Three Weeks in Paris (17 page)

“Uncle Hugo used to say that the only thing that’s permanent
is
change.”

ANYA HAD CONVINCED HER TO CHANGE HER MIND
.

And so, here she was, in Paris in the spring. In May, to be exact. Three weeks before the birthday party on June the second. Far too early. On the other hand, Alexandra Gordon knew she had plenty to occupy herself with during this period.

She planned to spend some special time with Anya; she was going to do quite a lot of serious shopping, wanting to treat herself to new clothes, which she needed, and felt she deserved after the many long months of hard work on the Broadway play. Also, since she had just agreed to work with Nicky on a new movie, which would start shooting in October, it was imperative that she have a number of meetings with him immediately.

And then there was her hidden agenda.

Tom Conners
.

She fully intended to seek him out. She needed to understand where he was at this stage in his life. And where she stood with him. And there was something else … she had to know how she actually felt about him. After all, she had not seen him for three years; perhaps when they did
finally come face-to-face her feelings would be quite different.

In her own mind—most of the time—it was over.

He
had
ended it, telling her there was no future for her with him, that he could not marry her, would not. Nor anyone else. Seemingly, his past had claimed his future.

And yet in a certain way it
wasn’t
over for her. Part of her still secretly yearned for him. He occupied a large part of her, continually crept into her thoughts when she least expected. But lately she had come to recognize that none of this was very healthy, and that she could not live with the situation any longer.

Alexa accepted that she had to be emotionally free in order to move forward, that she could not marry Jack Wilton until she had confronted the demons that haunted her. It wouldn’t be fair to Jack, who was such a decent human being, or to herself, for that matter.

If she was going to marry Jack, it must be with a free heart, with love in her heart only for him. Anything else would be shoddy.

And so she had come to slay the dragon in his lair.

After that, perhaps she could turn the page, so to speak, and get on with her life. After all, she was almost thirty-one, and it seemed to her that time sped by faster than ever these days.

Alexa had admitted to herself that she had felt much more relaxed once she had made the decision to see Tom. Not only comfortable about coming to Paris for Anya’s landmark celebration, but more at ease within herself. It was as if just making the decision to deal with Tom had lifted a burden from her.

————

SHE HAD ARRIVED
in Paris on Thursday morning, having taken a night flight from New York, and after unpacking
and resting for most of Thursday she was now ready for action.

It was eleven o’clock on Friday morning, May the eleventh, and the temptation to call Tom Conners was strong. But Alexa resisted picking up the receiver. She was not quite ready to face him just yet.

And so she glanced around the bedroom, making a last-minute check, and picked up her bag. On the desk, where she had put them, were her dark glasses, her address book, a notepad, and her cell phone, plus the door key. Scooping everything up, dropping them into her bag, she left the room and headed for the elevator.

A few seconds later she was walking across the elegant marble-floored lobby of the Hotel Meurice, which Anya had recommended several weeks before. She was glad she had taken Anya’s advice; her room was comfortable and pleasant, and the hotel’s location was ideal for her.

Alexa went through the revolving door and down the steps, stood outside in front of the hotel for a moment, undecided what to do. She was invited to Anya’s house for lunch at one o’clock, so she had two hours to fill. And lots of options.

She was in her most favorite city in the world, and she knew it well, and since she had not been there for three years, she was filled with excitement, enormous nostalgia, and the desire to visit much-loved parts of the city.

If she turned left, she could walk down to the Louvre, where one of her favorite paintings hung, and it would certainly give her a great deal of pleasure to see it again.

Or she could turn right, walk along the rue de Rivoli, looking in shop windows until she came to the Place de la Concorde, the Champs-Elysées beyond, with the Arc de Triomphe at the top. Always a heartstopping sight to her.

Then again, the Place Vendôme was just behind the hotel, as was the rue du Faubourg St. Honoré, where
some of her favorite clothing boutiques were located. But she was not really in the mood for shopping, trying on clothes. She would do that another day. All day. Making a snap decision, she set off walking toward the Louvre.

