Даниэла Стил - The Affair

Nadia had cut herself off from everyone they knew the minute his affair with Pascale hit the papers. She didn’t want to have to defend him, or share her pain. And he was lying low too. Suddenly, after living a full life before, they were living in a vacuum, with only the paparazzi for company. They had lost so much because of him. Knowing how close they were, he was sure she was talking to her sisters for support. Her mother’s visit was the first sign of it, and he dreaded seeing her. Rose could be glacial or brutally eloquent when she felt betrayed, and she was a lioness with her cubs. She was a remarkable businesswoman and opponent, but in her private life, she was a fierce advocate for her children, and loyal to all those she loved. She was old-fashioned and conservative in her values. He had crossed every possible line and he wasn’t looking forward to seeing her. He could guess what her reaction would be, deservedly. Pascale was in the South of France with friends for the weekend, and he had told her he wouldn’t go so he could see his children. He could still call her and say there had been a change of plans. He could catch a commuter flight to Nice at Orly late that night, since Nadia didn’t want him with her mother, and he was grateful to avoid her.

Despite the agonies between them, Nadia and Nicolas were still a beautiful couple to look at. She was petite, with dark hair, and fair English skin that she inherited from her mother, and her mother’s blue eyes. Nadia’s were darker blue, like sapphires. She was always elegantly dressed in a quiet way that he had been proud of. She looked more French than American by now, and had always felt at home there. She had fit right in, from the moment she arrived at the Sorbonne. Her sisters were more American in their style and points of view. Nadia had always been more European, and in a way more like her Italian grandmother, who was warm and funny. Nadia didn’t have her mother’s cool, restrained English demeanor, or her sisters’ more open, outspoken American style. She was very French in her manner and way of seeing things, after living there for sixteen years. She was also a woman of dignity who kept her sorrows private, and he had exposed her to public scrutiny in the worst possible circumstances.

In contrast, Nicolas was fair, with thick blond hair and a chiseled face. She had always loved his looks but couldn’t bear to see him now. He was taller than most French men, broad shouldered and athletic, and looked like a movie star himself. They made a striking couple and, if anything, they had gotten even more attractive in the eleven years they had been married. In a subtle, quiet, distinguished way, Nadia wasn’t obvious or showy, like Pascale, who had dazzled him at first, blinded by her beauty and overt sexiness. Nadia was beautiful too, and infinitely smarter.

His success as a novelist had delighted Nadia, and she had been proud of him. He gave her all his manuscripts to read while they were in progress. She gave him helpful suggestions, which he followed most of the time. And now, in his own disarray, he couldn’t write a single sentence. He was too upset about both women to think about writing or anything else.

Her own decorating business had flourished, with projects in progress all over Europe. She was trying to keep it all going now and avoided discussing the scandal of his affair with her clients.

It was even more painful since they had talked about having a third baby for the last year or two, but decided they wanted to wait another year or so, hoping they’d be a little less busy. And now Nicolas was having his third child with someone else. It was another blow, which went straight to Nadia’s heart.

Their values had always been the same, or she had thought so, although he was more forgiving of his friends’ infidelities than she was. She always said it was a disgusting thing to do, and death to a marriage, and she told her women friends the same when they confessed their indiscretions to her. It was the one thing she didn’t like about French life, and she was outspoken about it. Now it had happened to her, and she either had to eat her words and tolerate it, or leave him and divorce him, American style. She was torn between her two cultures, and most ravaging of all was how much she loved him and wanted to turn the clock back to before it had happened. She couldn’t see how their marriage could ever be the same after this.

“Does everybody know?” Nicolas asked her miserably before he left the apartment. He always made a point of not looking at the tabloids.

“My client in Madrid called last week to tell me how sorry she was to read about it online, and then asked me if we’re getting divorced. She assumed we are,” Nadia said quietly and he nodded. “My clients in London all read it first, and they were nervous I’d move back to the States.”

“And would you?” he asked, panicked.

“I don’t know, Nicolas. The Titanic has hit the iceberg and I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about it.” She no longer felt at home in the States and hadn’t for years. She was much happier and more comfortable in France, or had been until now. She couldn’t imagine going back there to live, and she had a booming business, but Paris had suddenly become an agony for her. Everyone knew about Nicolas’s affair, even their grocer and dry cleaner, because Pascale was so famous. It was hard to live with. And she had the same horror as her mother of exposing her personal problems in her professional life. She felt naked to the world now. And he had done that to her. She didn’t want to run away, but his bad behavior hung over them like a toxic cloud. He had polluted their marriage, and their life.

He didn’t try to kiss her goodbye when he left. He knew better. He said good night. The girls were sleeping by then, and he slipped quietly out of the apartment and went to Pascale’s to throw some of his clothes into a bag so he could get to Saint-Tropez. He was living out of suitcases, which he hated, with one foot in each camp.

He thought of Nadia and was sorry to leave her, since he had hoped to spend the weekend with her and the girls, but he was relieved not to have to see his mother-in-law. That was a meeting he wasn’t looking forward to. And he knew that whatever she said to him, no matter how harsh, when they finally saw each other again, he deserved it.

For everything he had done and exposed Nadia to, he expected to be punished in the future. All he wanted was not to lose her, if he hadn’t already, even if he wasn’t worthy of her at the moment, given what he’d done.

What he needed was time, just enough to let things wind down gracefully with Pascale, after the baby came. But he had no idea if Nadia would give him that, or what she still felt for him. And Rose arriving in Paris terrified him. She was like a dark angel flying in to save her daughter, and he was sure she would be urging Nadia to leave and divorce him. He wondered if Nadia was going to listen to her mother and sisters. All he could do now was pray that what they had before would carry them through this disaster.

Her family were his enemies now, no longer his allies. He had lost their allegiance. He had never felt so alone in his life as he took a cab to Orly, thinking about both women. He tried to focus on Pascale and meeting her in Saint-Tropez for the weekend. But all he could think of was the pain in Nadia’s eyes whenever he saw her now, and he knew Rose would see it too, and hate him for it. He hoped that Nadia wouldn’t give up on him and would resist her mother’s pleas, but he had little hope that she would, as the tears slid down his cheeks. And he suddenly dreaded the weekend with Pascale in Saint-Tropez. His marriage was a high price to pay for his brief affair, and their baby. And what chance of happiness would that child have with such a tortuous beginning? He felt guilty for that now too.