Three Weeks in Paris (16 page)

Laughing, Nicky shook his head. “Why do I ever ask you a single question when it comes to such things? I might have known you got your information from the horse’s mouth.”

She made no comment, merely gave a slight nod, and then sat back in the chair, glancing around her. “Catherine Lacoste always loved this hotel,” she confided after a moment. “She used to bring me here for tea. Or champagne. It became a favorite of mine too. Of course, when the war came, she never set foot inside the place. How could she? During the Occupation, the hotel was the headquarters of the German High Command, you see. How Catherine hated
les boches.
”

“As did the rest of France.”

“Well, thank God for one thing … the Nazis didn’t destroy Paris, although they could have.”

“I shudder at the mere
thought
of that. It would have been ghastly, a true desecration.”

“Hitler ordered historic buildings destroyed in 1944,
when Allied troops were approaching. But General Dietrich von Choltitz, the occupying governor, was not able to perpetrate such sacrilege. He surrendered the city intact to General Leclerc, liberator of Paris,” she explained.

“Hugo once told me something about that,” Nicholas said, and picked up his cup, took a sip of tea, eyed Anya over the rim, thinking how well she looked this afternoon. She was wearing a crisply tailored pale blue wool suit, and her much-loved string of large South Sea pearls and matching earrings, which were a must with her, and had become her trademark, in a sense.

Her softly waved, short dark-blond hair was as elegantly coiffed as it usually was, and she looked positively radiant, just wonderful to Nicky. She forever sang the praises of her sister, Katti, considered her to be the more beautiful, but in his opinion this was not the case. They were very similar in appearance, the two Kossikovskaya sisters, but Anya’s looks were decidedly the more striking, Nicky believed. Her eyes were larger, and a lovely blue, her nose better shaped, and her high cheekbones, even at her age, were quite sensational. She looked twenty years younger than she really was, and in a variety of ways. One thing on her side was her marvelous health, which she attributed to her Russian genes.

Breaking into his thoughts, Anya asked, “Have you had many acceptances for my party so far, Nicky?”

“A lot, yes indeed, and I’m expecting more this week. The first of April was the deadline I gave, but some people will be late, that’s normal.”

“Have you heard from Alexa? Has she accepted?”

“No, she hasn’t, not yet. But I’m sure I’ll be hearing from her any day now.”

“She might not come. She’s not been back to Paris since she broke up with Tom Conners, and if you remember,
that was three years ago, just about the time she stopped working with you and Larry. I saw her in New York when I was there last year to receive that award—” She paused, gave him a very pointed look, and finished, “I rather got the impression Alexa was avoiding France … Paris in particular. Because of him.”

“You’re implying she’s carrying a torch.”

“I believe she is.”

Nicky sighed. “I always warned her about him, and so did Larry. Repeatedly. Tom’s hauling far too much emotional baggage. No woman needs that, Anya.”

“Perhaps he’s discarded some of it? By now?” A blond brow lifted, and she gave him another penetrating look.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you … but I just don’t know …” His voice trailed off lamely, and then he threw her a helpless look. “Tom was always an odd chap.”

“In what way?”

“A loner. Kept his thoughts to himself. Standoffish. Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean. He was very independent and self-contained. Not at all confiding.”

“Don’t you ever see him these days?” Anya leaned forward, her light-blue eyes focused on him more intently. “I was under the impression he represented quite a few people in show business.”

“That’s absolutely true, he did. Probably still does. But I haven’t run into him for the longest time, for at least a year. Maybe longer even.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why? What are you getting at?”

“I do so want Alexa to be at the party. I was just wondering if there was any way we could make it easier for her?”

“By inviting him too?”

“No, no, don’t be so silly, Nicholas! That wouldn’t
make her feel more comfortable, quite the contrary. What I meant was that perhaps he’s left Paris.”

“I doubt it.” Nicky sat up, an alert expression on his face.

“But if he no longer lives here, we could tell her that, don’t you see?” Anya pressed.

“Yes, I do. But I’m pretty sure he’s still a resident of this fair city. He was born here, it’s where he belongs.”

“Some people retire, move location, go south to Provence, somewhere like that.”

