Three Weeks in Paris (33 page)

“Don’t be silly, darling. It was my pleasure to have you all together again, and so
tranquil
too. I’m very happy the quarrel is behind us.”

As they waited for Anya’s car and driver, Alexa drew Jessica under the arches at one moment, and said to her quietly, “I need to talk to you about something really important, Jessica. Can you spare me half an hour?”

Jessica looked at her swiftly, then nodded, glanced at her watch. “Let’s find a cab. We can talk on the way to the Bonnal Gallery. I have an appointment there with Alain, about a painting for a client.”

Alexa was staring at her intently.

Jessica frowned. “You remember him, don’t you? He was a friend of Lucien’s.”

“Oh, yes, I remember him,” Alexa answered.

A WEEK LATER, VERY EARLY ON A WARM
SATURDAY MORNING
, they drove to the Loire Valley.

Tom was at the wheel of his large burgundy-colored Mercedes sedan, with Mark Sylvester sitting next to him in the front. On the backseat were Alexa, Jessica, and Alain Bonnal.

Tom peered ahead as they finally exited the environs of Paris and headed out toward the main motorway that would take them to Orléans.

Although it was balmy weather, the sun was hidden by dark clouds that floated across the horizon; they seemed threatening, hinted of an imminent downpour. Tom hoped it would not rain, wanting a fast run down to his parents’ house near Tours.

Once they arrived there, they planned to freshen up and have breakfast before heading over to Montcresse, the château that was the family home of Jean Beauvais-Cresse. Only Tom, the two women, and Alain would go there; this had been decided over dinner last night, when the five of them had gone to Le Relais-Plaza for a meal. They had agreed that Mark would remain with Tom’s
parents. As soon as the meeting with Jean had taken place, the other four would return for lunch and then head back to Paris in mid-afternoon.

Because it was so early in the morning, it seemed to Tom that no one wanted to talk, and perhaps it was best that they didn’t, he decided. He slipped a disc into the player on the dashboard, and turned the volume down to low. Soon the car was filled with the background themes from great Hollywood movies, and it was soothing, not at all intrusive.

Jessica’s eyes were closed, but she was not dozing. She was wide awake, simply feigning sleep in order to sink down into her diverse thoughts.

She had been determined to come and see this man in the Loire who looked so much like Lucien, but now she felt a bit queasy about it.

On the other hand, Alain was with them, and this helped. In fact, he had insisted on accompanying them, and she felt she owed it to him. After all, he had helped her so much when Lucien had disappeared. This aside, Alain knew Lucien as well as she did, and if she were at all uncertain about the man’s true identity, she had Alain to turn to for a proper assessment.

Could it be Lucien?
Was he alive and well and living in the Loire? Perhaps. Certainly she had sometimes had a weird feeling that Lucien was alive somewhere out there. She had even said that to Alain on the day they had lunched together at Chez André, when she had first arrived in Paris. That day she had been quite positive that Alain knew no more than she did, and he had proved that once again when she had gone to the Bonnal Gallery last Monday.

In the taxi from Le Grand Véfour, Alexa had told her about the photograph album, Tom’s reaction to the photograph of her and Lucien standing at the edge of the Pont
des Arts. And although she had been momentarily startled, it had not come as a great shock. In one sense, she had half expected to hear something like this over the years. Then again, Mark had put a bug in her ear in February when he had suggested that Lucien might have vanished on purpose.

Alain had pooh-poohed that over lunch, and then again at the gallery, when Alexa had told him about Jean Beauvais-Cresse. It was apparent he had never heard of the man, that he did not know him, and he was very dismissive when Alexa said Jean could be Lucien. But when he heard they were planning a trip to the Loire, he had pleaded to be included, and Jessica had agreed, knowing she owed him this because of the past and his friendship to her.

