“He can’t be. I don’t know who told you such a thing, but they’re mistaken. There are many Beaumont’s in Paris, in France. I thought you were my friends. What were you doing? Sneaking around asking questions? Embarrassing Maxime?”
“There’s no mistake,” Nicole whispered.
Gilly’s face contorted in pain, she searched for something in the eyes of roommates to confirm what they were saying was a lie told to them by some jealous woman. A joke. A horrible joke. But she saw nothing in Nicole’s or Sheridan’s facial expression denying their words.
Gilly jumped up, ran out to the sidewalk, ran down the street, arms wrapped around her body. She stopped abruptly, Sheridan and Nicole running up alongside of her. Gilly’s face was calm but her breathing was labored. She pulled her spine straight as she whirled to her friends. “He must be separated. There’s no ring on his finger. He must be going through a divorce. A nasty divorce. You must have seen it in the newspaper. The gossip columns.” She said the words through tight lips. “He didn’t tell me because he’s trying to shield me from what must be an awful time in his life.”
There. That was it. That was the explanation. Of course, he didn’t tell me. Gilly looked with narrowed eyes at the street lamp’s sharp shadows.
“I have to unpack. Tomorrow is going to be a hectic day. The buyer told me she wanted my help in describing the details of the swatches she brought back.”
Gilly turned and clipped along back to the apartment. At the front door, she paused. “I know you meant well. But there has to be an explanation. I know Maxime cares about me. When I have dinner with him on Friday I’ll ask him. He’ll clear up the misunderstanding. You’ll see.”
Chapter 14
───
GILLY INHALED A CONTROLLED, deep, breath slowly putting one foot in front of the other as she entered the familiar dimly lit restaurant. The musician sat at the piano playing a mournful love song, looked at her in recognition and smiled. She spotted Maxime sitting at a corner table in the back. Their table. Seeing her he stood and extended his hand magnetically pulling her to him.
Heads turned as the beautiful redhead in a black slender dress, her black strappy heels clicking on the tile floor, walked to the handsome man waiting for her. He kissed her as he helped her into her seat. What those who followed her entrance didn’t see was that she turned her head slightly so his kiss was placed on her cheek and not her lips.
“I ordered champagne. I hope that’s all right with you?” Maxime asked a hint of puzzlement in his eyes.
“Yes, fine.”
“I’ve missed you, Gillianne. Only a few days … forever.” Maxime raised her hand to his lips but she pulled away. “What’s wrong, my little bird? Your face is full of sadness.”
“You’re married?”
The piano music eddied through the intimate restaurant, each table cloaked in candlelight. A small number of tables remained in solitary, quietly waiting for patrons to bring them life.
The waiter poured the champagne.
Maxime quickly ordered their dinner.
The waiter left.
“Yes, I’m married,” Maxime said slowly watching her expression. After a pause he continued. “We live apart. Most of the time.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Afraid you wouldn’t share a drink with me. Then afraid you wouldn’t share dinner with me. That I wouldn’t hear the gaiety in your voice as you talked about your world of fashion. A world that brings passion to your voice. Then I wanted to bring that same passion to me.”
Gilly’s eyes misted, a single tear bridged the edge of her eye and dissolved on her cheek.
“Would you have seen me?” Maxime asked, dabbing her cheek gently with the soft white silk of his handkerchief.
“No.”
“I thought not. I wanted you to know me before I told you. I was going to tell you while we were in Milan, but I didn’t want to spoil our time together, our precious time alone. So I thought when we returned to Paris. Tonight. Can you understand? Can you forgive me for waiting, for wanting you?”
“I want to … but … I don’t know … I …”
“Please, think about Milan … Monaco. Think about us. Sip your champagne and think about us. Give us a little time. Then if you must, you will return to Seattle … and that will be the end … if that is what you wish. Can you do that?”
“Yes, I can do that.”
