Authors: Danielle Steel
“Does your nonny know you're home?” she asked
the girls, but she could see from Axelle's dirty hands and face that they had come to her without the governess's knowledge. The nurse always sent them in, immaculately dressed and spotlessly groomed, and she preferred them like this, a little more natural, and totally relaxed in her presence.
“I think we forgot to tell anny we were home,” Marie-Louise confessed as Axelle blew an expert balloon with the pink gum, and the three of them laughed together.
“You'd better not let her see that.” Alexandra smiled and set Axelle back on her feet. “You'd better tell her you're home.” The chauffeur usually brought them home from school in the Citroen, although Alexandra liked to pick them up whenever she could make it. “I have some things to do now.” She wanted to go over Henri's lists, to make sure she didn't forget anything for his dinner party the following week. She already knew who the guests would be. She had invited everyone three weeks before, on their formal
cartons
, and reminders had been sent out, formally engraved and edged in gold, letting their guests know that the Baron and Baroness de Morigny were expecting them at 14 Avenue Foch, for a dinner in black tie, at eight o'clock. She already knew what she was going to wear, the flowers had been ordered, the menu set. Everything was in order, she saw, as the girls left the room, and she read carefully down the list. And she knew Henri would produce their best wines for the occasion. Probably a Chateau Margaux '61, or a Lafite-Rothschild '45. There would be Cristalle champagne, and Chateau d'Yquem afterward, and eventually
poire
and a host of other liqueurs as the men smoked their cigars, and the ladies withdrew to another drawing room reserved for
their use while the gentlemen enjoyed their cigars and brandy and allegedly ribald stories. It was a custom few people still used, but Henri liked the old customs, and Alexandra always did things the way Henri liked them. It would never have occurred to her to suggest something different to him. She had always done things his way. Always. And to perfection.
She sat quietly in her study, after the girls left, thinking of her husband and wondering where he was going that night, and then thinking of her daughters. She heard their voices in the garden outside, and knew they were playing with the nurse. They would soon be out of school, and they would be going to Cap Ferrat as they always did for the summer. It was good for the children there, and Henri would join them in a few weeks, after settling things at his office in Paris. They would undoubtedly join friends on their yacht, and perhaps go to Italy or Greece for a few days, leaving the children alone with the nurse and the other servants. It was a golden life, the only one Alexandra had ever known, and yet sometimes, once in a great while, Alexandra allowed herself to wonder what life would have been like if she'd married a different man, someone easier, or perhaps younger. And then feeling guilty for the thought, she would force it from her mind, and realize how fortunate she was to be married to her husband.
When she saw Henri again that night, just before he went out, he looked handsome and impeccable in a beautifully tailored dark blue suit, with a perfectly starched white shirt and dark blue tie, his sapphire cuff links glinting discreetly at his wrists, and his eyes were bright and alive. He always seemed full of energy, full of some secret reserve and strength that belied
his almost sixty years, and made him seem much younger.
“You look very handsome, as usual.” She smiled at him. She had changed into a pink satin dressing gown with matching mules, and her hair was piled on her head with a cascade of curls loosely falling from it. She looked beautiful, but it was obvious from the look in her eyes that she was totally unaware of it.
“Thank you, my dear. I won't be back late.” His words were banal, but the look in his eyes was gentle and loving. He knew she would wait up for him as she always did, in her own room, with the light on, and if he wished, he could come to see her. In most instances, he would knock softly on the door, and come in for a visit before he went to bed, in his own bedroom next door to hers. He preferred separate bedrooms. He had insisted on them since they were married. She had cried about it for weeks at first, and tried to change his mind on the subject for the first several months, if not years. But Henri was firm with her. He needed his own space, his own privacy, and assured her she would need hers in time as well. And he meant it. It was just a habit he had, like so many others. Eventually, she had grown used to it. They had connecting doors which gave easy access to the rooms, and the door between them didn't keep him from appearing in her room in his dressing gown, late at night, with a frequency that always pleased her. And he still felt desire when he looked at her, as he did now. But there were other women who appealed to him too. He always tried to be discreet, although he suspected that occasionally she knew, by instinct if nothing else. Women had an uncanny knack for things like that. He
had discovered that in his youth, and he had a great respect for it.