The past, she thought now. Seven years ago. I was twenty-four and so innocent at that time, even more naive when I met Lucien when I was twenty-two, just a country girl from Texas. But Lucien had not been overly sophisticated, simply a good-looking, pleasant young man who loved being an actor. He had had a great zest for life, and they had been so compatible. And he had made her feel good about herself, their relationship, life in general, and the future they planned … California here we come, they used to say in unison. That had been their aim. An interior design business for her, Hollywood movies for him …

Alexa had been wonderful to her last Monday, so kind and compassionate, understanding of her sudden dilemma: to go and confront this man, or not to go. Alexa had been very determined, had opted for going down there, pointing out she really had no alternative. Jessica had at once seen the sense in making the trip.

She wanted, no, needed, to close this chapter in her life … she could do that only by going to Château

Montcresse. If the man who lived there with his wife and child was not Lucien, then no harm had been done, and perhaps she could close the book anyway.

But if it was Lucien, then she would finally have the answers to some very pertinent questions, the most important one being
WHY?

She had voiced all this to Mark yesterday before they had gone to meet the others at Le Relais for dinner. He had encouraged the trip, and agreed with her. He had also asked her to allow him to come along. “I care about you, Jessica,” he had said. “And I’d like to be there for you, in case you need me. I’m your friend, you know.” She had smiled and squeezed his arm, and said she would be relieved if he went with them, genuinely meaning this.

————

NOT LONG AFTER
he had left the motorway at the exit to Tours, Tom quickly circumvented the town, drove past Amboise, and took a secondary road going toward Loches. “We’ll soon be there,” he said at one moment, and everyone sat up, looking out the car windows eagerly.

Fifteen minutes later Tom was slowing down and turning into a driveway through iron gates that stood open and welcoming. At the end of a short drive stood a lovely old manor house, typical of the area, made of the local Loire stone that was renowned for turning white as it aged over the years. The manor looked pale and elegant set against a backdrop of dark green trees with an azure sky above.

As Tom pulled up and braked outside the front door, it opened and his father came hurrying down the steps.

After embracing his son, who was a younger version of himself, Paul Conners hugged Alexa with great affection, and then Tom made the introductions all around.

“Come on, let’s go inside and have breakfast,” Paul
said, leading the way into the circular front hall with a terra-cotta-tiled floor and white stone walls hung with antique tapestries.

Christiane Conners, Tom’s mother, appeared at this moment, and once she had kissed Tom and Alexa, her son introduced their companions.

“Perhaps you would like to freshen up,” Christiane said, turning to Alexa and Jessica, and then heading toward the staircase, beckoning to them. “And Paul and Tom, I’ll leave you to look after Mark and Alain.”

Christiane led the way up the curving staircase to the floor above, and showed them both into a pretty guest room decorated with a pale blue toile de Jouy used throughout. It covered the walls, the bed, and was hanging at the windows as draperies.

Jessica noticed it immediately and thought the room looked so fresh and airy, but she made no comment. She was preoccupied, nervous now that they had arrived in the area.

“You will find everything you need here, Alexa,” Christiane said, waving her hand around the room and then indicating the bathroom.

“Thank you, Christiane.” Alexa turned to Jessica. “Why don’t you tidy up first, Jess, I want to talk to Tom’s mother for a moment.”

“Thanks,” Jessica replied, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Once they were alone, Christiane rushed over to Alexa and hugged her. She had always liked Tom’s parents, and she knew this feeling was mutual. They had made her feel welcome, had always been loving.

Finally releasing her, Christiane looked into her face and said softly, “I was so happy when I heard you were in Paris,
ma petite
, and that you and Tom were back
together.” A beautifully arched blond brow lifted, and she quickly asked, “You are, are you not?”

“Yes, we are,” Alexa answered. “We’re meant to be together, and I think Tom knows that now.”

“I hope so,
chérie
. You are important for him, good for him. I know this … ah,
les hommes
 … sometimes they can be … stupid.” She shook her head. “But what would we do without them?”

When Jessica came out of the bathroom, Christiane looked at her intently, said, “Tom wished me to tell you about Jean Beauvais-Cresse, but there is not much to tell, Jessica.”

“He’s the mystery man, according to Tom,” Jessica responded, sitting down on the chair opposite Christiane while they waited for Alexa.

“Mystery man?” Tom’s mother repeated, and shook her head. “
Non, non.
” She thought for a moment, before continuing. “I think of him as a
recluse
. We do not see much of him in public. Nor his wife. They keep … to themselves.”

