They made love again that afternoon, and changed the sheets on the four-poster for Marya. They had done their dishes, and Francesca left her a note on the kitchen table. “Thank you for the most beautiful weekend of my life.” Chris looked at it and crossed out the last two words and wrote “our lives.” She smiled and kissed him.
“Thank you too,” she said to him, and he carried their bags out to his car.
They turned on the alarm and locked the door. They drove away just as the sun was setting, and Francesca leaned over and kissed him, and he smiled. “I love you, Chris.”
“I love you too, Francesca.” He reached over and touched her cheek, and they drove in silence for a while. There was so much to think about, and remember. Everything felt exactly the way things were meant to be. Neither of them had ever felt that way before.
Chapter 19
FOR THE NEXT few weeks, all Francesca and Chris could think about was the wonderful weekend they had had in Vermont. Marya was thrilled that they had used the house and said they could go there anytime they liked.
They had been planning to behave until they could go away again, but by the next day they realized how impossible that was for both of them. They waited for Ian to fall asleep, and then Chris sneaked upstairs to be with her. They locked her door and made love as passionately as they had in Vermont. And afterward he went back downstairs to Ian.
Chris complained about it one night when he had to leave her. He hated to get out of bed, and go back downstairs and spend the night without her. But they had no other choice.
“You can’t just move up here and leave him down there,” she said sensibly. “Then he’d resent us.”
“I know. I just miss you when I’m downstairs. You’re too far away.” She loved that he felt that way, and she did too.
They overslept one morning, and Ian nearly caught them. She called Marya on her cell phone and asked her to lure him down to the kitchen. A few minutes later Chris walked in with the newspaper under his arm, and claimed he’d been picking it up outside. Ian never suspected that he’d been upstairs in bed with Francesca, and without Marya’s help, they would have been trapped.
Sometimes after they made love, they took a bath together in her huge tub and just talked. Most of the time, afterward, they wound up back in bed. They were golden days. It was a November they both knew they would never forget. And everyone in the house was excited about Thanksgiving.
Thalia had announced to Francesca that she was going to spend it with friends in San Francisco. There was a man they wanted her to meet there who had a big yacht. And her father and Avery were going to Sun Valley to spend the holiday with old friends. Chris’s family was gathering in Martha’s Vineyard for the holiday, as they always did, but he wanted to stay in New York with her this year. Charles-Edouard and Marya offered to cook a traditional turkey dinner, and Chris and Francesca accepted with glee. Francesca had nowhere to go, and Chris didn’t want to go home. He wanted to have Thanksgiving with Francesca and Ian, at home. The house on Charles Street was their home now.
The meal Charles-Edouard and Marya prepared for them was a feast. There was every possible kind of vegetable and trimming, a turkey that looked like a photograph in a magazine, and some touches that were purely French. Others were traditional, cranberries, and chestnut purée, mashed potatoes, biscuits, peas, carrots, spinach, asparagus with Marya’s fabulous hollandaise. It was easily the best Thanksgiving the Americans in the group had ever had. They could hardly move when they left the table, and Charles-Edouard and Chris stood in the garden, smoking their cigars and drinking Château d’Yquem, their favorite sauterne. Charles-Edouard had definitely introduced them to some of the finer things in life. Chris loved his Cuban cigars but never smoked them in the house, and only one after a great meal, like now.
Marya and Francesca cleaned up in the kitchen, and Ian fell asleep on the bed in Marya’s room, watching TV. Chris introduced Charles-Edouard to American football, and they were a cozy group. They weren’t four strangers as they had been in the beginning. They were two couples now and a child. They were a solid unit of people who loved each other. For Francesca, it was a Thanksgiving where blessings were easy to count. In spite of the tragedy with Eileen at the end of the summer, it had been a good year.
And Francesca wasn’t prepared for the announcement Marya and Charles-Edouard made after the game was over. Marya looked at him with a hesitant expression, and he nodded.
“We’re going back to France,” she said with tears in her eyes.
“For Christmas?” Francesca asked her. It sounded like fun to her, but Marya shook her head.
“For six months, maybe longer. A year. Charles-Edouard has some business to do. He wants to close his restaurant, and find something else. He needs to tie up the details on the property settlement with his wife. And we need to spend some more time in Provence to finish the book. We just rented a house there. I hope you come and visit us,” she said, looking from Francesca to Chris, with tears brimming in her eyes. She didn’t want to leave. But she was half of a couple now, and she didn’t want to be here without him either. There were worse fates than spending a year in France, or even moving there, which they were discussing too.
Francesca looked shocked and very sad. “Are you selling the house in Vermont too?” Marya shook her head.
“I couldn’t. You can use it anytime you want. Charles-Edouard promised that we can spend a month there next summer. I don’t think we’ll be back before then.” His life was really in France, he had spent the past four months in the States for Marya, but he needed to get back. He had a lot to do there, and a business to run or sell. It was running off the rails in his absence. He had to go back and make some decisions.
Francesca couldn’t imagine the house without her now, nor could Chris. And he knew Ian would be sad too. She was like a grandmother to him, and much nicer and more present on a daily basis than the ones he had. He was the grandchild she would never have, especially since Charles-Edouard had no children either.
