“I think it would be great for you,” Bill said practically. He admired her knowledge, and the gentle way she had shared it with him. It was like sharing her passion with him, he never felt that she was showing off or making him feel ignorant, although he was far less knowledgeable than she was about it. But there was an amazing grace and humility about everything she did and said to him. “Do you paint yourself?” he asked with interest.
“I did. I'm not very good at it, but I used to love it.”
“You could do that too, if you had a studio. I think it would be a wonderful outlet for you.” She smiled at the idea, but she knew how angry Gordon would be. He had been constantly irritated by her work before she had Sophie, and he had absolutely insisted she stop all of it once the child was born. He thought it was beneath her somehow, and her artwork didn't suit the image he had of her, or wanted for her. All he had wanted from her at that point was to have his children and run his home. All that she had been before they married, everything she had once done and loved, was no longer of any consequence to him. She was his now, to direct and control, and treat as an object he owned. Possession was important to him.
“I think Gordon would take it as an affront if I went back to painting or restoring now. He made it very clear to me when we had children that that was part of my youth, and not a suitable pastime for a married woman.”
“And what is a suitable pastime for a married woman?” Bill asked, sounding annoyed. Bill realized that he hated the man, and everything he stood for. He was snobbish and superficial and controlling, and it was obvious to Bill that he had absolutely no respect for her. And no interest whatsoever in what she liked to do, or who she was. She was just a “thing” he had acquired to enhance his career and his social position, and once she'd done that for him, he had no further interest in her. It seemed so incredibly unfair to Bill. She deserved so much more.
“I think running a home is pretty much all Gordon wants me to do. Taking care of the children. Keeping out of the way until my presence is required, which isn't often anymore. I think he might tolerate it if I did some kind of charity work someday, as long as it's on a committee that meets his approval, perhaps with other people he considers useful or worthy of him. Gordon never believes in doing anything unless it serves some useful purpose, otherwise he thinks it's a waste of time.”
“What a sad way to live,” Bill commented dryly.
“He's gotten a long way on that. He's probably the most important banker in Europe, certainly in France, and his reputation is very established in the States as well. Everyone on Wall Street and in all the major countries in Europe knows who he is.”
“And then? At the end of the day, Isabelle, what does that give you? Who are you when it's all over and all you have is your career? What kind of human being are you? I've been asking myself that a lot in recent years. I used to think that was all that mattered too, that your business connections think you're important. But then what? What does that do for you if you have no family life, your wife doesn't care if you live or die, and your kids can't even remember the last time they had dinner with you? I want people to remember more than that about me.” It was one of the many things she loved about him, the fact that Bill's values and sense of priorities were crystal clear. But she also realized that they hadn't always been as well established, and he had paid a high price for the lessons he had learned. His marriage was as empty as hers, and there was no denying that, although he loved them, he wasn't close to his girls. He had been gone too much of the time, chasing politics and making presidents, at times that would have mattered to his daughters when they were little girls. In recent years, he had made an effort to spend more time with them, with fairly good results. Both his daughters enjoyed his company and were proud of him, although he still traveled a lot of the time. But now when he was gone, he made a point of calling the girls. But his increasing estrangement from Cindy had taken a toll on the family. They rarely spent time together as a group, and when he saw his daughters, it was usually one on one, which worked too. In many ways, Isabelle was luckier than he, the one thing that truly mattered to her was Teddy and Sophie, and she spent a lot of time with them, and always had. But Gordon couldn't have said the same. His children were strangers to him, even Sophie, whom he preferred.
“I don't think Gordon has reached your state of enlightenment,” Isabelle said honestly, “and I don't think he ever will. Those things don't matter to him. He's very happy with just being important in the financial world. The rest is of no importance to him.”
“He'll wind up a sad man one day. But then again,” Bill said, looking ruefully at her as they walked back to the car, “maybe I will too. I figured it out for myself eventually, but a little late in the day. I share more real life with you, Isabelle, than I ever did with Cindy or the girls. I'm afraid I missed that boat a long time ago. I was never there for them.”
“I'm sure they understand why,” Isabelle said gently. “The girls are nearly grown up now, they still have a lifetime to share with you.”
“I hope they see it that way. They have their own lives now, and their mother has tried to convince them of what a selfish bastard I am. And maybe she's right,” he said, and then smiled down at his friend. “You've brought out the best in me. She never did. She's not a warm person. I'm not sure she ever really wanted me to be who I am now. I think this would actually be frightening to her, the kind of intimacy we share, even if it is on the phone most of the time. She didn't want to bare her soul to me, or deal with mine, she just wanted me to be there, to go to parties with her. And that's not who I am. I like having a good time, but I never realized how much I missed having someone to talk to. Cindy and I manage to miss the point with each other completely, and wind up feeling alone, even if we're sitting in the same room. That's never going to change.”
“It might,” Isabelle said, trying to sound encouraging and hopeful for his sake, “if you did. Maybe if you gave her a chance and opened up to her, she might learn to be intimate with you.”