What a glorious day it was.

Paris shimmered under a shimmering sky. It was brilliant, awash with sunlight, and there was not a cloud visible. The sky appeared to be high flung, a great arc that looked like an upturned bowl with its inside glazed a soft powder blue. There was no breeze; it was not sultry either. It was, very simply, the most perfect weather.

How magnificent Paris looks today, she thought as she glanced around her, walking along the rue de Rivoli at a steady pace. Then she made a mental note to visit Le Louvre des Antiquaires in the Place du Palais-Royal nearby. She hoped that in this unique gallery of antiques shops she would find something really special and original for Anya’s birthday. There might be something Russian or English, some small memento that would evoke all the right kinds of memories in Anya.

A flood of her own memories engulfed Alexa; they made her heart clench with their bittersweetness. Memories of Tom and the two years they spent together … their sensual lovemaking, their joy in each other. Memories of working on different movies with Nicky and Larry. Such exciting days with them, from whom she had learned so much … such exciting nights with Tom, from whom she had also learned so much … including heartbreak, heartache.…

She was assaulted all of a sudden by the fragrant, mouthwatering smell of fresh coffee. Tantalizingly, it hung on the air, floated to her. Abruptly she came to a stop outside a sidewalk café; immediately she sat down at one of the tables, unable to resist.

“
Café au lait, s’il vous plaît,
” she said to the smiling waiter who instantly appeared in front of her.

“
Mais oui,
” he said, hurrying off.

Alexa sat back in the metal chair, thinking how wonderful it was to be here, how foolish she had been to stay away for so long.

A few seconds elapsed, and then the waiter was back, placing a pot of coffee and a jug of steaming hot milk in front of her. “
Voilà, mademoiselle
!” he exclaimed with a nod, and brought more items to her table swiftly.

“
Merci,
” she said, smiling back at him as he put down a basket of breads, and then she picked up the pot, poured coffee into the large cup, added the frothy milk.

The first sip was delicious; then she eyed the basket of different breads. She could smell the fresh croissants, which had also miraculously appeared on the table, along with small slabs of creamy-looking butter on a plate, plus a dish of dark raspberry jam.

Oh, what the hell, why not? she thought, and took a croissant, broke a piece off, added a touch of butter and a generous blob of the jam. It seemed to melt in her mouth, and she thought of all those breakfasts she had had, just like this one, when she had been a student here.

Nine years ago. She had been just twenty-one when she had started at Anya’s school. And from the first day to the last she had enjoyed every moment, never once been disappointed.

There was an extraordinary atmosphere in the school. The series of adjoining buildings along the rue de l’Université were filled with a special kind of … 
happiness
. That was the only word she could think of to describe the mood in the many different classrooms and art studios. This feeling of genuine euphoria and excitement enveloped everyone who came there. Of course it emanated
from Anya, who else? And yet the other teachers were just as inspired, and as inspiring, as she was.

They all inculcated a love of learning in her and the other pupils, and they were the best, always the greatest experts in their given fields, and specially chosen by Anya Sedgwick for a variety of qualities as well as their talents.

How wonderful those years were, she thought now, leaning back in the chair, reminiscing, letting her mind fill with memories of those days. They had been filled with wonder, anticipation, expectation, and a sense of adventure. Everything was ahead of her, her whole life, and the future glowed before her eyes. It held so much promise, glittering prizes.

Yes, all of her hopes and ambitions had been encouraged here by Anya and her other teachers. And what dreams of glory she’d had. Thanks to Anya, so many of them had come true … at least as far as her work was concerned. But so much else had gone wrong … in her personal life. But that wasn’t Anya’s fault. And now she aimed to put it right. She had come to deal with unfinished business.

THE WOMAN WAS SO STRIKING AND DRAMATIC-LOOKING
, heads turned as she passed.

