The Mistress

by Danielle Steel

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  Theo painted as frantically through the fall as he had during the summer, and Jean Pasquier asked him to come to Paris in October, to talk about a new show. He asked if Theo felt he had enough new work, and he said he did. Jean was thinking about February. They had done so well with the last show that he didn’t want to lose momentum and was anxious to exhibit his new work.

  They spent the day together and had dinner, and set the date for the show. Seeing the gallery again reminded him of the portrait of Natasha, and he wondered how she was, and if she was happy with her new Russian that the concierge had mentioned. It seemed a sad life to him. She would forever be a bird in a gilded cage, but it was the only life she knew. It was light-years from his world, which centered only on his work these days. He realized that it had taken him a long time to get Natasha out of his system. She had haunted him so intensely. For a while, he had felt ill every time he saw her with Vladimir, and completely disoriented every time he ran into her. He felt foolish for it now. She had been a phantom in his life, a kind of mirage, his dream woman who appeared to him on canvas, but not in his real life. His mother had been right, she had nearly cost him his sanity and his heart. But he had salvaged both, and he felt strong now and focused on his work. And he hadn’t had a date or relationship with a woman since Inez nine months before. He had seen her at an art event in Cannes in September, and she said she was dating someone who had two children of his own, and she seemed happy.

  Theo spent the next day in Paris, after his meeting with Jean Pasquier on Friday night, and on Saturday it was raining and he had nothing to do before his flight to Nice. His mother and Gabriel were in Venice for the trip they’d planned, and then were coming back to Paris for another month before going back to St. Paul de Vence. The restaurant was still closed, and she was planning to open briefly for Christmas, and then close forever when she turned it into a museum. The holidays would be their farewell to Da Lorenzo and all their devoted clients who had been faithful to them. It was going to be a bittersweet final chapter of an adventure that had served her well, but she was ready to move on, before it became more of a burden than a joy. She and Gabriel wanted their freedom now, to spend time together while they could still enjoy it, and do whatever they wanted. Theo had had a call from her in Venice, and she sounded like a young girl.

  She had told him how much she and Gabriel enjoyed their forages at Drouot, and with nothing else to do, he decided to stop in there and have a look around that afternoon before he left. She made it sound like a treasure hunt.

  He wandered through a room of somber Gothic paintings, and another one of pop art, and then one of truly awful paintings, and a room full of what looked like what they’d found in someone’s grandmother’s attic, complete with lace doilies and ancient fur coats and tiny old-fashioned shoes. There was a room of exquisite china, including a service for forty-eight with a royal crest on it, another of photographs, which he found more interesting, and then one of statues and taxidermy, and some paintings he liked. The estimates were low, and he was following the labyrinthine flow of traffic, came around a bend, and almost bumped into a young woman, and was about to apologize, and then he gasped when he saw who it was.

  “Oh my God…Natasha…are you all right?” They were both talking at once, and she laughed.

  “I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she confessed, stunned to see him there.

  “Neither was I.” She looked young and fresh-faced and happy. Her new life must have been going well. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and her hair was wet from the rain.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, curious.

  “I’m killing time before my flight tonight. I came to see my art dealer. He’s doing another show for me in February. No portrait of you this time, though,” he teased her, and she laughed.

  “It looks spectacular in my new apartment. It’s over the fireplace in my living room.” She didn’t tell him it was the size of her whole apartment, and he imagined her in some palatial hotel particulier that her new boyfriend had provided for her, like the last one on Avenue Montaigne.

  “Where are you living?” He was curious about her too.

  “In the seventh.”

  And then he looked serious. “I tried to find you this summer, to thank you. But I was helping my mother at the restaurant, and I got here too late. You had already moved. Athena, the policewoman, told me what you did. That was incredibly brave of you. I’m glad nothing bad happened to you as a result.” She smiled as he said it, not entirely sure that that was true, but the bad things had turned out to be good ones. “Un mal pour un bien,” as the French said. “You’re not with Vladimir anymore?” It was more a statement than a question, since he knew that, and she shook her head.

  “No, I’m not.” He didn’t want to tell her that the concierge in her old building had told him about her new Russian man. It made him sound as gossipy as she was, that they had talked about it. But she looked different and better and younger, and happy. Lighter somehow. He didn’t question her about her new man and didn’t really want to know. It was enough to see that she was all right and that no harm had come to her. And he had thanked her now, which was what he had wanted to do three months before and hadn’t managed, arriving too late on the scene.

  “Do you travel a lot?” he asked her, not wanting to let her go. But he didn’t feel dizzy this time, or sick when he looked at her. He wasn’t aching with longing for what he couldn’t have. He accepted it now.

  “Not anymore.”

  “Do you still come to the South?”

  “No,” she said simply, happy to see him too.

  “No boat this time?” The way he said it sounded odd to her, and she looked at him quizzically.

  “What do you mean ‘this time’?” She looked him in the eye when she asked.

  “I mean…you know…well…if there’s someone new since Vladimir.”

  “There isn’t,” she said quietly. “Why would there be?”

  “I thought…” But he was in it up to his neck by then. “Your concierge on Avenue Montaigne said you left with a Russian man, when I tried to find you to thank you.” She laughed out loud at what he said.

