A waiter was there already, fixing our drinks. We sat looking up at the city, the lights just starting to go on. From where we were sitting, it looked like a show put on just for us.
“There’s a special event tonight,” Paul said.
“Oh?”
“I didn’t know it until late today, but we’re going to have fireworks.”
We were served champagne cocktails and some wonderful hors d’oeuvres.
“I understand Mrs. Brittany has some family problems,” he said after a while. “Her granddaughter is very sick?”
“Yes.”
So Norbert had told him some things, after all, I thought. What else had he explained?
“And you know her well?”
“Very well. At the moment, she’s my closest friend.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. So you want to return to see her?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. He was silent so long that I was convinced he was working himself up for some very serious proposal, but before he spoke, we were informed that dinner was ready. The sliding doors of the dining area were wide open to give us the feeling we were eating on deck. I couldn’t imagine ever having a more wonderful gourmet dinner with expensive wines and impeccable service. A second waiter appeared to open the wine and clear the dishes as we ate.
I didn’t know whether Paul talked out of nervousness or simply because he was afraid that pregnant silences would give birth to sad thoughts, but from the moment we sat until the moment we had our coffee on the deck, he never stopped. He told me more about his family company, the projects and plans they had for the coming year, the places he was going to visit in Europe and Asia, and then some ideas he had to innovate and expand even more.
I listened attentively and asked good questions as my training as a Brittany escort kicked in. I could hear the main points of Mrs. Brittany’s lessons.
“Always give the man you’re with the sense that you’re with him, that you are attuned to everything he says and interested in everything he says.
“Don’t let your mind drift, and never change the subject. He has to be the one directing word traffic in these tête-à-têtes, Roxy. You’re there to be his audience, an admirer.
“Never bring up anything about yourself. Be polite when and if he asks questions about you, but always keep your answers general. It’s part of the tease and the cachet, the mystery. Most of the men you escort will respect your privacy. Occasionally, you’ll meet one who is more demanding. I’d rather you disappoint that sort and let him drift away than compromise yourself or our company in any way. Understand?”
It bothered me that I was putting on my professional persona with Paul tonight, but his avoidance of anything really warm and personal between us nudged me into it. Was he really happy with my phony smiles, my nods, my almost inane comments and praise? Couldn’t he see through it, or didn’t he want to see through it?
Afterward, when the fireworks began, I thought his passion for me was rushing back in. He had his arm around me. He kissed me and was more like a younger man again, filled with the same level of excitement I was feeling. The fireworks were elaborate, building to a crescendo.
As always, when I had a moment to stabilize myself and return to earth, I contrasted where I had been with where I was. Regardless of what happened between Paul and me, this was going to be my world now, and I was determined to succeed in it. I’d be nobody’s poor, mixed-up, lost little girl again. I’d eat caviar and lobster in the most expensive restaurants in the world. I’d wear furs and jewels that would draw looks of envy. I’d fly in private jets and ride in limousines, be disdainful of budgets, and titillate the most powerful and wealthy men with my smiles, my gestures, and my promising kisses.
Paul and I made love in the owner’s suite. With every kiss and caress, he told me how beautiful and wonderful I was and how much he enjoyed being with me, how grateful he was that he had met me. I kept waiting for that proverbial second shoe to drop, that next sentence, that proposal or idea to keep us together in some magical world of tomorrow, where neither of us would grow old or sick or tired of each other’s company.
It didn’t come.
I fell asleep with tears icing the lids of my e
yes. He was up before me in the morning, and when I appeared, he was out on the deck having his coffee and looking at the sea like someone in a daze. His staff hurried to get me some breakfast. I had only petit déjeuner. Paul waited until I had something to eat and drank my coffee before he told me that Norbert had called.
“He said Mrs. Brittany wanted you to be at the airport this afternoon.”
“Oh. Did he tell any more? I mean, anything about Mrs. Brittany’s granddaughter?”
“No, nothing. Your things are being packed. I told him I’d drive you to Nice.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“I don’t know when I’ll be able to get to New York,” he said.