She was tall, about five feet ten inches in height, well built but not overly heavy, and there was a certain regality to her posture, fluidity in the way she moved with a measured grace.

But it was her face that made people look at her again. The woman was startlingly beautiful, with a thick mane of jet-black hair falling halfway down her back, perfectly curved black eyebrows above dark eyes that were huge, set wide apart, and a most voluptuous mouth.

Her clothes were simple yet elegant in their cut. She wore a black, light gabardine pantsuit, a man-tailored shirt of white silk, and high-heeled black sandals. A black leather bag was slung over her shoulder, and she carried a pair of dark glasses in one hand.

This simple elegance was carried through to her jewelry. There was nothing ostentatious about the watch she wore on her left wrist, the gold bracelet on the other, or the small diamond studs in her ears.

This morning she moved at a slow, leisurely pace
through the quiet halls of the Louvre, stopping now and then to gaze at a painting that caught her eye, in no great hurry to get to the picture she had actually come to see. She had plenty of time before she had to leave to keep her luncheon date at the Ritz Hotel in the Place Vendôme, which was not too far away from the museum.

The woman became aware of the stir she caused as she meandered along, self-contained and slightly aloof. She marveled to herself about this. Three months ago she would not have believed it possible that she, of all people, could create such an astonishing reaction in others.

But Maria Franconi had undergone an enormous transformation, and one so extraordinary, so radical, her brother Fabrizio could describe it only as unbelievable and miraculous. And indeed it was both. The miracle was not accidental. It had occurred because of tremendous hard work, rigid discipline, many deprivations of various kinds, and total dedication to a cause:
Immense weight loss in the shortest possible time
.

It had taken Maria not quite three months to lose forty-eight pounds, two pounds short of her goal. She had accomplished this with the help of a doctor, a nutritionist, a personal trainer, and her brother—and a focus so intense it took over her life.

During this time she had thrown herself wholeheartedly into a brutal regimen severely comprised of punishing workouts, a diet totally free of fat, sugar, and restricted in carbohydrates; wine and alcohol of any kind were forbidden, as were chocolates, candy, and most desserts.

If she was hungry, more often than not the very visible results of the dieting were worth it and kept her going, and were actually inspiring to her. Through most of February, March, and April she thought of nothing else but going to Paris to Anya’s party, and it was this incentive and her extraordinary
willpower that enabled her to continue. She even surprised herself at times.

One day, halfway through her program, there was a sudden and remarkable change in her face. She had always been good-looking, she was well aware of that, but now her face had become dramatically beautiful. There was not an ounce of excess fat on it, and the high cheekbones were more apparent than ever. Her neck was thinner, and therefore looked longer and more elegant, added to the shapeliness of her head.

It soon became apparent to Maria that she was mostly losing weight in her upper torso first. Her shoulders, arms, and back were growing more slender by the day, and her breasts were not so large anymore. What disappointed her was the slowness of the weight loss on her hips. But her trainer had assured her that the weight would eventually drop off, most probably when she least expected it. All she had to do was keep strictly to her regime. And this she did. Vanity was the goad, and it kept her going.

Very simply, Maria Franconi was beginning to like herself, and she could hardly believe her incredible transformation. She also discovered that being beautiful was really quite addictive.

Through her nutritionist, Maria learned all about behavior modification, as well as gained an understanding of the right foods to eat, ones that would keep her healthy. And thin.

And so there was no more cooking for her brother, no more dinner parties for her friends. She virtually locked the doors of her fancy modern kitchen, took her friends to lunch or dinner in restaurants, where she herself ate frugally and stayed away from wine.

Several weeks before she left Milan for Paris, Maria visited a well-known dressmaker recommended by her brother Sergio, who had innumerable women friends
who went there. The dressmaker instantly understood the problems and created several well-tailored pantsuits, skirt suits, and a few elegant, simply cut dresses, all in beautiful fabrics.