Finding Margo (32 page)

***

“M
ilady?”

“Yes, Marguerite?” Milady looked up from the book she was reading on the chaise lounge in her bedroom.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

“Is this important? I was hoping to have a little siesta after lunch so I’m rested before this evening. You know I have a cocktail and then a dinner.”

“Yes, I know,” Margo said, walking into the room. “But I have to speak to you.”

Milady sighed, took off her glasses, and put down her book. “All right, then, if it’s not too long-winded.”

“No, I’ll try to make it brief.” Margo stood in front of her, trying to think of how to break the news.

“Sit down,” Milady ordered, indicating an embroidered stool beside her. “You’re making me nervous standing there, twisting your hands.”

“All right.” Margo sank down on the stool. “There is a bit of a problem I want to discuss with you.”

Milady’s head shot up. “Are you trying to tell me you’re leaving?”

“No, it’s not that.” Margo twisted her hands in her lap.

“Good. That would be terrible. The autumn season is very busy, and I can’t manage without you for even a minute.”

“I know.”

“So what is it then? I thought you were going to hand in your notice, but as you’re not, I can’t think of anything else that would cause a problem.”

“I’m pregnant,” Margo blurted out.

“You’re what?” Milady exclaimed in shrill voice. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t know,” Margo stammered. “I thought I couldn’t, but it seems that—well, that I am—”

“Pregnant?”

“That’s right.”

Milady sat up fully and swung her legs over the edge of the chaise lounge. “And now you’re going back to your husband?”

“No.”

“No? But I don’t understand.”

“It’s not his baby.”

“Oh.” Milady stared silently at Margo. “Do you know who the father is?”

“Of course I know,” Margo snapped. “What do you take me for?”

“Please,” Milady soothed. “I don’t think anything at all. I just assume that you have had an affair, and now you are pregnant as a result. So you must tell the man who is the real father about the baby. Come and sit here next to me,” Milady said, patting the chaise lounge. “That stool is very hard.”

Margo got up from the stool and sat down beside Milady.

“You must tell him,” Milady said.

Margo sighed. “I can’t.”

“But you have to,” Milady exclaimed passionately. She looked at Margo with sad eyes. “You must not make the mistake I made. You must tell him. You must!’

“But I don’t know where he is.”

“Where who is?”

“Jacques,” Margo said before she could stop herself.

Milady gasped and stared in shock at Margo. “Jacques?” she said. “Jacques is the father of your baby?”

“Yes, Milady,” Margo mumbled.

There was silence in the room while Milady tried to come to terms with this latest revelation. She put her hand on Margo’s and squeezed it. They looked at each other and, in that moment, all they had learned about each other that summer, their sadness and disappointments, their deepest feelings, seemed to pass wordlessly between them.

“So, how do you feel about this?” Milady finally asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Margo said. “I’m still trying to get used to it.”

“Of course.”

“It’s wonderful, though, isn’t it?” Margo said without thinking.

Milady nodded. “It’s a miracle.”

***

“H
ello?” Margo pressed the receiver closer to her ear. “I can’t hear you. The line is very bad.”

“Maggie?” she heard a familiar voice say through the crackling. “Finally! I’ve tried to phone your mobile several times, but—” More crackling.

“Gráinne? Is that you? I can hardly hear you. I’ve lost my mobile, you see. Where are you?”

“On the ferry.” Gráinne was shouting. “Nearly out of range... on my way to—”

“Where?” Margo shouted. “You’re on the way to where?”

“Paris!”

“That’s great! When are you—” But the line went dead. Margo smiled and hung up. She had wanted to tell Gráinne her news. But now she was coming here. She would know soon. Margo looked at herself in the hall mirror and put a hand on her stomach. “Gráinne is coming,” she said, turning sideways to look at her figure. There was a tiny bump under her sweater, but except to the very discerning eye, she didn’t really look pregnant yet.

“We’ll carry on as normal,” Milady had said. “What else is there to do? I have tried to get in touch with Jacques, but I haven’t really had much luck. François is putting all his resources at the ministry on the case, and I’m sure we’ll have word soon. I’m not going to tell anyone about this until we get to Jacques, except for François, of course. What do you think?”

