Fall from Grace

by Danielle Steel

  Her seatmate called his wife, and Sydney called both her girls. Neither picked up, they never did, but she left them messages that they had made an emergency landing in Nova Scotia but she was safe and would be home soon.

  Her companion looked relaxed after they both finished their calls. “I’m Paul Zeller, by the way,” he introduced himself.

  “Thank you for holding my hand. I was scared to death,” she admitted, but didn’t have to, he could see it. “I’m Sydney Wells.”

  “My wife won’t even fly unless she absolutely has to, and then she needs three Xanax, a bottle of champagne, and a psychiatric nurse.” Sydney laughed as volunteers set up cots in the gym where they’d been assigned. And paper slippers were handed out to all the passengers. They’d been told that a plane would come for them the next day. So they had a long night ahead of them, and maybe even a long day after that. “What took you to Paris?” He was curious, especially so soon after her husband’s death.

  “I have an apartment there. I was going to sell it, but I decided to rent it instead. I don’t think I’ll use it again. I couldn’t.” He nodded.

  “I was there on business. I’m in fashion,” he volunteered, and said it with pride.

  “I used to be in fashion too. I was a designer before I got married. It was a long time ago.”

  “Who did you work for?” She told him the name of the firm, and he was impressed. “They were a great house. It’s a shame they closed. The owner died, and there was no one to keep it going.”

  “I missed it terribly at first, and then I got used to not working. I stayed home with my daughters and my husband.”

  “Do you ever think about going back into the business?” he asked with interest.

  “I haven’t until now. But I don’t see how I could. It’s been a long time, and I’m not current with all the new high-tech digital design techniques.”

  “They’re no substitute for real talent and experience. You probably know a lot more than you think. You can learn digital techniques. You can’t learn talent and design sense,” he said confidently. She didn’t want to pry and ask him the name of his firm, and he hadn’t volunteered it. “Things have changed a lot since you were in the business. People want accessible price points, and high style at lower prices. Women who don’t have a lot to spend still want to be in fashion. We try to deliver it. And everyone has factories in China now, even the high-priced brands. You can’t make a profit unless you do, or sub work out to manufacturers in China. We all do.”

  “We bought our fabrics in France, and used factories in Italy,” she said wistfully. “They did some beautiful work.”

  “And you charged about a hundred or two hundred times what I do.” He smiled at her. “You were in a different market, catering to a different customer. That still exists, but the profit margins are better at my end of the scale,” he said practically. She could gather from what he said that he sold moderately priced goods, or even lower, which had merit too. And that was big business if they dealt in volume.

  “It’s a different world out there now,” she agreed. “Twenty years ago you couldn’t buy fashionable clothes at reasonable prices, now you can. I think that’s important. I think fashion should be accessible to everyone, not just women who have ten thousand dollars to spend on an evening gown.”

  “That’s music to my ears.” He looked pleased. “You ought to think about designing again,” he encouraged her, but she wasn’t convinced. She felt too rusty and over the hill to go back into the business, although she had loved it for the ten years she had worked as a designer after graduating from Parsons School of Design in New York. “It sounds like you’ve still got it in your blood.” He had noticed that everything she wore or had with her was of the finest quality, and he could see that she had style, even in jeans and a white shirt, with little gold hoop earrings in her ears.

  “I’m just a consumer now,” she said modestly. “But it’s genetic. Both of my daughters are designers,” she said proudly.

  “For whom?” It was funny that they had found each other, on a plane full of people, and they were both interested in the clothing business. She told him who Sabrina worked for and his eyebrows shot up. “Now, that is impressive. She must be good.”

  “Very. And a purist. She thinks fashion exists only in the rarified atmosphere she works in. My other daughter does moderately priced clothes for teens,” she told him and he nodded. But both firms she mentioned were out of his league, with a more affluent target customer, particularly in Sabrina’s case. All three of them were high-end designers compared to what he did, which Sydney had guessed and respected too. She bought the low-priced goods of lesser companies from time to time, and liked them. She respected good design. The low-priced brands had a refreshing honesty to them, and didn’t pretend to be something they weren’t. And often she found that what Sabrina did took itself too seriously. It was fun getting a bargain, and she said as much to Paul Zeller, and he agreed.

