The elevator doors opened easily and she found herself in a reception area with thick green carpeting, and a young girl at a desk. She wore a pink linen suit and had short blond hair, and she had the pert look all receptionists were supposed to have. It reminded Hilary of the job she was starting the next day. But she knew she would never look like that. Her looks weren't "cute," her hair wasn't blond, and she didn't look as though she'd bounce out of her seat if someone asked her to. Instead, Hilary looked quiet and serious as she approached, and looked straight into the girl's eyes.

"I'm here to see Mr. Patterson."

"Is he expecting you?" She beamed, and Hilary did not smile in reply. She shook her head honestly, and spoke in a restrained voice. Inwardly, she was intimidated by the surroundings, but outwardly nothing showed. She looked perfectly at ease and totally in control.

"No, he's not. But I'd like to see him now."

"Your name?" Little Miss Smile went into high beam.

"Hilary Walker." And then she added, as though it would make a difference, "He's my G.o.dfather."

"Oh. Of course," the little blonde said, and then hit a series of b.u.t.tons and picked up a phone, speaking inaudibly into it. That was another part of the job, speaking into phones so no one else could hear ... Mr. So and So is here to see you, sir ... oh, you're out? ... tell him what? ... it was an art Hilary would have to perfect at the employment agency. And then the girl astonished Hilary. She looked up at her with her perfect smile and waved to a door on her right. "You may go right in. Mr. Patterson's secretary will meet you to show you to his office." She looked impressed. It wasn't easy to get in to see Arthur Patterson, but the girl was his G.o.ddaughter after all.

Hilary stepped inside and looked down a long carpeted corridor. The firm occupied the entire floor and she could see all the way down the hall up a corner office a block away from her. It was an impressive hallway lined with leather-bound legal books, and populated by secretaries at their desks outside the attorneys' offices. She had never been there before, even as a child, and they had moved since then anyway.

"Miss Walker?" An elderly woman with short gray hair and a kindly smile stepped up to her and pointed into the distance down the hall.

"Yes."

"Mr. Patterson is waiting for you." As though it had been planned, as though he had known she would come, as though he had been waiting for nine years. But what could he possibly know, sitting here? What could he know of lives like Eileen and Jack's, of caring for her as she died, or fighting him off with a butcher knife, of nearly starving in their home for all those years, and the foster home in Jacksonville, and Maida and Georgine ... and juvenile hall ... and even the sweaty little man who had "interviewed" her only days ago. What did he know of any of it? And all she knew was that he had killed her mother, as surely as if he had done it with his own hands, and her father, too, eventually. And now here he sat, and she only wanted one thing from him, and then she would leave and never see him again. She never wanted to lay eyes on him again after today.

The secretary stopped at the doorway and knocked. A discreet bra.s.s and leather sign on the door said ARTHUR PATTERSON, ARTHUR PATTERSON, and then she heard his voice. It was still familiar to her. She could still remember him lying to her eight years before ... I'm just going to take them away for a little while, Hilary ... I'll come back for you. He never did, and she didn't care, she hated him anyway. She could remember kneeling in the street after he drove off, calling her sisters' names and she had to fight back tears again, but it was almost over now ... almost. It was almost exactly eight years since she had last seen them. and then she heard his voice. It was still familiar to her. She could still remember him lying to her eight years before ... I'm just going to take them away for a little while, Hilary ... I'll come back for you. He never did, and she didn't care, she hated him anyway. She could remember kneeling in the street after he drove off, calling her sisters' names and she had to fight back tears again, but it was almost over now ... almost. It was almost exactly eight years since she had last seen them.

"You may come in." The secretary smiled and stepped aside as she opened the door, and Hilary walked in quietly. She didn't see the desk at first, and then she saw it, a simple slab of gla.s.s and chrome, in front of a window offering a full view of New York, and there he sat, incongruous in the modern decor. He was fifty years old and he looked at least ten years older than that, tall, thin, balding, with sad eyes and a pale face. But he was even paler than usual now as he stood up and looked at her. It was as though he had seen a ghost, as she stood in front of him. She was beautiful and tall, with Sam's shiny black hair, but there the resemblance to him stopped ... she had Solange's eyes ... and the same way of moving her head ... and she stood in front of him just as proudly now as Solange had once walked on the rue d'Arcole in Paris twenty-one years before. It was like seeing a ghost ... if you changed the black hair to red ... it was Solange again ... but with angry, bitter eyes, with something fierce in her face that Solange had never had, something that said if you come near me I will kill you before I let you lay a hand on me, and Arthur instantly feared what might have happened to her, what could possibly have made her look like that? And yet she was safe and sound, obviously, and standing in front of him in his office, fully grown and very beautiful. It was a miracle, and he walked slowly toward her, holding out a hand, with dreams of recapturing the past. It was a way of having Sam and Solange back, of sharing once more in their magic. Hilary was going to bring it all back to him. But as he approached, he could sense the wall built around the girl, and she began to back away when he got close to her, and instinctively he stopped approaching.