Margo had agreed. “I want to keep going as before until—” Until when, she didn’t quite know. She was still trying to get used to it all: to the idea of the baby and motherhood. She knew she would have to make arrangements for the birth, to decide what to do with the rest of her life, but right now, she just wanted life to continue without any more excitements. Milady had insisted she move down to the apartment into a guest room with a big bathroom across the corridor, all to herself. Reluctant to give up her independence, Margo had agreed only because the room was near the hall and the front door, and she could come and go as she pleased. But she missed the little attic room with the old-fashioned wallpaper, the old mahogany bed, the faded rug, the alcove where she would sit and look out the window at the rooftops and the Eiffel Tower. She even missed the sparrows on her window sill. She missed her independence too and had come to think of that little room as her home. She sometimes went up there and sat on the bed, looking out the window, simply enjoying being alone. Justine hadn’t approved of the new arrangement and had grunted under her breath about ‘staff getting ideas above their station’.

“The charity lunch at the George V,” Milady said, coming through the front door, “is on the fifteenth of November.” She took off her fur-trimmed cashmere coat and hung it up on the hall stand.

“The day after tomorrow?” Margo said.

“Yes, that’s right.” Milady looked into the mirror, smoothed her hair into place, and straightened the bow on her blue silk shirt. “You had not forgotten?”

“No, of course not. And the list of guests is on your desk in the study. Almost everybody accepted.”

“Good. We’re hoping to raise a lot of money for the orphanage in Bosnia. Last year we made over eighty thousand euros. I hope it will be as successful this year.” She handed her gloves and scarf to Margo.

“I’m sure it will be,” Margo said and put the items away.

“And you think you’d be well enough to attend?”

“Of course. It won’t be too tiring.”

“No. All you have to do is take care of the donations and then take the cheques and money to the bank and lodge them in the special account.”

“I’m sure I can handle that,” Margo assured her. “By the way,” she added as an afterthought, “I don’t seem to be able to find my mobile phone. You haven’t seen it anywhere, have you?

Milady shook her head. “No.” She looked sternly at Margo. “But never mind the phone. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be having your nap?”

“I’m not tired.”

“But you have to lie down. You have to make sure you get some rest in the middle of the day. Have you had lunch?”

“Yes, I ate with Justine earlier.”

“Did you remember to drink your milk and take all your vitamins?”

“Yes, don’t worry.” Margo sighed. Ever since she had announced her pregnancy, Milady had been cluckier than a mother hen and become obsessive with Margo’s health and well-being. She was feeling much better now; the nausea and fatigue had nearly gone, and the ultrasound scan had revealed that the baby would be born around the end of April. When she had showed the fuzzy picture of the baby in her womb, Milady had looked at it with great interest.

“Is it—could they see if it’s a girl?” she had asked and been very disappointed when Margo had said that it was too early to see that yet.

“You go right back to your room and lie down,” Milady ordered.

“All right,” Margo said meekly and walked down the corridor into her room with Milady at her heels. When she was lying on the big bed, Milady put a rug over her legs and propped another lace-trimmed pillow under her head.

“There,” she said. “Try to sleep now.”

But Margo had never felt more wide awake. Milady sitting there staring at her as if she was some kind of scientific experiment was unnerving, to say the least.

“Has François had any luck yet?” she asked.

“With what, my dear?”

“With finding Jacques.”

“Oh.” Milady shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s so busy these days. I don’t want to bother him.”

An alarm bell went off somewhere in Margo’s mind. “You did ask him, didn’t you?” she said, trying to appear calm.

“Ask him what?” Milady looked at Margo absent-mindedly.

“To find Jacques.”

Milady patted Margo’s leg. “But my dear girl, we don’t want Jacques right now. We don’t need him hanging around making trouble. You’ll see,” she said dreamily. “We’re going to be so happy. Just you, me, François, and the baby.”