  They talked about it for a while and then decided to head for the cafeteria. They were surprised to find they were hungry after their harrowing experience. Somehow life seemed sweeter suddenly, as though they had been given a second chance at living because the plane didn’t crash and they didn’t die. Everyone around them was chatting animatedly and seemed to have the same feeling. Wine was being poured liberally for all those who wanted it. There was a spirit of camaraderie and communal survival, which created a party mood.

  They lay down on cots set up next to each other, and continued their conversation after dinner. He told her about his son in St. Louis, who was a pediatrician, and he was obviously proud of him, as much as Sydney was of her girls. An announcement was made that a plane was coming to pick them up at noon the next day, and while Paul was telling her about his adventures in China, Sydney fell asleep. And for the first time since Andrew’s death, she wasn’t afraid of anything and had a peaceful night’s rest.

  The sun was streaming into the gym the next morning when they woke up. They both agreed that they’d slept well, and went to get coffee together. A local bakery had brought truckloads of pastries for all of them. Afterward, they were allowed to claim their luggage, and waited on line for an hour to take showers. Paul and Sydney met outside when they’d changed and walked around, grateful to be wearing proper shoes again. They’d been able to retrieve their shoes from the plane as well, and their hand luggage. The surrounding area was pretty, and the world had never looked as bright and cheery as it did after their near-death experience the night before.

  They chatted easily about what they liked to do in their spare time. Paul said he had been a hiker and serious athlete in his youth, and Sydney told him about a trip to Wyoming with Andrew and the children when they were younger and how beautiful the Grand Tetons had been. He admitted to being a workaholic and loving what he did, and she confessed that she was terrified of having to find a job now and didn’t know where to start. He looked surprised. She didn’t seem like someone who had to work. He noticed her Kelly bag again. He didn’t want to pry into her financial situation and be rude, but she saw the question in his eyes.

  “It’s complicated,” she said simply and he nodded.

  “It usually is when someone dies. It’s bad enough when you get divorced, and a whole lot worse when there’s an estate involved. Did your husband have children too?”

  “Yes, he did,” she said quietly, and Paul understood.

  “It’ll all get sorted out in the end. It always does. It just takes a while.” She nodded, and sat soaking up the sunshine after that with her eyes closed. He was an easy person to be with, and she could tell he was a nice man. She had been fortunate to sit beside him on the plane. It would have been a lot worse for her if she hadn’t, and she was grateful to him.

  The replacement plane finally came for them at two in the afternoon, and brought a crew to work on the damaged plane. They took the same seats they’d had originally, and flew to New York chatting occasionally and passing t
ime in companionable silence. They felt like old friends by the time they landed at JFK, and like they’d been through the wars together.

  “Can I give you a lift into the city?” he offered as they headed toward baggage claim. They were cleared through customs and immigration rapidly after all they’d been through, and representatives from the airline were standing by to greet them, apologize, and offer any assistance. The emergency had been efficiently handled, and all the passengers cheered the captain and applauded when he left the area with the original crew. He had handled it masterfully, as had the crew.

  “I’m actually going to Connecticut,” Sydney said once they had their bags and were standing on the sidewalk. “I’ll take a shuttle. I live there.” At least for the next few weeks, she thought to herself. “I just took an apartment in New York. I’ll be moving here soon.” He took his wallet out of his pocket then and handed her his business card.

  “If I can ever do anything for you, or you want to come back to work as a designer again, give me a call. If not, let me know when you’re in the city, and I’d love to take you to lunch anyway.”

  “Thank you,” she said warmly, as she dropped his card into her bag. “I don’t know how to thank you. You made a terrifying experience a lot less so for me.” He walked her to the shuttle, and she gave him a hug as he smiled down at her.

