Kaleidoscope (34 page)

John Chapman shook his head. “I don't know. He said something about his wife not feeling able to cope with it. I think he regrets it now. Sometimes we make terrible mistakes, but we only see it in hindsight.” He dared to ask her then what Arthur wanted to know. “Are you happy, Alexandra? Forgive me for asking …” But it meant a great deal to Arthur. And she smiled at John.

“I have always been very happy. I have been blessed with wonderful parents whom I have loved deeply. Pierre de Borne was a remarkable man, and I'm only grateful he lived as long as he did. He was the joy of my life,” she blushed, “and I of his.” And then she smiled more broadly. “And you met my mother yesterday. She's wonderful, isn't she? She's my closest friend and greatest ally. This has been very hard for her.” Alexandra's face sobered as she thought of her mother's tears the day before. “It was terribly hard for her to remind me of the past. I don't suppose it will be easy for anyone to dredge all this up, particularly given the way it all happened.” She sighed and looked
hard at him. “Does anyone really know why he killed her?”

“Not really.” He shook his head. “Some sort of an argument, I believe. I think he was drunk. Temporary insanity, as the defense said. Mr. Patterson maintains to this day that Sam, your father, adored her. It's difficult to understand people giving way to that kind of violence and emotions.”

She nodded, but she was thinking about Hilary and they still hadn't found out about Megan. “I hope Megan's all right. I hope they both are.” It was as though she knew them now, as though they had already come back to her, like her own children. “I have two little girls of my own, Axelle and Marie-Louise. It's odd,” she mused thoughtfully, “I think Marie-Louise looks rather like Hilary.” It was odd too that Alexandra had returned to her mother's native country.

And then Chapman asked her a difficult question. “Have you told your husband about all this?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “I'm afraid Henri won't understand it. I think he'll be very upset that my parents didn't tell him when we got married. And until you find the others, there's no point confronting him. It will only make him unhappy.” It was a story she had been telling herself since the night before, and she was almost convinced now.

“And when we find the others?”

“Then I'll have to tell him something.” She smiled uncomfortably. “I don't normally go off to America at the drop of a hat, Mr. Chapman.”

“You did not deceive him, you didn't know all this.” He was trying to soothe her, but she knew better.

“My parents did though. He will be very angry. He
believes me to be the daughter of the Comte de Borne. The bloodline means a great deal to Henri. He can trace his family back nine hundred years. I don't really think that a murderer and a French war bride were exactly what he had in mind for the grandparents of his children.” Perhaps it was just as well they had never had a son. Then he would never forgive her. And perhaps he wouldn't as it was. Chapman felt sorry for her as he watched her face. He sensed that her husband was not an easy person.

“I think he'll adjust. You've obviously been married for a long time. And he loves you. That counts for a lot.”

“Not to everyone, Mr. Chapman.” She smiled wistfully. And how could he be so sure that Henri loved her? She wasn't sure of it herself sometimes. He owned her, like a fine piece of Louis XV furniture, or a very good painting. And if the painting turned out to be a fraud? Would he still love it enough to keep it? She knew some would, but she wasn't at all sure Henri was among them. He was obsessed with quality and veracity and perfection. And she knew now that her pedigree was badly flawed. It was not difficult to imagine Henri's reaction.

Chapman was looking at her gently as they sat quietly in a corner of his hotel, and he realized that he liked her. She was gentle and shy, and she had kind eyes, the kind of eyes he had always wanted to find in a woman. She was so graceful, and so gentle. He hoped that Arthur's investigation was not going to cause her pain. She had done nothing to deserve it.

“May I invite you to lunch, Alexandra? And will you forgive me for being so informal?” He smiled his boyish smile at her and she laughed.

“You know all the secrets of my life. I hardly expect you to call me by my husband's title.”

“Oh, dear … is he titled too then?”

“Of course.” She laughed again, and when she did she looked so much younger. “The Baron Henri Edouard Antoine Xavier Saint Brumier de Morigny. Lovely name, isn't it?” She was almost giggling. It had been a very tense morning, and she needed the relief. They both did.

