you, otherwise I wouldn’t have called.”
He reached out, took hold of her hand, held it tightly in his, scrutinizing her carefully. Then he glanced down at her hands. “Not married or engaged or otherwise taken?”
Alexa shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
“There must be someone,” he probed. “Or is every man blind where you live?”
She began to laugh—he had always managed to make her do that—and she shared his sense of humor. She was about to tell him there was no one special, but changed her mind. Instead, she said, “I have one friend. An artist. He’s very nice. English.” The words came out in a staccato delivery.
“Is it serious?”
“I—I—don’t know,” she began, and hesitated. “Well, perhaps he is serious.”
“And what about you?”
“I’m … uncertain.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Is there someone special in your life?”
“No,” he answered laconically.
“I can’t imagine you haven’t had, don’t have, a girlfriend around.”
“Of course. But make that plural. And none of them mean much to me.”
She experienced such a surge of relief, her whole body went slack. She hoped he hadn’t noticed this, said quickly, “I saw Nicky Sedgwick at Anya’s the other day. He mentioned in passing that you’d bought a place in Provence. At least, that’s what he’d heard.”
“It is true. My French grandmother died. She left me a little money. I bought a small farm outside Aix-en-Provence, an olive farm.”
“How great! Is it actually operating?”
“Limping.” He grinned at her. “But I’m going to put a bit of money into it, hire extra help for the manager who runs it for me. But it will be a hobby, nothing more serious, naturellement.”
“So you’re not giving up your law practice? Or leaving the city permanently?”
“Now, who could leave Paris? Certainly not I. And surely you know I’m not cut out to be a country boy.”
“I do.”
He took a sip of his champagne, and continued, “I booked a table at L’Ambroisie. In the Place des Vosges. But first I thought we could take a drive around Paris. It’s such a beautiful evening, and you haven’t been here for a long time. Three years.”
————
A SHORT WHILE LATER he was leading her down the front steps of the hotel, his hand under her elbow, guiding her. As they moved along the sidewalk, he raised a hand, signaling to a driver a little farther along who was standing next to a car.
A moment later, Tom was helping her into the backseat of a maroon Mercedes and climbing in after her. Alexa slid along the seat, positioned herself in the corner; Tom took the other corner, and she placed her shawl and bag in between them, as if building a barrier.
She noticed him glance down at them, saw his mouth twitch as he attempted to swallow a smile. She suddenly felt slightly foolish, and racked her brain for some kind of suitable small talk, but without success. Once more she was shaking inside and felt as though she couldn’t breathe. But this was not unusual. He had always had an extraordinary effect on her, and right from the beginning.
He was talking to the driver in rapid French, explaining where he should drive them … around the Place de la Concorde, up the Champs-Elysées, back down to the Seine, over to the Left Bank. She knew the latter was one of Tom’s favorite parts of the city, an area where he had often driven her himse
lf in the old days.
Once he had finished giving the driver these detailed instructions, he settled back in the corner, looked at her, and began to talk in an easy and effortless manner. “So, how is Nicky? I haven’t run into him for a long time.”
“He looks great, and he and Larry are more successful than ever.”
“So I hear. And you’re going to be working with them? Or is it just with Nick?”
“Nicky only. We had our first meeting today over lunch. And, of course, he always loves to rope me in when it’s a costume picture … he knows I don’t mind the historical research involved.”
“And what’s the movie?”
“It’s about Mary Queen of Scots.”
“To be made in France?”
“Well, yes, and in England and Ireland.” Alexa broke off, exclaimed, “Oh, Tom, how beautiful the Place de la Concorde looks tonight … under this perfect sky.”
He glanced out the window and murmured, “Yes, it is a perfect sky, and there is such a marvelous clarity of light this evening. The city looks magnificent at this hour.”
“A little bit later than the Magic Hour, but nothing to complain about,” she said.
“You and your Magic Hour! Dreamed up when you were a child,” Tom laughed.
“You remember?”
“I remember everything.”
He reached for her hand, but she quickly put it on her lap, glanced out of the window again, pretending she had not realized he wanted to hold hers in his. She knew if he touched her, she would fall apart or leap on him. She didn’t want to do either, and certainly nothing foolish.
“So, tell me more about your movie,” he suddenly said, turning toward her.
“Well, as you know, Mary grew up here at the French court, under the patronage of her Guise uncles—”
“Ah, yes, those somewhat ambitious princes of the blood,” he cut in.
“Then she married the Dauphin, became Queen of France when his father died, and then was widowed rather soon when very young.”
“And then she was sent back to Scotland to be their rightful queen. How much of her life does the movie cover, Alexa?”
“From what Nicky said, the early years … her time at the French court, marriage, becoming the French queen, and then her move to Scotland, marriage to Lord Darnley, and her love affair and marriage with the Earl of Bothwell. I believe the script ends when they have to part.”
“A romantic story in many ways.”
“Yes.” Stay away from the subject of romance, a small voice cautioned. She went on swiftly. “I always complain to Nicky when he offers me a costume picture, but actually I do quite enjoy doing historicals. They’re very challenging, and I admit it, I like digging into the research, coming up with some authentic houses as well as my own sets.”
“You’ll certainly find quite a few of those in the Loire Valley. As you know, it’s full of châteaux. And have you actually read the script yet?”
“No, but Nicky hopes to have the first draft in a few days. I have a feeling it will be quite good. Nicky says the treatment was wonderful, very well written.”