Chapter 15
───
THE END OF JULY AND Paris was experiencing a heat wave. It was Saturday afternoon and Parisians as well as tourists strolled along the banks of the Seine, marveling at the beauty of the river that flowed through the city. Gilly sat alone on a bench under a shade tree staring at the sparkling water of the river as it rippled by. Dressed in white shorts and shirt, knotted at the waist, she felt a slight breeze cooling her skin.
A few gazed at the pretty redhead as they passed but none made eye contact. Gilly pulled her knees to her chest resting her bare feet on the bench, jeweled sandals laid on the grass beside her.
The Friday-night dinners with Maxime were becoming more and more strained since he admitted to her that he was married. She hadn’t quizzed him further—waiting for him to tell her he was free, or soon would be. Five weeks had passed. He’d said nothing. She wondered about his family. Once, he had volunteered there were no children involved but what about his parents? Now that she thought about it, until she asked him if he was married, he’d never mentioned anything about his family, or friends for that matter. All he’d said was that he was a lawyer in a firm founded by his grandfather and that was when she first met him. Was he just concerned about a scandal or was he ashamed of her?
A couple strolled by—his arm around her shoulders, her arms around his waist. They paused. Kissed. Lovers.
Gilly looked away, reached into her pocket for her cell.
“Maria, hi. It’s Gilly.”
“Well, it’s about time you called, girlfriend. I miss you. How’s everything in Paris? Learning a lot?”
“Yes. How are you, Hawk, the casino?”
“Wow. Let’s see. Hawk passed his bar exam with flying colors. Now he’s up to his eyeballs negotiating with the gaming commission on plans to expand the casino and resort. I’m fine. No, I’m better than fine. Oh, Gilly, I miss our chats. I think Hawk is going to pop the question. You know the big one?”
“That’s wonderful, Maria.”
“You don’t sound good. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Just tired.” Gilly felt a tightness grip her chest. “No, it’s more than that, Maria. I feel like I’ve lost my way.”
“Hey, maybe it’s time to come home.”
“That’s just it. I’ve been thinking of staying in Paris, but I’m torn … not sure. I’ll be finished in another three months with the internships that my employment agent arranged. I’ve been offered a position in one of the companies—contributing to their designs. Then there’s the modeling. I make good money, but that’s not what I want to do. I don’t like the model’s life, and I don’t want to design for someone else. Will you do me a favor?”
“Name it. You know I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Do you remember that loft? The one in the city?”
“The one you and I discussed about renting? You were going to use your savings—rent the space and start your line. That dream?”
“Yes, that one.” Gilly leaned over, picked a blade of grass and looked out at a sightseeing boat slowly making its way down the river. Passengers out on the decks taking pictures of the buildings, statues, and other points of interest the guide was pointing out.
“I remember it was a nice spot. We thought it would be central to meeting the buyers who were going to beat down our doors for your designs.” Maria giggled. “I hope you’re still thinking of starting your own label. Of course you could always set up shop in your grandfather’s guesthouse, Hansvill
e. You’d be closer to me—I sure would like that.”
“Maria, I’ve been dating.”
“Oh oh. Does Skip know?”
“He may. He stopped by my apartment when I was out of town. He was on his way back from Monaco, through Paris. I didn’t know he was in the area.”
“Oh, Gilly, Skip had a big story in the Times. Ran exclusively under his byline … it read like a novel. And now that you mention it, they did catch the woman in Monaco. I didn’t put Monaco and Paris together. If he knows you’re dating then that may be why he looks so miserable.”
“Why do you say that? Did you see him?”
“Yes. Hawk and I stopped for a drink, you know our favorite watering hole on the waterfront … while we waited for the ferry. He was sitting at the bar and we asked him to join us. He asked about you and, when I said I hadn’t heard from you lately, he made a comment like, ‘maybe neither one of us will ever see her again.’ Hawk and I talked about him. It wasn’t like Skip. He’s always been so intense, eager, loving what he was doing … loving life. Have you spoken to him?”
