Roxy''s Story

  “I’m fine. I did sleep some on the plane. Besides, I don’t know what time it is, and I have a feeling I don’t want to know,” I said.

  He laughed, made a slight bow, and went to tell Margery about dinner. I sat in the chair next to the small table and just looked out at the sea. I couldn’t help but feel like a fugitive. People were looking for me now, and I had fled. I was hiding out. Not once during the meeting with Mrs. Brittany and Mrs. Pratt or during my trip over here had I asked myself why I wasn’t returning to my family. It was clear from what was happening that even if for only a short time, Papa was sorry and wanted me found and brought home. Perhaps, with the way I felt about myself now, I could have returned and gotten along with him. I might even have done so well in school that I could think of going to college. In short, I could have my family back. I did think of Emmie often. It would have been nice to be her big sister again, but this time for real. Being with Sheena had brought that thought home to me. Perhaps I was too quick in rejecting Mrs. Brittany’s offer to turn me out and give me that kill fee so I could return to my family.

  All the work I was doing, having my days so full, and developing my relationship with Sheena had pretty much kept me from even dreaming of a reconciliation with my father, but now that I was thousands of miles away, alone with nothing to do but amuse myself, I had time to reconsider my choices and actions. I didn’t want this idle time. I hated even thinking of regrets, but the thoughts and feelings I had successfully kept dormant were sprouting around me like weeds determined to crowd out any bright flowers of hope and happiness.

  “Excuse me,” Margery said. She was standing in the patio doorway smiling sweetly. “Would you like a cup of tea, a cold drink, a glass of wine, or something to eat?”

  “Maybe a glass of white wine,” I said. “I’ll come down.” I started to rise.

  “Oh, no need. I can bring it up here if you like. You might want to relax and maybe take a nap. No matter how easy it was, it was still a long journey.”

  “Yes,” I said, feeling tired now. “You might be right. Thank you, Margery.”

  “De rien,” she said, and than laughed at herself. “Oh, for a moment, I forgot that you speak English, too. Better start doing that before I can no longer converse with my relatives.”

  She hurried off. I sat again. Converse with your relatives, I thought. Would I ever do that again? However, I didn’t miss that when I was living at home. Why should I miss it now? And yet I wondered if I was going to have a great empty place in my life, no matter how many luxurious and wonderful things I filled it with.

  Below, Margery had put on the radio. I heard a familiar French song and fell into a melancholy, remembering my mother humming “La Vie en Rose” to herself and then, when I was younger, singing an old French nursery rhyme to me as she did her housework and I smeared finger paints over a canvas. My father used to say I was taking out my aggression with those distorted images.

  I was lost in my memories until I heard the phone ring, and moments later, Margery returned to tell me Mrs. Brittany was calling. I got up quickly and went to the phone by the bed.

  “Hello.”

  “Are you settled in? Did my godson take good care of you?”

  “Oh, yes. You didn’t tell me he was your godson.”

  “It wasn’t necessary to tell you,” she said sharply. She wasn’t someone who accepted any criticism easily.

  “He’s returning to join me for dinner,” I said, to make sure she would approve.

  “Good. You just relax and forget about the situation for now. I’ll call you if there are any other significant developments.”

  “How’s Sheena?” I asked quickly, sensing that she was about to hang up. “Did you explain?”

  “She’s fine. She understands. I’m taking her to the clinic for her annual review, anyway, and then seeing about a new prosthetic leg. Don’t worry. She’ll be occupied. Worry about yourself for now,” she ordered. “I’ll check up on you from time to time. You’re in good hands there.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  I guess my small voice caught her rarely felt sense of compassion.

  “Everyone here sends you his or her best. You have made a very good impression, Roxy.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Yes, but let’s not veer from our course, not now,” she warned. “Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  When I hung up, Margery brought me my glass of wine and some cheese and crackers. I returned to the patio and sat for nearly an hour before I felt my eyes closing. Moments later, I was in my new bed and fast asleep.

