Three Weeks in Paris Read online

  Kay had made the appointment with him weeks ago, and yesterday she had been very nervous when she had sat waiting in the reception area of his offices. But within moments of meeting him she had found herself relaxing. He was the kind of doctor who immediately put a patient at ease, at least she felt that way.

  Dr. Boujon had asked her a lot of questions before the examination, most of which she had answered truthfully. But in some instances she had felt it necessary to lie. And now these lies troubled her, which was one of the reasons she had set out early for her appointment with Anya.

  Kay knew herself, and she was well aware that if she sat in the hotel worrying she would drive herself to distraction. Better to be out and about than confined within four walls, contemplating disasters that might never happen.

  After a while, she came to Avenue George V, and she walked slowly along the street, heading toward the Place de l’Alma. In the distance, dominating the skyline, she could see the Eiffel Tower, and she remembered something Nicholas Sedgwick had once told her. That wherever she looked in Paris she would see either the Eiffel Tower or the great white domes of the Sacré-Coeur, and that was true.

  She wondered how Nicky was, and the others … the girls who had been her companions for three years. Once they had been close friends, and it struck her now that their quarrels had been rather harsh at the end. Would they be able to enjoy Anya’s party if they didn’t make up? She was doubtful. For a long time she had thought of them as being bitchy and unfeeling, but perhaps she was being judgmental after all. Life was too short, wasn’t it, and there were so many other things infinitely more important than female quarrels. And quarrels that had happened seven years ago, at that.

  Anya had said this to her last night when they had spoken on the phone, pointing out that they should all try to act in a mature manner. And Anya was right.

  ————

  KAY FOUND A TABLE at a small café on a side street just off the Place de l’Alma. She felt quite ravenous all of a sudden and needed to eat; then she remembered she had not really had breakfast, only a cup of tea, and now it was almost one.

  When the waiter came, she ordered a tomato omelette, a green salad, and a bottle of sparkling water. Once her order had been taken, she sat back, watching the passersby for a moment or two, but mostly she was thinking about her life, and in particular her husband, Ian, whom she loved so much.

  He, who was not at all enamored of traveling, had been forced to fly to New York the other day in order to deal with an unexpected business matter to do with the woolens they produced at the Scottish mills. He had gone instead of his partner, Vincent Douglas, who had broken an arm and a leg in a car accident. And how he had grumbled about going and right up to the last minute.

  Poor Ian, she thought, stuck in a hotel in Manhattan. He was such a countryman at heart and in spirit, one who truly felt uncomfortable in most cities, and especially a great metropolis like New York.

  He would be gone for ten days, and in that time Kay hoped to finish her tests with Dr. Boujon; she also planned to find the perfect premises for a boutique. Her assistant, Sophie McPherson, was arriving next week, and together they would work with the real estate agent, who had been highly recommended.

  Although Paris was one of the greatest fashion centers of the world, with haute couture houses, and top-, middle-, and lower-scale manufacturers and designers, Sophie had somehow convinced her there was a need for her clothes.

  But the idea of opening a boutique in this fashion-conscious and most stylish of cities had not appealed to her in the beginning; it was Sophie—young, enthusiastic, and highly committed to the running of the boutiques—who had persuaded her otherwise.

  Sophie had pointed out that her clothes were selling tremendously well in Britain and the United States, and that they would find a huge market in Paris.

  So be it, Kay thought, letting out a sigh. She could try, and hopefully she would succeed. She generally tended to take Sophie’s advice, trusting her judgment, knowing that her assistant seemed to have her finger on the pulse of fashion for the young woman of today.

  As she sipped the sparkling water, Kay’s thoughts drifted in various directions. Soon she found herself focusing on those years she had lived in Paris. Home had been a small, cozy hotel on the Left Bank, and she had loved her tiny room in it, and the quarter where it was located, just off the Place Saint-Michel.

