“Plus you weren’t interested.”
“I admit it,” Maggie said. “I didn’t really care.”
“What do you care about, darling? I mean, everyone has something that floats their boats, as it were. Laurent and his vineyard. Me, fashion. Your father, golf.”
Maggie laughed. “I know, I know. My problem is I really loved what I did. I was in advertising. I didn’t have a hobby or anything. I had my work. Without it…” She shrugged.
“Have you thought about having kids?”
“Not you, too!”
“Why? Is Laurent pressuring you?”
Maggie shook her head. “He’s never said a word,” she said. “Laurent’s the strong silent type.”
“Too silent?”
“Maybe.”
“Communication is pretty important in a relationship.”
“He’s French. He’s a guy. He doesn’t talk. I’m supposed to just intuit what’s going on with him.”
“Do you have any girlfriends you can talk to?”
“I did. My best friend went back to the States.”
“And nobody since then?”
“Not really.”
“My darling, I have to say, while I haven’t known you as an adult very long, you really do strike me as the kind of woman who needs girlfriends.”
“I talk to Grace pretty often,” Maggie said. “We Skype.”
“Not really the same as putting your heads together over a good Pinot, is it?”
Maggie shook her head and felt very close to tears. “I’m ready to have a baby,” she admitted. “And I’m pretty sure Laurent wouldn’t mind.”
“Wow. Rousing recommendation.”
“But if I did, it would just be a case of: Maggie has her baby and Laurent has his damn vineyard.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, you’ve seen him, Stan. His vineyard is his obsession.”
“That’s not really what I saw.”
“Are you serious?”
“I saw a man lucky enough to love what he does for a living. It didn’t look out of proportion to me.”
Maggie stared at him with her mouth open. Then she looked away. “Is it me, then?” she said. “Grace said I depend too much on Laurent to make me happy.”
“I don’t believe another person can make you happy.”
“You’re just a font of unexpected, bizarre adages today, aren’t you?” But they both laughed. “What if I had the kid and I was still unhappy?”
“Oh, wait, I know the answer to that one! Don’t have a kid to try to fill up the thing inside you that you think you’re missing.”
“Yeah, I guess I already knew the answer to that one, myself.”
“Maggie, dearest girl! You are so bright and so talented. And we must all have a life’s work that engages and enriches us. Even those of us who are retired.”
“Okay, so how does that work?” Maggie frowned. “You’re going to be living in Paris without a job and filling up your days with shopping and opera and your fashion blog and dinners out with friends?”
Stan laughed. “Pretty much. But I’m also registering for classes at the Cordon Bleu.”
“Really? What in the world for?”
“Spoken like someone who does not like to cook. For no other reason than to master my omelet flipping skills, my knife chopping abilities.” He shrugged. “To learn something new.”
“So not to open a restaurant or anything.”
“In Paris?” Stan laughed. “Haven’t you ever done something just for the fun of doing it?”
“Wow,” Maggie said. “I wonder what that would be like? Doing something for no reason…”
Stan turned in his seat and waved to a man just entering the restaurant. He was blond and handsome, his teeth very straight and white, his smile broad.
He must be American, Maggie found herself thinking.
“Maggie, darling, I want you to meet a friend of mine.” Stan stood up as the man approached. It was cold outside and the man, easily Stan’s age, brought a whiff of fresh air and chilliness to the table. He wore a dark pea coat, unbuttoned, and a cashmere muffler loose at his throat.
“Jeremy,” Stan said as he exchanged brief cheek kisses with the man. “I want you to meet my niece, Maggie Dernier.”
Maggie shook his hand and smiled.
“Stan’s told me so much about you,” he said. “I’m glad to finally put a face to the name. And a beautiful face it is, too. May I?” He pointed to the extra chair at the table.
“Please do,” Maggie said.
Stan signaled the waiter to bring another coffee.
“So you’re American,” Maggie said. “In town for the shows?”
