He’d first met Sophie herself when she’d been getting on the metro. He was getting off and, on seeing her, he had turned around and hopped back on. By the time she’d got to her stop he had managed to get her phone number from her. He was irresistible when he wanted to be and she didn’t underestimate her husband’s ability where women were concerned. It could even be someone from work, she realised. She knew he’d had a brief fling with his secretary, Chantal, but that appeared to be over. She’d have to keep a close watch on this latest affair if it was as serious as she feared.
Jazz showered quickly and changed into some sexy underwear for Yves. She had just finished lacing up the corset when the bell rang. Spraying herself liberally with Angel perfume and slipping on her new, very expensive Carine Gilson silk negligée, she pressed the button to let him in.
He took her in his arms the moment he walked in and inhaled her scent deeply.
“You smell so divine, chérie,” he murmured as he kissed her neck and slipped the silk negligée from her shoulders. “Oh, my God, you are so sexy,” he exclaimed, his eyes roving over her body. The sight of her luscious breasts barely contained in the sexy cream-lace basque drove him crazy but, though he throbbed with desire for her, he took his time, caressing her body as he slowly undid the laces of the basque. Throwing it away, he started kissing her breasts and worked his way down her body, driving her crazy with desire too. She was panting with excitement as he undid the ribbons on each side of her tiny cream lace thong and let it drop to the floor.
Unable to wait a moment longer, she started pulling his clothes off him. When he was naked too, he lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him as he carried her into the bedroom. For a brief second the thought entered his head that he had no condom – he always had a supply in the hotel – but it was too late to stop now and with a shudder he entered her. It was the best sex they’d ever had and it went on for what seemed like hours.
“I love you,” she murmured, as she climaxed for the umpteenth time.
Afterwards, curled like spoons together, they fell into a warm relaxed sleep and she smiled, knowing that this was the happiest she’d ever felt in her life.
When Brandon arrived home that evening there were three voicemails on the machine from Marilyn. He rang the number she’d left.
“Brandon, daaahling,” she cooed. “I’ve been tryin’ to get in touch with Taylor but her phone has been turned off for three days now. Is she there with you?”
“Sadly not, Marilyn,” he replied curtly. He held Marilyn responsible, in a way, for Taylor’s predicament. His wife had been fine till Marilyn had hit town.
She heard the hostility in his voice. “Is everythin’ awllrighty?” she asked, a little nervously.
“No, it’s not damn alrighty!” he barked back. “Taylor’s in the Lariboisière hospital. She was mugged in Montmartre last Thursday night, while buying cocaine.”
“Oh my Gawd!” Marilyn gasped. “Is she okay?”
“Well, she’s alive, if that’s what you mean. But she’s most certainly not okay. I’m taking her to New York on Tuesday where she’s going into rehab.”
“Oh my Gawd, I’m so saawry,” she drawled. Her voice was beginning to irritate Brandon. “Brandon, honey, I told her she was crazy to be takin’ all them pills along with the coke. She knew that.”
“You knew that she was taking all that stuff?” he asked, infuriated. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m her friend. I couldn’t have’ gone squealin’ on her. You understan’ that,” she replied, her voice sugary sweet.
Some friend you are, he thought.
“I’ll go visit her tomorrow. Poor thing!”
“Marilyn, don’t you dare give her any drugs. I’m warning you.”
“Course not,” she replied, sounding affronted. “And Brandon, sweetie, you know I’m here, if you ever need me,” she said, her voice now husky and intimate. “Anythin’, anytime.”
Disgusted, he hung up on her.
When Kieran arrived home that night, he was pretty shattered. His mother was holding her own but couldn’t speak or move so it was very worrying.
“It was awful to see her lying there, Ash,” he told her, tears coming to his eyes. “I felt so helpless. I wish I could have done something to help her.”
“I know, love, it must have been awful, but the fact that you were there must have been a great comfort to her,” she said, stroking his hair.