“Once. I called to tell him I was sure I saw the woman who disappeared, Mrs. Wellington, in one of the fitting rooms where I was modeling. He told my roommates that my tip had enabled the police to find and arrest her.”
“Maybe your roommates told him about your dating. Are the Frenchmen as romantic as they say?”
“I’m afraid so,” Gilly whispered.
“Gilly, I can’t hear you. I don’t like the way you sound.”
“I’m fine, really. You have my cell. Let me know about that rental, and, Maria…”
“Yes.”
“I miss you, too.”
“Gilly, talk to me. What’s the matter?”
“I will … not now. It’s complicated.”
Chapter 16
───
Seattle
HOT AND HUMID AND very sticky—typical Seattle weather for the beginning of August except today there was no rain in sight. Men walked in and out of office buildings with their jackets hung on a finger over their shoulder, visible rings of perspiration staining their shirts. Women wore sundresses, a jacket always handy on an office wall peg when they returned to their frigid air-conditioned offices.
Skip, sweat staining his blue short-sleeved shirt, tie askew, sat at his desk oblivious to the heat. The AC in the newsroom was on the fritz and only coughed up an occasional hunk of cool air. Maintenance promised to have the dreaded unit fixed by the end of the day. So the reporters had to suck it up and tough it out.
Skip let out a sigh. Another miserable Friday. Another miserable weekend. He sat tapping his pen on the blank yellow pad lying in front of him.
“Hey, Skipper, ready to go for our TGIF beer?”
Our TGIF beer. Where the hell did she come up with that? Twice, maybe three times, didn’t equate to our in his mind. He turned on the little wheels of his squeaky chair to face her.
Diane. No, the beautiful Diane stood in the opening to his cubicle. Any other male in the newsroom would have killed to hear her say those words. Her face was flushed, eager to get him away from prying eyes. She was wearing a dress. A low cut black-halter dress with tiny pearl buttons all the way down the front, and a sweater draped over her shoulders.
Friday. Their routine, according to Diane, Friday-after-work-beer had just seemed to happen. Come on, stupid. Get your ass in gear and join the lady. She wants to be with you so snap out of it. No red hair? Who cares? He grabbed his blazer, straightened his tie, and pasted a smile on his face.
“You bet I’m ready. And, Miss Diane, if you’re a good girl and agree to my offer, after the beer we’ll grab some takeout and have dinner at my place. Sound okay?”
“Oooh, moving right along aren’t we. How about we skip the beer thingy, pick up a bottle of wine and whatever, and go straight to your house?”
“Fine with me. Chinese okay?”
“You bet.”
“And, my wine rack is ready to be plucked so one stop at Kung Fu Charlie’s will provide everything else. Want to come with me or follow in your car?”
“Tonight I’ll follow.” She gave him a wink as he slapped a piece of paper into the palm of her outstretched hand with directions to his apartment just in case they got separated in traffic. No way in hell will we get separated tonight, she thought.
Thirty minutes later they were laughing over goblets of red wine as they sat on the floor leaning back against his couch eating egg foo yung, pork fried rice, and steamed broccoli with cashews. Dinner was casual, easy conversation swapping newsroom gossip and stories of other reporter’s screw-ups.
Agatha pushed her bulky body between them and into his face as he was about to open his fortune cookie. Her leash was hanging out of both sides of her jaw.
“Knock it off, Aggie.”
“Oh, does someone with four large paws planted in four different directions and wagging a stubby tail want to go out?” Diane said laughing.
“Looks like it.” Skip pulled Diane to her feet and she took a chance inviting his lips to hers as she leaned again his chest. He looked into her very warm brown eyes and accepted the invitation. It felt nice, and he lingered on her plump pink lips. He pulled back slowly, Aggie whining at his feet. “I think Miss Agatha wants to go for that walk now.”
The night air hadn’t cooled a bit, nor had the result of their embrace. Returning to the apartment Agatha fell fast asleep on her pillow and Skip slid a Neil Diamond CD in the player.
