Three Weeks in Paris Read online

  Jessica was so startled to hear this, she exclaimed, “But I would never have guessed! She was always so … proper.”

  “Leave it to an actress. She was pretty good at hiding it.”

  “But you were … the perfect couple.”

  “Wanna bet?” he asked, shaking his head. “Anyway, I let her down as lightly as possible. It was all relatively amicable. She got a nice chunk of dough from me, and off she went to New York. I think she’s managed to get herself back on track there, and in a sense she’s a little more anonymous, although not much.”

  “Is she still drinking?”

  “She’s eased off a bit. I think the breakup of our marriage and the divorce really … sobered her up. If you’ll forgive the pun.” He grinned wryly. “She seems to be making a big effort, and I just hope she continues to do so.” He leaned back in his seat, crossed his long legs. “In the meantime, I’ve got to get on with my own life … and what are you going to do, Jessica?”

  “I’ve got a couple of houses to remodel in Beverly Hills, and—”

  “I meant what are you going to do with your life … and Gary Stennis?”

  Letting out a long sigh, she slumped down on the sofa. “I don’t know. Well, that’s not true, I know what I should do, and that’s end the relationship. It’s over really, Mark, it’s just a case of easing out of it.”

  “I’ve known Gary for years; he’s written several movies for me in the past. He’s a great guy, don’t misunderstand me, but he’s always been a tad self-destructive.”

  “Do you really believe that?” She gave him a hard stare.

  “I do. And he is. Listen to me, there’s no way you can ease out of this situation. You’ve got to bail out. Just go. Take a deep breath and jump.”

  “I guess you’re right about that. Pussyfooting around doesn’t solve a thing, and it can be more painful in the long run.”

  “You’d better believe it, Jess.”

  She nodded, and then, changing the subject, she asked, “And what’re you going to do now that you’ve got the new movie in the can?”

  “There’s a play I want to buy. It’s in rehearsal, about to go on in New York. I think it’ll be a big hit on Broadway. It’s dramatic, and it would make a good movie, my kind of movie. Unfortunately, the playwright won’t let his agent deal with me. He wants to do that himself. So I’ll be going to see him in about two weeks. Then I’m going to Paris on movie business. I might be shooting there later this year.”

  “I just received an invitation to go to a party in Paris.”

  His eyes lit up, and he exclaimed, “Will we be there at the same time?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. My party is on the second of June. It’s for my former teacher, who’s going to be eighty-five.”

  “Sounds great, but what a pity, I’ll probably have left by then. I would have taken you out one night. We could’ve painted the town pink, if not bright red.”

  She half smiled, then turned her head, looked across at a painting.

  Observing her intently, he said, “You’ve got that sad look on your face again.”

  “Receiving the invitation sent me spinning backward in time … seven years back, actually. And it opened up a lot of old … wounds, I guess you could call them. I haven’t been quite the same since.”

  “Brought back memories, did it?”

  “Yes.” Unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes.

  Mark leaned forward. “Hey, honey, what’s all this? Tears? It has to be a man.” A dark brow lifted questioningly.

  Jessica could only nod.

  “An old love … a broken romance … yearning for him? Do you want to talk about it? I have a good strong ear for listening.”

  Sighing, she said slowly, “Yes, an old love, a wonderful love. We made so many plans. Actually, we planned a future together, and then it ended.”

  “From the sound of your voice, he broke up with you.”

  “No, he didn’t. He disappeared.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One day he disappeared. It was just as if he’d dropped off the edge of the world without a trace. I never saw him again.”

  “Tell me the story, Jessica.”

  And so she did. Speaking slowly and carefully, she told Mark everything there was to tell about Lucien Girard— their first meeting, their relationship, and how she and Alain Bonnal had tried so hard to find him after his disappearance.

  When she had finished, Mark said in a thoughtful tone, “We have three choices here. Either he was killed and his body disposed of remarkably well, or he’s alive and walking around with amnesia. Or finally, he chose to disappear on purpose.”

  “But why would he do that?” she exclaimed, her voice rising. She sounded aghast.

  “Anyone who disappears has their own reasons for doing so. And usually it’s hard to find them, because they’ve thought everything out very carefully. They’re only ever found when they want to be.”

  “Someone who disappears obviously does so because they want to start a new life,” she began, and stopped. Leaning back against the antique Aubusson pillows on the blue linen sofa, she sat thinking for a few seconds. Then, looking across at Mark, she volunteered, “Alain and I wondered if he’d been mugged, or killed, and his body taken out to sea. We both accepted at the time that it would be relatively easy to dispose of a body. Like you, we’d even thought of memory loss.”

  “People have been known to recover their memories.” He rubbed his chin with his hand, went on. “Random Harvest. Memory loss always evokes that movie in my head. Greer Garson, Ronald Colman. A good movie, a classic now, and one of my favorites as far as old movies go. Very sentimental, though.”

  “I never saw it.”

  “You’re too young.”

  “No, I’m not. You’re not much older than me, Mark.”

  He grinned. “Fourteen years. Anyway, if ever you see it, it’ll be on late-night television, so tune in.”

