by Mary Bowers
What should she do with it now that she was actually holding it? Should she try to hide it somewhere else? She was just reaching for another drawer with her free hand when she gave a guilty start and nearly dropped the thing.
“Lauren,” a soft voice had said. “What are you doing with that knife?”
Lauren turned her head in slow motion. It was Daisy, her rival, her enemy – the one who had the audacity to make Grayson the Great feel awkward.
Daisy did little half-turns in the doorway, then stepped tentatively into the room, leaving the door open behind her.
“Lauren, look, I know we can’t ever be friends. I was wrong. I admit it. But it’s over now. I don’t even want him anymore. And I hate the fact that I’ve made you feel like this.”
“I don’t feel bad that you were screwing a married man,” Lauren said, holding the knife poised in the air. “I feel bad about how my husband betrayed me while he was screwing you. There’s a difference.”
Daisy nodded cautiously, being careful not to look at the knife that the other woman still held. Realizing what she had in her hand, Lauren slowly lowered it and put it away underneath Grayson’s things and closed the drawer.
“I found it while he was showering. I was looking to see if he’d accidentally taken my little jewelry case and shoved it in his drawer. I couldn’t find it. It’s a little drawstring bag with compartments sewn into it – burgundy-colored velvet lined with white satin. It’s a pretty little thing,” she added, vaguely looking around.
As if she were being asked to help, Daisy looked around too and said quietly that she couldn’t see anything like that. When she did, Lauren shook her head and blinked. “You must think I’m going crazy,” she murmured.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I know you don’t want any help from me, but – Lauren where did you get that knife?”
Wide-eyed, Lauren said, “Me? I didn’t get that knife. I found it in Grayson’s drawer. The question is, where did he get the knife?”
“And why?” Daisy added quietly.
The two women, so much alike that they looked like older and younger versions of the same woman, stood immobile, staring at one another for a moment.
Then, as unemotionally as possible, Daisy said, “Lauren, do you think you’re in danger?”
The other woman shied back. “Of course not! Grayson would never hurt me. Never. If anything, I’m worried . . . he hasn’t been himself. I’m at my wit’s end.” Then, taking a stand, she said, “Has it occurred to you that you may be the one in danger?”
“I don’t think so,” Daisy said, slowly and reasonably. “He’s done with me. I can’t kick up a fuss about what he did to me without losing my job. We work for the same company, remember? If I accuse him of harassment, it’s my word against his, and in the end I would be the one fired. Paralegals are a dime a dozen; he’s far more important to the firm than I am. That’s just how it happens in the real world. But I’m worried about you. Why don’t you give me that knife and I’ll get rid of it for you.”
“What if he notices it’s missing? He’ll know I took it.”
Daisy digested this. If he got one knife, she reasoned, he could easily get another. From across the room and with Lauren’s hand wrapped around it, Daisy thought it had looked like a steak knife. Easy enough to pick up in a restaurant. And if he knew that Lauren knew about the knife, would that make him even more dangerous?
“Look, Daisy, you’ve already done enough to hurt me. You have no business being here – in my room. At least let me keep what little dignity I have left. Do not go downstairs and tell everybody about this. I don’t think I could stand it if everybody knew. I know how to handle Grayson. I know him, and I don’t care how much time you spent in bed with him, you don’t. Now that I know that’s there, I know what to do.”
“What?”
“None of your business. Just leave. Please. And don’t go gossiping about me and my marriage and anything you’ve seen here in my room, when you have no business even being here.”
Daisy lifted her chin, accepting blows that she knew she deserved.
“You seem like a decent girl,” Lauren said with watery eyes. “Even if your morals could use a little work. Try not to hurt me any more than you already have. Go downstairs and have your breakfast and don’t mention a word of this to anybody.”
Daisy seemed to hesitate, unhappy and worried, but in the end she turned and left the room. Then she stood in the hall a moment, trying to remember why she’d come back in the first place.