“I want you two to promise that you’ll come over to see us, whenever you want. We’re family now,” she said, hugging both of them. They felt that way too.
They went up to Francesca’s living room then to talk about their plans. Chris put Ian to sleep in his own bed, and the child had never stirred as he carried him upstairs. And then he came down and lit a fire.
Francesca asked them if they were getting married, and Marya smiled. “Not yet. But Charles-Edouard has been very well behaved! I’m impressed.” And so were they. He was still totally French in all the best ways, but his roving eye seemed to have been checked. He only had eyes for Marya. She trusted him completely, and he assured her she was right to do so. He had never said that to his wife. He was an honest man, even if he hadn’t been a faithful one until now. He had always admitted to his affairs when asked. He didn’t lie to Arielle, nor would he to Marya.
Marya said they had only decided to go back to France in the past few weeks. And it had been a hard decision for her. But it made sense and felt right to both of them, and was a whole new life for her, and for them.
“When are you leaving?” Francesca asked with bated breath.
“In a month. Charles-Edouard wants to be back in Paris for Christmas. We’ll probably leave on the twenty-third of December.” Francesca knew it would mean their giving up their room on Charles Street. They didn’t need a room in New York if they were living in Paris. They could stay with her whenever they came back, but there was no reason for them to pay rent in New York. It was going to be a financial challenge for Francesca, but this time she didn’t think about selling the house. She and Chris and Ian were happy there. She’d have to find a way to make it work. But she didn’t want to take in roommates again. There would never be another Marya. And she didn’t want to risk another Eileen. It had been too traumatic.
“I hope you stay here when you come to New York,” Francesca said sadly, and Marya hugged her.
�
�We will. And you’ll have a home with us in Paris. You can send Ian over to visit anytime,” she said to Chris. “It would be wonderful for us and exciting for him.”
“Do you think you’ll ever live in the States again if you two get married?” Francesca asked her.
“We don’t know. It depends what Charles-Edouard does when he reshuffles his business.” He had to make some adjustments after giving half of what he had to his ex-wife, which seemed fair to him. Divorce was expensive. He never complained about it, even to Marya.
Their announcement was a big change, and bittersweet for all of them. They were losing beloved friends, or at least on a daily basis. And Charles-Edouard was part of their family unit now too.
Ian cried when they told him about it the next morning, and Francesca felt that way too. She’d been depressed since Marya announced it. And Ian didn’t want them to leave. Marya told him he could come to visit in Paris and see the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe and ride on the Bateaux Mouches on the Seine.
“But I don’t speak French,” he said mournfully.
“Lots of people in Paris speak English,” she reassured him, “and Charles-Edouard and I will help you. We’ll take care of you, and I want your dad and Francesca to come too.” He nodded, but he wasn’t convinced. It was too far away. Ian loved them both, and they loved him.
And on Sunday Chris found Francesca poring over the bills in her office. It reminded her of the days when she was trying to save her house and her business, and afraid she could do neither. Marya leaving was going to make things very tight. She was struggling with the numbers again, and they didn’t look good. She had never rented Eileen’s room again and she didn’t intend to. The top floor had been closed since August, and Francesca wanted to leave it that way. The memories in that room were too awful, and she didn’t want anyone up there, out of respect for Eileen. The rooms were clean and empty and kept locked. She hadn’t been up there herself since the murder. And Brad still hadn’t gone to trial and probably wouldn’t for many months. The police had stayed in touch with her. She had often thought of calling Eileen’s mother, but she never had. She had the feeling they wouldn’t welcome her call. She was planning on sending them a note over Christmas, and had written a heartfelt condolence letter when Eileen died, saying what a wonderful girl she was. They had never responded. Maybe they just didn’t know what to say or how to do it.
Chris saw her worried expression as Francesca went over the bills.
“Bad news?”
“Sort of. I don’t know why, but we had a bad month at the gallery in November. We hardly sold anything. October was great, and September was pretty good. Every time I think we’re getting solid, something slips. I don’t have a lot of cushion from it, and I’m still paying that damn plumber bill from the big leak.” Two thousand dollars was a lot at one gulp for her. The plumber had allowed her to do it in two payments, which helped, but she still had to pay it. “It’s kind of a blow that Marya’s leaving, in more ways than one,” she said sadly. “I’m going to miss her so much.” She was both surrogate mother and friend to her now, and good at both. Francesca loved chatting with her every day. They all did. “And I don’t want to rent Eileen’s room again. I just can’t. And no one would want it anyway. What happened there is too heavy for anyone to want to live in that room. And I don’t want to take strangers in again. It’s too risky.” In the end, she had decided that her mother was right for once, although she’d been lucky. But it seemed too high-risk now, and too intrusive.
“You did okay with me,” he teased her, and she smiled. She was so happy with him.
“Yes, I did.” But now she was losing two-thirds of her income from the house, with no Marya and no Eileen. That was a big chunk to her, and made things very difficult for her again. Marya’s lease had been about to end anyway. And so was his.
“How did you manage when Todd was here?” he asked, curious about it. He had never asked her that before.
