Then, to Ashling’s surprise, Jazz said, “Let’s look at dresses for Orna and Ciara now.”
“What?”
“Didn’t I mention that I would like them to be my flower-girls and Pierre my page-boy?”
Ashling clapped her hands. “Oh, they’ll just adore that. They’ll be so excited!”
They spotted two adorable little dresses that they both loved and a cute page-boy outfit for Pierre and arranged to return with the children the following Saturday.
On Sunday Brandon and Jazz visited the château with Sabine and were entranced with it. They booked it on the spot. They would stay in the Bridal Suite, which was magnificent, the night of the wedding. A fleet of limousines would take their guests to and from the château. It was idyllic, just perfect! All the arrangements would be left in the extremely capable hands of the efficient Sabine. She would source the caterers, flowers, invitations, photographer, music etc. All Jazz and Brandon had to do was choose which one they preferred. The fact that money was no object made it all very easy for Sabine.
Pippa was ready and waiting for Felicity when she picked her up from school on Thursday for the start of her summer holidays. She was practically dancing with excitement.
“Two whole months in Paris! Imagine!” she cried, throwing herself at Felicity as the porters lifted her cases into the boot of the car.
They drove back to the house in Holland Park and would pick Becky up the following day before driving back to Paris. Pippa was very impressed with the way her mother handled the right-hand-drive car on the French roads and the way she was able to speak French to the staff in the restaurant where they stopped for lunch.
She had enrolled Pippa and Alex on an intensive French course for the following two weeks, which Felicity thought would benefit them greatly. She herself would spend the following week in Rheims, on the tasting course she’d won. Then after the next week in the Cordon Bleu School, she would have six weeks to relax and enjoy a well-earned break before they returned back home. She realised that she would be very sad to be leaving Paris. It had been a wonderful experience and she felt she had grown a lot as a person.
It was just as well, Jazz thought, that they had Sabine there to organise their wedding as things had become very hectic at work now that the end of the project was in sight. Their Asian counterparts would be coming to Paris for a week in August, to finalise their findings together and it looked like the whole project had been a tremendous success. At their meeting the following Friday, Monsieur Fournier told Brandon as much. He was very pleased at what they had achieved, he said, as was the President. Brandon couldn’t help but feel proud of his team.
“I’ve two pieces of good news for you,” the Minister said. “Firstly, the President would like to invite all of you to the Élysée Palace to thank you personally and secondly, I have managed to find a position for your colleague, Yves, on my staff.”
Brandon wanted to whoop with joy. Everything seemed to be coming up roses. “Thank you so much, Minister. My team will be thrilled and I know that Yves and Sophie will be very grateful for your offer. May I tell them?”
“Yes, of course. The President’s office will be in touch with you soon about a possible date.”
“Thank you, Minister. I very much appreciate all your help.”
“I’m happy to be able to help. How are the wedding plans coming along?”
“Wonderfully well. Sabine is taking care of everything and we’re having it in the same château as your daughter’s wedding.”
“You’ll have a superb day.” Monsieur Fournier smiled at the memory. “It’s idyllic there.”
Jazz, Ashling and Sophie, flanked by three very excited children, converged on the bridal shop the following Saturday morning. The girls loved the ballet-length white tulle dresses and twirled around and around like ballerinas. Pierre looked darling in his pageboy outfit. Mia had called during the week and judging by the squeals of excitement over the phone, Jazz gathered that she loved the pale green dress too. Jazz ordered it for her. The Los Angeles bridal salon had sent Mia’s measurements already to the Paris store. Orna and Ciara would have sashes of the same green on their white dresses and little coronets of green and white flowers in their hair. Everything was falling into place.
The next few weeks sped by so fast that Jazz could hardly believe it. She was in contact with Sabine almost daily. She and Brandon went to Antwerp, in Belgium, to choose their wedding rings and Jazz also found the most exquisite satin bridal shoes there. They were studded with seed pearls and had white ribbons around the ankles. Everything was now in place. Brandon was keeping their honeymoon a secret. No amount of probing could get him to reveal what he’d planned. He wanted it to be a surprise.
The invitations went out in the middle of July. They had kept it to thirty guests plus the three children. Alex and Pippa were delighted to be invited and Monsieur Fournier replied immediately to say that he and his wife would be honoured to attend.
Jazz got a surprise phone call from Hans.
“I believe congratulations are in order,” he said, sounding surprisingly cheerful.
She still felt a little guilty about him. “How did you hear that?” she asked.
“My fiancée is from Munich and she met some of your friends who told her,” he replied.
“Well, congratulations to you too,” Jazz said, relieved that he’d met someone.
“I’ve got a transfer to Munich so I’ll be leaving your apartment next month. Are you coming back to Frankfurt after your marriage?”
“No. I’m moving to New York. I’ve applied to the bank for a transfer there and they’ve agreed to it.”
“That’s good news. And, Jazz . . .” he hesitated, “I hope you’ll be really happy.”
“Thanks, Hans. You too,” she replied softly, glad that there was no bad feeling between them and hopeful that they’d both found true love.