“Does it all fit on his driver's license?”

She laughed at the thought. And then sobered. “And you, Mr. Chapman, what do you think of all this? You're an intelligent man. It must all seem rather shocking.”

“Nothing shocks me anymore. I think it's a shame so many lives were destroyed by one act of madness. And in some ways, I think it's a shame to disturb the embers. But it's not for me to make those judgments, and perhaps it will bring some comfort to some of you to be reunited. Are you curious about the others?” She nodded. She had to admit she was.

“I remember Hilary a little bit … just flashes and little bits, ever since speaking to my mother yesterday.” And then she sighed. “It was a tremendous shock for her.”

“And for you too.” There was compassion in his eyes and he wanted to reach out and touch her hand, but he didn't. “I'm sorry to cause you so much trouble.”

“You haven't yet.” But he would, when he found the others.

“Can I induce you to have lunch with me, in spite of all that?” He liked her, and funnily enough, he wanted to get to know her. He told himself it was so he could
report back to his client, but he knew it was more than that. The pieces of the mystery were beginning to fall into place, and she was a lovely woman, and he liked her.

She hesitated for only a fraction of an instant, calculating what harm it could do, and decided it could do none. “I'd love it.”

“Any suggestions? I haven't been here recently, and I'm afraid I'm not very much up-to-date on the in places.”

“The best places, Mr. Chapman, are the old ones.” She stood up and smiled, and he put everything back in his briefcase and locked it. For an odd moment, she wanted to ask him for the picture of her as a little girl with her sisters, but she imagined that he needed it to show to the others, when he found them. And now suddenly she understood why there were no photographs of her as a baby. She thought of it suddenly as they crossed the lobby and he insisted that she call him John, and he noticed an odd look in her eyes then.

“I just realized something I'd never really understood before. My parents have no photographs of me as a baby, and I just accepted it, as though it were normal.”

“You had no reason to doubt them. Where are we going for lunch?”

“I thought we'd have lunch at the Ritz, with all the little old ladies.” She grinned and he laughed as she took his arm and they began walking.

“It sounds delightful.”

“They make me look terribly young and attractive.”

“You are, or haven't you noticed that lately?”

“I try not to look. I only see the wrinkles.” But it was only idle talk, she didn't even look thirty, and she
had exquisite skin and silky hair, which reminded him that she looked different than he had expected.

“You know, it's funny. I thought you'd have red hair.”

She smiled guiltily, and looked very female, and he was struck again by how pretty she was, in a subtle way. It was almost as though she were trying to hide it, with her ladylike hairdo and subdued clothes. He wondered what she would look like if she really let herself go wild. Probably a great deal like her mother.

“I do have red hair.” The smile dimmed and then faded. “My husband doesn't like it, so I rinse it blond. Axelle, my youngest daughter, has red hair too. But I haven't been a redhead in years. Henri thinks it vulgar.” She said it in a matter of fact way and John silently decided that Henri was clearly an idiot.

Their lunch at the Ritz was relaxed and easy and pleasant. They talked about Boston and New York, and Cape Cod and Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, where they each spent their summers. They talked about sailing, and summers as a child, and how he had started his career instead of going into law, as was expected. They were like comfortable old friends, and they were both sorry when she finally left him at his hotel, and she got back into the car she had left with the doorman.

“Call me as soon as you know something, John.”

“I promise.” He touched her hand on the wheel, and then leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Take care of yourself. And I hope next time I see you, you have flaming red hair!” They both laughed, and she waved and drove into the flow of traffic, feeling as though she had made a new friend. He was handsome and charming and bright, and she wondered why he wasn't married. He had said only that he was divorced and had a
penchant for difficult women and had let it go at that. But she liked him so much, she couldn't imagine why someone hadn't snatched him up the moment he'd gotten divorced from his first wife.