"Hilary, are you all right?" It was a little late to ask, and she hated the weakness she saw in his eyes. She never understood till then how totally without courage he was. He had no b.a.l.l.s, she realized now, that was why he had abandoned her, after betraying them ... no guts ... it was something Solange had accused him of a lifetime ago, although Hilary didn't know it.

"I'm fine." She wasted no time with him. She had not come for a warm reunion with a family friend, she had come to ask him the only thing she cared about, the only thing she had cared about for eight years. "I want to know where my sisters are." Her eyes were icy hard and neither of them moved as she watched his face, not sure of what she saw, terror or grief, and she waited with bated breath for what he would say next.

But whereas he was pale before, he looked ghostly now. He realized that he could not fob her off, that she wanted nothing to do with him. She only wanted them, and he could not give them to her, no matter how much he would have wanted to do so. "Hilary ... why don't we sit down ..." He waved toward a chair and she shook her head, her eyes riveted to his.

"I'm not interested in sitting down with you. You killed my parents, you destroyed my family. I have nothing to say to you. But I want to know where Alexandra and Megan are. That's all I want. When you tell me that, I'll go." She waited patiently, the same proud tilt of her head that had made Solange so unique ... so extraordinary ... he stared at her, seeing someone else, but there was no escaping Hilary. She was a force to be reckoned with, and he understood that fully now. He also sensed that she knew more than he had thought so long ago, but he didn't question her now. He told her the truth, his eyes filled with regret, and damp with tears for what had been and was no more. A family had died at his hands. She was right. And he had never gotten over it. He had started, no family of his own, and Marjorie had left him years before. The woman he loved was gone, her children cast to the winds. And he held himself responsible for what had happened to all of them, even Sam. But there was no way to explain that to this girl, or to excuse himself, least of all to her. G.o.d only knew what she had been through in the past eight years.

"I don't know where they are, Hilary. I don't even know where you've been. When I went to Boston to see you seven years ago, you were all gone ... the Joneses had left no forwarding address with anyone. I was unable to find you ..." His voice trailed off, filled with regret, because his own guilt had been so great, he had been secretly relieved not to have to face her again, and he suspected now that she knew that about him. She had all-seeing eyes, and she looked as though she had an unforgiving heart. There was nothing warm about this girl, nothing gentle, or kind. She was entirely made of granite and barbed wire, shafts of steel and broken gla.s.s. There were ugly things inside this girl, he could see it in her eyes, and for an instant he was afraid of her, as though, given the opportunity, she might harm him. And under the circ.u.mstances, he wasn't sure that he blamed her.

"You couldn't have tried very hard to find me." Her voice sounded hard. She wasn't interested in his explanations or apologies. "We went to Florida."

"And then?" He needed to know what had happened to her, why she looked like that. He had to know ... had to ... he felt a sob catch in his throat and prayed he wouldn't cry in front of her. "What happened to you?" He wished she would sit down ... that they could talk ... that she would listen to him ... he could talk to her now. He could explain about Marjorie, who was now a Superior Court judge. He could tell her why he couldn't take them to live with him ... why n.o.body wanted all three of them ... why he had done what he did. "Are Jack and Eileen still ... were they good to you?"

She laughed bitterly, sounding very old, and her eyes looked very green. She was thinking of Jack and that night ... and the pathetic wraith Eileen had become before she died. "Eileen died, and I've been a ward of the Jacksonville juvenile courts for the last four years. I've been in foster homes, and juvenile hall, and now I'm free, Mr. Patterson. I don't owe anyone anything, and most of all not you. All I want now are my sisters." Her heart was pounding as she realized he had lost them.

"Why didn't you call me when she died?" He sounded horrified. "Surely you didn't have to go to foster homes ... juvenile hall ..." Those were places he never thought about, couldn't bear to think of now. "Hilary, I'm so sorry ..."

But her eyes flashed green fire again, and she waved a hand at him. "Don't give me that s.h.i.t. You never gave a d.a.m.n about us, and you don't now. It's easy for you to sound pious and tell me how sorry you are. To tell you the truth, I don't give a d.a.m.n. It doesn't change anything that happened to me. All I want from you are the addresses of where my sisters live, and don't tell me you don't know. You have to know. You took them there." It had never occurred to her that he would lose track of them as he had of her. That was impossible. He had had to know, and she searched his eyes now, but what she saw there was frightening. She saw remorse and guilt, and a man who was actually frightened of her. to know, and she searched his eyes now, but what she saw there was frightening. She saw remorse and guilt, and a man who was actually frightened of her.

He sat down in a chair and shook his head in despair, and then he looked up at her with sad, empty eyes. "Alexandra went to one of my partners here in the firm. He had a lovely young wife, from a good family. And she was much younger than he. They didn't have children, and they were desperate to adopt Alexandra when I told them about her. And they did ... they worshiped her." He looked at Hilary as though hoping to mollify her somewhat but it was no use, her eyes were like green ice, and her hands trembled as she silently sat down in a chair and listened to what he had to say. "They took her to Europe, they went everywhere with her ... but six months later, George died of a heart attack. Margaret was in shock and she took Alexandra away with her. The last I heard was that they were in the south of France ... we sent papers on the estate to her in Paris years ago ... and I don't know anything after that. I think she stayed over there, but I'm really not sure. We've had no reason to stay in touch with her, and ..." His voice trailed away, as two tears rolled down his cheeks.

