‘How do you know him?’
‘I met him in the south of France a few years ago, when I was staying at Villa Faviola with Gideon, Toby, Uncle Winston and Dad. If you remember, we had that all-male weekend together. Jean-Claude came over with one of Toby’s friends, and we hit it off. Spent a lot of time talking about the theatre and films. And then whenever he was in London he called me, and we got together if we could.’
‘And is there a Madame Deléon?’
‘No, there isn’t. And I don’t think there ever has been. To my knowledge Jean-Claude has never been married. Mind you, he does have quite a reputation…as being something of a ladies’ man.’
‘Oh, so he’s young then?’ Tessa asked.
‘Maybe he’s forty-nine, fifty, I’m not sure.’
‘And where are we going to dinner after the party?’
‘Tessa, darling, I’ve no idea. He simply said, “Bring your sister to the book party and afterwards you’ll both join me for dinner with a few friends.” So your guess is as good as mine. We’ll just have to wait and see.’
H
e saw her the moment she walked in. A vision in white. Ethereal, almost otherworldly. He moved his head slightly, to see her better. He knew at once who she was: Tessa Fairley, Lorne’s twin sister. Lorne was holding her elbow, moving her through the group clustered near the door, moving her towards him, bringing her to him.
He was sitting at a
bureau plat
at the far end of the grand entrance foyer, in one of the great private homes on the Faubourg Saint-Germain, signing his latest book. Except that he wasn’t signing at this moment. He was sitting waiting for the woman in white, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, breathtaking in her beauty.
As she drew nearer her eyes met his, registered his concentrated stare, and she blinked, appeared to recoil for a split second, but she continued to walk towards him and her eyes never left his.
The chattering around him became just a dim noise in the background; no other person present interested him any longer. Only this girl, for that is how he saw her, so young, so fresh, so innocent-looking, a little unworldly even.
He was suddenly on his feet, walking around the writing table, waiting for her to come to him.
‘Jean-Claude, good evening,’ Lorne said, as they drew to a stop.
‘Ah, Lorne,
quel plaisir de vous voir.’
The two men shook hands, and then Lorne went on, ‘This is my sister, Tessa.’ As he spoke Lorne moved her forward slightly, closer to Jean-Claude.
‘Enchanté,’
he said, and switching to English he added, ‘I am happy you could come.’ To Jean-Claude his voice sounded gruff, even hoarse.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, too, Monsieur Deléon,’ Tessa answered in a clear light voice, offering her hand to him.
He took it in his, held it tightly.
She smiled at him. The smile, her silvery eyes, that pale, silken hair were heartstopping. His gaze fastened on hers. They were mesmerized by each other, stood staring.
He forgot where he was for a moment. She seemed like a dream…Inside him was a mystery he’d never been able to fathom, to solve. In her were all of the answers to those innumerable questions in his mind and heart…answers that suddenly seemed just within his grasp. He knew she held the secret to so much, to many things, things which he had been searching for…
‘I think I’ve got to break this up, people are staring at the two of you,’ Lorne said softly, with a slightly embarrassed laugh.
Jean-Claude blinked and murmured, ‘Excuse me, I must continue with the signing.’ Reluctantly he let go of her hand, smiled at her, and walked around the desk, where he sat down once again. To Lorne he said, ‘I shall now sign books for the two of you,
mon ami.’
As he spoke he pulled one towards him, signed it, handed it to Tessa and then signed one for Lorne.
‘Thank you,’ Tessa said as she opened her book. After reading the inscription she stared at him, her expression puzzled, her eyes questioning.
Jean-Claude looked at her intently. A small smile struck his mouth when he saw the bafflement on her face, and then he looked at Lorne, gave him his signed book. ‘Take Tessa to meet our hostess, Marie-Helene. You’ve met her with me before. She’s in the salon. I have more books to sign. After, we go to dinner.’
‘Thanks for the book, Jean-Claude, that sounds great,’ Lorne murmured.