  Fortunately, people on the Côte d’Azur didn’t eat dinner until eight or nine, especially during the summer, when daylight lasted so long. I didn’t wake up until seven and then leaped out of bed to shower and dress. I wore a simple off-the-shoulder peasant dress. It was still quite warm, but I could feel the temperature moderating as the sun began to drift toward the horizon. The patios all faced northwest, so I imagined there would be wonderful sunsets. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Roxy Wilcox. Few fugitives had as wonderful a hideout, I told myself.

  When I went down, I found that Margery had set up a cocktail table on the main patio. Ian assumed the role of waiter. He was dressed in a pair of black slacks, a white shirt, and a black vest. There was a bottle of champagne in a bucket at the center of the table.

  “Bonsoir, mademoiselle.” He nodded at the champagne. “A welcome gift from Monsieur Norbert.”

  Moments later, the doorbell rang, and Ian went to let Norbert in. Accompanying him was a younger man with light brown hair styled almost the same way as Norbert’s and a well-trimmed goatee. He had a firmer, more athletic build and was a few inches shorter than Norbert. His features weren’t as perfect, but I thought he was handsome in a more rugged way.

  “Bonsoir, Roxy,” Norbert said. “I’d like you to meet my good friend, Paul Lamont. Yes, of the Lamont cosmetics line,” he added before I could ask.

  “Do you have to embarrass me instantly?” Paul asked him. “Enchanté,” he said, turning back to me and taking my hand to kiss. “You’ll find that Norbert enjoys having his friends at a bit of a disadvantage.”

  “It’s hardly a disadvantage to be part of the Lamont cosmetics line,” I said. His smile widened.

  “Ah, finally someone you can’t confuse,” Paul told him.

  “Thank you for the champagne,” I said to Norbert. “Shall we?”

  I led them out to the patio, where Ian was opening the bottle.

  “I had forgotten what a view you have here,” Paul said. “I was here once before with Norbert to meet Mrs. Brittany.”

  “Breathtaking,” I said.

  “Save your breath. There are many breathtaking places to visit on the Côte d’Azur.”

  “Norbert should be in public relations. I know no one who can do a better job of selling the Riviera to first-time visitors,” Paul said.

  “Does it need anyone to sell it?” Norbert said.

  Ian handed us each a glass.

  “Thank you, Ian,” I said.

  “Let’s toast to what I hope will be the beginning of a memorable visit,” Norbert said.

  “How could it be otherwise?” I replied.

  Paul’s smile widened, his eyes brightening with an almost childlike delight. We sipped our champagne, and then we all sat.

  “Norbert seems to know nothing about you,” Paul said. “Or else, he refuses to reveal anything. You’re a young woman of mystery.”

  “Do you like that idea, a woman of mystery?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Then why ruin it with my telling you too much?” I asked.

  Norbert roared. Paul looked lost for a moment and then laughed, too.

  “Okay. We’ll bore you to death by talking only of ourselves,” he told me.

  They did, but I wasn’t bored. Paul had recently graduated from the Sorbonne, where he earned a dual degree in economics and tax strategy. It was clear from the way he descr
ibed his youth and his education that his family had a great deal to do with whatever choices he made.

  “Like a prince being schooled in what is necessary for him to rule a kingdom, my friend is being groomed to be CEO of Lamont Enterprises,” Norbert said.

  Paul didn’t deny it. He seemed resigned to the fact that his life had been prearranged.

  “Even down to whom he will eventually marry,” Norbert added with a slight twist of his lips.

  “My family is quite old-school,” Paul offered in explanation. “My parents’ marriage was prearranged, but both claim it worked out perfectly.”

  “And your father has no interests on the side?” Norbert teased.

  “I didn’t say that, but maybe that’s what makes his marriage perfect.”