“Not Tom, take my word for it. Incidentally, I did hear from that nice Italian girl, the one who was in Alexa’s class. Maria Franconi. She was practically the first to accept.”

A wide smile spread itself across Anya’s face. “I’m so glad she’s coming! She’s such a lovely person. And she has such enormous talent, wasted probably these days.”

“What do you mean?” Nicky asked, frowning.

“She could be doing a lot more than designing textiles for that antiquated family business she’s stuck in, I can tell you that, darling boy. The girl’s an extraordinary artist—at genius level.” Not giving him a chance to make any kind of comment, she continued. “Kay Lenox will come, that I am certain of, but not Jessica. I don’t think she’ll be able to face Paris, in view of what happened to her.”

“You mean Lucien’s disappearance?”

“I do. That was a mystery, one that’s never been solved, and I don’t suppose it ever will be.
C’est dommage
.”

“I agree with you. And so you think Jessica will forgo your party because Paris holds bad memories, too much pain for her?”

Anya nodded and sat back in the chair. “I really do, Nicky, I’ve never seen anyone so distraught. I remember it so very clearly, it might have happened only yesterday. One minute she was full of life, happy, madly in love,
looking to a future with him, and the next she was plunged into the most horrendous anguish and despair.” She shook her head. “I honestly thought she would never recover. It’s different when the person you love dies. There’s an awful finality to death. But it is final. The end. And there’s the funeral, family gatherings, grieving, all of those necessary rituals, and they help, believe me they do. Somehow you go on living, by rote perhaps, and for a long time it’s by rote. Eventually, though, you begin to feel a little better. Life
is
for the living, you know. I’ve come to be a firm believer in that cliché. But when the object of your love just … 
disappears
, as if into thin air, then everything becomes impossible, and in a peculiar way there’s actually no way to deal with the grief and the pain.”

“Because there’s no closure,” Nicky suggested.

“Correct. No body. No burial. No grieving as such. Therefore no closure. No end to the pain, because you don’t know what happened to him. It’s as simple as that. For Jessica it was a nightmare. I was really concerned for her, worried to death. To be very frank, I thought she was in danger of becoming … well, mentally ill. For a while, she
was
demented, couldn’t come to grips with the loss, and since Lucien Girard had no family, there really was no one for her to grieve with, or be consoled by in the way she needed. Alain Bonnal was wonderful, but like her he was nonplussed, confused, and, not unnaturally, very baffled. Still, they were supportive of each other, helped each other for a while.”

“And nothing has ever turned up? No body has been washed ashore? Or found anywhere else? No information was ever forthcoming from the police?”

“None. I would have told you. Look, Nicky, it was as if Lucien never existed.”

For a moment Nicky did not respond. He had known Lucien, and Larry had introduced the young actor to

Jessica. What a strange story it was. Finally, he said, “I remember her parents came to Paris to be with her, and then they took her back to Texas. But what actually happened to Jessica, Anya? Did she ever marry? Do you hear from her?”

“Oh, yes, I do, I get notes and cards from her from time to time, or a clipping from
Architectural Digest
when one of the homes she has designed appears in its pages. She’s enormously talented, one of the great interior designers of today, and that’s partly because of her classical background. And no, she hasn’t married. She lives in Bel Air, does a lot of designing for the rich and famous. But she never misses sending me a Christmas card with a lovely message. In fact, I get Christmas cards from Kay and Maria as well.”

“And Alex?”

“Oh, she’s constantly in touch. I get letters, cards, photographs, and phone calls. Alexa has always been very devoted to me, warm, loving.”

“You saw her in New York last year. How was she? How’s her personal life shaped up?”

“Very well, but you know that, Nicky. You know what a success she’s had in theatrical design. I thought she’d been in touch with you.”

“That’s true, she has. But she never discussed her personal life. Never.”

“And you never mentioned Tom Conners?”

“Sure I did. Once. She bit my head off, was really rather snotty. Therefore, I learned my lesson. Hell hath no fury like a woman in love with a man she can’t have because he’s a jerk.”

“Is that what you really think about Tom?” She gave him a hard stare, her brows puckering.