“Have a good time.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek, and went down to the smaller dining room to have dinner with the girls. She heard his car pull away moments afterward, and turned to help Axelle cut her meat, trying not to think of where he was going.
“Why does Daddy go out alone?” Axelle asked casually with a mouth full of food, and Marie-Louise frowned disapprovingly.
“That's rude to ask,” she chided her, but Alexandra smiled.
“It's all right. Sometimes he has business dinners where he prefers to go alone.”
“Are they very dull?” She was interested in everything.
“Sometimes.” Alexandra laughed. “I'd rather be here with both of you.”
“I'm glad.” Axelle grinned, and announced a loose tooth, as Marie-Louise winced in disgust at her younger sister. She was past all that, and Axelle's offer to wiggle it for them revolted her still further.
“Stop that! You make me sick!” She made a face and Alexandra smiled at them. She was never happier than when she was with her daughters. She spent a little while in Marie-Louise's room that night and discovered she had a new best friend at school, and then read stories to Axelle, and kissed them both, and said their prayers with them before retiring to her own room. It was odd. Sometimes Marie-Louise reminded her of someone else, but she was never sure whom. Henri perhaps … maybe that was it … and then she forced the thought from her mind, as she slipped off
her dressing gown, took a hot bath, and eventually climbed into bed with a new book.
It was after midnight when Henri finally came home, and she heard him in his room, before he finally came in to say good night to her. “Still up?” She nodded with a smile. She liked waiting up for him, sometimes he was more relaxed at night and more likely to open up to her, about his ideas, or plans, or problems.
“Did you have a nice evening?”
“It was all right.” His eyes seemed to search hers, and then he said something unusual for him, something that relieved her mind more than he could ever have imagined. Perhaps he didn't have a new mistress after all, she thought with immense relief. “I should have taken you along. I was bored without you.” It was unlike him to pay her a compliment like that, and she smiled and patted her bed for him to sit down, and when he did she leaned over and kissed him.
“Thank you, Henri. I missed you too …” Her voice was gentle and her smile was the private one that always stirred him. “I had a nice time with the girls tonight. Marie-Louise is so serious and so grown up now, and Axelle is still … well, she's still a baby.” She laughed and he smiled. He was proud of them too, even if he didn't show it.
“They're good little girls.” He leaned over and kissed her neck. “Just like their Maman … you're a good girl too, my darling.” They were tender words she loved to hear and they warmed her.
“Am I?” She smiled mischievously at him. “What a shame …” She laughed then, and he lay next to her, touching her breast with one hand, and kissing her with the full measure of his desire. He hadn't intended to make love to her that night, but she looked so
lovely, lying in her bed, with the pink and gray sheets, and her pink satin nightgown. And it was so hard for him to tell her how much he cared sometimes. It was easier to show her here, in the dim light of her boudoir. He loved their hours in bed, their nights side by side until he tiptoed quietly to his own room in the morning. He was deeply attached to her, and to the girls, but it was always difficult for him to show that. And he expected so much of her … of himself … he wanted her to be everything he had always dreamed of in a way, and in some ways that was why he had married her. He could never have married someone less than Alexandra. But the daughter of the Comte de Borne was of a breeding worthy of him, her upbringing suited her perfectly to become his wife, and in the past fourteen years she had proven him right. He was proud of who she was and all he had taught her. She was perfect in every way, and he could never have settled for anything less than Alexandra. He wanted her on a pedestal … except for these rare times … in his arms … in her bed … then he could allow her to be someone else, for a few moments at least. And with a contented sigh, and a last look at her afterward, smiling happily at him, he turned over and fell asleep, totally sated.
Chapter 11
The chauffeur drove the Citroën over the Pont Alexandre III to the Left Bank, and moments later, passing the Invalides, was on the rue de Varenne. It always felt like going home to her. As beautiful as the
hôtel particulier
on the Avenue Foch was, as handsomely decorated, after all these years her parents' house on the rue de Varenne still felt like home to Alexandra.