“I’m afraid she might die. She looked so frail.” He buried his head in his hands.
“Well, she is eighty-two and she’s had a good innings. Maybe she’ll pull through this. People often do.”
“I hope so, though I don’t want her to spend the rest of her life an invalid.”
“Don’t worry. God is good,” she said taking his hand. “Let’s go to bed.”
He fell instantly asleep and she hadn’t a chance to tell him about their weekend. Somehow it seemed very unimportant in the face of his mother’s illness.
Yves awoke with a start to find that it was already dark. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was nine o’clock. Jazz stirred beside him, reaching out for him. What the hell, I’m late anyway, he thought, reaching down for her and stroking her gently. She woke to the delicious sensation and, rolling over on top of him, guided him into her once more.
When it was over, he kissed her deeply. “I’m sorry, chérie, I want to stay with you but I have to go.”
She clung to him wishing he could stay the night but understanding that he had to leave. She saw him out and they kissed until the moment that he pulled away, afraid that he would want to take her again.
“Till tomorrow, ma petite,” he murmured, and then he was gone.
Jazz opened the window wide and watched him until he walked away around the corner, turning to wave at her. She sighed. She knew with a certainty that he was the man for her despite what all her friends said. She knew that he wouldn’t break her heart.
She poured a glass of wine and sat on her balcony, thinking of Yves. She watched the night cruises, their lights twinkling, as they sailed up and down the Seine. She could hear the music wafting upwards and spied some couples sitting at candlelit tables, having dinner and dancing. It was impossibly romantic. How she wished that she and Yves could do romantic, normal things like that, but of course they couldn’t. It had been a wonderful, wonderful evening but it was heartbreaking every time they parted.
Yves was very apprehensive as he made his way home. He really had got carried away and lost all sense of time. Now he had to face the music and Sophie. She was sitting quietly in the dark, waiting for him.
“Sorry, I lost sight of the time,” he said, kissing her lightly.
She looked up at him solemnly and he saw the fear in her eyes.
“You weren’t at work, were you?” she asked.
“No,” he said honestly. There was no point lying to her. Sophie was too clever for that.
“You were with a woman.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” he sighed, looking at her guiltily. “I’m sorry.”
“Who is she? Do you love her?” she asked, needing to know the truth.
“Of course not – I love you,” he said, sitting down beside her and putting his arm around her.
It was obvious that he didn’t want to tell her the identity of the woman in question, so she didn’t persist. But she was consumed with curiosity to know who it was. He was late home practically every night now and when he did come home he was distracted, his mind obviously elsewhere. She figured that he might as well not have come home at all.
She was also beginning to get angry. They had an agreement, one that she’d always adhered to, that if there was any fear of involvement with a third party, they would immediately end the relationship. Now, it seemed, Yves was breaking his part of the bargain. She’d always known that he was a serial womaniser which was why she’d agreed to have an open marriage. She’d been sure that his lov
e for her and for Pierre was strong enough to cope with other women. Now she was frightened that this was not the case.
She knew there was nothing she could do other than wait it out. He was obviously in the first flush of lust – she refused to call it love – so to confront him now would be foolish. She knew his attention span with women was very short and he very quickly tired of his paramours so she could just hope and pray that this one wouldn’t last long. Meanwhile she’d just get on with her life.
After she’d gone to bed, Yves sat with a brandy thinking that he’d really have to tread carefully. He loved Sophie and didn’t want to hurt her. Tonight had been stupid. He was also concerned about the fact that Jazz had said that she loved him. He hadn’t meant for that to happen. He’d thought that they could have a mutually advantageous sexual relationship but he was beginning to think that Jazz wanted more than that. Maybe it was time to cool it.