“Yep.” Then he shook his head, looking slightly chagrined. “No, no, not really. In many ways he’s a good
man. But Tom had a great tragedy in his life and he’s let it ruin his life, ruin any chance of happiness with a woman. And that’s certainly being a jerk, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I tend to agree. And what’s more, I can’t imagine any man letting a gorgeous young woman slip through his fingers the way he did Alexa.” Anya lifted her cup, sipped her tea, then continued. “It’s funny, isn’t it, how one girl in particular becomes very important in one’s life. I’ve had some truly wonderful students, male and female, over many years of teaching, but there’s never been anyone quite like her. At least, not for me. She was … the
perfect girl
. No, not perfect, I don’t really mean that exactly, because she was flawed then, as she is now, I’ve no doubt. But she was the embodiment of everything I thought a young woman should be. Do you understand what I mean, Nick?”

“Yes, I do, only too well. I think I was always a bit in love with Alexa when she worked with Larry and me.” He smiled ruefully, took hold of her hand. “Maybe I still am. Do you know the reason why?”

“No, I don’t.”

“It’s because Alexandra Gordon is so like you, Anya, and in many ways. That’s why you love her yourself, you know. She might have been cast from the same mold as you, and she’s a lot more like you than Olga is, and I mean that in the nicest way, I’m not being critical of your daughter. What I’m trying to say is that Alexa is a reflection of you, and quite by accident. Or maybe she modeled herself on you. In any event, she has a lot of your special talents.”

“She does, yes, I think you’re right.”

He laughed. “I’m positive. She’s creative but also very competent, that was most obvious when she worked for us. You know, she can do so many other things as well as design sets. You could give her this school to run, and she’d do it very well. She could design costumes, or
fashionable clothes, even decorate a house. She’s that kind of person, and her work will always be excellent. Yes, she’s like you in that sense.”

“I think you might be a bit biased, Nicky,” she answered with a small smile. “And listen to me, on reflection I don’t think we should meddle in her life. I shouldn’t have suggested it.” She patted his hand still holding hers, and gave him a stern look. “Meddling can be dangerous, we mustn’t play God, Nicky.”

“Like I sometimes do?”

“Exactly. Hugo used to say to me, what will be will be. And he was right. You know, life does have a way of taking care of itself. So let us leave everything to life, let things take their course. If we don’t hear from Alexa in a week or so, I’ll phone her, ask her to come to the birthday party. For me.” Her eyes were warm and loving as she went on. “I’m glad we’re having this visit, Nicky, I’ve been worried about you, worried about the way you’ve looked, so strained lately. I know there are problems with Constance. Can you not work them out?”

“I doubt it. The marriage is over, only she won’t accept that. But she’ll have to eventually. I moved out a long time ago. Now I’ve got to move on, get on with my life.”

“Is there anyone else?” Anya asked softly, a brow lifting speculatively. He was very handsome, dark, striking, as Hugo had been, and she knew most women found Nicky irresistible.

“No, there’s no one. I’d tell you if there was.” He let out a long sigh, “Look, she and I have grown apart, and quite aside from anything else, I’ve really been put off by her dieting. Actually, it’s gone beyond that. She’s anorexic. Connie looks really ill, like a skeleton, as if she’s stepped out of one of those wartime concentration camps.”

“Let’s give those horrendous places their correct name, Nick.
They were death camps.
”

“I know.”

“It’s an illness, anorexia. You know that, just as bulimia is too. She needs help. Can’t you get Connie to see a doctor, one who treats eating disorders?”

“I’ve tried, so has her sister. She’s very resistant to the idea, it’s like she has blinders on.”

“That’s part of the illness, I’m told.” Anya leaned back against the chair. “If there’s anything I can do, you have only to ask.”

“Thanks, Anya.”

A compatible silence fell between them. But eventually, Anya murmured in a reflective voice, “Life is strange, unpredictable, so is this world we live in. Here we are, Nicky, sitting in the Meurice so relaxed, having afternoon tea. But just think, sixty years ago the Nazis were installed in this very hotel, running the German Occupation of France. Why, they had the very destiny of France in their hands. How they were feared and hated. And then, suddenly, they are finished. The conquerors are defeated. French Resistance forces march into Paris and liberate the city. And everything changes yet again.”