She started packing for Paris that night when she got back to Connecticut. Sydney had sent an email to a Paris realtor that afternoon, and they were meeting at the apartment in two days. She hadn’t been encouraging about putting it up for sale. Sydney was still deciding what clothes to take and was distracted when the doorbell rang. She was startled to see a woman there whom she had known for years but never been close to. She had noticed her at the funeral and was surprised to see her there too. They had met when their children went to school together, and ran into each other occasionally now at the grocery store, and she was standing at the door with a cake box in her hands, which she held out to Sydney.
“I was on my way home, and thought I’d see how you’re doing. Did you eat today?” Veronica asked with genuine concern, as though they were close friends. She was a few years older than Sydney and had been divorced for several years. She was a good-looking woman, played tennis a lot, and stayed in shape, but she talked too much, and Sydney didn’t have the energy or desire to deal with her after looking at apartments in New York all day. Selecting her new home that was the size of a closet had been depressing to contemplate, compared to where she lived. And she couldn’t even imagine what the girls would say when they saw it.
“I’m okay,” Sydney said, looking tired and standing in the doorway. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful but didn’t want to invite her in. “I was in the city all day. I had some things to do there. And I was just packing. I got home a little while ago.” The house looked dark behind her, but Veronica wouldn’t take the hint. She seemed determined to reach out to Sydney, who had no desire to see anyone, let alone a woman she hadn’t spent time with in years, and had never been close to.
“Are you going somewhere? Are you going to stay with the girls in the city? I can spend the night anytime you want, if you don’t want to be alone.” It was the last thing Sydney wanted. Although she was sure the offer was well intentioned, it felt intrusive.
“No, I’m fine. I’m going to Paris, to deal with our apartment there.”
“Are you moving there?” Veronica looked curious as they continued to stand in the doorway. Veronica wondered suddenly if Sydney was going to sell the house she and Andrew had lived in. It was a spectacular home with extensive grounds and beautiful gardens, although it took a lot of time, people, and money to maintain, but it would be harder for her without Andrew to run things, since she was alone.
“No, I’m not moving to Paris,” Sydney said with a sigh, her defenses down, and stepped back so Veronica could come in, which she did immediately and followed her to the kitchen. Sydney offered her iced tea and they sat at the black granite counter for a few minutes. Veronica questioned her about the apartment in Paris, while Sydney put the quiche she’d brought into the fridge. “I can’t imagine using the apartment again without Andrew. It was our special place.” She looked devastated as she said it. “I’m going to sell it.”
“You need to slow down,” Veronica said seriously. “You know what they say, don’t make big decisions like that for a year after you lose someone. You’ll regret it later. You might want to start spending time there, or in New York with Sophie and Sabrina. I wouldn’t make any fast moves if I were you.” Sydney hesitated for a long moment before she answered. She didn’t want to give her all the gory details and confide in her, but she’d find out some of it anyway.
“It’s more complicated than that. The twins have inherited this house. I’m moving out at the end of the month. Kellie and her family are moving in. I’m trying to figure out the rest.” Veronica looked stunned, as Sydney tried to make it sound commonplace and not like the blow it had been. But Veronica pounced on the news like a cat on a mouse.
“You’re moving out? In three weeks? Can’t you stay here for six months or a year?” She was shocked to hear that Andrew’s daughters, and not his wife, had inherited the house. But no more so than Sydney was. She tried to sound calm and at ease with it when she answered, as though she’d expected it. It was too embarrassing to do otherwise, and expose how upset she was. Out of respect for Andrew, she tried to put a good face on it to Veronica, who seemed hungry for information Sydney didn’t want to give. But she was in Sydney’s kitchen and clearly didn’t want to leave. She had traded a quiche for inside information. And Sydney remembered what a gossip she was.
“If I’m going to move, I might as well do it now,” she said bravely. “And I need to get things squared away in Paris.”
“Did they inherit that too?” Veronica looked horrified, wanting every detail.
“No, he gave me Paris as a gift. But this house is theirs, and everything in it.” Veronica was quiet for a long time as they looked at each other, and Sydney wished she’d leave.
“At least you’ll have fun buying a new house or apartment and shopping for it.” She tried to sound positive. Sydney didn’t comment on what she said, but she wasn’t going to be doing any shopping of any kind, if she intended to eat as well. “When are you going to Paris?”
“I’m taking the red-eye tomorrow night. I’ll be back in a few days.” She stood up then, hoping to encourage Veronica to go. The conversation had depressed her even more, and Veronica finally took the hint as they walked toward the front door.
“Call me. We can have lunch, or I can help you pack up the house or something.” Sydney had no desire for an audience while she tore her life apart in honor of the twins. Dealing with them in and out of the house to check the silver, crystal, and art was bad enough. She wanted to spend her last days in her home alone, mourning her lost life in peace. She had not only lost the man she loved unexpectedly, but her lifestyle, her home, her status as a married woman, and even her sense of herself. Who was she now without Andrew? She had suddenly become a pauper, previously married to a very wealthy man. She felt as though she’d fallen off a cliff into an abyss.