"So you don't know where Alexandra is." Hilary sounded numb. "And the woman's name?"

"Gorham. Margaret Gorham. But she could have remarried by now ... any number of things could have happened. She could be back in the States somewhere. I don't think she's back in New York, I think I'd have heard of it if she were." He looked lamely at her.

"And Megan?"

"She was adopted by David and Rebecca Abrams, right after I ... after she ..." He could barely control himself, and Hilary was trembling from head to foot. "... after I brought her back to New York. He was not a partner of the firm, he merely worked for us, and several months later they left. She was an attorney too, and they had had an offer from a law firm in Los Angeles that wanted both of them. They were anxious to start a new life anyway, and they made a point of telling me that they did not want to stay in touch. They wanted to give Megan a new life, far away from all that had happened to her. I haven't heard from them since they left. If he's a member of the California bar, I could possibly locate him, if he's still there ... I don't know ..."

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h." She glared at him with hatred on her face. "You let us all drift away. You set us adrift, as though getting rid of us would rid you of your own guilt, but it didn't, did it?" She had read him perfectly. "It destroyed your life too, and you deserve that. You deserve everything that's happened to you. May you rot in h.e.l.l, Arthur Patterson. You'll live with this for the rest of your life. You killed two people, and destroyed three more lives. That's five people on your soul. Can you live with that?" She walked to where he sat and looked down on him with contempt far beyond her years. "Can you sleep at night? I don't think you can ... and G.o.d only knows what happened to the other two. G.o.d only knows what lives you've condemned them to. I know what mine was like. But it's not over yet. I won't let you spoil my life. I'm going to make something of myself ... and maybe one day I'll find my sisters ... maybe ... But in the meantime"-she walked slowly to the door, with tears pouring slowly down her face, she had expected so much from him, and her disappointment was so great now-"I never want to see you again, Arthur Patterson. Never. You won't soothe your conscience with me. We won't be 'friends' again, dear G.o.dfather." She stood and looked at him for a long long time, before her final words, and she spoke them in a whisper that haunted him for the rest of his life. "I will never forgive what you did to us ... never ... and I will hate you for the rest of my life. Remember that ... remember what you did and how much I hate you." And then, like the ghost of Christmas past, she closed its office door, and slipped away, and he did not have the courage to follow her. He sat slumped in his chair, like an old man, remembering Solange, and crying for what he had done to her. Hilary was right, he would never be absolved of what he had done to them all. He couldn't forgive himself, and like Hilary, he wondered now where the other two girls were.

But there were no answers to that. Hilary went from the office on Park Avenue to the public library and did the only thing she knew how to do. She opened the Manhattan phone book and found no George or Margaret Gorham there. She found only five in all, and when she called, none of them knew anything about Margaret or Alexandra, and it was obvious they had never heard of them. And a listing of the attorneys of the California bar was equally discouraging. There was no David Abrams listed there, which meant he had left California long before, and G.o.d only knew where he had gone. She didn't have the resources to do more than that, she couldn't hunt them down. She couldn't do anything. She had counted on Arthur to know, and he knew nothing at all. Her sisters were gone. Forever this time. And the dream that had kept her alive slipped quietly from her heart, like a rock falling to her feet. She walked slowly back to her hotel, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was as though they had died finally, as she remembered the white roses at her mother's funeral. They no longer existed in her life, hadn't for years ... and seeing him again reminded her of that terrible day when they'd been taken from her ... Axie, I love you! ... she could still remember screaming the words as the car drove away, and falling to her knees in the dirt. It seemed as though she had never gotten up since. But she would now ... she had to ... she would make it alone, as she had for all these years ... but she would always remember them. Always.

She felt them slip away from her as she walked into her hotel, like people she had loved, who had finally died. She was alone, as she always had been.

PART THREE.

Alexandra

Chapter 10.

The house on the Avenue Foch stood protected by a tall, impeccably trimmed hedge that shielded everything behind it from the pedestrians' view. There were gardens groomed to perfection, and a solid brick hotel particulier hotel particulier built in the eighteenth century, with handsomely carved doors, bra.s.s knockers and k.n.o.bs, beautiful shutters painted dark green, with silk and damask curtains hung at the windows. built in the eighteenth century, with handsomely carved doors, bra.s.s knockers and k.n.o.bs, beautiful shutters painted dark green, with silk and damask curtains hung at the windows.