“That's not Cindy,” he said as something hardened in his eyes, “and that's not what I want anymore. It's over for us, and actually, I think it's better that way. There's no disappointment, no pain. As long as I show up once in a while for one of her benefits, and keep paying the bills, and don't forget to come to the girls' graduations, that's all she wants from me now. We live in different worlds. I think we both feel safer that way.” He was remarkably sure of what he felt, and was afraid to feel.
“It's amazing what we do to our lives, isn't it?” Isabelle said with a sigh as they settled into the back of the limousine again and he gave the driver the address of the restaurant where they were having lunch. Isabelle had heard of it, but didn't know where it was. It had been a favorite with Princess Di for years. “You've allowed yourself to drift apart from Cindy and your children. I've allowed Gordon to shut me out without saying a word. Why are we so willing to let people do that to us? Why do we let others make that choice without speaking up, and at least making ourselves heard?” Thinking about it now amazed her. It all seemed so clear, more than it ever had before.
“Because that's who they always were. At some level, we both knew going in that this was how it would wind up. Cindy was adorable when she was in college, she was bright and cute and a lot of fun, but she was never warm. She's probably the most selfish, manipulative, calculating woman on the planet. And Gordon is cruel, cold, and controlling. Nothing we did would ever have changed that. The trouble is, that was what we were willing to settle for, whether we admit it or not. The question is, why did we think that was all we deserved?”
“My parents were like that,” Isabelle said softly, looking at him with her enormous green eyes, and he nodded. “I loved them, but they were very distant and reserved.”
“So were mine. My parents hated kids, and had decided not to have any, and then I came along in their forties, as a surprise. They never let me forget it, and always let me know, or made me feel
, that they were doing me a huge favor having me around at all. I couldn't wait to get the hell out when I went to college. And they both died in a plane crash when I was twenty-five. I never even cried. I felt as though strangers had died when the airline called. I didn't know what to say. I don't even know who they were, just two very intelligent people who let me live with them for eighteen years, and were relieved when I finally moved on. I don't know what they'd ever have done if I'd hugged them, or kissed them or told them I loved them. I don't remember my mother ever hugging or kissing me as a child. She always spoke to me from across the room, and my father never spoke to me at all. Cindy's like that. She always speaks to me from ten feet away, farther if she can.”
“It's a wonder you're as sane as you are,” Isabelle said sympathetically. She could barely imagine his childhood, in some ways, and yet hers hadn't been much different. There had been hugging and kissing, but mainly the form of it, and beneath the form, there had been very little love. “My mother was very English. I think she wanted to love me, and she did probably, but she didn't know how. She was very proper and very cold, she had lost her own mother when she was a baby, and her father had been very cold to her. He sent her to boarding school when she was nine, and left her there until she married my father. She met him at her presentation at court, and I think my grandfather arranged the marriage to get her out of the house. And once she was gone, he remarried, a woman he'd been involved with for years, even before his wife died. The British side of the family was full of skeletons and secrets, and people we weren't allowed to mention or talk about. All we had to do was dress properly, be polite, and pretend that everything was fine. I never had any idea how my mother felt about anything, and my father was so involved in politics, I don't think he knew we were alive. My mother died when I was in my teens, and my father never had time to talk to me, or be with me, although I think he was a nice man. Their marriage was a little like mine and Gordon's, which may be why it doesn't shock me more than it does to have a husband who has shut me out. I've never given it much thought, but it's the only model I know.”
“I guess me too,” he said philosophically. There was nothing he couldn't say to Isabelle. “I suppose if Cindy had been warmer than my parents, I wouldn't have known how to deal with it in those days. I was twenty-two when we got married, and I think part of me has been frozen for years.” It was only when he had begun talking to her four years before that so much had become clear to him, and so many of his views had changed. He had been drawn to Isabelle's warmth and light like a moth to flame, and in some ways, she had kept him alive ever since. But the contrast between her and his wife had made him feel even more distant from Cindy after so many years. He could see now how vastly separate and distant they were, and had been for so long.
“I wonder how different it would have been if we had known then, when we married them, all that we know now.”
“I'd never marry Cindy if I met her today,” Bill said without hesitation. “I can't talk to her, never could.
She hates talking about feelings, has no need for real conversation, in fact she detests it. All she's interested in is a marriage that looks good, what lies beneath it is of absolutely no interest to her. I hate to make her sound so shallow, and she has some wonderful qualities, but I've been married to a stranger for thirty years.”
“And you're willing to stay that way for another thirty?” she questioned him.
“It looks that way, doesn't it?” he said honestly, but lately he'd been wondering why himself. But divorce would have been a serious handicap for him. Keeping a low profile, and his nose clean, was essential to him. No president or presidential candidate would want to be associated with him, if Cindy ever made things rough, and he had long since suspected she would. She was not about to let go of a good thing. The last thing Cindy wanted was a divorce. She liked the status quo. “Aren't you ready to do the same thing? To stay in a loveless marriage for the rest of your life?” Bill questioned her. He knew the answer without asking her. They had discussed it before.
“I have no choice.”