“Perhaps that’s an indication of
something
peculiar,” Alexa said as she came out of the bathroom. “I think so anyway.”

“I hope we’ll soon have some answers,” Jessica muttered.

Christiane nodded. “Let us go downstairs and have a little refreshment. I am sure you are eager to be on your way to Montcresse.” She now hurried out of the blue guest room, and the two young women followed hard on her heels.

Despite her preoccupation, the designer in Jessica surfaced a couple of times as she followed Tom’s mother and Alexa down the stairs, across the entrance hall, and into an unusual circular room. This was at the back of the house, and had many windows; these looked out onto
lawns, gardens, and a stand of trees. Beyond she could see a stretch of the river.

“How beautiful!” she exclaimed as she glanced around, noting the tasteful decorations, the mellow antiques, the displays of porcelain plates on the walls.

“This is the summer dining room,” Christiane explained, ushering them toward the circular table in the middle of the room.

They sat down just as Tom, his father, and the other two men came into the room. “Sit anywhere you wish,” Paul said. He took a seat next to Alexa, grasped her hand in his, and squeezed it.

Alexa squeezed back, smiled into his face. She thought: How handsome he is. Tom will look like this when he is sixty-five.
I’ve got to be with Tom. Always. I want to share my life with him
.

Paul said, “Penny for your thoughts, Alex?”

She laughed. “I couldn’t possibly tell you.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” he said with a small, knowing smile. Leaning closer, he whispered in her ear, “You want to be with him for the rest of your life.”

Alexa stared at Paul Conners, squinting in the sunlight streaming in through the windows. “How did you know?”

“It’s written all over your face, honey.”

Christiane was pouring coffee, and Tom was offering a basket of breads to everyone, moving around the table slowly.

“What would you like, Alexa?” he asked when he finally stopped next to her chair.

“You,” she mouthed silently as she looked upon him and took a croissant.

Tom kissed the top of her head, made no comment.

Paul focused on Alain and said, “Tom explained to me that you used to know Lucien Girard when Jessica did. At the time he lived in Paris.”

“
Oui, oui,
” Alain said, nodding.

“And he was a nice guy then?”

“
Ah, bien sûr,
” Alain exclaimed. “A man of integrity. I find it hard to accept this theory that he … disappeared on purpose.”

Mark interjected, “It wouldn’t be the first time a man has done that. Or a woman, for that matter.”

Paul nodded in agreement. “And there’s usually a helluva good reason when this happens. I can’t imagine what his family suffered, quite aside from Jessica’s grief, of course.”

“He told me he was an orphan, that his parents were dead,” Jessica volunteered.

Alain added, “And he told me the same thing. No parents, no siblings.”

“And seemingly no past,” Mark remarked, staring at Paul pointedly.

“If you’re intent on leading a double life, it’s always best to keep the story and the details very simple. That way you can’t make too many mistakes,” Paul responded.

“That is true,” Christiane murmured.

Alexa, studying Tom’s mother, thought how lovely she looked, but then, she usually had in the past. Christiane Conners was one of those well-groomed Frenchwomen who could manage to look chic in a plain cotton shirt and pants, which is what Christiane was wearing this morning. She admired her for looking the way she did at her age, and she was glad Tom’s mother was her ally.

Jessica had been listening to them all, quietly sipping her coffee, saying nothing very much. But once she thought everyone had finished, she said, “Do you think we can drive over there, Tom? I’m awfully nervous, and as long as I sit here, I’m prolonging the agony.… ”

Tom and Alexa both leapt to their feet, and Tom said, “Of course we can go.” Taking hold of Alexa’s hand, he
moved away from the table, telling his parents he would see them later. Alain did the same, then ushered Jessica out of the dining room.

Mark pushed back his chair, excused himself, and hurried out after Jessica. He caught up with her on the front steps, took hold of her arm, drew her toward him. Looking down into her face, he said, “Whatever happens over there doesn’t really matter, Jess darling. One way or another, you’ll finally have
closure.
”

Jessica tried to smile, but it faltered. “You’re right, Mark, I know that. I’m just nervous, queasy.”