  “I think she meant my handyman, Dimitri. He helped me move out. I live alone, in an apartment the size of a postage stamp. Your portrait of me is the biggest thing in it.” She looked proud as she said it.

  “No yacht?” He was stunned.

  “No yacht,” she confirmed, and they both smiled.

  “I’m sorry for my assumption. I just thought…”

  “You thought I moved on to the next one, just like Vladimir. I had an offer like that,” she said honestly. “I decided I’m out of the business of selling my soul for a lifestyle. I didn’t do that with Vladimir. It was all kind of a coincidence, who he was and the life he gave me. I don’t want that anymore. Besides,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “the other guy’s yacht was too small. Only two hundred feet. But it was a great offer. Thirty million in a Swiss bank account, and another thirty if I had his baby. I could have been right back where I was a month after Vladimir kicked me out and left me on the dock in Antibes. I’m not doing that anymore.”

  “He kicked you out?” Theo looked horrified at what she’d said.

  “Not literally. Escorted me off the boat, and walked away. I’m fine,” she said, smiling at Theo. “I really am. I’ve figured it all out. And no one makes the rules for me anymore, or tells me what to do, or dresses me, or tells me when to come and when to go away, who I can talk to, or when to leave the room.” The realization of the extent to which he had controlled her had been shocking to her once she admitted it to herself. She knew she could never let that happen to her again.

  “Why didn’t you call me? Did he do that because of me?”

  “Maybe—who knows? He thought I betrayed him, and he was right. I did. I had to. What he did was so wrong, I couldn’t let it happen to you. And he probably would have done that to me eventually
anyway. That’s who he is.” Theo had seen the level of his fury the night he had refused to sell the painting to him. And the art theft was his revenge. “And I didn’t call you because I needed to figure it all out for myself, what I want to do, who I want to be, how I want to live, and what I’ve been doing for the past eight years. It was a lot to think about, and I didn’t want anyone to help me, not even you. Except for my handyman, Dimitri.” She grinned at Theo. “He’s terrific. He put all my IKEA furniture together for me.”

  “You have IKEA furniture? This I want to see.” Theo looked amused.

  “You can come to dinner next time you come to Paris, after I learn to cook.”

  He was smiling at her. His mother had been wrong about her, and so had he. She wasn’t with another Russian billionaire. She was with herself. “Do you want to have a cup of coffee somewhere before I leave for the airport?”

  She hesitated and then nodded, and they left Drouot together. It was pouring, and they found a cab a block away, and he gave the address of the bistro where he went with Gabriel sometimes. And when they got there, they ran in to get out of the rain, sat down at a back table, and ordered coffee, and he ordered a sandwich and asked her if she wanted anything to eat, but she said she didn’t. They talked for two hours about his painting, his mother planning to close the restaurant and turn it into a permanent museum, and her being in Paris with Gabriel now, and her epiphany about it. Theo said it was sweet to watch.

  “Some people wake up very late. At least she woke up,” he said, and Natasha nodded.

  “He sounds like a nice man,” she said gently.

  “He is. And he’s always been good to her. Much nicer than my father was. He was a genius and impossible at times. Gabriel is the way everyone wishes their father was. He’s a kind person. And he puts up with my mother,” Theo laughed. “So what are you going to do now?” he asked her, and she thought about it for a minute.

  “I’m still figuring it out. I found an apartment. I’m taking a class at the Louvre. I’ve been selling everything Vladimir gave me, so I have something to live on, and some savings. Now I want to find a job. I want to finish the class at the Louvre first. That’s all I know for now.”

  “You want to stay in Paris?”

  “Maybe…probably…yes…I think so.” She smiled at him, looking like a young girl again, and he smiled at her.

  “My mother is going to be looking for someone to run the museum for her. She doesn’t want to be tied down the way she was with the restaurant. It was fun for a long time, but now she wants to be free to be with Gabriel.”

  “Me too. Free, I mean. I was a robot for eight years, a slave. A doll he dressed and showed off to enhance his image. I could never do that again. It’s scary sometimes now, when I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going. But then I remind myself I can figure it out. I think I can. It’s not as bad as it would have been at nineteen when he found me. And I had nothing then. I’m twenty-seven now. I can work it out.”

  “I’m thirty-one,” he said, smiling at her, “and I ask myself the same question sometimes. Everyone always looks like they’re doing it better. Maybe no one knows what they’re doing.”

  “I’m trying to decide what I want. Not what someone else tells me to do.” It was a big change, making decisions on her own. It was all new to her.

  “Will you call me if you need help, Natasha?” he asked her seriously. He knew how alone she was, and that she had no family or friends. She had told him that at lunch long ago.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I kept your number, just in case. But I didn’t want to use it.” He could only imagine how scary the last four months had been after Vladimir threw her out, after protecting and controlling her so completely. But she seemed to have done well, and he admired her for it. “At first, I didn’t want to talk to anybody, and I didn’t want anyone to help me. I had to do it for myself. And I think I’ve done okay. Some things I haven’t figured out yet, like a job, but I have time.”