  Maybe she would take a walk down the rue de la Huchette later in the day, and pop into the Hôtel Mont Blanc, where she had lived for three years. She wondered if Henri, the lovely old concierge, still worked there. He had always been so kind and considerate, and concerned about her.

  Kay’s time in Paris had been the happiest years for her, and for various reasons. She was far away from the slums of Glasgow; she was safe, that most of all; she was attending the famous school she had dreamed about for years, never believing she would actually become a pupil there at the age of nineteen.

  At the Anya Sedgwick School of Decorative Arts, Design, and Couture, Kay had studied fashion design with the renowned teachers Eliane Duvalier and JeanLouis Pascal. But she had also taken Anya’s master class in classical art, as well as her three history classes that dealt with eighteenth-century France, imperial Russia, and the Second World War on both sides of the English Channel.

  Kay had enjoyed every one of her classes on various subjects, and her dreams and hopes and ambitions for the future had been fueled and strengthened here. For the first time in her life she had felt special and worthwhile, thanks to Anya’s loving encouragement and belief in her. This sense of inner worth had been totally reinforced by the other teachers who had shown their genuine belief in her and her abilities.

  When her mother had first sent her away from Scotland, Alice had actually taken her to Yorkshire, to Harrogate at the edge of the Dales, where she had enrolled Kay in an old and respected school, Harrogate College. There were other girls attending the college who were boarders, as she was, and they all became good friends, and once she had settled in, she found great pleasure in learning.

  Being away from the bad environment in Scotland had given her a sense of enormous relief; she felt secure, not so vulnerable and exposed anymore. The courses at the college were liberating, and her inbred talent soon found release. It flowered. Her potential was so apparent, so highly visible to the teachers working there, they were frequently startled by it.

  She missed her mother very much, and Sandy as well, but her mother never permitted her to come back home. Whenever Alice could, she came south to Yorkshire in order to see Kay, and those times had been very special and meaningful to them both. “Remember this, lassie,” Alice Smith would say. “There is no such person as Jean Smith. She does not exist. You are Kay Lenox now. New name. New identity. New life. New future. There’s no going back, not in any way.”

  Her mother’s voice seemed to echo in the inner recesses of her mind, always encouraging, always speaking about her new life and her future. In a way, her mother had sacrificed herself in order to give her a better life.

  She made everything possible, Kay thought. And I do have so much. But I’m always afraid of losing it. I can’t enjoy what I have. That is the problem.

  Things are going to be all right, she now told herself firmly. They had to be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  HOW TRULY BEAUTIFUL SHE HAS BECOME, ANYA THOUGHT, staring across at Kay Lenox, who had arrived at her house a few moments ago.

  Because it was such a warm and sunny day, Honorine, the housekeeper, had shown her to the table in the garden, which had been set for tea. But Kay had obviously immediately risen from her chair and strolled across the cobbled courtyard.

  Now she waited under the cherry tree, gazing off into the distance, one hand resting on the trunk, surrounded by the double cherry blossoms of palest pink that dropped down around her. She was unaware she was being observed, and her face held a dreamy, faraway expression.

  Kay is so tall, long-legged, a
nd slender, she looks almost ethereal, Anya commented to herself, wishing she had a camera, so lovely was the image of Kay under the ancient flowering tree.

  Sunlight slanted through the branches laden with blossoms, and it was turning her hair into a halo of shimmering red-gold fire. She still wore it long, as she had when she had come to the school at nineteen, and from this distance Anya thought Kay did not look as if she had aged a day since then. She wore a tailored outfit of delphinium blue, composed of very narrow trousers worn with high-heeled blue pumps and a three-quarter-length jacket styled in the manner of a maharajah’s tunic. It had buttons down the front and a small stand-up mandarin collar, and it was flattering on her.

  The outfit was simplicity itself, but so beautifully made it was elegance personified. Well, she always was enormously talented, a little couturier even when she first came to me, Anya thought to herself.