Sandals. She’d wanted to change into her flat sandals. Just walking into the breakfast room, she’d realized she’d never be able to walk in the shoes she was wearing all day. She quickly went into her own room and changed into her good old walking sandals – unglamorous but practical – and took a moment to check herself in the mirror. By the time she came out again the door to Lauren’s room was closed.
All the way down the winding stairs, Daisy was in turmoil. She’d gone into her affair with Grayson believing all the bitch-talk about his wife, simply because it gave her an excuse to go ahead and do what she wanted to do with a married man. But now, seeing Lauren in the flesh, it all seemed different. It brought into sharp focus all of Grayson’s pettiness and selfishness. How could she have been so stupid?
Lauren had only asked one thing of her – don’t tell anybody else about the knife. But Daisy was imploding with it, unable to handle the image of Lauren standing there with a knife in her hand. It terrified her. She had to confide in someone.
Hannah would be safe, she thought with a sense of relief. After all, she wasn’t having an affair with Grayson; she’d said so. She was a neutral party, and a practical girl. She’d have good advice, and even if she didn’t, she’d at least listen.
And Hannah didn’t seem to be getting close to anybody else on the tour, so she wouldn’t tell anyone else.
When Daisy got downstairs, Lauren was having breakfast with Grayson and the Handler couple as if nothing had happened.
* * * * *
“Tuesday. Montmartre,” Audrey said at the breakfast table, running her finger along the itinerary print-out. “What’s a funicular?” Without waiting for an answer, she went smoothly on. “Another church, artist’s colony, free time – we’re going to have a local guide today. Group dinner tonight.”
“A funicular is something that takes you up a hill,” Kat said. “It’s kind of a cable car.”
“Good,” Nettie said. “I want to save my feet for walking around the town.”
Henry was in the fourth chair at their table, and he seemed content to listen to the ladies talk without contributing much himself. His old table for two across the aisle was now being used by Twyla and Jack.
Even Charley had to find another group to sit with, which he did good-naturedly, joining Daisy and Hannah at the back of the room. Strange, Henry thought fleetingly, the two ladies had been talking almost tensely before Charley joined them, and didn’t seem particularly happy to see him. Especially Daisy. But then they’d smiled and welcomed him naturally enough. Girl talk, Henry thought, and then his gaze drifted back to Nettie and he forgot about the others.
In the corner table, as usual, were the Pimms and the Handlers, but their group was oddly quiet.
Kat hadn’t managed to mess with Audrey’s ensemble today, but Nettie had gladly accepted a lavender scarf and, at the last moment, after critical scrutiny, a round, silver pin to accent it. With brushed-out hair and without the glasses, she looked not only younger but more alive, somehow.
Throughout breakfast, Henry covertly gazed at her with something like contentment. He looked younger, too, and Audrey noticed that for once he didn’t seem so rigidly controlled. He could even glance in Grayson Pimm’s direction without dirtying up his aura.
* * * * *
After a quick buzz through the church in Montmartre, the group was delivered to the local guide, who proceeded to march them up and down hilly streets and talk into their ea
rbuds in an unending but pleasant, baritone stream.
In quick succession, they were shown the house where Renoir rented a studio, a street view painted by Toulouse-Lautrec, the bar where Van Gogh got into drunken brawls on a regular basis and a curious sculpture of a man emerging from the side of a building. It had been inspired by a short story, The Man Who Could Walk Through The Walls, and the big, handsome local guide recounted the story in a pretty French accent. As he walked them along, he reeled off the names of Belle Époque artists in a dizzying succession, and Impressionists got mixed up with Incohérents and Post-Impressionists until nobody bothered to try to keep them straight anymore.
Then, suddenly, they were free. Set loose in a strange town and told to find lunch and have fun.
With the slightly bewildered air of soldiers on leave in a strange land, they clung to their usual companions and began to walk around in little groups, as if they didn’t know where to begin.
