Barbara Taylor Bradford - Three Weeks in Paris

What a challenge the movie had been, and what a lot she had learned. It was a historical drama about Napoleon and Josephine in the early part of their relationship, and Nicky, who was in charge, was a stickler for historical accuracy and detail. Even now, when she thought of the endless hours she had spent at Malmaison she still cringed. She had taken countless notes, knew that house inside out, and had often wondered why the famous couple had ever lived there. Its parkland and closeness to Paris, she supposed. Nicky had been thrilled with her…with her work, her overall input, and most of all with her set designs. In general, it had been a positive experience, and she worked on most of their films and plays after that, until she left Paris.

The day Tom Conners came out to the studios shooting was going well, and Alain Durand had been elated. He and Tom had invited the Sedgwick brothers to dinner when they wrapped for the day, and she had been included in the invitation since Anya’s nephews had by then adopted her, in a sense.

She had been struck dumb by Tom’s extraordinary looks, his charm and sophistication. So much so, she had felt like a little schoolgirl with him. But he had treated her as a grown-up, with gallantry and grace, and she had been smitten with him before the dinner was over. Later that night she found herself in his arms in his car after he drove her home; two nights later she was in his bed.

‘Spontaneous combustion,’ he had called it; not very long after this he had said it was a coup de foudre, clap of thunder, love at first sight. Which they both knew it was.

But that easy charm and effortless grace hid a difficult man of many moods, a man who was burdened down by the needless deaths of his wife and child, and by an acute sorrow he was so careful to hide in public.

Nicky had teased her about Tom at times, and once he had said, ‘I suppose women must find his dark Byronic moods sexy, appealing,’ and had thrown her an odd look. She knew what he was hinting at, but Tom was not acting. He really was in pain. But it was Larry who had been the one to warn her. ‘He comes to you dragging a lot of baggage behind him, emotional baggage,’ Larry had pointed out. ‘So watch out, and protect your back. He’s lethal, a dangerous man.’

Alexa stretched out on the sofa. Her thoughts stayed with Tom and their days together in Paris. Despite his moodiness, those awful bouts of sadness, their relationship had always been good, even ecstatic when he shed the burdens of his past. And it had only ended because she had wanted permanence with him. Marriage. Children.

She wondered about him sometimes, wondered who he was with, how his life was going, what he was doing. Still suffering occasionally, she supposed. She hadn’t been able to convey to her mother the extent of that. She hadn’t even tried. It was too hard to explain. You had to live through it with him to understand.

He was forty-two now, and still unmarried, she felt certain of that. What a waste, she thought, and closed her eyes, suddenly craving sleep. She wanted to forget…to forget Tom and her feelings for him, forget those days in Paris…she was never going back there. Not even for Anya Sedgwick’s eighty-fifth birthday.

I remember dancing with him here, right in the centre of this room, under the chandelier, she thought, and moved forward from the doorway where she had been standing.

Her arms outstretched, as if she were holding a man, Kay Lenox turned and whirled to the strains of an old-fashioned waltz which was playing only in her head. Humming to herself, she moved with rhythm and gracefulness, and the expression on her delicately moulded face was for a fleeting moment rhapsodic, lost as she was in her thoughts.

Memories flooded her.

Memories of a man who had loved and cherished her, a man who had been an adoring lover and husband, a man she was still married to but who no longer seemed quite the same. He had changed, and even though the change in him was minuscule, she had spotted it from the moment it had happened.

He denied her charge that he was different in his behaviour towards her, insisting she was imagining things. But she knew she was not. There had been a cooling off in him; it was as if he no longer loved her quite as much as before.

Always attentive and solicitous, he now appeared to be distracted, was even occasionally careless, forgetting to tell her if he planned to work late or attend a business dinner, or some other such thing. He would phone her at the very last minute, giving no thought to her or any plans she might have, leaving her high and dry for the evening. Although she seethed inside she said nothing; she was always patient, understanding and devoted.

Kay had never believed it possible that a man like Ian Andrews would marry her. But he had. Their courtship had been idyllic, and so had the first two and a half years of their marriage, which had been, for her, like a dream come true.

And these were the memories which assailed her now, held her in their thrall as she moved around the room, swaying, floating, circling, as if in another kind of dream. And as she danced with him, he so alive in her head and her heart, she recalled his boyishness, his enthusiasm for life, his gallantry and charm. He had swept her off her feet and into marriage within a month of their first meeting. Startled though she was, she had not objected; she had been as madly in love with him as he was with her. Besides, it also suited her purpose to marry him quickly. She had so much to hide.

A discreet cough intruded, brought her out of her reverie and to a standstill. She glanced at the door, feeling embarrassed to be caught dancing alone, and gave Hazel, the cook at Lochcraigie, a nervous half smile.

‘Sorry to intrude, Lady Andrews, but I was wondering about dinner…’ The cook hesitated, looking at her steadily, and then finished in a low voice, ‘Will his lordship be here tonight?’

‘Yes, Hazel, he will,’ Kay answered, her tone firm and confident. ‘Thanks, Hazel. Oh, by the way, did you see the dinner menu I left?’

‘Yes, I did, Lady Andrews.’ The cook inclined her head and disappeared.

But will he be here? Kay asked herself, walking to the window where she stood looking out across the lawns and trees towards the hills that edged along the pale blue skyline. After breakfast he had announced he was going into Edinburgh to buy a birthday gift for his sister Fiona, and it was true that it was their birthday tomorrow and they were seeing her for Sunday lunch, a birthday lunch. But she couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t asked her to pick something out earlier in the week, since she went to her studio in the city three days a week. On the other hand, he and Fiona were twins and unusually close, and perhaps he felt the need to do his own selecting.

Turning away from the long expanse of window, Kay walked across the terra-cotta tiled floor, heading for the huge stone hearth. She stood with her back to the fire, thinking, as always, what a strange room this was, and yet it succeeded despite its strangeness. Or perhaps because of it.

It was a conservatory which had been added on to one end of the house, built by Ian’s great-great-grandmother in Victorian times. It was airy and light because of its many windows, yet it had a cosiness due to the stone fireplace, an unusual addition in a conservatory, but necessary because of the cold Scottish weather in winter. Yet in summer it was equally pleasant to be in, with its many windows, French windows and cool stone floor. Potted plants and wicker furniture painted dark brown helped to give it the mandatory garden mood for a conservatory, yet a few choice antiques added charm and a sense of permanence. A curious but whimsical touch was the Venetian blown-glass chandelier which hung down from the beamed ceiling, and yet this, too, somehow worked in the room despite its oddness.