  Norbert laughed. I was astonished at how honest they were being about themselves, especially with someone they had just met who wasn’t being the least forthcoming about her own life and past. It wasn’t long before an instinctive feeling about Norbert was confirmed. He was gay. His partner was busy tonight, so he had brought Paul. I didn’t have a chance to find this overwhelming. All of it came too fast, one thing after another, before I could react. But our dinner was wonderful, with both of them entertaining me. Afterward, we had some ice wine from Germany, a very expensive wine that I knew.

  We sat talking on the patio. Yachts and smaller boats dazzled us with their lights, which sometimes looked like stars that had fallen into the sea. Way off on the horizon, I could see the ghostlike silhouette of a barge, and later, we saw another ocean liner all lit up.

  “It’s heading for Barcelona, I’ll bet,” Norbert said.

  “Have you been on a cruise?” Paul asked me.

  “No.”

  “A yacht?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, maybe we can arrange for that this coming week. My family’s yacht is in Monte Carlo.”

  “I thought your social calendar was full this month, and tonight was your only free night,” Norbert told him.

  “Yes, it was,” he replied, keeping his eyes on me. “But that was before you brought me here.”

  “I see. Be careful, Roxy. He’s a heartbreaker. That was really his major at the Sorbonne.”

  “I’ve racked up a few of those myself,” I said, and they both laughed.

  It all seemed so incredible when I considered how quickly I had traveled, not only from New York to southern France but from the roach hotel to an elegant villa to be entertained by sophisticated wealthy men. I was confident that I was more than holding my own with every topic, too, every bit of repartee.

  Suddenly, it occurred to me that this could be Mrs. Brittany’s way of testing me in the field. I wondered again how much Norbert really knew about her business and especially my upcoming role in it. Was Paul telling the truth when he said that Norbert knew almost nothing about me? It was difficult to know how I should behave, what I should say, and, most important, what I should agree to do with either of them. Decisions weighed me down.

  “You look like you’re falling asleep,” Norbert said. “Paul, let’s let her catch up.”

  “Okay, but only if she agrees to my helping you show her around,” he said.

  “Why wouldn’t I agree? Two for the price of one?”

  They both laughed. I walked them to the door.

  “Bonne nuit,” Paul said. He kissed me on the cheek. Norbert did the same.

  I watched them walk to the car, and then I closed the door and hurried up to my room. I felt as if I would fall asleep on my feet if I didn’t get into bed soon. It was a comfortable bed, and despite all that had happened so quickly to bring me there, I was feeling good about it now. I had really enjoyed my dinner with Paul and Norbert, and I was looking forward to doing all the things they had suggested. I was confident that even if this was another one of Mrs. Brittany’s tests, I would come through it with flying colors.

  Yes, how far I had come.

  Smother any regrets or second thoughts, I told myself. There was no turning back for me now.

  14

  Margery woke me when she brought me a cup of wonderful French café au lait, a small orange juice, a croissant, and jam.

  “To start you off, petit déjeuner,” she said.

  “Yes, I know. My mother still sees this as breakfast.”

  “Oh, your mother is French, then?”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled. Even though I could see that she was bubbling over with questions, she kept her curiosity chained. She must have cared for other guests of Mrs. Brittany, perhaps other Brittany girls. Maybe even Portia or Camelia had been here. I was sure she knew how Mrs. Brittany felt about gossip.

  “I looked in on you twice,” she said. “I didn’t want to wake you, but I thought you might want to be up by now. It’s nearly noon.”

  “Is it? I haven’t slept this late for months, maybe years,” I said, sitting up.

  She placed the tray on the bed table and rolled it over. Then, without my asking, she placed a second pillow behind me so I could be more comfortable sitting up. I certainly didn’t mind being pampered, not after what I had been through.

  “There now. Comfy, are you?”

  “Yes, thank you, Margery.”

  “I can make you eggs and ham, if you’d like.”

  “This will do fine for now. Thank you, Margery.”

  “My pleasure. Just call if you need anything else,” she said, then hesitated a moment as if she was deciding on another question to ask, thought wiser of it, and left.