  “Just take it easy. Everything’s going to be okay. Give it a little time,” he said, in the same reassuring tone he had used when they were about to crash. “Take care of yourself, Sydney,” he said warmly.

  “You too,” she said, and waved once she was on the shuttle, and then got progressively sadder as they approached Connecticut. She hated going back to the dark, empty house. And that night when she pulled her lists out again, trying to figure out how much money she had left and how long it would last her, she thought of Paul and smiled, and hoped he was right. Maybe everything would be okay in the end. But she had a lot of decisions to make until then.

  —

  Sydney had texted both girls that she was home, and they called her early the next morning. Sabrina was calmer, as usual, and Sophie was panicked. Their mother had to describe the whole experience to each of them, and told them about Paul Zeller. Sabrina asked the name of his company, and Sydney said he’d never told her. It was on his card, but she couldn’t find it in her bag when she looked for it. She knew it was in there somewhere, but her bag looked like a garbage can by then. It always did when she traveled. She told her she’d find it later.

  They promised to come out and spend the weekend with her. She was going to tell them then that she had to leave the house. She knew it would be shocking news, but she couldn’t delay it any longer. They had to know what was going on, and that she was moving to a furnished apartment in New York in two weeks. At least she’d be closer to them. And she was planning to start looking for a job as soon as possible, which would startle them too. They could hardly remember when she worked, since they had been nine and eleven when she stopped. It seemed like centuries ago.

  When the girls came out on Saturday, she broke the news to them at lunch about Andrew not having a recent will in force, and everything he owned belonging to Kellie and Kyra now. The girls stared at her open-mouthed at first, and Sabrina was the first to speak.

  “That’s not possible, Mom,” she said in a firm voice. “He wouldn’t do that to you. He wasn’t irresponsible, and he loved you.”

  “He loved all three of us, and if he’d made a new will, I’m sure he would have left you something too. But he never did. He talked about doing a new will when we did our prenup before we got married, but wills are more complicated, and he either forgot or never got around to it. And we never bothered to alter our prenup, which he wanted to do too. He was too young to worry about dying.” He’d been in perfect health. “At fifty-six, you don’t expect to die.”

  “So those bitches inherit everything?” Sabrina said, furious at what it meant for her mother, particularly knowing how vicious her stepsisters had always been to her.

  “Pretty much,” Sydney said quietly, “except the apartment in Paris, which he gave me as a gift.”

  “What about this house?” Sabrina asked her, looking worried for her. They had been heartbroken over Andrew’s death and heartsick for their mother, but now a new element had been added, which put financial panic into the mix for her. That much was easy to figure out, unless he had provided for her in some other way.

  “It belongs to them now, and everything in it,” Sydney said softly, hating to say the words. “I have to move out in two weeks, or actually a little less. I got a temporary apartment in New York. It’s not pretty, but it’s furnished and it’s a place to sleep.” The thought of their mother virtually homeless brought tears to Sophie’s eyes. Sabrina was too angry to cry. She wanted to kill someone, preferably her two evil stepsisters, who would be enjoying a windfall due to their father’s carelessness. Sophie hadn’t gotten that far yet. And Sydney refused to go there. She had loved him deeply in life, and intended to continue doing so in death. Sabrina wasn’t as loyal or as noble as she. She had always had a fiery personality, detested injustice of any kind, and was willing to fight for what she believed.

  “You have to move out?” Sabrina stared at her in shock and dismay.

  “The girls gave me thirty days,” Sydney almost whispered.

  “And what about everything that’s here? The furniture, the art, everything you bought together? He can’t have wanted them to have that too.”

  “Their father paid for it. It’s theirs. He didn’t know me when he wrote his will.” Sydney could almost see steam coming from her daughter’s ears, and a look of rage in her eyes.