“Yes, yes,” Jeremy said, slipping out of his coat and draping it on the chair next to him. “It’s why we’re all here except for Stan, lucky bastard.”
“Did y’all used to work together in California?”
“We did,” Stan said quickly. “We are ex-colleagues.” It seemed to Maggie that Stan was giving Jeremy a meaningful look of some kind.
“Why, Stan,” Jeremy said, smiling at the waiter when he set the coffee cup down in front of him, “that’s exactly what we are. Ex-colleagues. Nicely put.”
“Did you see Gaultier?”
“You know I did, darling, since you saw me there.”
“I guess I was really asking what you thought of it.”
“And step on your toes for your blog post for tomorrow? Not on your life.” Jeremy turned to Maggie. “If I say I loved it, and Stan goes easy on them, he’ll think I’ll think I influenced him…”
“I never would.”
“…and if I say it was an embarrassment and derivative like we’ve seen for the last two seasons, and he says as much in his post, well!” He took a dramatic sip of his coffee. “You see the problem.”
“Best to just keep your opinion to yourself,” Stan said, his customary grin missing.
“Exactly what I thought. So, Maggie, how long are you in town for?”
“I take the train back to Arles tomorrow,” she said.
“Stan has definitely kept you all to himself, hasn’t he?”
“She’ll be at Bijou’s party tonight,” Stan said.
“Oh, very nice! You’ll meet the whole gang then. Meanwhile, I must toddle. Did I mention I got tickets to Yiqing Yin?”
“Awesome,” Stan said.
“It’s at least that.” He turned to Maggie. “So nice to meet you, Maggie. See you tonight then.”
“Great,” Maggie said. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Jeremy gave Stan what could only be described as his own kind of meaningful look before pulling on his coat and departing.
“Interesting guy,” Maggie said. “You guys have kind of a weird friendship, though, I have to say.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Stan said, taking a long drag on his cigarette and smiling at Maggie.
The party was every bit as loud at two a.m. as it had been at midnight and showed no signs of ending. Maggie sat in the center of what could only be called a maelstrom of noise and gorgeous bodies wearing spectacular outfits. The laughter and the music, the talking—and more than occasional shrieking—and the sounds of clinking (and breaking) champagne glasses swirled around Maggie in a constant vortex of color and sound. Stan had been dragged away as soon as they arrived by a long, leggy creature in the shortest miniskirt that Maggie had ever seen. Assuming the bare requirements for a skirt involved covering one’s bottom, Maggie was shocked and amused to see that this skirt felt no such compunction. Instead of feeling abandoned by her uncle, Maggie felt electric with the attention and the stimulation of so many beautiful people swarming around her.
Are fashion people all this friendly? she couldn’t help but wonder as yet another handsome male model brought her a drink and jockeyed for position on the couch with her. At five foot three and wearing her best black sheath and brand new pumps, Maggie was surprised to realize she didn’t feel inadequate or plain
in this crowd. She felt welcomed and feted.
“Sorry to be stealing your uncle away,” a voice purred in her ear from behind the couch where she was sitting. Maggie twisted around to smile at the super model grinning down at her.
“Bijou, right?” Maggie said. The woman had long blonde hair, flaxen and straight which accentuated her strong cheekbones. Her clear blue eyes made Maggie wonder if her hostess was drinking anything beyond seltzer. “Great party.” She nearly had to shout to be heard over the din.
“You should have been here last night,” Bijou said. “Now that was a party.” She tapped the shoulder of the man sitting next to Maggie and he got up, allowing Bijou to swing her legs over the couch and slide into place next to Maggie.
“Sorry I missed it,” Maggie said. “Stan and I were catching up.”
“He told me,” Bijou said. “So what do you think of Paris Fashion week? Is stupendous, non?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Maggie said. “I can’t believe Stan does it every year. Has to make the other fifty-one weeks of the year seem bleak.”
Bijou narrowed her eyes and frowned as if trying to understand what Maggie was saying.
“Did I see you on the catwalk this week?” Maggie asked.