“We all have choices, if we're brave enough to take them. But you and I have a lot to lose. My career would be impacted if Cindy and I split up now. And you have a desperately sick child. I understand why we're both doing what we're doing. I can explain it. But in spite of that, sometimes I think we're both fools. If we really had any courage, and believed in our ideals, we'd get the hell out of Dodge. And I don't think either of us ever will.” It was not a judgment he was making of her, or himself, it was a simple statement of fact as he saw it.
“I suspect you're right,” she said, sounding sad.
“I just hope we don't regret it one day. Life is short. My parents died in their sixties, and I'm not sure they ever enjoyed their life. They just did what they thought they had to, and what they should. I want more than that. I just haven't figured out how.”
“I don't let myself think about it,” Isabelle said honestly. “I made a choice twenty years ago, and I've stood by it.”
“That's noble of you,” he said, taking her hand in his as they sat in the car, “but they don't give prizes for that. In the end, no one's watching, no one cares. No one's going to pin a medal on us one day for being brave.”
“What are you saying?”
“I'm not sure. I get tired sometimes of all the reasons I give myself for the way I live. I'm not even sure I believe my own bullshit anymore. To be honest with you, Isabelle, when I see you, and talk to you, I wonder what the hell we're both doing.”
“With each other?” She sounded frightened and wondered if he was telling her he wouldn't see her anymore. As she looked at him, her eyes were wide.
“No, with everyone else. You and I are the only ones who make sense. I've never been able to talk to anyone the way I talk to you. Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?”
She nodded, thinking of all that he had said. “It is now, but I wouldn't have understood it at twenty-one when I got married. All I knew then was to do what I was told. Gordon was just like my father. He told me when to get up, when to go to bed, what to say, what to do, what to think. I think I found it comforting then. I never realized I had a choice, and there were other ways to live.”
“And now?”
“I still don't have choices, Bill. You know that. What choice do I have?”
“Whichever you want. That's the point. We both talk about the high price of changing our lives. What about the high price of staying in them as they are? Do you ever think of that?”
“I try not to,” she said honestly. “I'm there for Teddy's sake, and Sophie's, whether they recognize it or not.”
“Are you sure that is why you're there? Are you sure of that?” he asked, watching her intently. He had never been this forceful with her, and Isabelle was surprised. She wondered what had changed. It was as though he was no longer satisfied with his life, or hers. “Are you sure you're not there because you're too scared to do anything else? Because I am. I think I'm too goddamn scared to just throw all the cards up in the air and walk out. Someone might actually think I'm human and less than perfect, and even that I have real needs. Imagine that.”
“Are you telling me you're going to leave her?” Isabelle was stunned. In all the years they had talked to each other, he had always said he'd never break up his marriage, and so had she.
“I'm saying, or at least I think I am, that I wish I had the guts to leave her.” And then he decided to take a big step. Even if she was furious and walked off, he had to say it, because it was what he felt. And it meant too much to him to ignore. “Just for your sake, I wish you had the guts to leave him. It kills me to listen to you when I call, you sound like a prisoner in that house, you're being starved and deprived and disregarded and disrespected, and you have been for years. It makes me want to come over and kidnap you, and Teddy, anything to get you away from him and that house. Gordon doesn't deserve you, Isabelle, any more than Cindy deserves me. And what's more, they
never did. Both of them have been getting away with murder for years. I wish life were simpler than it is. But it's not. It's goddamn complicated for both of us. I just wish it weren't. I wish we could both start all over again.”
“So do I,” she said quietly. “But we can't. You know that as well as I do.” Isabelle loved the idea of his getting out of his marriage. But in truth, she knew it would be disastrous for him. And so did he. “If Cindy creates a scandal, your entire political life will come down around your ears. You've spent thirty years building that. Are you really willing to give that up? For freedom? Are you so sure? For your ideals? And then what will you do? And I? Gordon told me a long time ago that if I ever left him, he would see to it that I starve in the street. I inherited nothing. It all went to my brother. And when he died, in an accident, it went to his sons. I am completely dependent on Gordon. I cannot afford to walk away from him. I couldn't provide for my son. I couldn't get him the medical assistance he needs. It costs a fortune, and as little as Gordon may care for me or Teddy, he pays for absolutely everything he needs without blinking an eye. What would you suggest, Bill? That I subject Teddy to abject poverty, on a whim, or leave him behind? No, it's impossible and you know it. Besides, Teddy wouldn't survive the upheaval and the change. And it's all very noble to think of leaving Gordon because he appears not to love me. But love is a luxury in my life. It's one neither Teddy nor I can afford.” It was a hard thing to say, and to live with, but for her it was true. She was dependent on Gordon to provide the very best she could for her son. But it broke Bill's heart to see her willingness to live like that, although he had done virtually the same thing. They were both so willing to settle for what they had. And at such a high price to themselves.
“I guess we just have to make the best of it,” Bill said quietly, as they pulled up in front of the restaurant he'd chosen for lunch. It was Italian, and immensely popular, and once again very chic. “Maybe you're right. Maybe we don't have a choice, although I hate to believe that.” But in her case, he could see no way out, although he found it hard to believe that the French courts would allow Gordon to starve her and their sick child, but maybe she was right, and they would.
The Kiss Page 6