  “And they didn’t agree to give you some kind of grace period? Until you can get organized and find a decent place to live?” Sabrina asked and Sydney shook her head. She didn’t want to tell them that she could no longer afford a decent place, and even the tiny furnished apartment in the shabby building would be a stretch. “Have you talked to an attorney?”

  “Obviously. There’s nothing I can do. The will is what it is. And our prenup makes it worse, because we waived any right to community property. And since he paid for everything, it was all his, and now it’s theirs, except for any gifts he made me and put in writing, like my jewelry and the Paris apartment. All I brought to the marriage was what I had saved while I was working, and I spent that a long time ago.” It was hard to admit it to them, but she wanted to be honest with her daughters.

  “Did he make any kind of financial provision for you, Mom?” Sabrina asked practically. “Did he put money aside for you? I’m sorry to be nosy about it, but I assumed you’d be okay if anything ever happened to him. I never expected you to lose the house, or have to leave.” Both girls looked shaken to the core. What their mother had told them was hard to believe. The estate where she and Andrew had lived was one of the largest and most beautiful on the East Coast.

  “We had a joint checking account I ran the house with, and that he let me spend for anything I wanted for myself. I have the apartment in Paris, which I’m going to sell eventually. I’m waiting for the market there to improve, and I’m going to rent it in the meantime, which will give me a small income. I have some jewelry, which I can sell too. And I’ll need to work.”

  “Oh my God, Mom.” Sabrina sat back in her chair at the kitchen table and stared at her. They were like two versions of the same face, light and dark. The yin and yang. Sabrina had her mother’s delicate features, but where Sydney’s hair was blond, Sabrina’s was shining ebony. Sophie’s looks were softer, rounder, she wasn’t as tall as her mother or sister, and for genetic reasons no one could explain, her hair was red. “When did you find out?” her older daughter asked her.

  “The day after the funeral. Jesse came to see me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Sophie asked gently, her heart aching for her mother.

  “It’s only been a little over two weeks, and I needed time to absorb it m
yself. That’s why I went to Paris, to put the apartment on the market. I’m going to start calling employment agencies this week. I don’t know what they’re going to say, though. I haven’t had a job in sixteen years. I’m hoping to find some kind of work involving fashion or design, but I might have to do something else.” She looked worried as she said it, and Sophie leaned over and took her mother’s hand in her own.

  “You don’t forget how to design clothes,” she said gently.

  “My skills are totally archaic in today’s world. People don’t even wear what I used to design anymore. I’m thinking that I may be obsolete.” She was frightened and hated to seem so vulnerable to her daughters, but there was no hiding from the truth.

  “Will you be okay in the meantime, until you find a job?” Sabrina asked her seriously.

  “I will when I sell the apartment in Paris, and am employed. Until then I can manage for a while, but it’s going to be pretty tight. There’s still enough in the checking account to pay for some essentials, for a short time, but not forever.” It was humbling to have to admit to her daughters that she was nearly flat broke. And there was no way she was going to be a burden on either of them or borrow money from them. Sabrina made an enormous salary, deservedly so for the work she did, designing four collections a year, and Sophie did reasonably well, although she made less than her sister, designing clothes for teens, and Andrew and her mother had helped her fill in the gaps occasionally when she needed it. Sydney couldn’t do that anymore either, and glanced at her apologetically. This was the ultimate reversal of fortune. One minute she had been living a luxurious and secure life, and the next she would be living in a tiny apartment, desperate to find a job, if she even could. “If nothing else, I can sell clothes in a boutique,” she said humbly, willing to do whatever she had to.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Sabrina said through clenched teeth. “Look at this house and everything in it, for God’s sake, and now you’re going to be a salesgirl somewhere? Come on, Mom. The girls can’t do that to you. They don’t need the money. Andrew must have left them a huge fortune, if they got everything he had. And he’s been giving them money for years. His father left them a trust fund, and their mother has a ton of money.” Marjorie was one of the most successful interior designers in L.A., and a favorite among the Bel Air set, and had done homes for some of the big stars, not to mention the settlement she’d gotten from Andrew years before.