It was a house closed off from a far more public world, shielded from all publicity, a house in which perfection reigned, filled with Faberge objects and crystal chandeliers and impeccable antiquities. It was the house of the Baron and Baroness Henri de Morigny, one of France's oldest families. His was a house of great n.o.bility and dwindling wealth, until he married the lovely daughter of old Comte de Borne fourteen years before. The house on the Avenue Foch had been a wedding present from the count, and as a gift to Henri, Alexandra had restored his family seat for him, a handsome chateau in Dordogne, and a hunting box in Sologne as well. And since then they had bought a summer house in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, where they went every year with their children. It was a life of considerable luxury, and endless grace. It was the only life Alexandra de Morigny had ever known, and she played the perfect wife at all times for her husband. She ran his house, planned his dinners, entertained his friends, followed his instructions, and brought up their two daughters, Axelle and Marie-Louise to perfection. The girls were the greatest joy in her life, and she sat at her desk with a quiet smile, thinking of them that afternoon. They would be home from school very soon, and she would walk the dogs with them in the Bois. It was a good chance to talk, to find out what was going on, who they liked, who they "hated," who might be having trouble at school, and then they would come home for the girls to do their devoirs devoirs, have their bath, dine and play and go to bed. Alexandra always stayed with them until her own dinner with Henri. They were six and twelve, as different as night and day, and they were the joy and the laughter in her life. Marie-Louise was serious and a great deal like Henri, but Axelle was just as she had been as a child, a little bit shy, totally trusting, and enormously affectionate. It was wonderful just being with her, stroking her pale red curls and looking into those huge blue eyes. Alexandra's heart sang just thinking of it. And she sat smiling as she stared into s.p.a.ce, and didn't hear his step on the highly polished parquet floor as he entered the room and watched her. He was almost in front of her before she awoke from her reverie, and she looked up to see the tall, handsome man she had married. He was fifty-nine years old, and powerfully built, with strong lines in his face, and hard eyes that bore into her, as they always did, as though he were about to ask a very important question. It was a face that was not often amused, but he was a man she could trust and depend on. And she respected him. She had fallen in love with him at nineteen, and they had been engaged for two years. Her father had wanted to be sure that she was not making a mistake or acting on an impulse. Henri was twenty-four years older than she after all, but she had been absolutely certain. She wanted someone just like her father, the old Comte de Borne. He had been sixty when she was born, or he would have been. He had adopted her when she was six years old, and he worshiped her. He had never had children of his own, and he had just lost his wife of forty years when he married her mother. He had gone to the south of France, to grieve, and instead he had met Margaret Gorham, doing precisely the same thing after the death of her husband. She was twenty-seven years old and it was a whirlwind romance and within six months they were married, and Pierre de Borne adopted Alexandra. And only he and Margaret shared the secret that she'd been adopted once before when she came to Margaret and George Gorham at the age of five in New York. It was not something anyone needed to know, and it was no longer important. She was Alexandra de Borne, and she was as dear to the count's heart as though she had been his natural daughter. Perhaps more so. She grew up cosseted and spoiled and adored as few children are, and in return she worshiped the man she knew as her father. It was to Pierre that she turned with every woe, or wish, or dream, sharing all her secrets with him, confessing her misdeeds, of which there were few, while Margaret looked on, content in every way, filled with love for her husband and child, and full of mischief of her own. Margaret was, in effect, the child of the family, pulling pranks on both of them, hiding unexpectedly, wearing ridiculous costumes to make them laugh. She was an oversized child who loved to laugh, and enjoy every moment. And Alexandra was oddly enough more like Pierre, affectionate, shy, and filled with admiration for Margaret's wild schemes and irresistible laughter.

Alexandra was protected and greatly loved and it surprised everyone when she fell in love at nineteen and said she wanted to get married. And Pierre de Borne was not pleased at the prospect of his daughter marrying Henri de Morigny, mostly because he was so much older. He also thought him far too serious, and a difficult man in the bargain. Morigny had never married before, and the old count knew that he'd been waiting for just the right girl, with an important family, an equally important fortune, and if at all possible, a t.i.tle. And Alexandra certainly had all of that to offer him. But what did he offer her, her father asked her. Was he warm enough, would he be kind to her? Pierre talked constantly of it to Margaret, and she was just as concerned as he was. But Alexandra was positive she wanted Henri and never wavered. She was married at twenty-one at the church on their country estate in Rambouillet. Seven hundred people were there, from all of Europe's finest families. And they spent their honeymoon in Tahiti, drinking exotic punches and making love on the private beach of the house Henri had rented for her. And when they returned to Paris, Alexandra loved him with even greater pa.s.sion than she had before, and all she wanted was to have his babies. It took them over a year to conceive, in spite of all of Henri's most romantic efforts.

Her father lived just long enough to hold his first grandchild, two years after Alexandra's marriage. And then he died peacefully in his sleep at the age of eighty-three. Margaret was bereft and Alexandra was stunned, she couldn't imagine a life without him, couldn't imagine not having his hand to hold, his wise eyes to look into. It made her suddenly extremely dependent on Henri, whom she adored and also a little bit frightened of him. He became suddenly all-important to her and she was obsessed by her fears of losing him too, and knew she couldn't have stood it. Alexandra had always had an irrational fear of losing the people she loved and who loved her. And it worried Margaret considerably because she thought Henri took advantage of it to control her. And in some ways he treated Alexandra like a child, someone to be scolded, and spoken to in firm tones and told what to do, as though she didn't know herself. In Margaret's eyes, he was more a father than a husband, and Alexandra did everything to please him, no matter how trivial or foolish. He had aspirations toward politics and it made him maniacal about appearances. Everything had to be perfect, constantly circ.u.mspect, Alexandra had to be impeccable at all times, the children had to be ten times more polite than any others. Margaret found it exhausting just having tea with them, and it worried her at times that Alexandra seemed to think it was all normal. Anything was all right, as long as it pleased her husband.