  I sighed and looked around at my cozy, bright, and warm room. I hadn’t noticed the pastel painting of two little girls building a sand castle on the beach and the embossed pewter candleholders on the walls. When I finished my petit déjeuner, I pushed the table aside and sprawled out again, letting myself sink into the soft mattress and oversize pillows. After months of training and education at Mrs. Brittany’s estate, this sort of lazy day was wonderful. There was no phone ringing to wake me up, no one pouncing on me to move quickly and not keep someone waiting.

  I deliberately took a lot more time doing everything. By the time I started downstairs, it was nearly one-thirty in the afternoon. Ian was working on the grounds, cutting grass and trimming bushes. Margery, after bringing me some of her homemade lemonade out on the patio and asking me if I wanted anything else, went up to do my room.

  It wasn’t as warm as yesterday, I thought, but the sky didn’t have a cloud in it. Brittany girls were forbidden to get too much sun. Our tans, if we were to have any, were to come from creams. Claudine Laffette had told me that Mrs. Brittany expected her girls to look young and beautiful well through their early forties. Early wrinkles were as deadly for us as they were for vampires who realized they were reaching the end of their so-called immortality. Mrs. Brittany’s skin was still youthful-looking, although she had surely had some plastic surgery, and she did use certain skin creams and treatments. I had some of her latest newly developed miracle creams in my makeup bag with instructions.

  “You’re never too young to worry about that sort of thing,” she had told me. “Get into the right habits now, and you’ll be happy about it later.”

  By now, I was feeling like all the others under her command. I would probably walk over hot coals if she told me it was necessary.

  I sprawled on a chaise in the shade and sipped a glass of Margery’s cool natural lemonade. She left the radio on for me. After all the tension during the last thirty-six hours, it felt wonderful to continue just drifting and relaxing. I had nearly fallen asleep again when I heard the doorbell. Margery hurried to see who it was, and I sat up, listening.

  Moments later, Paul Lamont appeared on the patio. He wore a light blue short-sleeved shirt and light blue pants and was sockless in blue boat shoes. His hair was as perfect as it had been last night. Everyone always looked different in the daytime, I thought. Imperfections were always more visible, but if anything, he looked even more handsome today.

  “I
hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said.

  “Oh, no. Please,” I said, nodding at a chair. “Would you like some fresh lemonade?”

  “Looks good.” He poured himself a glass, sipped some, and smiled. “Perfect.” He stared at me a moment. “I woke up this morning thinking about you, how delightful and attractive you are.”

  “Oh?”

  One of the things Mrs. Brittany had taught me was that most people feel obligated to return a compliment with a compliment even though they don’t feel or believe it. “If someone lavishes a compliment on you, accept it gracefully,” she told me, “but don’t do or say anything that isn’t authentic. Really discerning men and women will know you were just being polite, but it also makes you look as if you don’t believe you deserved the compliment they gave you. Be tight and firm with your emotions. Never lose control, and the easiest way for that to happen is to permit someone to stroke your ego.”

  “I didn’t wake up this morning. I slept until nearly noon, so I had no time to think of anything or anyone,” I said, hardly acknowledging his lavish flattery.

  “Well, that’s understandable, the time change and all, especially how long we kept you up talking.”

  “I’m not complaining about myself,” I said. “I wanted to be lazy. I intend to be as lazy as I can.”

  He laughed.

  “Beautiful, bright, and honest. You are indeed unique, especially for the social world you’ll find here. You might feel out of place.”

  “I am what I am,” I said with cold conviction. “I’m not going to change to fit any setting, anyone.”

  “And full of self-confidence, too. I’d love to know how you were brought up.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” I muttered.

  He laughed nervously. There was a short moment of uncomfortable silence.

  “My life isn’t that interesting yet,” I added to soften the pause.

  “I like that you added ‘yet.’ ” He looked around. Ian was clipping hedges but occasionally sneaking a glance at us. Paul nodded at him before turning back to me. “So you had breakfast late, I take it?”