Her heart always seemed to give a happy little leap as she saw the house, and the caretaker opened the gates so they could drive into the court, and then there was still that moment of sadness, that tiny jolt, as she realized that her father would never be there again. After all these years, she still felt his absence sorely. But the prospect of seeing her mother was a comfort and a joy, and it was a homecoming each time she saw her.
Their old butler was standing smiling beside the front door, holding it open wide in welcome. And beyond, Alexandra could see the priceless artifacts her parents had collected. Beautifully inlaid pieces of furniture, Louis XV chests covered with rich pink marbles and dripping with handsome bronzes. Urns they had
bought at auction in London. And Renoirs and Degas and Turners and Van Goghs, and the Cassatts her mother was so fond of. It was a house filled with beautiful things, all of which would one day be hers, which was a prospect she didn't even like to think of, but the only one that consoled Henri for the exasperation of being related to Margaret.
“Darling, are you here?” the familiar voice called from upstairs, from the sitting room overlooking the garden that she was so fond of. And Alexandra hurried up the marble staircase, feeling like a child again, with a happy smile, anxious to see her mother. She found her sitting on a couch, doing needlepoint with her glasses on the very end of her nose, and a glass of wine on the table next to her, and her Labrador retriever stretched out in front of the fire. Axelle and Marie-Louise loved the dog, who was old and good-natured, but Henri always cringed as she slobbered and licked and kissed and left her hair all over everyone who touched her. “Darling!” Margaret dropped her needlepoint and stood to her full six feet, a pretty woman with blond hair and blue eyes not unlike Alexandra's, in a bright pink Chanel suit with a navy blue blouse and matching shoes, and ruby earrings the size of doorknobs. “My God, who died?” She backed off suddenly after kissing Alexandra.
She looked at her daughter with a frown, and Alexandra grinned at her. Her mother always wore bright colors and clothes from wonderful designers. Chanel and Givenchy and Dior and de Ribes, and almost always in brilliant colors. They suited her, but Henri preferred her in black and navy blue and beige and in the country in gray flannel. She had come to her mother's home in a new black dress from Dior, with a
matching jacket. “Now stop that. This is new, and Henri loves it.” Unlike her exchanges with her husband and her children, Alexandra always spoke to her mother in English, and although she spoke it well, she had a noticeable French accent.
“It looks awful. You should burn it.” Margaret de Borne sat down on her couch again, indicated to the butler to pour Alexandra a glass of wine, and went back to her needlepoint as she smiled happily at her daughter. She always loved her visits, and their private exchanges. She enjoyed going out with her too, but this was always a little more special. They both got out more than they needed to, so they didn't need each other as an excuse to go to the latest fashionable places. Instead, they preferred to eat a simple lunch of salad and cheese and fruit on trays in Margaret's sitting room overlooking her garden. She glanced at her daughter again and shook her head in obvious dismay. “I wish you'd stop doing your hair that color, sweetheart. You look like one of those fading blondes from California. If I had hair your color, I would flaunt it. I'd make it even more red!” She shook her glasses at her for emphasis before setting them down to sip her wine. She had always loved the red of Alexandra's hair before she began to rinse it blond. It seemed such a waste of one of nature's great gifts. Her own hair had to be helped considerably now twice a month at Alexandre's.
“You know Henri hates it red. It's too loud. He thinks it looks more ladylike this way.”
“Henri … the poor man is so afraid to be a little out of the ordinary. I'm surprised he doesn't make you wear a black wig and cover the whole thing. Seriously,
darling, God gave you red hair, and you ought to enjoy it.”
“I don't mind it like this.” She smiled easily and sipped her wine. She was used to her mother's complaints about her husband. His were far worse about Margaret. And Alexandra had lived with it for fourteen years. She was only sorry they had never come to like each other, but she had given up long since. It was obvious they were never going to fall in love with each other.