“He’s one man, Isabelle,” Putnam said sensibly. “We can all make mistakes.” She had been young and trusting and wanted to believe him. “Sociopaths are ingenious people. I’m sure he was good at what he did. Wiser people than you and I have been fooled. You have to put it behind you and go on now.” And then he thought of something else. “What are you going to tell Xela about who her father was?”
“I’m not sure,” she said thoughtfully. “What can I say? That he was a criminal and went to prison?” It seemed a hard blow for a child. “I’ll probably have to wait until she grows up to say anything.” He entered a guilty plea while they were in Normandy, and there was no publicity. The press had lost interest in him. He was just another criminal going to prison. Putnam was able to find out that he was sentenced to ten years in federal prison instead of twenty. She never heard from him again and never wanted to. The waters closed over him, as though their marriage had never existed, and she was left with her regrets at having met and fallen in love with him.
In time, Xela seemed unrelated to him. She and Theo were both Isabelle’s daughters, however different they were. She concentrated on both of them. Xela was always jealous of her older sister, and Theo was patient with her. When Xela got too rambunctious, Theo would retreat to her room to read a book, just as Putnam would have. Isabelle could only hope that Collin’s genes weren’t as strong in his daughter. Xela was a bright, enterprising child, always getting into mischief. Isabelle said she loved them both equally and silently wished that it were true.
Theo was easier to love with her quiet, serious ways. Xela was the cyclone in their midst every day. She particularly loved torturing her sister in every way she could, took her toys and dolls, tore out pages in her books. She wanted everything that Theo had, and what Theo wouldn’t give her, Xela took and hid somewhere in the room they shared. But as time went on, as the memory of Collin faded, Isabelle did come to love them both equally. After all, regardless of Collin, Xela was her daughter too.
Chapter Six
Until Theo was eight and Xela three, Isabelle concentrated only on her children, as she had done after Theo was born. She had no interest in dating, and couldn’t imagine trusting a man again. Her father had given up saying anything to her about it, and Putnam had tried to reason with her too, to no avail.
“You’re a young woman, Isabelle,” he insisted.
“Not as young as I used to be,” she said, sounding tired when she got to Normandy that summer with the girls. She was twenty-nine years old.
She was the senior consultant and salesperson at the gallery now, and working very hard. She still dreamed of being an independent art consultant, but needed the handsome salary they paid her. She was living in the same apartment, and saved money wherever she could. It always felt good to get to Normandy in the summer and relax. Theo and her father would disappear all day. He took her out in his sailboat in a life jacket, with Isabelle’s permission. But Xela was too young, and she was a hellion. Even at three, she hid in the bushes, loved to play hide-and-seek and climb trees. She kept her mother busy every day. And Theo loved having a break to spend time with her father, without having her sister tag along.
“Why can’t I go too?” Xela would complain to her mother.
“Because I’d be too lonely without you. You have to keep me company.” They visited the chickens and collected the eggs, watched the farmer at the château’s farm milk the cows, and Putnam led her around the riding ring on a pony he had bought for Theo, and Xela clamored loudly that she wanted one too. Putnam promised that in a few years he’d get her one, and Theo, as always, was patient about sharing her pony with her sister. She was long suffering and kind.
The month always flew by in the peaceful French countryside, and when they went back to New York, Isabelle felt restored. Both girls had had a wonderful visit with Putnam, and they talked about it for months. Xela wanted to take the pony home with them, but Putnam said the pony would be unhappy in New York and needed to stay there. Both girls were always sad when they left, and Putnam the saddest of all. He and their grandfather were the only male figures in their lives, and Isabelle assured Put that wasn’t going to change.
“You never know. You may meet someone who suits you perfectly one of these days. You don’t have to look for it, it will find you.”
“If it does, I’m locking the door and calling the police,” she said and he laughed. Collin had been in prison for more than two years by then, and she still shuddered at the memory. All she ever said about him was that getting involved had been a terrible mistake, and neither Putnam nor her father could disagree. She blamed herself for how gullible she’d been.
“When it’s right, it will just happen and it will be easy,” Putnam said philosophically, which was exactly how she met Declan Donahue. He came to the opening of an exhibition of Impressionists at the gallery with his law partner, Tom Kelly, a collector who had bought from them before. Declan didn’t appear to be in the market for any paintings, but enjoyed looking around and stopped to chat with Isabelle before they left. They talked for a few minutes, and he commented on how beautiful the paintings were, and managed not to say she was even more so. He thought she was the most graceful, charming woman he had ever seen, and he had enjoyed her even more than the art. His partner was considering three paintings, and hadn’t made a decision yet.
“It’s a lovely show,” Declan said, as they chatted, and she thanked him. He was tall and thin and athletic-looking. He talked about his recent trip to Paris, and she said she had gone to school there for a year, at the Sorbonne. The conversation was brief, casual, and easy, and then they left. By some odd coincidence, she ran into him when she bought groceries in her neighborhood the next day. She almost ran him down with her cart, and was startled when she looked up and saw him.