Veronica hugged her and then left, and Sydney went back upstairs to finish packing, feeling worse than before her visit. She emailed her daughters and told them that she was going to Paris for a few days, and then lay awake in the clutches of anxiety all night.
Veronica called her in the morning and told her again how sorry she was about the house. “I didn’t sleep a wink all night, worrying about you,” she said, and Sydney didn’t add that she hadn’t either. There was no point. And she didn’t want Veronica to know how upset she was about the house and why. It was none of her business.
After that, her younger daughter, Sophie, called, concerned about her. “Why are you going to Paris now, Mom? What’s the rush?”
“I just want to get everything organized, and it’s too sad being here alone. A couple of days in Paris might be good for me.” She tried to sound cheerful about it, and she promised to call her as soon as she got back.
Her older daughter, Sabrina, texted her between meetings, and told her to take care and be careful traveling alone. Both her daughters were worried about her, which was new for all of them. They’d never had to be concerned about her before, and she didn’t like being the object of their pity. They didn’t even know about the house yet. They knew that Andrew hadn’t left them anything, but they would be horrified when they learned that he had left his wife nothing either. It all went to the twins, whether they deserved it or not. And Sydney and her daughters knew they didn’t, not by any means.
She took a shuttle to the airport in time to make the ten P.M. flight on Air France. She was traveling business class, although Andrew had preferred flying first, but those days were over for her now. She had used air miles to pay for the business class ticket, as a last moment of luxury and comfort. And she wanted to sleep on the plane.
They offered a full meal on the flight, which she declined. She hadn’t eaten but wasn’t hungry, and didn’t want a five-course meal at that hour. She reclined her seat and closed her eyes, remembering the last time she and Andrew had gone to Paris six months before, for New Year’s Eve. It brought tears to her eyes as she thought about it, and the tears squeezed th
rough her lashes and down her cheeks as she tried to sleep. Finally the soothing noise of the airplane lulled her to sleep, and she woke up as they were preparing to land at Charles de Gaulle and a flight attendant asked her to raise her seat. The sun was shining over Paris, the landing was smooth, and moments later, she was standing at baggage claim waiting for her bag. She wasn’t traveling as a VIP, as she had done with Andrew. She was just a woman alone, going to Paris to sell the apartment she loved.
She tried not to think about it or how much fun their last trip there had been as she got into the cab and gave the driver the address, possibly for the last time.
Chapter 2
Sydney concluded her business in Paris in a single day. She met with the realtor, who was candid with her. She explained that in the current political climate in France, with high taxes including an aggressive wealth tax, French residents had been fleeing the country for several years, to Belgium and Switzerland. And high-end real estate buyers from Russia, China, and the Arab states wanted showy apartments of great luxury on the Avenue Montaigne, or in the sixteenth arrondissement, and lately they had been going to London more than Paris, out of fear of being taxed by the French, even as foreigners. The government was anxious to bring in revenues from anyone they could. But those buyers were not looking for quaint little apartments like the one she had and loved. The realtor suggested that she might do better renting it at a reasonable price, and waiting until the market improved. After listening to her, Sydney agreed. A modest rental would not solve her financial problems, but it would provide a small, steady income every month, which would help. She told the realtor not to rent it for longer than a year, and to keep it on the market for sale.
She spent that night and the next day walking around Paris, trying to avoid her favorite haunts with Andrew, which was nearly impossible, since they’d loved to walk everywhere. They went to museums, gardens, galleries, famous bars like the Hemingway at the Ritz, and the Café Flore and Ladurée for tea. She stayed away from the shops on the Faubourg Saint-Honoré and the Avenue Montaigne since she could no longer afford them anyway. And when she left the apartment, she took all her small, favorite sentimental objects with her: things Andrew had given her as gifts, things they had bought together, photographs of them all over Paris. She bought another suitcase and took her small paintings with her as well, packing them carefully. She wasn’t sure when she’d be back, or even if, and didn’t know who the tenant would be.
It had been a whirlwind trip, but she had accomplished what she came to do, and had reassured her daughters by text that she was fine. She looked around the apartment for a last time with tears streaming down her face. It already looked less personal without the familiar things she was taking with her. She took a cab to the airport and watched silently as the city slipped away. She sat in the terminal after she checked in, feeling bruised by the brief trip.
Her long, straight blond hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail when she boarded the plane. She was wearing a crisp white shirt and black jeans, with flats and a black leather Hermès Kelly bag Andrew had given her several years before. It occurred to her that if she had to, she could sell that too, at a high-end resale shop, if things got desperate enough. She was cash poor now and had to get used to the idea.
