Barbara Taylor Bradford - Three Weeks in Paris

Sadly, she would have to forgo Anya’s eighty-fifth birthday party. For her own self-protection.

Seated at the mahogany table in the elegant dining room of her parents’ apartment on East Seventy-Ninth Street, Alexandra was savouring the tomato omelette her mother had just made, thinking how delicious it was. Hers inevitably turned into a runny mess, despite having had her mother, the best chef in the world, to teach her over the years.

‘This is great, Mom,’ she said after a moment, ‘and thanks for making time for me today. I know you like to have your Saturdays to yourself.’

‘Don’t be so silly, I’m glad you’re here,’ Diane Gordon answered, glancing up, smiling warmly. ‘I was just about to call you this morning, to see what you were doing, when the phone rang and there you were, wanting to have lunch.’

Alexa returned her mother’s smile and asked, ‘When’s Dad getting back from the Coast?’

‘Tuesday, he said. But it could be Friday. You know what the network is like. You grew up with networks and their schedules, lived by them when you were a child.’

‘And how!’ Alexa exclaimed. ‘I suppose Dad’s going to see Tim this weekend.’

‘Yes, they’re having dinner tonight. Dad’s taking him to Morton’s.’

‘Tim’ll love that, it’s his favourite place in LA. I guess he’s going to stay out there after all. When I spoke to him last week he sounded very high on Los Angeles, and his new job at NeverLand Productions. He told me he was born to be a movie maker.’

Diane laughed. ‘Well, I suppose that’s true. Remember what he was like when he was a kid, always wanting to go with your father to the television studios, to be on the set. And let’s not forget that Grandfather Gordon was a very highly thought of stage director for many years. Show business is in Tim’s blood, more than likely.’ Diane took a sip of water, then asked her daughter, ‘Do you want a glass of wine, darling?’ a blonde brow lifting questioningly.

‘No, thanks, Mom, not during the day. It makes me sleepy. Anyway, it’s fattening…all that sugar. I prefer to take my calories in bread.’ As she spoke she reached for a piece of the baguette, which her mother had cut up earlier and placed in a silver bread basket. She spread it generously with butter and took a bite.

‘You don’t have to worry about your weight, you know. You look marvellous, really well,’ Diane remarked, eyeing her daughter. She couldn’t help thinking how young she looked for her age. It didn’t seem possible that Alexandra was thirty. In fact, in the summer she would be thirty-one, and it seemed like only yesterday that she was a toddler running around her feet. My God, when I was her age I had two children, Diane thought, and a husband to look after, and a growing business to run. Thirty-one, she mused, and in May I’ll be fifty-eight. How time flies, just disappears. Where have all the years gone? David will be fifty-nine in June. What is even more incredible is our marriage. It’s lasted so long, so many years, and it’s still going strong. A record of sorts, isn’t it?

‘Mom, what are you pondering? You’re looking very strange. Are you okay?’ Alexa probed.

‘I’m fine. I was just thinking about your father. And our marriage. It’s amazing that we’ve been married for thirty-three years. And what’s even more staggering is that the years seem to have passed in a flash. Just like that.’ She snapped her fingers together and shook her head in sudden bemusement.

‘You two have been lucky,’ Alexa murmured, ‘so lucky to have found each other.’

‘That’s absolutely true.’

‘You and Dad, you’re like two peas in a pod. Did you start out being so alike? Or did you grow to resemble each other? I’ve often wondered that, Mom.’ Her head on one side, she gazed at her mother, thinking how beautiful she was, probably one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen, with her peaches-and-cream skin, her pale golden hair and those extraordinary liquid blue eyes.

‘You’re staring, Alexa. You’re going to see all my wrinkles!’

‘Oh Mom, you don’t have one single wrinkle. I kid you not, as Dad says.’

Diane laughed, and murmured, ‘As for you, my girl, you don’t look a day over twenty-five. It’s hard for me to believe you’ll be thirty-one in August.’

‘It’s my new short haircut. It takes years off me.’

‘I guess it does. But then short hair makes most women look younger, perkier. And it’s certainly the chic cut this year.’

‘You once told me short hair was the only chic style, and that no woman could be elegant with hair trailing around her shoulders. And you should know, since you’re considered one of the chicest women in New York, if not the chicest.’

‘Oh, I’m not really, but thanks for the compliment. Although I should point out that the whole world suspects you’re a bit prejudiced.’

‘Everyone, the press included, cites you as a fashion icon, a legend in your own time. And your boutiques have been number one for years now.’

‘We’ve all worked hard to make them what they are, not only me, Alexa. Anyway, what about you, darling? Have you finally finished those winter sets?’

Alexa’s face lit up. ‘I completed the last one of the snow forest earlier this week, on Tuesday actually. Yesterday I saw blow-ups of them all at the photographic studio, and they’re great, Mom, even if I do say so myself.’

‘I’ve told you many times, don’t hide your light under a bushel, darling. It doesn’t do to brag, of course, but there’s nothing wrong in knowing that you’re good at what you do. You’re very talented, and personally I was bowled over by the panels I saw.’ Diane’s pale blue eyes, always so expressive, rested on her daughter thoughtfully. After a moment, she said, ‘And so…what’s next for you?’

‘I have one small set to do for this play and after that my contract’s fulfilled.’ Alexa laughed a little hollowly, and added, ‘Then I’ll be out of work, I guess.’

‘I doubt that,’ Diane shot back, the expression on her face reflecting her pride in her only daughter. ‘Not you.’

‘To be honest, I’m not worried. Something’ll turn up. It always does.’

Diane nodded, and then her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘You said on the phone that you wanted to talk to me. What–’

‘Can we do that later, over coffee?’ Alexa cut in swiftly.

‘Yes, of course, but is there something wrong? You sounded worried earlier.’

‘Honestly, there’s nothing wrong. I just need…a sounding board, a really good one, and you’re the very best I know.’

‘Is this about Jack?’

‘No, and now you’re sounding like all those other mothers, which most of the time you don’t, thank God. And no, it’s not about Jack.’

‘Don’t be so impatient with me, Alexa, and by the way, Jack Wilton is awfully nice.’

‘I know he is, and he feels the same way about you. And Dad.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. But how does he feel about you? That’s much more important.’

‘He cares.’

‘Your father and I think he would make a good–a very nice son-in-law.’

Alexa did not respond.

Half an hour later Alexandra sat opposite her mother in the living room, watching her as she poured coffee into fine bone-china cups. She was studying Diane through objective eyes, endeavouring to see her as clearly as possible. It suddenly struck her, and most forcibly, what a unique person she was, a woman who was savvy, smart, successful, and highly intelligent as well. And she really did understand human frailties and foibles, because her perception and insight were well honed, and she was compassionate. But would she comprehend her dilemma, a dilemma centred on two men?