  “I will.”

  He continued. “I always think in terms of movies, you know. It’s just a peculiar little quirk I have. But getting back to your friend Lucien … please take me through it again, Jess. I mean the part about him saying he had to go away for a few days.”

  “We were having dinner; it was the last time I saw him, actually. Over dinner he said he’d be out of town for a few days, that he was going to Monte Carlo to shoot a commercial. I thought that was great and told him so. We made plans for the following week. Oh, and he told me he was leaving for Monte Carlo the next day.”

  “Did he call you from there?”

  Jessica shook her head. “No. I didn’t really expect him to, since I knew he’d be extremely busy. But after a week’s silence I grew anxious. I phoned his apartment, there was no answer. Then I spoke to his friend Alain Bonnal, who was also perturbed because Lucien hadn’t shown up for a lunch date they’d made. We went over to Lucien’s apartment building and spoke to the concierge. She told us he was still away. And she mentioned that she had seen him leave, that she spoke to him as he went out with his suitcase.”

  “And no one else had heard from him?” Mark asked quietly.

  “No. As a matter of fact, Alain and I went to see his agent, and he was as baffled as we were.”

  “It’s all very odd. And the police never came up with anything? Never had any information for you?”

  “No, they didn’t. And neither did the hospitals or the morgue. Alain continued to check with them for a long time, even after I left Paris and came home to America. But there was never anything.”

  “How upsetting it must’ve been for you. No wonder you were so distraught.” He shook his head, looking perplexed. “I hate that kind of situation, one that doesn’t have a satisfactory explanation.”

  Jessica said nothing, but the look she gave him was full of gratitude.

  Mark leaned back against the cushions, and after a split second he asked her in a somewhat cautious tone, “Is there any reason you can think of,
any reason, why Lucien might want to engineer his own disappearance?”

  “None at all, Mark. I’ve racked my brain about what happened to him for years now, but the thought that he had done a disappearing act never crossed my mind. He wasn’t that sort of man; he had a true sense of honor. Lucien had more integrity than anyone I knew. Or know.”

  “I certainly trust your judgment. Obviously, you knew him well enough to know what he was capable of doing or not doing.” There was a brief pause before he asked her, “Have you ever been back to Paris since then?”

  Jessica shook her head. “And I’m not even sure I’ll be going to the party.”

  “Oh, but you must!” he exclaimed. “To toast your former teacher, wish her well … becoming eighty-five is quite a milestone in somebody’s life.”

  “I know it is, but Paris does not hold happy memories for me, Mark, as you can imagine. To me, Paris is Lucien … I don’t think I could bear to feel the pain of losing him, experience the hurt all over again. I’m sure I wouldn’t enjoy the trip at all.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but we’ve all got to live with pain of some kind or other. Life is hard, Jess, and it’s always been hard. Nobody ever said this world was an easy place to live in, it’s hazardous and full of dangers. People suffer such terrible things. Actually, you’d be surprised what a person can live through. Human beings are tremendously resilient, you know. The secret is to be strong, to keep on fighting.”

  “I just don’t know. About going, I mean.”

  He said, “I’ve got an idea. Would you like me to come with you in June? Hold your hand?”

  So startled was she by this offer, she gaped at him speechlessly. Finally, she answered, “You’d come to give me courage?”

  “If you want to put it that way.”

  Jessica was truly touched by such generosity of spirit on Mark’s part, and she fell silent. They were genuinely good friends; she had designed several of his homes and his offices, and they had become close buddies. That he would want to help make her visit to Paris easier, if she did go, was something that took her breath away. “Thank you for making such a lovely and generous gesture.… I’m grateful, Mark, really I am.” A sigh trickled out of her. “I do love Anya Sedgwick, and she was an extraordinary influence on my life … but … oh, I don’t know.… ” She shook her head several times and gave him a helpless look.

  “Sometimes having another person with you makes a tough trip much easier. And, as I said, I might well still be in Paris then anyway, since I’m hoping to shoot part of my next movie there.”

  “So you just said,” she answered. “But I haven’t made a final decision about attending Anya’s party. I found the invitation waiting for me only when I got home on Saturday evening. But whatever I decide, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Mark gave her a warm smile; he was filled with affection for her. But he did ask himself why he had suddenly insinuated himself into her life. He had startled himself as well as her, and he was puzzled by his actions.

  As for Jessica, she was wondering the same thing. And asking herself whether or not she had the guts to go to Paris to confront the past. She simply didn’t know.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Maria

  HER LIFE HAD CHANGED. MIRACULOUSLY. OVERNIGHT. SHE could hardly believe it had happened.

  For the last few days she felt as though she were walking on air. Her demeanor was more positive than it had been for a long time; she was excited and filled with anticipation, and in a way she had not been for years. In a certain sense, it was as if she had suddenly been reborn.

  The change in her had started last Friday, when she had returned to her office after lunch. On her desk was a FedEx envelope from Paris. Momentarily baffled, unable to properly read the sender’s name and address, she had pulled the little tag on the back and taken out the white envelope inside.

