Barbara Taylor Bradford - Three Weeks in Paris

Rising, she went and sat next to her on the sofa, put her arm around her and held her close. ‘Oh darling, you’re still in love with him…’

‘Am I? I’m not sure, Mother, but he does occupy a large part of me, that’s true. He’s there, inside, and he always will be, I think. But I’m smart enough to know I have no future with Tom. He’ll never marry me, or anybody else, for that matter. Nor will he have a permanent relationship, because he can’t. You see, he just can’t forget them.’

‘Or he won’t let himself forget,’ Diane suggested softly.

‘Perhaps that’s true. Perhaps he thinks that if he forgets them he’d be riddled with guilt for the rest of his life and wouldn’t be able to handle it. You brought me up to be sensible, practical, and I believe I am those things. And after we broke up, I knew I had to get on with my life…I knew I couldn’t moon around yearning for Tom. I understood there was no future in that.’

Diane nodded. ‘You were right, and I think you’ve managed to get on with your professional life extremely well. I’m proud, of you, Alexa, you didn’t let your personal problems get in the way of your career. All I can say is bravo.’

‘You once told me years ago that I must never negate my talent by not using it, by wasting it, and I listened to you, Mom. I also knew I had to earn a living, I wasn’t going to let you and Dad support me, especially after you’d sent me to such expensive schools, Anya’s in particular.’

Diane nodded. ‘Just as a matter of interest, how old is he? Tom, I mean.’

‘He’s forty-two, Mom.’

Diane nodded, searched her daughter’s face intently and wondered, ‘Do you love Jack Wilton a little bit at least?’

‘Yes, I do love him, in a certain way.’

‘Not the way you love Tom?’ Diane ventured.

‘No.’

‘You could make a life with Jack, though?’

Alexandra nodded. ‘I think so. Jack’s got a lot going for himself. He’s very attractive and charming, and we get on well. We’re compatible, he makes me laugh, and we understand each other, understand where we’re both coming from, which is sometimes the same place. We admire each other’s talents, and respect each other.’ She half-smiled at her mother. ‘He loves me, you know. He wants to marry me.’

‘Would you marry him?’ Diane asked quietly, hoping for an answer in the affirmative.

Alexa leaned against her mother, and a deep sigh escaped her. Unexpectedly, tears spilled out of her eyes. Then she swiftly straightened, flicked the tears away with her fingertips. ‘I thought I could, Mom, I really did. But now I don’t know. Ever since that invitation arrived yesterday, I’ve been in a turmoil.’

‘You won’t be able to resist seeing Tom if you go to Paris, is that what you’re telling me?’

‘I guess I am.’

‘But you’re stronger than that…you’ve always been strong, even when you were a little girl.’

Alexa was silent.

After a short while, Diane said slowly, carefully, ‘Here’s what your loving and very devoted sounding board thinks. You have to forget Tom, as you know you should. You must put him out of your mind once and for all. He’s not for you, Alexa, or anybody else, in my opinion. What happened to his wife and child was unbearable, very, very tragic, and so heart-rending. But it was years ago. Sixteen years ago, to be precise. And if he’s not over it by now–’

‘He wasn’t over it three years ago, but I don’t know about now–’

‘–then he never will be,’ Diane continued in a very firm voice. ‘Your life is here in New York, not in Paris. For the most part, your work is here, and you know you can make a wonderful life with Jack. And that’s what you should do…’ Diane stopped, tightened her embrace, and said against her daughter’s glossy dark hair, ‘There are all kinds of love, you know. Degrees of love. And sometimes the great love of one’s life is not meant to last…perhaps that’s how it becomes the great love …by ending.’ Diane sighed, but after a moment she went on, ‘I know it’s hard to give someone up. But, in fact, Tom Conners gave you up, Alexa. Not vice versa, so why torture yourself. My advice to you is not to go to Paris. That way you won’t be tempted to see Tom, and open up all those wounds.’

‘I guess you’re right, Mom. You usually are. But Anya’s going to be really upset if I don’t go to the party.’

‘I’m sure she will be.’ There was a slight pause, and then Diane exclaimed, ‘There is an alternative! You and Jack could go to Paris together. Obviously, you couldn’t go looking for Tom if you were there with another man.’

Want to bet? Alexandra thought, but said, ‘The invitation doesn’t include a guest. Only my name is written on it. And I’m sure Anya’s only invited former pupils and her family.’

‘But she wouldn’t refuse you …not if you said you were coming to Paris with your…fiancé.’

‘I don’t know what she’d do, actually. I have to think about that, Mom, all of what you’ve just said…and implied.’

The invitation stood propped up on the mantelpiece next to the carriage clock, and the first thing Alexandra did when she got home was to pick it up and read it again.

Down in the left-hand corner, underneath the initials rsvp was the date of the deadline to accept or decline: April the first 2001. And in the opposite right-hand corner it said: Black Tie, and underneath this: Long Dress, All the information she needed was right there, including what to wear; attached to the engraved invitation with a paperclip was a small rsvp card, and an envelope addressed to a Madame Suzette Laugen at 158 Boulevard St Germain, Paris.

So, she had the rest of February and most of March to make up her mind, to think about Anya’s birthday and decide what to do, whether to go or not. That was a relief. But she knew she would spend the next few weeks vacillating.

Deep down she wanted to go, wanted to celebrate this special birthday with Anya, an extraordinary woman who had had such an enormous influence on her life. But there was the problem of Tom Conners, and also of her former friends…Jessica, Kay and Maria. Three woman once so close to her, and she to them, that they were inseparable, but they were sworn enemies now. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing any of them.

April the first, she mused. An anniversary of sorts, since she had met Tom Conners on April the first. In 1996. She had been twenty-five, he thirty-seven.

April Fool, she thought, with a wry smile. But she wasn’t sure if she meant herself or him.

Placing the invitation back on the mantel, she knelt down in front of the fireplace, struck a match and brought it to the paper and small chips of wood stuffed in the grate. Within minutes she had the fire going, the logs catching alight quickly, the flames leaping up the chimney.

Pushing herself to her feet, Alexandra turned on a lamp. Along with the fire it helped to bring a warm, roseate glow to the living room, already shadowed as it was by the murky winter light of late afternoon. She felt tired. After leaving her mother, she had walked all the way down Park Avenue from Seventy-Ninth Street to Thirty-Ninth. Forty blocks of good exercise, but she had finally given in and taken a cab back to the loft.

After glancing out of the window at the lights of Manhattan slowly coming on, Alexa sat down on the sofa in front of the fire, staring into the flames flickering and dancing in the grate. Her mind was awash with so many diverse thoughts, but the most prominent were centred on Tom.

It was Nicky Sedgwick who had introduced them, when Tom had come out to the studios in Billancourt to see his client Alain Durand, who was producing the movie. It was a French-American co-production, very elaborate and costly. Nicky and his brother Larry were the Art Directors and were designing the sets, and at Anya’s suggestion they had hired her as their assistant. But she had become more like an associate, because of all the work and responsibility they had heaped on her.