37
Marilyn was feeling guilty about Taylor and went to visit her in the hospital on Monday. She was shocked when she saw the state her friend was in. Her lips were all swollen and her face and arms were black and blue. Taylor wasn’t too happy to see her as she reckoned that if Marilyn had got her the cocaine she wanted from Louis in the first place, she wouldn’t have been forced to go on the streets of Montmartre looking for it. She told Marilyn as much.
“You can make it up to me by getting me some now,” she said sulkily.
“Honey, I promised Brandon I wouldn‘t bring you anythin’. I don’t wanna upset him.” Marilyn took her hand but Taylor winced and pulled it away. “Well, you can leave right now, if that’s how you feel!” she screamed at her.
Marilyn gathered up her things and exited in a hurry as the nurse came running in.
“Gawd,” she told Louis later, “she’s freaked out. What a mess! Poor Brandon, my heart goes out to him.”
Louis looked at her, his eyes hooded. He knew she’d always had the hots for Brandon. Now that Taylor was out of the picture, he’d no doubt she would fancy her chances with him. Louis had no illusions where Marilyn was concerned.
On Tuesday, on the way to the airport, Taylor rang Marilyn to apologise.
“Don’t worry about it, honey. I understan’ that you’ve been through a lot,” her friend assured her. Taylor was relieved. Marilyn promised to keep in touch.
By nightfall, Taylor was safely deposited in the most elite rehab clinic New York had to offer. It had been a nightmare few days.
Bob had suggested to Brandon that he take her pills away from her and dole them out to her, as little as possible at a time.
“No point in her goin’ cold turkey until we get her into the clinic, buddy,” he’d advised. “But you’ll have to control what she takes until she gets here. It won’t be easy, Brandon ole boy, I’m warnin’ ya!”
He wasn’t kidding. Taylor was querulous and bad-tempered and pestered him hourly for more Vicodin. It made him realise just how addicted she’d become. In a way, the mugging had been a blessing in disguise. Now, under Bob’s care, she should be able to recover. It was with a sigh of relief that he left her there.
Bob had said that she should have no contact with the outside world, which meant no visitors or even phone calls, for six weeks. That meant Brandon could return to Paris immediately. There was no point in staying in New York.
He had wanted to go to California to tell the twins what had happened but Taylor had pleaded with him not to say anything to them.
“When I’m cured, I’ll tell them,” she stated, “not before.”
He agreed to say nothing.
Wednesday night he flew back to Paris and slept like a baby the whole way. He arrived in the office Thursday morning refreshed and invigorated. Jazz was delighted to see that he was back to his old self. She’d found it a strain to keep everything going without him although it had taken her mind off Yves a little.
38
It was Friday and Brandon and Jazz were having lunch in the Excelsior café.
“It will be strange being alone in Paris for the weekend,” Brandon remarked. “I guess I’ll work tomorrow and catch up.”
“Join the club. I’m fine during the week when I’m working but I hate weekends. Everywhere you go you see nothing but couples. It makes me feel a bit freaky, if you know what I mean.”
Brandon thought she sounded wistful. “Well, you would have no shortage of suitors to spend them with, if you were interested.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not,” she replied, as she finished the last of her toasted cheese and ham sandwich. “So I guess I’m destined to spend them alone.”
Then she was struck by a brilliant idea. “If you’ve no other plans for Sunday, Brandon, I’m thinking of visiting the Louvre and I’d be delighted to have some company.” She looked at him hopefully.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I am rather at a loose end.”
“Of course. I would be very lonely on my own there.”
“Well then, let’s be lonely together.” His smile lit up his face.
God, he’s handsome, Jazz thought. That Taylor is a fool. The weekend was suddenly looking up.
Kieran had arrived home so late every night that week that he never got to see the girls at all and by the weekend they’d forgotten all about Corey so there was no need for Ashling to mention him. Her mother and her sister Fiona were coming for a visit and the girls were in a state of excitement by Friday afternoon when it was time to go to the airport to meet Nana and Auntie Fee. Ashling was dying to show her mother and sister the city that she’d come to love. Kieran, unfortunately, wouldn’t be around as he had to go to Ireland again to visit his mother, who still hadn’t rallied.