***

T
he lunch at the George V went off without a hitch. The fashion show had been spectacular, the speeches interesting, and the short film about the orphanage so moving that many of the elegant guests had handed Margo very generous cheques. Margo looked at the top table, where Milady was still entertaining the VIPs and wondered if she could slip away quietly. She was feeling quite tired, and the big room was very stuffy. Coffee had just been served, and the guests were chatting amicably, but some of the ladies were already getting ready to leave. Margo straightened her back and put her hand on her stomach, something she seemed to do without thinking lately as if to make sure it was true and to check that the baby was growing bigger each day. She was looking forward to looking really pregnant, to putting on some of the lovely maternity wear Milady had bought for her, to show the world that she was, at last, becoming a mother.

It was time to go. Margo gathered the cheques and put them into her bag. She would take them to the bank on the way home. She rose slowly, trying not to attract attention, but as she stepped back from the table, someone called her name.

“Margo!’ It was Fiona, reeking of wine and perfume, wearing a tweed suit, rows of heavy gold chains around her neck, and a fur coat thrown over her shoulders.

“Hello, darling. Great lunch, don’t you think? Thought I might bump into you here, as your boss is one of the organisers. You look—” She stopped as her eyes travelled down Margo’s body. “Is that—oh my God,” she whispered, and Margo felt as if her small bump had suddenly grown to the size of Mount Everest.

“What’s the matter?”

Fiona’s eyes bulged. “You’re—oh shit. You’re not, are you?”

“What?” Margo asked airily.

“Pregnant,” Fiona hissed in her ear.

“That’s right,” Margo whispered back. “I am.”

Fiona put her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing out loud. “That’s—oh God, that is
so
fabulous.”

“It is?”

“Yes.” Fiona laughed again. “I can’t wait to see his face when I tell him.”

“Tell who?” Margo asked, mystified.

“The big shit, of course. Won’t he be surprised! God, this is priceless.” Her eyes sparkling, Fiona took Margo by the shoulders. “You’re off the hook, don’t you see? And so am I. What a relief. What a great, big shagging block off my shoulders.”

“Off the hook? What do you mean?” Margo asked, bewildered by Fiona’s behaviour and her words.

But Fiona had turned around and was already walking toward the exit. Margo watched, bemused, as Fiona hurried away, and she slowly realised what had been going on. Her stomach tightened into a nervous knot as she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. The time had come to confront Alan.

***

M
emories are made of this,
Dean Martin sang from the loudspeaker. Poor Dean, Margo thought on her way to the tenth floor of the Meridian Hotel. How sad to end up as elevator music. And why does he have to sing about memories right now? The lift came smoothly to a stop, and the doors slid open. Margo stepped out onto the thick carpet and padded silently down the wide corridor, her knees shaking and her armpits clammy with cold sweat. What will he say when he sees me? What will he do when he finds out? The old feeling of dread came back like a recurring nightmare, and she wanted to turn around, walk back down the corridor, press the button, and step into the lift again, run through the lobby, down the street and back to the apartment. But she knew she had no choice. She had to face him. Here’s the door now, she thought, her heart beating so loudly in her chest, she thought the sound would echo down the silent corridor. She lifted her hand to knock but, before her knuckles made contact with the door, it flew open, and she looked into Alan’s staring eyes. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. He looks the same, she thought. Just as tall and imposing and slightly pompous. And those pale blue eyes... He looked calm and composed, but Margo could see the corner of his left eye twitch slightly as it did when he was tense or unsure of himself. She noticed his shirt was as crisp as always and wondered idly who did his laundry now.

Alan finally spoke. “Margo,” he said pleasantly as if she was someone he barely knew. “There you are. Come in.”

She walked in, and Alan closed the door behind her, making her feel suddenly trapped.

She looked at the elegant surroundings. “Lovely room.”

“It’s a suite,” Alan said, walking toward two easy chairs by the window. “Sit down.”

“Lovely suite,” Margo said, sinking down among the cushions “I bet you can see the whole city from up here.”

“Most of it, yes.” Alan sat down in the chair opposite and crossed his legs, his Gucci loafers gleaming in the late afternoon sun. “Don’t you want to take off your coat?

“No, I’m fine. The curtains are really nice. Not like hotel curtains at all.”

“Yes, that’s true,” he said in a disinterested voice while he studied her so intently she squirmed. “You cut your hair.”