“Hi,” I heard, and turned to see him standing there in a white silk jacket and a black tie, with black slacks, hardly the attire of someone who wanted to spend the day lounging around a pool.
“Hi. What’s up?”
“I’m on my way to Cannes for a business meeting and wondered if you would like to go along. It won’t be a long meeting, and we could have dinner on the way back. We can spend some time there, too. Just walking on the Croiset in Cannes is fun for me, and I’m sure it will be for you.”
The Croiset in Cannes, I thought, remembering my mother describing it to me. Her father had taken her family to Cannes for a little summer holiday when she was about my age. The Croiset, was just a long street that ran parallel to the ocean, but along the way there was so much to see, such as the shops that featured the major fashion houses and the art galleries, restaurants, and hotels that formed the backdrop. Many had been featured in old movies, and some were used in films to this day. My mother described the people who populated the Croiset in the evening as the “beautiful people,” wealthy and glamorous people in their haute couture and their expensive cars.
“It was as if I had stepped into a movie myself,” she’d told me. “Someday I’m sure you will go there and see what I mean.”
Yes, I had thought. I will go there, Mama, but when I do, I will be one of the “beautiful people.”
And here I was on the verge of making that happen. I would put on something expensive, wear the jewelry Mrs. Brittany had bought me, and drive into Cannes in Paul’s $350,000 car.
“Okay,” I said. “Let me get dressed. How much time do we have?”
“Whatever you need. They wait for me, not I for them.”
“It’s a mistake to tell a woman she has whatever time she needs. I might take hours.”
“Something tells me you won’t,” he said.
I laughed and hurried in and up the stairs.
Of course, he was right. I didn’t take hours. I was too excited and wanted to be with him. Besides, I had already been well schooled in how to look like a million dollars in a matter of minutes, not hours. It was practically written on a plaque above the salon at Mrs. Brittany’s estate: A Brittany girl is never ever at a disadvantage.
On the way to Cannes, he told me how much he had missed me and how much he regretted not being able to do much about it. He knew that Norbert and Caesar were filling in. Despite their being gay, he sounded jealous when I described all the fun we had been having.
“Doesn’t sound like you missed me all that much,” he complained.
“Oh, I did. Occasionally,” I teased.
“Thanks a lot.”
“I like you a lot, Paul,” I said in a very serious tone, “but I won’t suffer because of any man.”
He looked at me, my hardness surprising him. Any good psychoanalyst would probably say my attitude stemmed from my poor relationship with my father, but Paul knew nothing of that.
“I wouldn’t want you to suffer,” he said. “Ever.”
It was all he came up with. I was disappointed but let it go.
While he had his meeting at one of the major hotels, I went shopping in the row of shops nearby and met him in the lobby afterward. He had my packages put in his car, and then, holding hands, we went walking along the Croiset. We window-shopped, listened to a street musician on an accordion, and then had a gelato and sat people watching for nearly an hour before we started back to Beaulieu, stopping for dinner in Nice at the famous Negresco Hotel restaurant.
I never asked him anything about his future fiancée or anything about his family the whole time, but I could feel it all hovering above us like a small but dark and angry cloud that constantly threatened to empty cold drops of rain on every warm smile, small laugh, or look of passion.
He mentioned going out on his yacht again. “I just have to clear the schedule,” he said.
“Well, don’t do anything yet. Mrs. Brittany is coming in two days, and I will have to wait to see what plans she has for us before agreeing to anything.”
“Yes, of course. How long is she staying?”
“I don’t know.”
He was thoughtful. I knew he was wondering if Mrs. Brittany’s arrival meant that my stay was coming to a quick end, but he didn’t ask.
This time, when we returned, he spent the night with me. I knew that meant he didn’t want me in his house while his parents were there. I doubted he had even mentioned me to them.
He was up early in the morning and gone before breakfast, telling me he had a breakfast meeting in Monte Carlo with his father to discuss a major European acquisition they were contemplating.