"That's just the way he is, Maman. He doesn't mean any harm. He's a serious man and he wants everything to be perfect." Alexandra's own father had never been as demanding of his daughter or his wife, and he had had a marvelous sense of humor. Margaret found Henri a dead bore, in comparison to her late husband, but she never said it in so many words. All she wanted was Alexandra's happiness, it was all Pierre had ever wanted for her too. And he left her most of his fortune when he died, leaving Margaret more than enough to amuse herself with for another forty years. She was only forty-five when he died, and in many ways she seemed far younger, mostly because she enjoyed herself so much, and she was still very attractive. She was three years younger than Alexandra's husband.

Margaret de Borne always had a good time, something amusing to say, something outrageous and entertaining to do. She was pursued by every eligible man in Europe, and she had no desire whatever to remarry. She had been happy with George years before, and she had had everything she wanted with Pierre. There was no point trying to top that, she knew she never could and didn't want to try it. But Alexandra was another story, and Margaret worried about her more than Alexandra suspected.

Henri expected so much from her. So much so that Pierre and Margaret had decided not to tell him of Alexandra's background, which she herself didn't remember. She only remembered "Papa" as she called Pierre, although Margaret knew she had some vague other memories as well, but they were long buried. She no longer seemed to have any recollection whatsoever of George Gorham. They had told her simply that buried deep in her memory was the fact that she'd been adopted by Pierre after her father died, a man she no longer remembered, and it never occurred to her, nor did they tell her, that she had in fact been born of other parents entirely, that Margaret was not her mother at all, that she had been adopted Once before, after her own parents' tragic death. Pierre had been adamant with Margaret before he died. He did not want Alexandra's husband to know anything about either of her adoptions. But he had said nothing about it to Alexandra, not wanting to stir the memories or her conscience. She was such a decent girl, she might have felt obliged to tell her husband. It was much easier if she didn't remember. Her father knew Henri well enough to know what a maniac he was about his bloodline.

And Margaret did not disagree with her husband about their son-in-law, so for Alexandra's sake, she also remained silent. And remarkably, after so many years, no one even remembered that Alexandra was adopted.

And Margaret rejoiced when Marie-Louise was born, and then mourned when Alexandra lost a baby boy a year later. And then came Axelle after an excruciating pregnancy and endless labor. And after that, her doctor urged her not to try again. He told her she couldn't have any more children without jeopardizing her life. And she was content with the two little girls they had. Only Henri was bitterly disappointed, and resentful for a long time that she had not produced a son for him. And for years after Axelle was born, he told her so whenever he was angry. And always made her feel vaguely guilty toward her husband, as though she had somehow shortchanged him, and owed him something more because of her failure.

The loss of a son was a cross Henri had to bear and having Margaret de Borne as a mother-in-law was yet another. She drove him mad with her long, American legs, her endless stride, which he declared unfeminine, her booming laugh-too loud-her ghastly accent in French, which, to him, was like fingernails on a black-board. He hated her pranks, detested her sense of humor, and cringed almost visibly whenever she arrived, bringing water pistols in the form of lipsticks for the girls, dime store toys they adored, or at the other extreme, boxes and boxes and boxes of clothes from New York, including the matching navy blue coats with little mink m.u.f.fs, which he told Alexandra were extremely vulgar. He detested everything she brought and everything she said, and was grateful Alexandra was nothing like her. He could never imagine why the old count had married a woman like her. And he thanked G.o.d every day that Alexandra was so much more restrained than her mother. Alexandra was intelligent and kind and discreet, and still very shy, and obedient, which was one of the qualities he liked most about her.

He looked down at her as she sat at her desk, and smiled at her in a quiet, distant way. He was not a man to show his emotions, but although he expected a great deal from her, and showed no romance, he nonetheless had deep feelings for her. He knew that without her his life would not be the same, not only financially but in subtler ways that were even more important. She ran a beautiful home for him, she had elegance and style, and her impeccable breeding showed in countless ways. Alexandra de Borne de Morigny was every inch a lady.

"You look as though you're dreaming, Alexandra." He spoke to her quietly, with only slight reproach. He never raised his voice to her or anyone, he had no need to. People ran to obey his orders from just a single glance, as did Alexandra. He was distinguished and powerful, with dark eyes and gray hair. He had been extremely handsome and virile and athletic in his youth, and he had aged admirably. He still had a powerful frame and handsome face, and he did not look fifty-nine years old, anymore than Alexandra looked thirty-five with her big innocent blue eyes, and the silky strawberry-blond hair that she usually wore up in elegant French twists and chignons.

"Have you organized everything for the dinner next week?" He handed her a checklist of things for her to go over again. She had a secretary to a.s.sist her with such things, but she preferred doing most of it herself. That way she could a.s.sure him of the perfection he expected.

"Everything's done." She smiled up at him with respectful eyes filled with admiration, and he looked serious, as he always did, and a little distant.