“Let’s find someplace quieter for lunch,” Audrey said to her foursome as they got caught up in the throng on the main street. “I’m starting to get a headache.”
“If nobody’s starving yet, I’d like another look at the Basilica,” Nettie said. “We got rushed through it so fast I didn’t get a chance to look around.”
“I could wait a little longer to eat,” Henry said. “In another hour, the restaurants won’t be so busy.”
Kat agreed.
So they walked, strung out in single-file on the Rue Lepic until they could reach quieter side streets and make their way back to the church. Predictably for an old hilltop city, no street ran in a straight line, so Audrey doggedly followed a map and ordered everybody to turn at the correct corners until they got within sight of the Basilica. The cool shadows beckoned them as they went into the forecourt. The cemetery off to the side of the building looked like a small, green tunnel.
“Is that Eric over there, talking to Lauren?” Henry said to Nettie as they paused inside the shadow of the church. They both peered intently for a split-second, then, when they were noticed, jerked themselves back on a straight line for the doors. They would have waved, but the moment Lauren saw them she covered her face and turned away.
“I think Lauren is crying,” Nettie said, once they were inside the church.
“Of course she is,” Ashley said, suddenly rising from a pew. “Wouldn’t you, if you were married to Grayson Pimm?”
“Eric is consoling her?” Nettie asked.
Ashley shrugged. “Eric saw her first. He’s such a softie. He went right over to her, and I figured it wasn’t a good time for her to be surrounded, so I came inside. I needed to pray. Eric will come get me, once he calms her down.”
“How long have they been out there?” Henry asked.
She glanced at her watch. “Actually, I think it’s been long enough. I’ve had time to say five Hail Marys and two Our Fathers, which was the standard prescription after confession when I was a kid. It still gives me comfort, whenever I’m in a church now. I figure if I’d sinned about that much as an innocent kid, I must have done at least that much wrong now that I’m grown,” she added with a grin.
There were chuckles from everyone but Audrey. Her face remained solemn, and she cocked her head as she asked, “Actual stuff you did wrong, or just evil thoughts?”
Ashley stared. “Just looking for a little guidance, I guess,” she answered. Then, more briskly, “I’ll go out there now and suggest that the three of us go find a place for lunch. Was she still crying when you saw her just now?”
Nettie nodded.
“Well, maybe when she sees me, she’ll try to stop. Nobody likes to cry in front of a crowd. Anyway, I’m getting hungry.”
“Don’t let her drink too much wine,” Audrey cautioned.
“Why not? I think she needs it, and Eric and I will see that she gets back to the hotel all right.”
Left inside the quiet church, Nettie deliberately bumped into Audrey and muttered, “Stop reading other people’s minds. It’s rude, especially in church.”
“I can’t help myself,” she muttered back. “When I’ve got a headache, my own will starts to break down. Things just start to come out at me. Ashley’s throwing off a lot of flares – you know – piercing shafts of light and dark. With my head like this, I could barely look at her. People are like that when they pray, sometimes. She came in here for peace, but I don’t think she found it. That’s the hardest struggle of all: good thoughts vs. evil thoughts. Know what I mean?”
“Not a clue.” Nettie considered her. Then she said, “Has your hitchhiker gone away yet?”
Audrey smiled bitterly. “She’s the one you should be talking to about church manners. She’s shouting at me.” In a louder voice, she said, “I think I need to eat soon, guys. Then maybe my headache will go away. I’d wait outside, but I don’t want to get involved.”
“Any more than you already are,” Nettie said with a pensive look. Then she allowed Henry to guide her down the aisle for a quick look around the church.
Left standing at the back with Kat, Audrey said, “Just sit down. We can look around from here,” and she put herself stubbornly into a pew and stared Kat into joining her.
* * * * *
Jack “got” Twyla, once again, and he didn’t look pleased when Nettie’s group accidentally chose the same restaurant for lunch and came in the front door. As Henry had predicted, peak hour was over and the place wasn’t busy. It was impossible for them to back out again once they were seen, and impossible for Jack not to invite them over.