She was taking the last flight out of Paris so she could sleep, and planned to skip the meal again. She took her window seat on the plane next to a man wearing a tie and a gray business suit. He loosened his tie before they took off, put it in the pocket of his jacket, which the flight attendant took to hang up, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. She guessed him to be about her age, with thick well-groomed salt-and-pepper hair. He looked prosperous and was wearing a gold Rolex watch and a wedding band, so she knew he was married. They nodded to each other, but neither of them was inclined to speak, which was a relief to Sydney. She wasn’t in the mood. He got busy on his computer as soon as they took off. She closed her eyes and reclined her seat. She had already told the steward she wouldn’t have the meal. She’d had a sandwich at a bistro she and Andrew loved near the apartment, and the waiters there had been sad to hear her news about Andrew and offered their condolences.
She was tired from the emotions of being in Paris without him and seeing the apartment, knowing she was going to rent or sell it. She fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, and awoke when the pilot made an announcement, first in French, and then in English, several hours into the flight. His voice was calm as he spoke over the PA system, and told them that they were having a mechanical problem, and were going to make an unscheduled landing within the hour. And in the meantime, they were dumping fuel into the Atlantic. He warned the passengers in case they saw it from the windows. He said they were an hour away from Nova Scotia, and would be landing there. She glanced at the man sitting next to her and he raised an eyebrow at her, not sure if she was American or French or if she spoke English. Her heart was pounding after what the pilot had said. An “unscheduled landing” did not sound good.
“Ever been to Nova Scotia?” the man next to her asked with a rueful grin, and she shook her head.
“No, and I don’t want to. What do you think is wrong with the plane?”
“They probably ran out of foie gras in first class, and are stopping to pick some up.” He saw how frightened she was and tried to keep the mood light. “I was in a crash-landing situation in China last year, with a motor on fire, and we made it in fine. They’re pretty good at bringing these big birds down, even in emergencies. I think it will be okay.” He tried to reassure her and saw that her hands were shaking as she took a tissue out of her bag and blew her nose.
“I just lost my husband,” she said in a soft voice. “I wasn’t planning to join him quite so soon, and I have two daughters in New York.” It was more than she would normally have told him, but she was scared and unnerved by the announcement.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” he said respectfully. “I have two ex-wives, and a wife I’m married to now, who are all going to be seriously pissed if I go down on this plane, and a son in St. Louis who might be upset about it too.” She smiled at what he said. “Was it cancer?” he asked her gently, to take her mind off the plane, and she shook her head.
“A motorcycle accident.” she said. “He was only fifty-six.” He looked sympathetic. He wondered what she’d been doing in Paris, but didn’t want to ask.
“I’m sure we’re going to be all right,” he said again.
A few minutes later, they were told to put their life vests on, and the plane began to pitch and roll, and instinctively he reached out and took her hand and held it fast in his. He had big, smooth hands that were comforting, and even though he was a stranger, she was glad to be sitting with him and not alone. “I’m not getting fresh,” he informed her once he was holding her hand. “I just figure we’re in this together. We can discuss the implications of it later. Just don’t tell my wife.” She laughed in spite of herself at what he said, as land came into view and the pitching and rolling continued and increased. They began losing altitude rapidly and looked as though they were about to crash into the water. Sydney gave a gasp and he tightened his grip on her hand, and they leveled out just above the water and headed steadily toward an air strip. The plane was making a terrifying growling sound, and Sydney thought she could hear a small explosion at the rear, like a truck backfiring, and they seemed to be picking up speed as they proceeded toward what they could see now was an airport, with a fleet of emergency vehicles with flashing lights waiting for them.
“We’re almost there,” he said in a soothing tone. “And they’re all waiting for us. They’ll get us out,” he said in a strong voice, as she nodded and kept her eyes riveted to the fire trucks and ambulances on the ground, praying he was right. She had nothing to look forward to now, she knew, but she couldn’t abandon her kids and die too.
They landed with a hard thump and bounced off the ground several times. The plane was listing severely, and they realized that part of the landing gear
on one side had not come down. But other than the angle at which they were leaning, nothing worse happened, and they came to a full stop. She could hear sirens screaming as the flight crew opened the doors rapidly and activated the slides. They were told to leave their shoes and hand luggage on the plane, and head for the exit nearest them, as members of the crew with red insignia on their lapels directed them toward the inflatable slides. One by one they left the plane, and rescue crews on the ground herded them into buses. The evacuation of the plane was conducted in orderly fashion. A few women were crying, mostly with relief, but no one panicked, and everyone looked shocked but infinitely less distressed as the buses drove them to a small terminal, and from there to a school with a large enough auditorium to house them all. Food service and an infirmary had been set up, but no one was hurt. Paramedics walked through the crowd asking if anyone needed help. The hubbub of conversation was loud as people talked about what had happened, and passengers turned their cellphones on and called loved ones at home to reassure them.
Fall from Grace Page 2