Jean-Claude nodded and glanced around. It seemed to him that all those who had crowded around him had dispersed, drifted away, and he shrugged and wondered if he could bring the book-signing to a close sooner rather than later. But no…here they came again, once they saw he was alone. His friends and acquaintances flooded around the desk once more, wanting the book, his signature, and so he smiled and signed, and wished he were alone with the young woman who had disappeared from his sight. Later, he thought, I will be with her later.
Lorne had propelled Tessa through the vast and handsome marble foyer with its wall-hung tapestries, crystal chandeliers and elegant furniture, and, once there was enough distance between them and Jean-Claude, he whispered, ‘My God, what was that all about? What happened back there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tessa muttered, and thought: I met Destiny. I met the man who is my destiny. As bizarre as she knew this thought was, she also knew she was right. Unexpectedly a strange calmness settled over her, like a soft transparent veil. And her heart was suddenly perfectly still. Tessa thought of the words he had written in the book and suddenly knew what they meant. He felt the same as she did.
Of course.
But hadn’t she known that before reading his words? She had seen it on his face…and in his eyes. They had reflected what she was feeling exactly.
‘You’ve suddenly gone very quiet,’ Lorne murmured, searching her face. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m perfect,’ she replied, and gave him a small smile.
‘Then let me take you to meet the hostess of this event.’
‘Who
is
Marie-Hélène?’
‘She’s a socialite, married to a French industrialist, Alain Charpentier, and they’re old friends of Jean-Claude’s. I think they’re coming to dinner, along with another couple, and Jean-Claude has invited his editor as well as us. We’re eight.’
‘He said you’d met Marie-Hélène before, but do you know any of the others?’
‘I’ve met Alain, her husband, and Jean-Claude’s editor, Michel Longeval, several times before, but I don’t know who the other couple are. Anyway, we’ll soon find out. In the meantime, there’s Marie-Hélène over there near the fireplace, let’s go and say hello.’
A moment later Tessa was shaking hands with one of the chicest women she had ever seen, including her mother. It was the kind of elegance that only a French woman knew how to achieve. Marie-Hélène, a slender blonde of medium height and indeterminate age, wore a simple black linen sheath with a round neckline and no sleeves, which was obviously haute couture. On her ears were pearl-and-diamond studs, and around her neck a single strand of large pearls–South Sea pearls. They’re not as beautiful as Great-Aunt Edwina’s, Tessa thought, and this made her smile to herself. She couldn’t help wondering, all of a sudden, what Edwina would make of Jean-Claude Deléon.
Their hostess was charm personified and chatted away to Lorne and Tessa in the most entertaining way, while they sipped from their flutes of Dom Pérignon. Lorne was the one who mostly chatted back and, Tessa vaguely noticed, flirted in a mild way with the older woman, who on close inspection looked to be in her late fifties.
She herself nodded occasionally and said only a few words because her concentration was elsewhere. Her mind was on the man in the entrance foyer signing his latest book.
He elected to sit in the front seat with the driver, whilst Lorne, the editor Michel, and she sat in the back of the car.
Alain and Marie-Hélène had taken the other couple to the restaurant with them. They were called Natalie and Arnaud; she hadn’t caught their last name, but they had seemed very pleasant when they were introduced in the house.
Tessa sat staring at Jean-Claude’s head, thinking it was very shapely and that he had good hair. Suddenly, as if her eyes had bored into him, he glanced over his shoulder and stared at her. And she stared back. Then without saying a word he swung his head rather abruptly and looked straight ahead through the windscreen, remained totally silent as they drove to the restaurant.
Tessa sat very still, not moving at all, saying nothing, just thinking about him, asking herself what was happening to her? And why now? She half-listened to Lorne and Michel discussing an old French movie they both loved,
Belle de Jour,
but mostly she was thinking about Jean-Claude Deléon, replaying in her head their meeting just over an hour ago. Was that all it was? Only an hour? She felt as if she’d known him always…how curious to feel that…
Quite innocently she had gone with Lorne to that grand private house on the Faubourg Saint-Germain; a
hôtel particulier
it was called, as were all these grand private homes in Paris, each one hidden behind forbiddingly high stone walls. They had entered the inner courtyard through a black-painted door set in a narrow side wall, crossed the large cobblestone yard, gone through the front door of the house and mounted an imposing staircase which led to the handsome foyer.