  Stepping into the courtyard, Anya exclaimed, “Kay darling, here I am! So sorry to keep you waiting.” She hurried forward, her face radiant with smiles, her joy at seeing Kay after so long reflected in her sparkling eyes.

  Kay immediately swung around, then rushed forward at the sight of Anya, almost tottering on those very high heels. She embraced Anya, holding her tightly. After a moment, Kay looked into her teacher’s face, and her own happiness was transparent. “It’s just wonderful to see you!”

  “I might well say the same thing, Kay. But come, my dear, let’s go and sit at the table and have a cup of tea, like old times. I want to hear all of your news.”

  Together the two women walked over to the wroughtiron table Honorine had covered with a linen cloth. All the accoutrements for afternoon tea were set out: Aside from the big silver teapot, matching milk jug and sugar basin, there was a plate of lemon slices. On a tiered silver stand Honorine had arranged an assortment of the small nursery-tea sandwiches, as Anya called them, and plain biscuits. There was also a sponge cake filled with jam and whipped cream. Plus an English fruit cake, dark and rich-looking, its top decorated with blanched almonds.

  Picking up the silver pot, Anya poured tea into the china cups, then sat back, staring at Kay.

  The young woman was simply spectacular to look at, with her tumbling red hair, cool, polished ivory skin, and blue eyes. “Kay, you are stunning!” Anya finally exclaimed admiringly. “And so grown-up. Very elegant.” Her eyes twinkled and she beamed at her. “What a pleasure it is to see you looking so … fantastic.”

  Kay shared her smile. “I guess I was a bit awkward and gangly even when I graduated, wasn’t I?”

  “Never quite that,” Anya protested, dropped a slice of lemon into her tea. “And congratulations on your extraordinary success. You’ve done the school proud. But then, we all knew you would.”

  “It’s thanks to you, Madame Eliane, and Monsieur Jean-Louis, that I am where I am today. And of course my mother. Without her I would have been … nothing.”

  Anya noticed the shadow that suddenly blighted Kay’s eyes, fading their color as she spoke of Alice, dead for some time now. Mother and daughter had been very close, symbiotic, unusually devoted to each other. She was well aware that Alice had sacrificed much for Kay.

  “We could only guide you, show you the way,” Anya finally remarked. “You alone are responsible for your success, Kay.”

  “I remember you used to tell us that, as individuals, we were the authors of our own lives, and that only we ourselves could accept the accolades, or take the blame if our lives went wrong.”

  “But that did happen to be your philosophy when you enrolled at the school, Kay. I really only gave you the right words to properly express and explain what you appeared to already feel.”

  Kay nodded, sipped her tea, became silent, her face instantly serious, reflecting her myriad thoughts. She fell down into the past for a few seconds, remembering so many things.

  It struck Anya that there was a certain … regality to Kay, that was the only word for it. And an inbred elegance. She was the true lady now in every sense—in bearing and manner as well as title. How amazing life could be for some people. Here she was, shy little Kay, who came to the school looking so undernourished, and quiet as a mouse, now a world-famous fashion designer, immensely successful, and the wife of a genuine aristocrat of breeding and wealth. Lady Andrews, wife of Ian, the Laird of Lochcraigie. Also Kay Lenox, couturier par excellence. There was a duality here, but it did spell triumph, and on a grand scale.

  Well, she’s simply … wondrous, Anya now thought, marveling at her former pupil. She had not known much about Kay when she had first arrived in Paris ten years before. Kay’s personal history and background were somewhat shrouded in mystery, but her academic records from Harrogate College had told Anya a great deal. The girl was brilliant, no question about it.

  Anya had instinctively known that Kay’s early life had been poverty stricken. There had been a sort of tenacious grimness about her mother. Alice had been pretty but a little pinched, and she was tired-looking around the eyes. Thin as a rail, she looked as if she had never had a good meal in her life. In fact, there had been an aura of genuine deprivation about Alice, Anya now recalled, and a sadness that had stabbed at her most forcibly. Alice’s sorrow had been a palpable thing, and like a knife in Anya, who had empathized with her.