Shoes kicked off, Skip’s blazer and tie cast aside on the chair, and sitting side-by-side on the black leather couch with another glass of wine, they chatted about her world as editor of the women’s society pages. With the last drop of wine, Diane picked up their empty plates on the coffee table and Skip dumped the barren cartons into the garbage.
Returning from the kitchen, Diane brushed against him. “This is nice Skip. I’d never thought of having an apartment in the city—too noisy and too close to work. But at night the lights seem to have a calming effect and with the music you don’t hear the street sounds.”
Putting his hand on her shoulder he turned her to him, kissed her firmly, then held her close. She couldn’t see that his eyes were closed but she could feel his heart race.
Pulling back she skimmed her fingers over the fuzz on his head pulling him to her open mouth. “Kiss me again, Skipper. That was good.”
He pulled her down on the couch, his hands skimming her curves, his lips kissing her face, her neck. She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her dress and he moaned as his lips wandered down from her neck to her breast. “So long. Way too long.”
Her blood was rushing. Pulse rapid. “Why, Skipper, I didn’t know you felt that way. I—
Skip opened his eyes, looked at her flushed face … waiting … wanting him.
Carefully he slid her to the floor so he could sit up.
“I’m sorry, Diane. This was a mistake. I didn’t mean to—
“Mean to? I hoped you would. Unless you don’t want to—
Skip stood, rubbed his hands over his head, started pacing. What the hell is the matter with you. It’s Friday and this beautiful woman wants you to make love to her. And you put on the brakes just because she doesn’t have green eyes? “God, what am I doing?”
“Well, I’m not sure what you’re doing,” Diane said, standing while buttoning her dress. “You’re either very tired, a monk, or thinking about an old girlfriend. Either way, I think it best if I go.”
“I’m sorry, Diane.”
“Don’t be sorry, I just hope you figure out what you want.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Thank you.”
Skip snapped on Agatha’s leash and he walked Diane and his dog to the elevator. Neither said another word. She triggered the locks on her car, slid in and opened the window.
“If you decide you want to see me, ME, let me know,” she said with a little smile and drove off leaving the man standing on th
e curb with his dog.
Chapter 17
───
THIRTY-YEAR-OLD EDWARD Churchill limped slowly around his Seattle hotel room. The wrecking crew passed the hotel by during the years of the city’s revitalization leading up to the 1962 World’s Fair. The year the Space Needle was opened for business.
A sharp pain in Edward’s foot forced him to flop down on the musty bedspread. Even though Edward’s mother continued to fund his bank account, the fleabag hotel was all Edward felt he could afford.
He had to save his money for his yet undetermined revenge against Gillianne Wilder. So what if he had grabbed her by the throat. He fled to Mexico after his encounter with the redhead because she sicced the law on him. It was there he spent the last year undergoing three botched operations to fuse his ankle, leaving him in pain—sometimes terrible, other times bearable, depending on the vagaries of the weather. The pain was a constant reminder of how much he hated the woman. The police tired of searching for him, or so he was told by his grandmother, so he returned to the States. He traveled straight to Seattle to settle his score with the bitch.
Edward had been a designer at a prestigious fashion house in New York City where, because of Ms. Wilder, he lost his job. Fired. No one would hire him after that. No one believed in him after that except his mother and his grandmother. He had them both fooled, but not his Wall Street, stock-market-genius father.
His grandmother, Helen Churchill, from the hick town Port Gamble, near another hick town, Hansville, had asked Ms. Wilder to design a gown for her to wear to a posh wedding to be held in New York. Because of his grandmother he came to Washington to meet the designer from the sticks. He saw her all right. Visited her and took pictures of her sketches while she fixed him coffee, designs he later incorporated into his designs for a marketing catalog printed by his company. He didn’t see any harm in copying her designs. She was a nobody, her work barely passable. Gilly accused him of stealing her designs. He preferred to think of it as borrowing ideas and making them better.
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