"Please be sure of it." He eyed her with a warning like that you would give a child, and she smiled at him. Sometimes he frightened her, but not very often. She knew how good-hearted he was, beneath the constant demands for perfection.

"We're dining at the elysee tomorrow night," he informed her.

"That's nice. Any particular reason?" She smiled at him, unimpressed. They dined there often.

"They're announcing the new minister of defense." It did not sound fascinating to her, but dinners at the elysee never were. But Henri thought they were extremely important. He was still toying with the idea of a political career when he retired from his bank, which was still a few years in the future.

"I'm having lunch at my mother's tomorrow. But I'll be home in plenty of time to get ready for the evening." She looked away, glancing at the papers on her desk, not wanting to see the disapproval in his eyes. She hated that, always had. She had always hoped he'd come to love her mother, but she had given up in recent years, and it was an open secret that Henri disapproved of Margaret.

Almost as revenge, his voice seemed to grow cold when he spoke again. "I'll be out for dinner tonight." He offered no reason or excuse, and she would not have asked for one in any case. "I suppose you'll want to dine with the children."

She nodded, meeting his eyes again, wondering where he was going. She knew he'd had one mistress only a few years before, and hoped it was not something he was starting fresh now. It was something she accepted about him. It was hardly unusual, in France. "I'll tell the cook." She loved eating with the girls, as long as it didn't mean something ominous between them, and this time she wasn't quite certain. "A business dinner, darling?" She tried to keep her voice light as she watched him.

He scowled at her disapprovingly. The question was out of place and he nodded, as his daughters bounded into the room, not expecting him to be there. There were shrieks of delight, and Marie-Louise's long, coltish legs in her short navy blue skirt, her eyes shy and admiring as she saw Henri, and then a warm hug for her mother as he watched them. He never showed Alexandra affection in front of them. But Axelle was the image of her, she looked like a miniature as she sat happily on her mother's lap, playing with the things on the desk, and almost overturning a bottle of ink as Henri cringed in antic.i.p.ation of disaster.

"Axelle!" he said sternly as she gazed up at him, unconcerned, unafraid, and with endless mischief in her eyes. At times he feared she would turn out to be like her maternal grandmother, and he was strict with her because of it. "Be careful what you do in your mother's study."

"I am, Papa." She smiled up at him with her angelic blue eyes. Her mouth formed a natural pout, her cheeks were still round, and she still had the baby fat of a little girl, unlike Marie-Louise, who was long and tall and elegant, and already looked more like her father. "They sent me out of the room today in school," Axelle announced proudly to everyone in the room, and Alexandra laughed. She was only sorry her father wasn't alive to see them both, she knew he would have been totally in love with Axelle, and of course very proud of Marie-Louise too. They were both lovely girls, and Alexandra was very proud of them.

"That's nothing to brag about, mademoiselle. What did you do?" Henri questioned, watching them with hidden pride of his own. He loved them both, although he never said it and still regretted not having a son to bear his name. He often thought it was a shame Alexandra hadn't been able to give him that, and he thought of it as her only important failure. And she felt that.

"Can I have some gum?" Axelle whispered audibly and Alexandra blushed. It was a treat she sometimes gave the girls when Henri wasn't around, because it was forbidden to them by their father. But Axelle always gave her away. Marie-Louise preferred licorice and chocolates, but Axelle loved to blow enormous bubbles with great wads of pink goo.

"Certainly not." Henri frowned at all three of them, reminded Alexandra of the list he had left on her desk, and went into his own study next door, firmly closing the door behind him, and then opening it just a crack, watched with a grin, as his wife handed out candy and bubble gum to the girls. He loved watching Axelle with the sticky stuff all over her face, but he felt it was not appropriate for him to admit it. He silently closed the door, and went to his desk with a sigh, as the girls enjoyed their time with their mother.

"Papa's home early," Marie-Louise observed quietly as she sank gracefully into a Louis XV fauteuil near her mother's desk, munching a piece of licorice. She had large, dark soulful eyes and a natural elegance about her. She was going to be a beautiful girl in a few years, and already was in many ways. But Axelle was the more striking of the two, and her hair had her mother's natural red color, although Alexandra used a rinse to dim the red and had worn it blond for years, because Henri preferred it. He thought red hair "inappropriate," even though in her case it was natural. But she wore it blond, to please her husband.

"He's going out tonight," Alexandra said matter-of-factly, handing Axelle another piece of bubble gum, and Marie-Louise a chocolate.

"You too?" Axelle's eyes instantly filled with tears, although she was quick to take the chewing gum from her mother's hand, and Alexandra laughed and shook her head in answer.

"No, I'm not. He's going to a business dinner, and I'm dining with you tonight."

"Hurray!" Axelle exulted with a mouthful of gum, and Marie-Louise smiled. She loved it when her mother ate with them, particularly when their father was out. They always laughed a lot, and she told them stories about when she was a little girl, and the wonderful tricks Grandma helped her play on her father.

"Does your nonny know you're home?" she asked the girls, but she could see from Axelle's dirty hands and face that they had come to her without the governess's knowledge. The nurse always sent them in, immaculately dressed and spotlessly groomed, and she preferred them like this, a little more natural, and totally relaxed in her presence.