Since Lorne had not told her very much about his old friend, she had not known what to expect; much to her astonishment she had found herself mesmerized by him the instant she set eyes on him.
He had been sitting behind the flat-topped writing desk, books stacked in front of him, people clamouring at his shoulder for his attention and his signature. It seemed to her they were full of adulation.
And then he had moved slightly when he had caught sight of her walking towards him with Lorne, and their eyes had locked and held. Immediately she had been drawn to him, pulled closer. Perhaps it was his eyes, which were magnetic, amber-brown and deep set below shapely dark brows that matched his dark hair. His face was well-defined with a strong jaw, broad brow, aquiline nose, generous mouth and a full lower lip. She wasn’t sure how old he was, a lot older than her certainly but she didn’t care; it was instantly apparent to her that he was all male, masculinity personified, in fact. A man’s man.
Suddenly her legs had felt weak and she had trembled inside as he had risen, walked around the desk, stood waiting for her. She had met his intense gaze head on and had found it impossible to look away. They had shaken hands but he had not let go of her fingers, and she hadn’t minded that. And they had just stood there oblivious to everyone, gazing at each other. She had realized at that moment how irresistibly drawn to him she was, had felt the strong pull of sexual attraction and desire. And yet it was so much more than a purely physical thing. It was spiritual also. She felt as if he were looking deep into her soul, seeing her innermost self, and she had understood something else…understood that they were making a pact with each other, albeit unspoken. At that moment, in that grand entrance foyer, something profound had happened, had connected between them, and she was aware there was already an undercurrent of intimacy even though they had only just met.
Now as she sat in the back of the car, being driven through the busy streets of Paris, an involuntary shiver ran through her. Automatically she straightened on the seat as she admitted to herself that there was something inevitable about them.
Matters were out of her hands. The fates had brought them together. Other forces were at work.
He took them to Taillevent on the rue Laminnais, a restaurant she was familiar with but did not know well. It had been closed for a month’s summer vacation since mid-July, had only just re-opened, so there was a flurry of greetings and friendly chatter when they arrived. And he was treated with such deference and awe, as though he were a king, that Tessa was startled. Yet there was a warm familiarity between him and the staff which he appeared to encourage, and she realized there was a sense of humility in him despite his fame. This pleased her, gave her pause for thought.
Once they were shown to the table, Jean-Claude began to seat them, just as Marie-Hélène, her husband, and the other couple arrived. All of a sudden Tessa noticed she would not be sitting next to him; he had placed her at one end of the table, flanked by Alain and Michel, whilst he took the other end, between Marie-Hélène and Natalie.
This meant he was looking directly at her down the stretch of the table, and although he was the perfect host, cosseting them all, talking to everyone, motioning to waiters, being the bon vivant, his eyes inevitably came back to her face every few minutes.
It seemed to Tessa that the evening passed in a foggy blur. She did everything by rote, ordered food, played around with it whilst barely tasting it or enjoying it. Occasionally she sipped her wine, and made conversation with the two men seated on either side.
Sometimes she looked across at Lorne, half smiled or spoke a few words to him, but mostly she remained quiet, attentive, listening, trying to glean as much as she could about Jean-Claude. And she rarely took her eyes off him. Once or twice he asked her if she liked the food, or gave her a faint smile, but mostly he spoke eloquently about the things which interested him and the others at the table–theatre and film, literature, and politics. Endlessly they all chattered about international politics, world conditions and the future.
As he talked she began to understand more about him. She knew he was considered a great thinker and philosopher in France, but she hadn’t realized he had covered wars–in Bosnia, Kosovo and Afghanistan. That he was a journalist of some standing and repute quickly became apparent to her; she also learned he was a protégé and favourite of President Mitterrand; that the French elite thought of him as another André Malraux; and that he had made documentaries, and written a play that had run at the Comédie Française, one of the great theatres of Paris.