54
Taylor was feeling like her old self again, at last! She felt that the stint in rehab had been a lifesaver and she realised now what stupid mistakes she’d made. Initially she’d been uncooperative but, when she read in the newspaper that Dylan had been found dead from an overdose of heroin, it had brought her to her senses.
This new clinic was nothing like that dreadful place Brandon had sent her to earlier, where the awful Bob had stalked her day and night. The staff here were very understanding and helpful, but adamant that if she reverted to taking drugs she would have to leave instantly. She’d been savvy enough to know this wasn’t an idle threat and so long as they allowed her to have a drink when she wanted, she could handle it. After all, nobody could expect her to give up drink and drugs, all at the same time!
The last couple of weeks there had been very pleasant, almost like a stay in a health farm, and she’d finally felt ready to face the world again. Her first stop, obviously, would have to be her plastic surgery clinic. She’d been shocked to see how ravaged she’d become but, of course, since she’d missed her six-weekly botox and filler treatments, what else would you expect? She urgently needed to redress this so she left the rehab clinic and took a cab straight to that of her plastic surgeon. He agreed with her that she was a mess and suggested a full face-lift, bum-lift, breast enhancement and liposuction on her thighs and arms. She gratefully put herself in his hands and now here she was, two weeks later, almost a new woman.
She called her hair stylist and got him to come to the clinic where he’d been shocked by the state of her hair. She warned him that if he ever mentioned it to anyone, she’d ruin him forever. He was scared enough of her reputation to agree. The frosted highlights that she’d always been so fussy about were now a mousy-brown and her hair was long and straggly. He suggested a complete change and keeping some of the length, he restyled it and coloured it a lovely champagne blonde. She was delighted with the result. He knew that, much as he wanted to spread the gossip, he daren’t. If he kept his mouth shut, Taylor would be a huge asset to his business. So, difficult as
it was, he kept his mouth shut!
The day before she was due to leave the clinic, her beautician visited and spent several hours waxing, eyebrow-threading, eyelash-tinting and giving her a manicure and pedicure. She oohed and aahed over Taylor’s smooth skin and wonderful new full lips, “Just like Angelina Jolie’s,” she remarked. High praise indeed! Taylor had smiled smugly to herself. Now she was ready to face the world, New York society and Brandon.
She left the clinic and arrived at the apartment on Park Avenue, to find her keys wouldn’t open the door. She couldn’t understand it. She called Brandon in Paris.
“Brandon, darling, it’s Taylor, how are you?”
She heard his sharp intake of breath. “Taylor, how are you?”
“Fine, dear, just fine. I’m out of the clinic and happy to say that I’m completely cured.”
“Where are you?”
She could hear a slight panic in his voice.
“That’s the thing, dear. I’m outside our apartment in Park Avenue but my keys don’t work.”
“It’s not our apartment any more, Taylor. You got the Village apartment in our divorce settlement. This apartment still belongs to my father and he’s had the locks changed.”
“I don’t believe it!” she cried, outraged. “What about my clothes and things? I need to have them. And where am I supposed to stay? You know I have tenants in my place.”
“I’ll contact Dad and have him meet you so you can collect your belongings. As for where you’ll stay, that’s up to you, Taylor. There are plenty of nice apartments for rent in New York. You’re not my problem any more. We’re divorced, remember? And you were the one who asked for it.” He couldn’t resist that last dig.
She couldn’t believe he was treating her like this. Yes, she’d made mistakes but she hadn’t been herself – she’d been ill. Now she was better and she’d expected him to say it had all been a misunderstanding and they could go back to their old way of life once again.
“Oh, Brandon darling, don’t be so horrid. I didn’t mean any of it,” she said, her voice simpering. “I’m sure we can sort things out.”
“I’ll get Dad to give you a call to make an arrangement to collect your things. Now I have to go,” he said, hanging up on her.
She was astounded. What had got into him? This wasn’t like the Brandon she knew. He sounded so cold. She’d have to think this out carefully.
Brandon’s father met her at the apartment two days later.
“Hello, Taylor,” he greeted her coldly as he let her into the apartment. She knew he’d never liked her. He’d never thought that she was good enough for his precious son.
“Hello, Chase.”
“Kindly, take your clothes and personal belongings and nothing else,” he instructed her, without preamble.
Brandon had warned him not to let her take any of the paintings or other valuables from the apartment. Chase stood guard over her to make sure she didn’t touch anything that was not hers. Pompous ass, she thought, glaring at him as she packed her shoes and bags into boxes. The removal-van driver had already gone down with several boxes of her clothes. It took more than two hours to clear out her bedroom and when it was done she sighed and looked around the apartment, thinking how beautiful it was. She wouldn’t let all this slip away without a fight. There was nothing else for it – she would have to go to Paris and woo him back.
55
Life was unbelievably hectic and Jazz thanked God every day for Sabine. The wedding plans were now in place and everything finalised which was just as well as the financial group were working twelve-hour days to have everything ready for the big global meeting. The group from Beijing arrived and it gave them all a tremendous sense of satisfaction to know that the project had been a superb success. On the night before they were due to return to China, both groups went to the Élysée Palace for a reception hosted by the President and First Lady of France.