“You suddenly sound excited about the film.”
“I am, Tom. I like designing sets for plays, but there’s so much more scope, so many more opportunities to be truly creative when it comes to movies.”
“Do you know when the film starts shooting?”
“Not exactly. At the end of the summer, early September, I think. Why?”
“I like the idea of having you here in Paris.”
“Oh” was all she could say. She was at a loss for words.
————
NOT LONG AFTER this conversation, the car came to a standstill on the Place Saint-Michel. “Come on,” Tom said, and opened the door, reached in to help her out. To the driver he said, “Cinq minutes, Hubert,” slammed the car door shut, and took hold of her hand.
Striding out, he led her down the rue de la Huchette and up into the rue de la Bûcherie at a rapid pace, without saying a word. As they crossed this small square with its little cafés, going toward the Seine, Tom suddenly exclaimed, “Look, Alexa! You always said this was your favorite view in Paris.”
He brought her to a standstill, and together they stood staring across at the Île de la Cité, one of the small islands in the Seine, on which stood the Cathedral of Nôtre-Dame. Alexa turned to glance up at Tom, just as he looked down at her. Their eyes met and held; she nodded, then turned to face the Nôtre-Dame. Its imposing Gothic towers looked magnificent in the early evening light, silhouetted as they were against the deep blue sky, and the taller spire shone in the last rays of the fading sun.
She did not say anything for a few minutes, and then she glanced up at him and said, “Yes, it does have a very special meaning for me, this view.”
“And for me too. Do you think I don’t remember that we came and stood here the first night we had a date?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. He had bent toward her and was kissing her softly. Then he pulled her into his arms, held her very tightly against him, his kisses growing more passionate.
Her arms went around him, and she clung to him.
Finally, when they drew apart, he looked deeply into her eyes, and gently stroked one side of her face with his hand. “I said it before, but I feel I must say it again, I am very happy you phoned me.”
“Why did you bring me here, Tom?”
“So that you would know I haven’t forgotten anything.… ”
“Neither have I,” she whispered, and her heart clenched as she thought of all the pain he had caused her, as well as the happiness they had shared.
At last she said, “I don’t think I could ever come to Paris without calling you.”
“And I couldn’t bear it if you were here and I didn’t know you were.” Placing his arm around her shoulder, he walked her back to the car, and at one moment, he said quietly, “I’ve missed you … a lot.”
Alexa gave him a look through the corner of her eye. “So have I … you.”
Tom took a deep breath, blew out air, glanced around him, and then after a moment, he ventured, “Your friend. The Englishman. Does he want to make the relationship permanent?”
She was silent at first, and then she answered in a low voice: “He’s talked about it, yes.”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it? Marriage, children, a family life?”
“I did want that, with you, yes.”
“And not with him?”
Alexandra shrugged, looked up at the sky, squinted into the light, shook her head. Finally, her eyes met Tom’s, and she said, “I just don’t know. Actually, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“So sorry, I am prying.… ” His voice trailed off, and then he dropped his arm from her shoulder, took hold of her hand, and led her toward the Mercedes parked just ahead.
They hardly spoke on the way to the restaurant, sat quietly in their respective corners, although the silence between them was not angry but as amicable as it usually was. They were compatible, and comfortable with each other, even when they did not want to talk.
Alexa was in a quandary inside. She couldn’t for the world figure out why he was asking questions about her love life. After all, it had been Tom who had broken it off three years ago. Then again, he wasn’t acting as if it were over. He had pulled her into his arms and kissed her with growing passion a few minutes ago. She was glad it was he who had made the first move and not her. He had acted suddenly, unexpectedly, and she was so taken by surprise, she had fallen into the trap … and into his arms. And willingly so. She had clung to him and kissed him back, and her heart had been clattering as erratically as his. So it wasn’t over for him either, was it? She tried to pull her swimming senses together; she knew, only too well, that it wasn’t over for her, it had never been over. She doubted that it ever would be.
For his part, Tom Conners was silently chastising himself for falling prey to his emotions in the way he ha
d. From the moment he had seen her standing in the hotel lobby, he had wanted to grab her, pull her to him, kiss her long and hard. Slake the desire he had felt for her for years, fill his need. And he had spoken the truth when he said he was glad she had phoned, that he had missed her, and that he remembered everything about their time together. The problem was, he hadn’t meant to say any of those words to her, nor had he meant to start a relationship with her once more. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to make love to her, of course he did. But he was well aware that he had nothing to offer her … not in the long run. And he did not want to hurt her again.
“I’d forgotten how charming the Place des Vosges was,” Alexa was saying, breaking into his thoughts, and he roused himself quickly, pushed a smile onto his face.
“It really is the most beautiful old square in Paris, and as you know, it’s seventeenth century,” he said. “And I think I told you once, my mother grew up in an apartment in one of the old houses at the other side of the gardens over there.”
“How is she? And your father?”
“They’re both well, thanks, and yours?”
“The same, they’re great.”
Hubert, the driver, was suddenly opening the door of the Mercedes, and after Tom alighted, he helped her out. They went into L’Ambroisie together, blinking slightly as they entered the dim interior. Within a split second Tom was being greeted warmly, and then they were shown to a table for two in a quiet corner of a medium-size room.
Alexa glanced around once they were seated, taking note of the mellow old paneling on the walls, the high ceiling, the ancient tapestries, the silver candlesticks with white candles, the big stone urns brimming to overflowing with fresh flowers.
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