"I think we forgot to tell anny we were home," Marie-Louise confessed as Axelle blew an expert balloon with the pink gum, and the three of them laughed together.

"You'd better not let her see that." Alexandra smiled and set Axelle back on her feet. "You'd better tell her you're home." The chauffeur usually brought them home from school in the Citroen, although Alexandra liked to pick them up whenever she could make it. "I have some things to do now." She wanted to go over Henri's lists, to make sure she didn't forget anything for his dinner party the following week. She already knew who the guests would be. She had invited everyone three weeks before, on their formal cartons cartons, and reminders had been sent out, formally engraved and edged in gold, letting their guests know that the Baron and Baroness de Morigny were expecting them at 14 Avenue Foch, for a dinner in black tie, at eight o'clock. She already knew what she was going to wear, the flowers had been ordered, the menu set. Everything was in order, she saw, as the girls left the room, and she read carefully down the list. And she knew Henri would produce their best wines for the occasion. Probably a Chateau Margaux '61, or a Lafite-Rothschild '45. There would be Cristalle champagne, and Chateau d'Yquem afterward, and eventually poire poire and a host of other liqueurs as the men smoked their cigars, and the ladies withdrew to another drawing room reserved for their use while the gentlemen enjoyed their cigars and brandy and allegedly ribald stories. It was a custom few people still used, but Henri liked the old customs, and Alexandra always did things the way Henri liked them. It would never have occurred to her to suggest something different to him. She had always done things his way. Always. And to perfection. and a host of other liqueurs as the men smoked their cigars, and the ladies withdrew to another drawing room reserved for their use while the gentlemen enjoyed their cigars and brandy and allegedly ribald stories. It was a custom few people still used, but Henri liked the old customs, and Alexandra always did things the way Henri liked them. It would never have occurred to her to suggest something different to him. She had always done things his way. Always. And to perfection.

She sat quietly in her study, after the girls left, thinking of her husband and wondering where he was going that night, and then thinking of her daughters. She heard their voices in the garden outside, and knew they were playing with the nurse. They would soon be out of school, and they would be going to Cap Ferrat as they always did for the summer. It was good for the children there, and Henri would join them in a few weeks, after settling things at his office in Paris. They would undoubtedly join friends on their yacht, and perhaps go to Italy or Greece for a few days, leaving the children alone with the nurse and the other servants. It was a golden life, the only one Alexandra had ever known, and yet sometimes, once in a great while, Alexandra allowed herself to wonder what life would have been like if she'd married a different man, someone easier, or perhaps younger. And then feeling guilty for the thought, she would force it from her mind, and realize how fortunate she was to be married to her husband.

When she saw Henri again that night, just before he went out, he looked handsome and impeccable in a beautifully tailored dark blue suit, with a perfectly starched white shirt and dark blue tie, his sapphire cuff links glinting discreetly at his wrists, and his eyes were bright and alive. He always seemed full of energy, full of some secret reserve and strength that belied his almost sixty years, and made him seem much younger.

"You look very handsome, as usual." She smiled at him. She had changed into a pink satin dressing gown with matching mules, and her hair was piled on her head with a cascade of curls loosely falling from it. She looked beautiful, but it was obvious from the look in her eyes that she was totally unaware of it.

"Thank you, my dear. I won't be back late." His words were ba.n.a.l, but the look in his eyes was gentle and loving. He knew she would wait up for him as she always did, in her own room, with the light on, and if he wished, he could come to see her. In most instances, he would knock softly on the door, and come in for a visit before he went to bed, in his own bedroom next door to hers. He preferred separate bedrooms. He had insisted on them since they were married. She had cried about it for weeks at first, and tried to change his mind on the subject for the first several months, if not years. But Henri was firm with her. He needed his own s.p.a.ce, his own privacy, and a.s.sured her she would need hers in time as well. And he meant it. It was just a habit he had, like so many others. Eventually, she had grown used to it. They had connecting doors which gave easy access to the rooms, and the door between them didn't keep him from appearing in her room in his dressing gown, late at night, with a frequency that always pleased her. And he still felt desire when he looked at her, as he did now. But there were other women who appealed to him too. He always tried to be discreet, although he suspected that occasionally she knew, by instinct if nothing else. Women had an uncanny knack for things like that. He had discovered that in his youth, and he had a great respect for it.

"Have a good time." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, and went down to the smaller dining room to have dinner with the girls. She heard his car pull away moments afterward, and turned to help Axelle cut her meat, trying not to think of where he was going.

"Why does Daddy go out alone?" Axelle asked casually with a mouth full of food, and Marie-Louise frowned disapprovingly.

"That's rude to ask," she chided her, but Alexandra smiled.

"It's all right. Sometimes he has business dinners where he prefers to go alone."

"Are they very dull?" She was interested in everything.

"Sometimes." Alexandra laughed. "I'd rather be here with both of you."

"I'm glad." Axelle grinned, and announced a loose tooth, as Marie-Louise winced in disgust at her younger sister. She was past all that, and Axelle's offer to wiggle it for them revolted her still further.

