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.