The wives had been invited too and Ashling and Felicity were wild with excitement. The President thanked the group for their contribution to this very major global development and he finished his speech by saying, “I would also like to congratulate Brandon and Jazz on their upcoming nuptials and wish them a long and happy life together.”
Everyone raised their glasses to the blushing, smiling couple and wished them good luck. Jazz thought that she’d never been happier.
The following night, exhausted from their intense week of work and socialising, they decided to have a quiet night in. Jazz was preparing choucroute in the kitchen, when Brandon’s phone rang. It was Marilyn.
“Brandon, honey, I must see you immediately. It’s about Taylor. Can you meet me in Willi’s?”
“No, Marilyn, honestly, it’s not my problem . . .”
“Please Brandon, it’s urgent,” she cut in on him. “Please?”
“Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes. But I can only stay for a short while.”
If this was another ploy to get him to take her out to dinner, it wouldn’t work. Jazz looked at him enquiringly as he came into the kitchen.
“That was Marilyn. It’s about Taylor. I said I couldn’t meet her but she says it’s urgent,” he explained, hoping she’d understand.
“You won’t be long, will you?”
“I promise I’ll be back within the hour. This better be urgent,” he said as he reached for his coat. He kissed Jazz tenderly before leaving. “I love you, you know that – more than life itself,” he murmured, before he pulled away. “I won’t be long, promise. Love you.”
Then he was gone.
Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at a crowded Willi’s. He spotted Marilyn sitting at a table and saw that she was with another blonde. It looked like her sister. He did a double take when he realised that the ‘sister’ was in fact Taylor, a Taylor that he barely recognised.
“My God, what are you doing here?” he exclaimed, shocked.
“Aren’t you pleased to see me, darling?” she asked, wrapping her arms around him as she kissed him.
He was so shocked he could hardly move. Coming to his senses, he roughly pushed her away.
“What’s the meaning of this? You tricked me, Marilyn!” He glared at her menacingly.
“Don’t blame Marilyn. It’s my fault. I wanted to surprise you.”
“You certainly did that!”
Marilyn could see how angry he was and decided to make herself scarce. She should never have agreed to do it. God, he was handsome when he was angry, she sighed, as she left.
“Champagne?” Taylor asked, lifting a bottle sitting in a stand beside the table.
“No, thank you. What is this all about, Taylor?” He sat down opposite her.
“I came to Paris to apologise,” she said demurely, looking up from under her lashes at him. “I was such a ninny. I’m sorry,” she purred, leaning in closer to him.
He looked at her with disgust. He noticed that she’d had a lot of work done on her face – and those lips! Looking further down he saw that she’d finally had the boob job she’d always wanted. No wonder he’d thought she was Marilyn’s sister. They were like two peas in a pod. Two manufactured peas. All fake!
“What exactly do you hope to achieve?” he queried, his eyes half-closed.
“I think we should try and make a go of our marriage once again,” she said, her voice low and husky.
“Are you out of your mind?” He couldn’t quite believe what she’d just said. “We have no marriage. We’re divorced. And frankly, that was the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”
She recoiled from the vehemence in his voice. “Please, baby,” she simpered. “I made a mistake. I’m a changed person. I’m sorry. Forgive me and let us get back together again.”
How did I ever stay married to her for so long, he asked himself, filled now with disgust and disdain for her.
“Actually, I am getting married again to a wonderful woman whom I love very much.”
Taylor’s eyes widened with shock although because of all the
botox the rest of her face stayed immobile. “You’re what? When? To whom?” she shrieked, making the other customers around them stare.
“I’m getting married next week. To Jazz.”
“You bastard!” she yelled, throwing her glass of champagne at him.
At this, all the customers in the bar stopped talking and watched with interest.
With as much dignity as he could muster, he stood up and said quietly to her, “Goodbye, Taylor, I never want to see you again. You haven’t changed. I’m a lucky man to be rid of you.” With that he turned on his heel and left.
The manager of the bar had become aware of the fracas and approached Taylor. “S’il vous plaît, Madame –” he began.
“Oh, fuck off!” she shrieked, grabbing her bag and coat and chasing out after Brandon. He was just getting into a taxi as she exploded from the bar waving her bag at him and shouting.
“Quickly, l’Île Saint-Louis,” Brandon instructed the driver, looking back at Taylor who was frantically waving her fist at him.
“Lovers’ quarrel?” the driver grinned at him in the mirror.
“Not exactly,” Brandon replied, sighing.
That was the end of it.
Jazz was surprised to see him back so soon. Shocked, she saw that he was all wet.
“What happened?” she asked, intrigued.
Briefly he told her. She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Poor baby,” she said gently. “Let me take you into the shower and wash you.”
“That nearly makes it all worth while,” he grinned, as she started to undress him. She led him into the bathroom, letting her silk kimono slip from her naked body as she did so.
“What about the choucroute?” he asked.
A Year Like No Other Page 32