  The way her name was written in beautiful calligraphy told her at once that this was an invitation. She could not imagine what event it could be for, and when she had removed the card from the white envelope she had been thrilled as she quickly scanned it, reading every word.

  Her heart had tightened and she had felt a rush of genuine happiness running through her … how wonderful to be invited to this very special occasion for Anya; what an honor to be a guest at the festivities for her.

  Anya Sedgwick was a unique person in Maria’s life, and also a favorite teacher, and she had done more for her than anyone else. Except for Fabrizio. And Riccardo, of course.

  It was Anya who had taken her under her wing when she had started at the school, who had encouraged her creativity, led her into new areas of design, and opened up the worlds of art, music, and culture in general. She had been like a mother to her at times, as well as her champion, and a truly good friend.

  When she had first begun to attend the Anya Sedgwick School of Decorative Arts, Design, and Couture, Maria had made a lot of other friends as well—besides the three who had eventually become her closest friends until the quarrel.

  In her opinion, it had been about nothing of any great consequence. The parting of the ways should have never happened … they had been at loggerheads with one another at one moment in time, and there appeared to be no other alternative but to go their separate ways. She had been upset after this break in the friendships, and at a loss, floundering a little without the other girls in her life.

  Surely they would attend Anya’s eighty-fifth birthday party? How could they bear to miss it?

  She hoped they would be there; she couldn’t wait to see them again, whether they wanted to see her or not. She was exceedingly curious about them and their lives. Having not heard from any of them for the last seven years, she couldn’t help wondering if they were married, divorced, had children or not. And she was equally interested to know if they had pursued the careers they had chosen, if they had been successful.

  Seven years later there could be no animosity left, could there? Perhaps. Maria shrugged. One never knew about people; they could be very strange, as she knew only too well, and to her bitter disappointment.

  Maria Pia Francesca Teresa Franconi, called simply Maria by her family and friends, fully intended to go to Paris to celebrate with Anya. In fact, she didn’t think about it twice.

  Her reaction to the invitation had been positive, and she had already mailed the reply card, saying she would attend.

  The invitation to the party, and the prospect of the trip, were the reasons her depression had fled; she was so buoyed up and excited, she could hardly contain herself. To her, the invitation was somehow like the spending money she had received every week when she was a child. Her grandmother Franconi gave it to her each Thursday, but she wasn’t able to spend it until the weekend, when her mother took her into Milan. And so the money had burned a hole in her pocket.

  And she had done this in much the same way she had looked at her lire as a child, counted the money over and over again, then put her little purse in a very safe place. And she had hardly been able to wait until Saturday and her trip to the shops.

  Quite aside from wanting to attend Anya’s party, Paris was Maria’s favorite place. And also, the idea of escape appealed to her enormously … escape from her domineering family, a job that bored her, a family business she had not the slightest interest in, and a personal life that was dull and uneventful.

  She was going to go to Paris, and she fully intended to have a good time when she got there.

  It would not be merely a weekend visit just to attend the celebration. She planned to take her vacation in June, and she would stay in Paris for a week. Perhaps even two. Or maybe even three.

  Three weeks in Paris. The mere thought of it took her breath away. What a wonderful idea.

  Now on this Thursday evening, almost a week since she had received the FedEx envelope, Maria was still ecstatic, as if she had inhaled some kind of high-octane gas. She couldn’t wait to tell Fabrizio about the party and the trip she was plannin
g. Her brother was coming to dinner; he usually did on Thursdays if he was in Milan.

  As it was, Fabrizio had been away for the past two weeks, visiting some of their clients in Vienna, Munich, and London. He was the head of sales in their company, Franconi and Sons, manufacturers of textiles par excellence since 1870.

  With lightness and speed, Maria moved around the high-tech stainless-steel-and-glass kitchen in her modern apartment, checking the pasta she had just freshly made from her own dough, stirring the Bolognese meat sauce she had put in a glass bowl a few minutes before. Moving to the refrigerator, she took out the mozzarella cheese and tomatoes, began to slice these items. Once she had done so, she arranged them on two plates and added basil leaves. Later she would drizzle oil on top.

  As she worked, Maria glanced out of the window, thinking what a pretty sky it was. Ink-black, filled with crystal stars and a perfect orb of a moon, it was without cloud tonight.

  She could see from the delicate lacy pattern of the frost on the windowpane that it had turned icy outside. But then, it usually was cold in Milan in February.

  Maria was glad Fabrizio was coming to dinner. She had missed him while he had been away. He was not only her favorite in the family but her ally in the business. Not that she really needed one these days, since she was now twenty-nine and able to stand up for herself. However, he took her side whenever she had a strong opinion, and agreed with most of the major points she made at meetings. Her grandfather usually did not.

  Frequently her father supported her, since he, too, saw the necessity for a number of their lines to be updated. This was something Maria continually fought for, but she was not always successful, much to her irritation.

  In the years since she had graduated from Anya’s school in Paris, she had become one of the top designers at Franconi, and Fabrizio in particular was forever acclaiming her talent, giving her accolades for her textiles.