But her mind drifted quickly back to the reason he had come to Paris to see her. It was all more than a little bit amazing. And she was stunned to realize as she walked in the door that it was already four o'clock. And she was giving a dinner party that evening. She hastily checked on the flowers and the wines, saw the cook, and glanced around to make sure that everything was in order. And then she went to see her daughters, playing in the garden with a friend. They were excited that school was almost over, and they'd be leaving for Cap-Ferrat soon.

At six-thirty, she went to dress, and she heard Henri in his study, but she didn't want to disturb him. Instead she ran her bath and laid out her dress, a white silk floor-length gown. She usually wore it with long diamond earrings that had belonged to Henri's late mother. And she was just taking them out of her jewel box when the door opened and he strode into the room with a look of fury.

“Hello darling,” she stood up to greet him, but the smile froze on her face when she saw him. “Is something wrong? I checked everything for tonight and it looked fine to me …” But it was obvious that something terrible had happened in the meantime.

“What exactly do you think you're doing, making a fool of me, all over Paris?”

“My God, Henri, what are you talking about?”

“I mean that you were seen today, dining with a man at the Ritz, thinking you were hiding.”

Her face went very white, but she stood extremely
still as she explained it. “If I thought I were hiding, I would hardly go to the Ritz. It was a business lunch. He's here from New York, on some business matters for my mother.”

“I heard that yesterday, Alexandra. And you won't get away with it twice. But it certainly explains your behavior last night. You couldn't think straight. Well, I'm not going to tolerate an outrage of this kind. You will leave for Cap-Ferrat in the morning.” She was being banished, like a naughty child, and tears filled her eyes at the injustice of what he was thinking.

“Henri, I have never cheated on you. You must believe that.” She didn't dare approach him, and they stood at opposite ends of the room, she in bleak despair, and he in outrage.

“I believed that until now. But you cannot expect me to believe it in this instance.”

“It's true.”

“That's nonsense. And I have every intention of telling your mother what I think of her providing a smokescreen for you. I do not wish to see her at Cap-Ferrat this summer.”

“Henri, that's not fair. She wants to see the children …”

“She should have thought of that before she began covering for you with your lovers.”

“I don't have any lovers!” Alexandra screamed. “And my mother has nothing to do with this …”

“Aha … I thought this was a business matter for her.” He advanced on her slowly, victory in his eyes, and Alexandra sank into a chair, beaten and desperately unhappy.

“It is …”

“What kind of business matter is it?” He roughly
tilted her chin up so she had to face him, but he knew she wasn't entirely telling him the truth, and she could do nothing about it. To tell him the whole truth would have been far worse. She knew that.

“I can't explain it right now. It's all confidential business matters of my parents.” She looked pale and shaken, and he stalked out of the room again, and then turned to look at her from the doorway.

“I never would have expected this of you, Alexandra. See to it that it never happens again, or you will be going back to your mother's house,
without your daughters.
Have your things packed for the Riviera by noon tomorrow.” And with that he slammed the doors to her boudoir, and she sat and sobbed in despair. She had had such a pleasant time with John, and it was all so harmless, and now Henri thought she was cheating on him. And then suddenly, she realized she had to call him. She went hastily to the phone on her desk, and called the Bristol. Fortunately, he was there, and she was able to tell him that they were leaving for Cap-Ferrat several weeks early, in case he needed to reach her. She gave him the number and thanked him for lunch again, never letting on for a moment how much pain it had just caused her.

“I hope I'll be in touch with you again soon.”

“So do I.” But she was ashamed for thinking it for several reasons. He was so kind and so understanding. But he had his own life to lead, and so did she. She had enough trouble without indulging in fantasies about him.

“I'll call as soon as I hear something.”

“Thank you, John. Have a good trip back.”

“I will. I'm leaving in the morning.” He had hoped to get on a flight that night, but he had gotten back to
the hotel so late after lunch that he was no longer in the mood to pack and run, and he decided that a last night in Paris wouldn't do any harm. He was feeling relaxed and pleased about his lunch with Alexandra, and when he'd called Sasha from the hotel she was in one of her impossible moods. He was suddenly in no hurry to get back. He was looking forward to dinner at a bistro nearby, and a pleasant stroll through the streets of Paris.