"Stop that! You make me sick!" She made a face and Alexandra smiled at them. She was never happier than when she was with her daughters. She spent a little while in Marie-Louise's room that night and discovered she had a new best friend at school, and then read stories to Axelle, and kissed them both, and said their prayers with them before retiring to her own room. It was odd. Sometimes Marie-Louise reminded her of someone else, but she was never sure whom. Henri perhaps ... maybe that was it ... and then she forced the thought from her mind, as she slipped off her dressing gown, took a hot bath, and eventually climbed into bed with a new book.

It was after midnight when Henri finally came home, and she heard him in his room, before he finally came in to say good night to her. "Still up?" She nodded with a smile. She liked waiting up for him, sometimes he was more relaxed at night and more likely to open up to her, about his ideas, or plans, or problems.

"Did you have a nice evening?"

"It was all right." His eyes seemed to search hers, and then he said something unusual for him, something that relieved her mind more than he could ever have imagined. Perhaps he didn't have a new mistress after all, she thought with immense relief. "I should have taken you along. I was bored without you." It was unlike him to pay her a compliment like that, and she smiled and patted her bed for him to sit down, and when he did she leaned over and kissed him.

"Thank you, Henri. I missed you too ..." Her voice was gentle and her smile was the private one that always stirred him. "I had a nice time with the girls tonight. Marie-Louise is so serious and so grown up now, and Axelle is still ... well, she's still a baby." She laughed and he smiled. He was proud of them too, even if he didn't show it.

"They're good little girls." He leaned over and kissed her neck. "Just like their Maman ... you're a good girl too, my darling." They were tender words she loved to hear and they warmed her.

"Am I?" She smiled mischievously at him. "What a shame ..." She laughed then, and he lay next to her, touching her breast with one hand, and kissing her with the full measure of his desire. He hadn't intended to make love to her that night, but she looked so lovely, lying in her bed, with the pink and gray sheets, and her pink satin nightgown. And it was so hard for him to tell her how much he cared sometimes. It was easier to show her here, in the dim light of her boudoir. He loved their hours in bed, their nights side by side until he tiptoed quietly to his own room in the morning. He was deeply attached to her, and to the girls, but it was always difficult for him to show that. And he expected so much of her ... of himself ... he wanted her to be everything he had always dreamed of in a way, and in some ways that was why he had married her. He could never have married someone less than Alexandra. But the daughter of the Comte de Borne was of a breeding worthy of him, her upbringing suited her perfectly to become his wife, and in the past fourteen years she had proven him right. He was proud of who she was and all he had taught her. She was perfect in every way, and he could never have settled for anything less than Alexandra. He wanted her on a pedestal ... except for these rare times ... in his arms ... in her bed ... then he could allow her to be someone else, for a few moments at least. And with a contented sigh, and a last look at her afterward, smiling happily at him, he turned over and fell asleep, totally sated.

Chapter 11.

The chauffeur drove the Citroen over the Pont Alexandre III to the Left Bank, and moments later, pa.s.sing the Invalides, was on the rue de Varenne. It always felt like going home to her. As beautiful as the hotel particulier hotel particulier on the Avenue Foch was, as handsomely decorated, after all these years her parents' house on the rue de Varenne still felt like home to Alexandra. on the Avenue Foch was, as handsomely decorated, after all these years her parents' house on the rue de Varenne still felt like home to Alexandra.

Her heart always seemed to give a happy little leap as she saw the house, and the caretaker opened the gates so they could drive into the court, and then there was still that moment of sadness, that tiny jolt, as she realized that her father would never be there again. After all these years, she still felt his absence sorely. But the prospect of seeing her mother was a comfort and a joy, and it was a homecoming each time she saw her.

Their old butler was standing smiling beside the front door, holding it open wide in welcome. And beyond, Alexandra could see the priceless artifacts her parents had collected. Beautifully inlaid pieces of furniture, Louis XV chests covered with rich pink marbles and dripping with handsome bronzes. Urns they had bought at auction in London. And Renoirs and Degas and Turners and Van Goghs, and the Ca.s.satts her mother was so fond of. It was a house filled with beautiful things, all of which would one day be hers, which was a prospect she didn't even like to think of, but the only one that consoled Henri for the exasperation of being related to Margaret.

"Darling, are you here?" the familiar voice called from upstairs, from the sitting room overlooking the garden that she was so fond of. And Alexandra hurried up the marble staircase, feeling like a child again, with a happy smile, anxious to see her mother. She found her sitting on a couch, doing needlepoint with her gla.s.ses on the very end of her nose, and a gla.s.s of wine on the table next to her, and her Labrador retriever stretched out in front of the fire. Axelle and Marie-Louise loved the dog, who was old and good-natured, but Henri always cringed as she s...o...b..red and licked and kissed and left her hair all over everyone who touched her. "Darling!" Margaret dropped her needlepoint and stood to her full six feet, a pretty woman with blond hair and blue eyes not unlike Alexandra's, in a bright pink Chanel suit with a navy blue blouse and matching shoes, and ruby earrings the size of doork.n.o.bs. "My G.o.d, who died?" She backed off suddenly after kissing Alexandra.