“Do you have a license for that thing?” he asked her, laughing. “You must have learned to drive in France. Do you live around here?” He was curious about her. Her cart was full of things that children would like, cereal, cookies, ice cream cones, pancake mix, none of it food that someone with her figure would indulge in.
“I live a block away,” she answered.
“I take it you have children,” he said, indicating the contents of the cart.
“Two girls, three and nine. You too?”
He pointed to the dog food in his. “A golden retriever named Harvey.” They stood in the checkout line together and chatted, and then went their separate ways.
She saw him again three weeks later, as they nearly collided when they both ran for a cab in the pouring rain, and he got there first. He was about to yield it to her when he saw who it was.
“That’s the second time you almost knocked me down,” he commented with a grin.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking contrite. They were both getting soaked in the autumn storm.
“I was about to give it to you. Why don’t we share? Where are you going?”
“Downtown, to meet a client about a painting.”
“I’ll drop you off. I’m going to the Village.” She gave him the address, and they talked easily in the traffic on the way downtown, and then he dropped her off. He called her at the gallery the next day and invited her to dinner and she gracefully declined saying she was busy. Her tone was cool and light, she didn’t want to encourage him, or have him ask her a second time.
He switched the invitation to lunch the following week, and she turned him down again. He had his law partner check to see if she was married, and he reported back that she wasn’t. He tried four more times and got nowhere, and finally asked her bluntly.
“Is it me, or do you have a boyfriend? I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
“I don’t date,” she said simply on the phone.
“Ever?” He sounded shocked. She was gorgeous.
“Not recently, or not for the last three years, closer to four
actually.”
“Can I ask why not? Are you planning to enter a religious order?”
She laughed at the question. “No. Shit judgment. I lost my dating privileges and decided not to renew them.”
“That sounds much too intriguing to just let it slip by. Have lunch with me once at least, and tell me about it.” He suspected a bad divorce since she had two children, but she was amazingly firm with her refusals.
“It’s not a very interesting story, and talking about it might give me indigestion.”
“Then have lunch with me anyway. That’s not a date. It’s just eating. Nothing big ever happens over lunch. Lunch is for mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, and old school friends.” She smiled at what he said and finally weakened.
“Okay. Once. After that we meet in the supermarket, where I try to run you down.”
“You sound dangerous.”
“I’m not,” she assured him. She met him on a Saturday at a deli halfway between their apartments and shared a humongous turkey sandwich with him.
“Okay, so tell me the horror story that led you to give up dating.”
“One isn’t a horror story, just an error of judgment. The other is more unpleasant. Which do you want first?” He was easy to talk to, and she liked him. He seemed like he’d make a nice friend.
“The nice one.”
“I fell in love with a recluse, an American living in France, when I was twenty. He’s a wonderful person, and we’re best friends to this day. My children and I spend a month with him in Normandy every summer.”
“Where’s the problem there?” He looked puzzled.
“I got pregnant by mistake and had the baby. We never married. He’s a terrific father, one month a year.”
“Ah. Okay. I can see that might be a problem, but at least he sounds like a nice guy.”
“He is. A great guy. And I love him dearly.”
“Are you still in love with him?”
“No, I’m not,” she said simply, although it had taken a long time.
“And the bad story?”
“A super handsome guy, a total charmer, a sociopath, in retrospect. I fell for all his bullshit, hook, line, and sinker, all lies I discovered later. We got married nine months after I met him, I got pregnant on our wedding night. Fast-forward to when I’m six months pregnant. He gets indicted for money laundering and tax evasion, and goes to prison for ten years. He’s still there. Totally shit judgment on my part to have married him in the first place. I filed for divorce three weeks after he got arrested. I had the baby two months later. He relinquished his parental rights by his own choice. End of story. I figured I should retire after that one.”
“Why?” He looked unimpressed. “Granted, being married to a guy in prison for ten years doesn’t sound like a lot of fun, but you got out of it, pretty fast it sounds like. And you got two great kids out of it. Doesn’t sound like a horror story to me.”
“Maybe not. The con man rattled me because I believed him.”
“If I gave up dating every time a woman lied to me and I believed her, I’d have had to become a priest twenty years ago. My grandmother would have liked that but my parents wouldn’t. They retired and moved back to Ireland a couple of years ago, but they’re very progressive. Women have lied to me all my life. I expect it,” he said, and she smiled at him. “Some people are liars, some are cheats, some are good people, some aren’t. It takes all kinds. You can’t give up after a couple of mistakes. We’d never have landed on the moon if the boys at NASA felt that way. And Einstein wouldn’t have discovered the theory of relativity. You have to keep trying until you get it right. You will one of these days.”
“So what’s your story? Divorced? Single?” She turned the focus on him.
“Single. Two long relationships, ten and eight years. In the end they went nowhere. I never knew when to give up and go home. So suddenly I’m thirty-eight and living with a golden called Harvey. He’s pretty good company. And I haven’t given up dating, even when women turn me down five or six times. It’s the Irish in me. I’m stubborn, or ‘thick’ as they say there.” She laughed. “I figure I’ll get it right sooner or later and find a woman who adores me…and Harvey, of course. We come as a pair. Do your kids like dogs?”
