Summer’s End

29

Chantal was the first person through customs, and as he watched her wend her way toward him, he felt a smile wipe itself all over his face. My God, she looked beautiful. She was draped in pale-champagne suede, with a huge lynx collar and matching hat. Her auburn hair peeked out at him, and the golden eyes seemed to dance as she ran to his side. He saw that, for a moment, she was going to kiss him, and then she remembered. Instead, they walked side by side, whispering, talking, laughing; they might as well have kissed and torn off each other’s clothes. It was clear how happy they were to be together again. He had almost forgotten how incredibly appealing she was, how special. Reduced to their exchanges on the phone, he had almost forgotten how heady were her charms. He could barely keep his hands off her as they disappeared into his rented limousine. It was there at last that his hands touched her body, her face, that he pressed her close to him and drank her mouth with his own.

“Oh, God, you feel so good to me.” He was almost breathless as he held her, and she smiled. Now she was in control again, and her power laughed at him from her eyes.

“Idiot, you’d have kept me away for a year.”

“No, but I… things just got too bogged down.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now. As long as we’re together, I don’t give a damn.” For a moment he wondered how long she was planning to stay, but he didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to speak to her at all, he just wanted to hold her and make love to her for the rest of his life.

The car pulled up outside the Huntington Hotel, and Marc helped her out. He had already checked her in and paid for ten days. They had nothing to do but disappear into her room. He had told his office he would be gone for the day.

“Marc?” She picked her head up sleepily in the dark and smiled. It was well after two in the morning, and she’d been asleep for two hours.

“No, it’s the President. Whom did you expect?”

“You. How come you’re so late?” He hadn’t even called, but she hadn’t really been worried.

“Clients in from out of town. We had sequestered meetings all day. We didn’t even go out for lunch.” They had ordered room service instead, and he had made special arrangements to have dinner sent up from L’Étoile.

“It sounds very dull.” She smiled in the dark and turned around in the bed.

“How do you feel?” He was getting undressed and he had his back to his wife. It was strange to come home to her now. He had almost stayed out for the night, but he had to prepare the stage for that. He had promised Chantal the weekend, and a few other days.

“I feel sleepy, thank you.”

“Good. So do I.” He slipped into their bed, touched her cheek, and kissed her somewhere on the top of her head. “Bonne nuit.” It was what he had said to Chantal when he left, except to her he had added, “mon amour.”

“I don’t care,” Chantal said, “I’m not leaving. And if you stop paying for the hotel, I’ll pay for it myself or find an apartment. My visa says I can stay for six months.”

“That’s absurd.” Marc glared at her from across the room. They had been arguing for an hour, and Chantal’s delicate chin jutted toward him in petulant fury. “I told you. I’ll be back in Paris in two weeks.”

“For how long? Five days? A week? And then what? I don’t see you for another two months. Non! Non, non et non! Either we stay together now, or it is finished. Forever! And that, Marc-Edouard Duras, is my last word. Make up your mind what you want. Either I stay here now, and we work out something together, or I go home. And we’re through. Finis! C’est compris?” Her voice was a shriek in the elegant room. “But this game we have played is over for me. No more! I told you that before I came over. I don’t understand why you want to stay married to her. You don’t even have Pilar as an excuse now. But I don’t give a damn. I’m not going to go on living without you forever. I just can’t. No, I’m staying. Or-” she looked at him ominously “-I go for good.”

“What about six months from now when your visa runs out? That is if I let you stay here.” His mind was racing and he was thinking… six months. It could work. Chantal could go home then, and he’d follow in a few weeks. Then he’d establish Deanna and the baby on the rue François Premier with his mother. It might even make sense for him to spend most of his time there. He’d be commuting back and forth to the States, but Paris would be home base. “You know, Chantal,” he said, “things might just work out after all. What if I were to tell you that I am thinking of moving my main residence back to Paris next year? I would still keep the office here, but instead of traveling from here to Paris all the time, I would do it the other way around, and live over there.”

“With your wife?” She eyed him suspiciously. She wasn’t sure what he had in mind.

“Not necessarily, Chantal. Not necessarily at all. I am planning a number of changes next year.” He looked at her with the faint hint of a smile, and something in her eyes lit up too.

“You’d move back to Paris? Why?” She wanted to say “For me?” but she didn’t quite dare.

“I have a number of reasons for moving back, and you’re not least among them.”

“You’re serious?” She stood watching him and she liked what she saw.

“I am.”

“And in the meantime?”

“I might just let you stay here.” He wore a half-smile. Almost before the words were out of his mouth, she flew across the room and into his arms.

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes, my darling, I do.”