Barbara Taylor Bradford - Three Weeks in Paris

Ian said, ‘Actually, I hope the snow doesn’t stick. It really would be quite awful if we had to cancel tomorrow’s birthday lunch.’

Kay nodded in agreement. ‘Let’s not worry about the lunch now. I heard a weather report earlier on the radio, and it’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow, and also much warmer.’

Ian smiled at her, and surveyed the tray of sandwiches and fancy cakes. ‘My goodness, Hazel’s done us proud this afternoon,’ he murmured and reached for a sandwich, bit into it. ‘Mmmmm…this is delicious. I see she’s put out most of my favourite things.’

‘By the way, Ian, what did you end up getting Fiona?’

‘What do you mean?’

Kay gave him a baffled look, and exclaimed, ‘The gift, for her birthday. What is it?’

‘Oh yes…a pair of earrings. Rather nice, I’ll show them to you later.’

They fell into a companionable silence, sipping their tea and eating the little sandwiches and cream cakes in front of the blazing fire. Outside the windows it was snowing heavily now, and settling on the ground, but neither of them noticed, preoccupied as they were with their own thoughts.

Kay couldn’t help feeling taut inside, even though Ian appeared to be so relaxed and at ease with himself and with her.

He was more like his old self, and this was a good omen. She planned to seduce him later, planned a night of lovemaking, and it was important that he was in the right mood. She believed he was…at least at the moment. She prayed it would last. And with a little luck she would get pregnant. She must. So much depended on it.

For his part, Ian was thinking about his trip to Edinburgh. It had been interesting, to say the least, and he was glad he had made the effort to go. And he was happy with the purchases. He hoped Fiona would like his gift, certainly it had been carefully chosen. He looked at his wife, and couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she looked today, and desirable…he let that thought slide away…

Kay broke the silence when she confided, ‘The FedEx envelope I received yesterday was an invitation…an invitation to go to Anya Sedgwick’s eighty-fifth birthday party in Paris.’

‘I don’t have to go too, do I?’ Ian asked, frowning, looking worried. ‘You know how I hate travelling.’

‘No, of course not,’ she answered quickly. She didn’t even bother to tell him that only her name was on the invitation. But she did think to add, ‘I’m not going to go either.’

Ian stared at her, apparently puzzled and surprised. ‘Whyever not?’

‘I don’t really want to see people I haven’t seen in seven years…I lost touch with my friends when I graduated.’

‘But you’ve always admired Anya.’

‘That’s true, she’s the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met, a genius, too.’

‘Well, then?’ He raised a sandy brow.

‘I don’t know…’

‘I think you should go to her party, Kay, just out of respect.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. I’ll think about it.’

By the time they had finished their tea the snow had settled on the ground, and it was continuing to fall steadily. Outside, it was growing darker and darker; the dusky twilight of late afternoon had long since been obliterated, and already a few sparse early stars sprinkled the sky.

But in the snug conservatory all was warmth and cosiness. The fire roared in the great stone hearth, constantly replenished with logs and peat by Ian; the table lamps cast a lovely lambent glow throughout, and in the background music played softly.

Ian had turned on the radio earlier, to listen to the weather report, and after hearing that heavy snow was expected, he had tuned in to a station playing popular music. Now the strains of Lady in Red, sung by Chris De Burgh, echoed softly around the conservatory.

The two of them had been silent for a while, when at one moment Ian looked across at Kay intently, his eyes narrowing. ‘You’re very quiet this afternoon, and you look awfully pensive. Sad, even. Is something the matter, darling? What are you brooding about?’

Kay roused herself from her thoughts, and shook her head. ‘Not brooding, Ian. Just thinking…people do suffer for love, don’t they?’

His brows drew together in a small frown, but his expression was hard to read. After a split second he answered her. ‘I suppose some do…’ He paused and shrugged offhandedly. ‘But what are you getting at exactly?’

‘I was thinking of Bothwell earlier, and the way he loved Mary. How he died because of her…well, in a sense, he did. And that awful death…chained like a poor dog to a pole for years…’ Her voice trailed off and she let out a long sigh. ‘He suffered for love. It’s so heartbreaking, that story, when you think about it.’

‘But it happened hundreds of years ago. I do believe my mother’s been filling your head with stories again–’

‘Yes, but they’re all part of Scottish history,’ she interrupted peremptorily. ‘I can never get enough of it. I guess I didn’t pay enough attention at school…but your mother’s rectified all that. She’s been a wonderful teacher.’

His searching hazel eyes rested on her, and then he half smiled. ‘My mother’s the best teacher I know. A genius at it, especially when it comes to history, and the history of the clans. She held me enthralled when I was a child.’

‘She’s told me a lot about the noble families, but so much more as well. I’ve learned a great deal about the Stuarts. How extraordinary they were, so bold and courageous, so very beautiful to look at.’

‘And very ill-fated,’ he shot back pointedly. ‘At least some of them were. Foolish Mary, led by her heart and not her head. She was no match for crafty Elizabeth Tudor, I’m afraid. Not in the long run. Her cousin was so much cleverer.’

‘The problem with Mary and Bothwell is that they were so entangled in the politics of the times. It doomed them.’

‘That’s an old familiar story, isn’t it?’ Ian shook his head, laughed a bit cynically. ‘She was trying to keep a throne and protect her heir, and he wanted to sit next to her on his own throne, and the lords were in rebellion. God knows, it was a dangerous and hellish time to live.’

‘Your mother explained everything. She’s such an expert on Scottish history…’ Kay paused, added: ‘And a bit of a nationalist.’

He laughed. ‘So are you!’

‘Something must’ve rubbed off.’

He smiled at her indulgently.

There was a small silence.

Eventually Kay murmured, ‘Your mother once told me that suffering for love is a noble thing. Do you agree with her?’

Ian burst out laughing. ‘I’m not so sure I do! And let’s not forget that my mother is something of a romantic, always has been, always will be, just like you are. But come to think of it, no, I don’t want to suffer for love. No, not at all. I want to relish it, enjoy it, wallow in it.’

‘With me?’

‘Is that an invitation?’ he asked, eyeing her keenly.

She simply smiled, beguilingly.

Ian rose and crossed the room, took hold of her hands and brought her to her feet. And then he led her over to the fireplace, pulled her down on to the rug with him.

He smoothed his hand over her red-gold hair, shimmering in the fire’s glow, and held strands of it between his fingers. ‘Look at this…Celtic gold…it’s beautiful, Kay.’ She was silent. Her eyes never left his face. He began to unbutton her white silk blouse, leaned forward, kissed her cheek, her neck, and her mouth, then moved her down. He kissed her with mounting passion.

But after only a moment, Kay pushed him away. ‘Ian, stop! We can’t. Not here ! Someone might come in.’