“More or less. We’ve never had one.”
“Maybe we could go for a walk in the park sometime. Harvey’s good with children. Or is that off your list too? Walking a golden retriever is not a date.” She smiled again. She liked him. And didn’t want to.
“No, it isn’t.” He walked her back to her apartment after that, and said he’d call her some weekend to take Harvey and her daughters to the park.
He called two weeks later, and they walked to Central Park and had a great time. Xela loved the big friendly dog. As usual, Theo was more reserved, but she threw a ball for him when they got to the park.
“They’re sweet kids,” Declan complimented her on the way home. “Do you suppose they’d want to come up to my place to make s’mores and popcorn? It’s all I know how to cook.” They went with him and the girls loved it. Harvey was jubilant to have company, and Isabelle enjoyed watching Declan with her children. He handed her a s’more, and she got the marshmallows and chocolate all over her mouth, and he helped her get it off and said in a soft voice, “S’mores and popcorn. Not a date.” He had the faintest Irish accent, and she discovered that he had grown up in Dublin, and came to the States when he was thirteen.
She finally agreed to have dinner with him, at an Italian restaurant near her apartment. Just as friends. “Not a date.” Everything they did together was low key and normal. He wasn’t trying to impress her, or run her life. He waited a long time to be romantic with her, and when she finally trusted him, which took time, they went away for a weekend in Connecticut. It felt as if they had always known each other. They dated for almost a year, until she left for Normandy with the girls, and she talked to Putnam about him. He had become her mentor and advisor on all subjects, almost like a second father to her.
“He sounds great, so what’s the problem?”
“He wants to get married and have kids one day. I’ve already done that. I don’t want to try again. He should be free to find the right person to marry and have babies with.”
“Why can’t you have another child?”
“I don’t want to. I do an okay job with the two I have. Three is too many.”
“Not if you have a husband. You’ve never had a real one.”
“I shudder at the word.”
“You sound like me now,” he scolded her. “Don’t be such a coward. You’re thirty years old. Don’t waste your life bound to the past.”
“The last time you told me that, I had married a con man.”
“Declan doesn’t sound like one to me,” Putnam said.
“He isn’t. Do you want to meet him?”
“I might. Here? Is he in France?”
“He’s visiting his parents in Ireland and offered to come by on the way home. I think he knows he needs your stamp of approval.”
“I like him already,” Putnam said, smiling at her. He was fifty-seven years old, and Isabelle had noticed that he had aged considerably in the past year. She saw that Marcel was concerned about him too. Putnam was very pale and had been eating very little, and he seemed tired.
Isabelle called Declan the next morning, and he offered to come for a day at the end of August. He didn’t want to intrude but he wanted to meet the man who meant so much to her.
He flew to Paris, rented a car, and planned to leave that night and go back to Dublin. He and Putnam hit it off immediately. They went for a long walk together and a short sail in Putnam’s boat, and Declan understood perfectly why she loved him. Putnam was an honorable man, and a kind one, a gentle soul, and he loved her like a beloved sister and wanted only the best for her.
Declan left at eleven o’clock that night, and Putnam told her after he’d gone that he heartily approved.
“He’s a fantastic person. I think you should grab him before someone else does.”
“I’m not doing any grabbing,” she said primly, but Putnam was insistent and brought it up again before she and the girls left for New York.
“I want to know you’re in safe harbor, Isabelle. You can’t stay alone for the rest of your life. You need someone to take care of you, and I won’t be here forever.” A shadow crossed his eyes as he said it, and Isabelle felt panic ripple through her, like a finger running the wrong way up her spine.
“Don’t say that. You have another forty years left in you and I’ll be a grandmother by then.”
“I’m serious,” he said quietly, and she didn’t pursue the subject. But she was still worried about him when they left a few days later, and she whispered to Marcel to call her if Monsieur had any problems or fell ill. It was the first time she’d said it, and Marcel nodded. He was as concerned as she. Putnam didn’t look well.
She and Declan went back to dating after that, but she remembered what Put had said to her about grabbing him before someone else did. And in October Putnam called her and said what she had never expected to hear from him.
“I’m sick, Isabelle. I knew it when you were here, but I thought I’d have longer than I do. I have pancreatic cancer. I’d like you and Theo to come over sometime between now and Christmas.” She was only ten years old, too young to lose her father. And Isabelle felt no more ready to face it at thirty, but she agreed to come back in the next two months, and spoke to the gallery to arrange it. The hardest part would be preparing Theo to see her father for the last time. Isabelle couldn’t bear thinking of it. They made the trip in early November, and left Xela at home with Maeve.
Normandy was bleak at that time of year, and the château looked dark and gloomy. Putnam had lost a shocking amount of weight in the last three months and tears sprang to Isabelle’s eyes the moment she saw him, which she concealed from him.
Blessing in Disguise Page 9