Bijou smiled and affected an insouciant shrug.
“Peut-être,” she said. “If you were at the Armani show?”
“We were! Which one were you?”
“I was many people in that show,” Bijou laughed. “I wore the big satin dress tight here, yes?” She grabbed her small breasts, loose under her silk tee. “And then flowing to the floor. You remember?”
She had just described every dress Maggie had seen at that particular show.
“Oh, yeah, I remember,” Maggie said. “That was you? Wow. You were beautiful.”
“Oh, it is for the clothes to be beautiful,” Bijou said. “Me, I must disappear, yes? Become a clothes hanger upon which Giorgio’s creations must shine.”
“How long have you been doing Fashion Week?”
“Years,” Bijou said. “Oh! There is Stella. You will excuse me, yes? If I see Stan I will shoo him back to you. But you are okay?”
Maggie nodded, craning her head to catch a glimpse of Stella.
In a flash, one of the ever present, non-English speaking hunks had taken Bijou’s place next to Maggie on the couch.
“Boisson?”
Maggie took the champagne flute from the young man—he had to be at least ten years her junior—and smiled. He put his hand on her stockinged thigh and she wagged a finger at him. “No, no,” she said and held up her hand with her wedding band on it.
“Quelle dommage,” the young man said sadly, but didn’t move his hand.
She spotted Jeremy from across the room and waved to him. He was a familiar face and she needed to extricate herself from Hunky Boy’s creeping hands without coming off as too much of an American country prude.
“Jeremy!” she called and he turned to her. His face broke into a grin and he left his conversation with a very intense young man without a backward glance and walked over to her.
“My darling!” Jeremy spoke a few abrupt words in French to Maggie’s couch mate which prompted the young man to bolt off the couch and Jeremy sagged into his seat next to her as if he were exhausted. “Are you enjoying the party?” he said. “You have met our hostess?”
“Just a second ago,” Maggie said. “Wow. You fashionistas really know how to party. It hasn’t let up in hours. How do you keep it up?”
“I assume you mean that metaphorically?” Jeremy wiggled his eyebrows at her and Maggie laughed. The champagne had gone to her head just enough and she was at that point in the evening when the music and the thick press of bodies was exactly right.
“Have you seen Stan?” she asked. “He disappeared as soon as we got here, like two hours ago.”
“I saw him in the kitchen a little bit ago,” Jeremy said. “Have you met the ferocious Tasmanian Devil himself yet?”
“I have no idea who you are talking about.”
“Denny Davenport? Oh, that I will be the one to introduce you to him! Stan will thank me. He hates the bastard but you simply have to know Denny.”
“Well, naturally, I do.”
“And Diane?” Jeremy began scanning the room. “I’m surprised she hasn’t come over and introduced herself. We all of us know you, darling Maggie, Stan has talked about little else since he knew he would be reacquainting himself with you.”
“So his visit to St-Buvard was not a spur of the moment thing? I kind of got the impression that it was.”
“Well, by all means, whatever impression you got, is what it was,” Jeremy said. “Nope, can’t see her. She might’ve gone home early. She has a kid on the west coast she can’t seem to take two steps without talking to or talking about. Probably back at her hotel Skyping the little dear even as we speak.”
“You don’t have children, Jeremy?”
“Oh, you are a funny girl! And Stan didn’t tell me you had a sense of humor. No, horrid creatures, children. But some people swear by them.”
Maggie laughed.
“So you’re enjoying yourself, I hope?”
“Oh, yeah, this is great,” Maggie said. “I’ll be able to go back to my country mouse ways and live on the memories of these three days forever.”
“Why settle for memories?” Jeremy asked and Maggie, in her slightly drunken mood, was reminded of something Stan had said to her just last week about memories. “Why not live like this all the time? Life is too short for compromise.”
“Like this?” Maggie waved a hand around the room. A few people were standing but at this point in the evening most were seated and either nuzzling each other or engaged in intense conversations. “Not sure I could do this too many times in a year.”