  “Think about coming to work at the museum. It might be interesting, if you want to live in the South.” And that reminded him of something else. “The house is empty now. There are six bedrooms upstairs. She used to rent them out occasionally. If you want a place to stay, or need one, or just want to be there for a while to think, you can stay for as long as you like. Those rooms won’t be used anymore this winter, except for art storage or maybe an office or two. Come whenever you want. You don’t even have to talk to me. And I live in my own house a few miles away. I won’t bother you, and my mother lives at the old studio, or here now. You’d have the house to yourself, with two bodyguards to protect you.”

  “It’s nice of you to offer.” But he could sense that she wasn’t going to take him up on it. She wanted to be independent.

  “Do you have a number where I can call you?” he asked cautiously. “Just in case.” She hadn’t offered, and he didn’t want to leave without knowing where she lived or how to reach her. She jotted it down on a piece of paper and handed it to him solemnly.

  “You’re the only person who has that number.”

  “I’ll text you if I come to Paris. I hope you come to my show.” It was four months away, and he hoped he’d see her before that, but he wasn’t sure he would. “And remember the offer to stay at the house anytime you want. You can use it as an escape.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and followed him out of the restaurant after he paid. He hailed a cab to take him to the airport, and she ran toward the subway, and he waved at her as they drove past. He laid his head back against the seat in the taxi, reeling again with the sight and sound of her. He couldn’t believe it. He was falling in love with her all over again. And this time it was worse. She was real. And just as unattainable as before, only differently. She had vowed never to let anyone clip her wings again. She was always somewhere out of reach. Before, she’d been a prisoner and belonged to someone else. Now she was free. But either way, she wasn’t his.

  Chapter 17

  Theo attacked his work with renewed energy after he’d been to Paris. He was excited about his upcoming show, and wanted to finish a fresh body of work for it. And seeing her had fueled him too. She was still the same, so magical and ethereal and bewitching, and yet she had a real life now, or wanted one, and was trying to forge one for herself. He didn’t use the number she had given him. If she wanted to talk to him, she’d call, he told himself. But she didn’t. He didn’t hear a word from her all through November.

  Marc dropped by from time to time, to take a break from his own work. He had taken on a big commission for a local museum, and he was doing well. He promised to come to Paris this time for Theo’s show.

  And Theo’s mother was in Paris. They were having fun and enjoying the city. She kept saying she’d be home soon, but they were making up for lost time, and even making noises about getting married in the spring, which their children thought was sweet.

  At the end of November there was a terrible cold spell in the South, with frost on the ground every morning, and a light snow on the last day of the month. He would have thought it was pretty, but there was no heat in his studio, and his hands were always freezing, which made it hard to paint.

  He was coming back from checking the deserted restaurant on his bicycle just after dusk, when he turned into his driveway and saw her, just standing there, with snow on her hair, freezing too. He knew she couldn’t have been waiting long, since he had left half an hour before. And she had a car in the driveway, but she had been standing in the falling snow, and smiled when she saw him. He got off his bike and walked it to the front door where she stood. He didn’t want to ask why she had come, but she saw the question in his eyes. She was wearing heavy boots and a warm coat.

  “I came to ask you if you meant it,” she said softly.

  “Meant what?” He was almost holding his breath, afraid to frighten her away, like a bird about to take flight, perched on his finger.

  “That I could stay at the restaurant for
a little while.”

  “Of course.” He couldn’t believe his good fortune. It had been six weeks since he’d seen her in Paris and hadn’t heard a word since, and now here she was. She had suddenly appeared.

  “I finished my class at the Louvre. I want to look for a job.” But she was scared, and didn’t want to say it. She felt like she had nothing to sell and no experience. Who was going to hire her at her age, never having worked anywhere except a factory eight years before? And what would she say? “I should have called before I came,” she said, looking apologetic. “I could stay at a hotel.”

  “We’ve got six empty rooms.” He wanted to tell her that she could stay with him too, but he didn’t dare. She had to get there on her own. “I’ll take you over now if you want. There’s no food, but we can get something to eat after you drop off your bag. Can I ride with you?” She smiled, and they got in the car she had rented. She had driven down from Paris to clear her head. It had taken ten hours, but she liked the drive. And they were at the deserted restaurant a few minutes later. He opened the door with his keys and turned off the alarm, and then he turned the heat on for her. The house was cold, and the two security guards were posted outside. They greeted him pleasantly when he walked in, and he told them Natasha would be staying there.

  He turned the lights on in the living room, and she wandered past the paintings she had seen before. They were more beautiful than she remembered. And it felt odd being there with him. She had been with Vladimir before, even if Theo had been there too. And then she laughed as she stopped in front of one of the paintings and looked at him.

  “I should be wearing one of those ‘Not for Sale’ signs now.”

  “Then someone might steal you,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t want that to happen.”

  “Neither would I.” Her eyes looked huge in her face.

  He took her bag upstairs then and let her pick the bedroom she liked best, and he turned the heat on upstairs so it would be warm when they got back. And she smiled as she followed him downstairs, and they went back to her car, and went to a local place that served socca, which she had never had before. And they talked over dinner, remembering the past and savoring the present.