“We each paid half of the mortgage payment. It was tight, but I managed, and it worked. I can’t carry it alone.”
“What if I split it with you, and we don’t rent to anyone, and just live here like a family, the three of us.”
“That would work,” she said thoughtfully, “but I don’t think that’s fair to you. You only live in two rooms.” He laughed when she said it.
“I was thinking I could move upstairs with you, if you like that idea. And Ian can stay in my room. I can even pay two-thirds if you like, since there are two of us, and only one of you.” He was being generous and fair, and he wanted to make things easier for her. He could afford to. He lived simply and there was nothing showy about him. His graphic design business did well, and she suspected he had family money, given who his family was. He was a modest person, but he didn’t have to struggle as she did. For her, everything was tight, and she didn’t want to sell the last of her father’s paintings if she didn’t have to. She was still sad she had sold the others.
“I think we should split it fifty-fifty, if you want to,” Francesca said cautiously, grateful for his help. “We could turn your whole suite into Ian’s room, with a playroom, use the living room downstairs, sleep in my room, and we could turn Marya’s room into a den or an office for you. It would make a nice office.” It was sunny and bright with a view of the garden. “You can smoke Cuban cigars there,” she teased him. But it all made sense and would work.
“I like that idea. I don’t want you taking tenants in again either,” Chris said simply. “I think it’s too risky too.” And at least the house was hers now. If Chris ever left, and they broke up, she could think about roommates again, but if he paid half, for now she wouldn’t have to.
“That would work,” Francesca said again, gratefully. “I was getting worried.” He could see that she was, and he was sorry it was so difficult for her. He had suspected that Marya leaving would put an additional burden on her, and didn’t realize how heavy. Francesca lived with very little to spare. And Chris wanted to help her. He would be by splitting the mortgage payment with her, although it doubled his rent, but he’d have use of the whole house now. And they were going to be living there like a couple with a child, not just four roommates. “I’ve got some other ideas about how to make things easier for you,” he said simply. “Maybe we can talk about that another time.” She nodded, wondering what they were. But for now he had solved her problem, and she was deeply grateful.
Marya asked her if she was going to be okay, when they cooked dinner together that night. “I feel terrible leaving you in the lurch on such short notice, but Charles-Edouard kind of sprang it on me a few weeks ago, and I didn’t agree to it till last week. Will you be all right here?”
“I will now,” Francesca said, looking relieved. “Chris is going to help me.”
“I was hoping he would. What are your plans now, the two of you?”
“No plans for the moment.” Francesca smiled at her. “We’re just going to live here and hope for the best and see how it works out.” Marya hoped they would get married eventually, and Francesca was hoping the same for her. Charles-Edouard wanted to marry her as soon as his divorce came through. The dissolution papers were going to court in a few weeks, to be stamped by the judge, and then he’d be free. But Marya was in no hurry. Nor was Francesca. She’d been avoiding marriage all her life, and didn’t want to change her mind about it now, no matter how much she loved Chris, and she did. “I don’t want to be like my mother.” She had said that to Marya before, and to Chris.
“You couldn’t be in a million years,” Marya reassured her. “She’s a completely different woman than you are. I like her, but you’re just not playing in the same league she is.” Marya saw Thalia for what she was, a frivolous, spoiled, selfish, superficial woman, even if she was amusing, and a bit of a caricature of herself. But Marya respected Francesca profoundly, and loved her, like a daughter or a niece. “Even if you got married ten times, you wouldn’t be anything like her.”
“I’d rather not risk it. I wonder if she’ll ever find another victim. She’s been shopping for number six for years. You’d think she’d get tired of it and forget it, but she never will. She’ll want to get married again when she’s ninety.” They both laughed and suspected it was true.
She and Chris talked about their plans for the house that night. She was wondering when they should tell Ian.
“Do you think he’ll be upset if you move upstairs with me?” She looked worried, and Chris kissed her.
“Stop worrying. He’ll be thrilled to have his own playroom. I’m going to get him a big TV so he can watch movies. And we’ll just be up one flight of stairs.” They were both excited about finally sharing a bedroom. It was becoming a real life, not just a romance.
They had a lot to think about and to talk about, and Francesca reminded him that the following weekend they were going to Miami for Art Basel. It was one of the finest art fairs in the world, second only to the one held in Basel, Switzerland, in June. And there were a dozen other smaller art fairs being held in Miami that weekend too. Francesca could hardly wait, and Chris was coming with her. She was still shaken by Marya moving to Paris, and especially so soon, but they had a lot to look forward to, and their life together was just beginning.
He wanted her to come to Boston to be with his family for Christmas. Francesca had said she would, and Ian wanted her to, but the thought of it scared her to death. What if they hated her or thought she wasn’t good enough for him? She was just a little art dealer in the West Village, and the daughter of a famous artist. His family was chock full of important people.
“They’re going to love you. I promise,” Chris reassured her. She decided to postpone worrying about it till after Miami. Between Marya leaving, switching the house around when she left, Christmas with his family, and the art fair in Miami in less than a week, December was going to be busy.
44 Charles Street Page 21