Ashling and the girls travelled to Charles de Gaulle airport with Kieran as his flight time coincided with the incoming flight of her mother and sister. After seeing Kieran off they went to the arrivals hall to wait for them. Ashling saw Fiona first, waving and jumping up and down as she came out the doors. Running towards Ashling, she hugged her and swept the little girls up in her arms. Ashling’s mother followed more sedately, beaming as she hugged her daughter and little granddaughters.
“You look fantastic, love,” she said, standing back to look at Ashling. “You’ve lost weight.”
“Thanks, Mum. It’s just so great to see you. I’ve missed you.”
“You look fab, sis,” Fiona cried. “Wow, you’re gone all chic! I love your hair. It suits you. I just can’t wait to see Paris!” Her voice was high with excitement.
Ashling laughed at her enthusiasm. “I’ve a whole programme planned for you,” she told them as she led them to a taxi.
Orna and Ciara talked nineteen to the dozen all the way home, telling their nana all about their new school and their new life. Ashling couldn’t get a word in edgeways.
“I can’t believe we’re in Paris,” Fiona sighed as she stepped out of the taxi on to the Paris pavement. She almost felt like doing the whole papal thing and kissing the ground!
Ashling showed them round the house and when they’d unpacked and given the girls the presents they’d brought and Ashling the sausages and Lyons tea, she opened a bottle of champagne.
“Welcome to Paris!” she toasted them.
“Bienvenue à Paris!” Orna said as she clinked her glass of Sprite to theirs.
Ciara naturally parroted her sister, causing them all to laugh.
“My God, you’re speaking French,” Fiona cried, astounded by her little nieces.
“And with such a great accent,” their nana added.
Ashling beamed proudly at her daughters. They should have been in bed by now and she didn’t know how she’d ever get them to sleep tonight, they were so high, but it wasn’t every day that her mother and sister came to visit.
She’d prepared a coq-au-vin earlier followed by a chocolate mousse and was delighted by their praise and to see they’d cleaned their plates.
When the girls were finally settled – after Fiona had read them three stories – the thre
e women sat chatting and Ashling opened a bottle of Lynch-Bages 1985.
“This is a divine wine,” Fiona exclaimed, licking her lips.
“Yes, it is very special,” Ashling told her. “The Minister of Finance gave Kieran three bottles of it for his birthday. Kieran isn’t that into wine but I’ve started a wine course at the Cordon Bleu school. It’s fabulous and I hope to know my Bordeaux from my Burgundy by the end of it,” she laughed.
“Oh God, you’re sooo lucky,” Fiona said. “I’d give anything to be living here. It’s such a romantic city.”
“It is beautiful,” Ashling agreed with her. “I absolutely love every minute of it.”
“I’m green with envy,” Fiona sighed dramatically. Then she had a brilliant idea. “Maybe I could take a year out and come over and stay with you,” she announced, looking at her mother hopefully.
“God, Fee, that would be fantastic! I’d love to have you here,” Ashling replied excitedly. Having Fiona around would be great, both for her and the girls. Kieran would agree to it, she was sure. After all, when was he ever there to notice?
“You’ll do no such thing, young lady,” their mother said stiffly. “You’ll finish your degree and if you want to come to Paris then, Ashling will still be here.”
“Oh Mum,” Fiona moaned, “pleeese! It would be a brilliant opportunity for me.” She turned to her mother, looking at her with pleading eyes, hoping to change her mind.
“Love, it’s only another six months. If you give up now it will be very hard to get back into it next year. Am I not right, Ashling?” She turned to her older daughter for support.
“Yeah, Fee, Mum’s right. Six months will fly and once you’ve done your finals you can come over and we’ll have a fabulous summer.”
A Year Like No Other Page 21