Nettie quickly sat down in the chair nearest her niece and began to talk to her.
“Nice town,” Jack said. “Lots of history. You guys enjoying yourselves?”
“Us guys are getting tired, I think,” Audrey said, “and maybe a little dehydrated, too.”
“You’ll perk up once you have something to eat,” Jack said. “Try the chicken and mashed potatoes. It’s great.”
Nettie said something about having had chicken yesterday, and they began to study their menus.
Once decisions were made and the waiter was away with their orders, Kat said, “Lauren was over at the churchyard, crying.”
“Alone?” Twyla said anxiously.
“The Handlers are with her. Ashley said they’d get some food into her and keep her company.”
“Oh. That’s good. I knew Lauren wasn’t with her husband,” Twyla added.
“Oh?” Kat asked, agog. “Where is he?”
“Where do you think?” Jack said.
“With Hannah?” Kat asked.
Jack confirmed it with a flashing look, and Kat said, “What is wrong with that man?”
When nobody answered, Nettie took over and changed the subject.
Chapter 10
The group dinner that night was at a restaurant just a few blocks from the hotel, on the Rue Cler, which was a mostly pedestrians-only street lined with patisseries, gelato parlors, assorted shops and brasseries.
The group members were refreshed when they regathered in front of the hotel that evening, since they’d all had a chance to spend time in their rooms before coming down for dinner.
Though most of their restaurant’s seating was outside, on the promenade, Danny led them inside the dining room to two long tables in a back corner of the room. They were somewhat separate from the other diners, and disappointingly, out of range for people-watching on the Rue Cler.
Grayson had preceded his wife and walked to the far table with his back to the wall, and she had trailed along after him. Nettie watched to see if her niece would follow Lauren and become overly protective. Direct confrontation wasn’t the way to handle a man like Grayson Pimm, and Twyla had been almost smitten with Lauren in high school. With all the affection in the world for her niece, even Nettie couldn’t say she was subtle, and things were reaching the point where she just wanted Twyla to leave the Pimms and their problems to her.
When Twyla and Jack went to the other end of the table and sat besi
de one another, Nettie felt somewhat relieved. Yes, that put her niece right next to Grayson, but he might as well have been in another universe, for all the attention he was paying to those around him. One good thing about Jack: he was keeping Twyla’s attention completely riveted on himself.
In her nervousness about the placement of her niece, Nettie had lost track of Henry, and she felt a little pang when she realized that he’d been forced to take a seat at the other table when hers had filled up first. But they were both at the same table ends, just across from one another, and she felt a little tingle of gratification when he glanced her way and gave her a smile. He felt the same way she did. She suddenly knew it.
Daisy and Hannah were at Henry’s table, with their backs to Nettie, so that was all right. They wouldn’t be setting off any fireworks with Grayson. Margery Rowe sat across from them, and Nettie began to notice her gazing past everyone toward Grayson Pimm.
Something about the seating arrangement seemed to puzzle Margery, or even disappoint her, and Nettie thought she knew why. Margery had enjoyed the little dust-up after the mention of doppelgangers. Was she one of those people who tried to stir up trouble wherever they went?
At the first group meeting, Margery had said she was single. Why she’d never married was one question, though that in itself wasn’t damning, but why wasn’t she even traveling with a friend? Apparently she had at least one, because she was talking to somebody on her cellphone at the cathedral. There was something that didn’t add up about Margery, Nettie thought. Something not quite right, and maybe even not quite nice.
At least things were calm at her own table. Grayson was quietly smoldering, but as long as he continued to do it quietly, Nettie didn’t care. And Twyla was still all wrapped up in Jack, ignoring everybody else almost to the point of rudeness.
It was a sight that Nettie didn’t particularly enjoy, and she decided to focus on Lauren, sitting forlornly on her right, picking at her salad and barely touching her wine.