  What Kay has made of herself, the life she has created, is quite remarkable, she thought. She was truly proud of this young woman, who was a genuine success story.

  Breaking the silence, Anya said, “I’m glad you came to Paris well before the party. It gives us a chance to visit, to catch up.” Anya chuckled and her eyes were merry again. “The others were of the same mind as you, Kay. Alexa, Jessica, and Maria are also here.”

  “Oh” was all Kay could think of to say, and she wondered how they would all feel when they finally met again after all these years.

  Anya was thinking of Alexa and Jessica, who both had unfinished business to deal with. Studying Kay, she asked herself if Kay also had a secret agenda tucked away.

  Leaning forward slightly, she focused on the younger woman. “Did you come early for any special reason, Kay dear?”

  “Yes, actually, I did.” Kay turned to face Anya as she spoke, and continued. “I am thinking of opening a boutique here. My other shops have been very successful, and everyone believes my clothes will sell well in Paris.”

  “I’m quite certain that’s true. And the idea is a marvelous one. Eliane and Jean-Louis will be most impressed and proud of you, as indeed I am.”

  “Thank you. Also, I have to go to Lyon to see the textile manufacturer who produces my silks and brocades. I have some special colors I want created for my next collection.”

  “You were always so clever with color. I love this delphinium suit. It makes your eyes look bluer,” Anya murmured, then asked, “And how is your husband?”

  At the mention of Ian, Kay sat up straighter. “He’s well.” She shook her head. “Well, I hope he is. He’s in New York on business, and Ian’s not very fond of cities. He’s probably very depressed, and itching to get home to Scotland.”

  “Ah, yes, the countryman, you once told me.”

  “Yes.” There was a slight pause. “So, the others are here? Have you seen them yet?”

  “Maria, yes. Several times, in fact, and Alexa came to lunch yesterday.”

  “Are they both married now?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “And what about Jessica?”

  “I haven’t seen her so far. But she’s not married either. It appears that you are the only member of the quartet who has found the man of her dreams.”

  Kay sat back in the metal chair, gaping at Anya, a look of dismay flickering on her face. Unexpectedly, alarmingly, tears gathered in her eyes, were in danger of spilling over onto her cheeks.

  “Whatever’s the matter?” Anya asked, her surprise and concern apparent.

  Kay did not speak. The tears began to fall.

  “Darling, what is it?” Anya leaned closer across the tab
le, touched Kay’s arm to comfort.

  Flicking the tears away with her fingertips, Kay said in a hesitating voice, “I’m so worried, Anya … about my marriage.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Kay nodded. She took a deep breath, explained in a low, almost-inaudible voice, “I haven’t become pregnant, and that’s what’s at the root of it all.”

  “Oh, yes, I understand, darling. Ian wants a son and heir. The title … the lands … of course. Yes, I do see.”

  Kay swallowed, cleared her throat. “Ian is a kind person, and he doesn’t talk about it. He never has. But I just know it’s always there, lurking at the back of his mind. And it’s a kind of … pressure for me. It’s always hanging over me.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “I came to Paris for another reason,” Kay confided. “To see Dr. François Boujon. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

  Anya nodded. “Yes, he is very famous, and brilliant. And very well respected, I might add. As the world’s foremost fertility expert, I am sure he will be able to help you.”

  “Oh, Anya, I hope so.”

  “Have you seen him yet?”

  “Yesterday. I had an examination, and tests—” Kay cut herself off, averted her head, bit her lip.

  Anya watched her intently.

  Kay brushed her eyes with her fingertips once more; she had begun to weep again.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I lied to Dr. Boujon,” Kay blurted out, turning to Anya. Her eyes were agitated.

  Startled by this announcement, Anya stared at Kay.

  “I’m not sure I’m following you.… ”

  “He asked me certain questions, and I didn’t answer truthfully. I lied.”