“Well, the rest of it then,” Jeremy said. “Paris. I don’t know how you can survive living in the country like you do. It’s perfect for some people but for me…” He shrugged. “I would rather die.”
“Yeah,” Maggie said. “The country’s not really my thing either. But I’m stuck there,” she said. “What can I do?”
“What, indeed?” Jeremy said, leaning past her to reach for another glass of wine and then handing it to her. “You only have one life, my darling,” he said. “The good news is that we all get to choose how we spend it.”
“Is everyone in Paris this wise?” Maggie asked. “Or is it just the constant flow of champagne that makes it seem so?”
“Maybe you’re just in the mood to hear the wisdom,” Jeremy said.
An hour later, at a little after three in the morning, Maggie was ready to go. She had not even caught a glimpse of Stan the full time she had been at the party and was nearly at the point of worry. She had switched to l’eau gazeuse thirty minutes earlier.
“Hello, are you waiting for me?”
Surprised at the voice by her shoulder, Maggie turned to stare into one of the most physically beautiful faces she had ever seen. Closer to her own age, the man had brown hair, hazel eyes with thick lashes and a full sensuous mouth which spoke very comforting American English. At this point, she had stopped being startled when people acted like they knew her, but his beauty was still something remarkable. He was obviously a model of some kind.
“Hi,” she said. “No, I’m looking for my uncle. We came together and I’m ready to go home.”
“Stan Newberry, right?”
“I guess everybody knows that.” Maggie smiled wearily. “I didn’t realize he was such a party animal. Last night when we went out, he was ready to retire by ten.”
“I can see you might have the effect on men of making them want to retire early,” he said, drilling her with a very sexy grin, “only not alone.”
Maggie laughed, not sure how to react to him. She felt a little flushed. He was extremely good looking. A girl stumbled over to them and fell into his arms and Maggie couldn’t help but note that he was strong too. He held the girl effortlessly in his arms
, laughing at her antics like a fond uncle. Maggie noticed his hand on the girl’s bottom. Not too avuncular, then, she thought.
“Time to go, Teddy,” she slurred. “We’ll need a taxi. There’s no way I’m walking six blocks in these heels.”
“Take them off, sweetheart,” he said to her, giving her a quick kiss but his eyes were looking at Maggie. He swept the girl up into his arms to her squeals of delight. He made a half bow at Maggie, the blonde model squirming sexily against his chest. “Until we meet again,” he said, “which I have no doubt we will,” and gave her a wink.
Maggie watched the two leave the crowded party and couldn’t help but wonder who he was. Turning back to the vortex of the noise and heat of the party, Maggie thought she caught a glimpse of Stan in the crowd but by the time she worked her way in that direction through the wall of bodies, he had vanished. Deciding not to be a drag on his fun, Maggie downed another glass of champagne and set up camp at one end of the couch. An hour later after a continuous stream of largely gorgeous people—men and women—had stopped to chat with her, she was past ready to go. At one point, she wasn’t sure she hadn’t dosed off.
“I would be happy to escort you to your hotel,” a voice said near her head.
She jerked awake, and saw that she was still holding her champagne flute.
“I can’t leave Stan,” she mumbled sleepily to Jeremy who was kneeling in front of her. He looked flushed and unsettled, like the champagne had stopped working.
“No worries, my darling.” Jeremy said. “He specifically asked me to see you home.”
“He did?”
“How to put this delicately? Your uncle has found his own way home this evening.”
When Maggie looked at him in confusion, he added tightly: “To someone else’s home.”
“Oh.” She felt even more tired than before. “It’s just so weird that he wouldn’t tell me, himself,” she said.
“Darling, if you could have seen the delicious young thing he was chatting up, you would understand instantly.”
Really? The picture of her kind, thoughtful and slightly elderly uncle chatting up anyone was hard enough to gel in her mind…let alone not coming to her and telling her to find her own way home.
The Complete Maggie Newberry Provençal Mysteries 1-4 Page 87
