Danielle Steel - Impossible

“You're fantastic, Mother. You're lucky he didn't run you down with the Ferrari when he left.”

“I'm sure he would have liked to. What a total rotter he is,” she said, and he laughed again.

“Yeah, I'd say. But you should be flattered. I hear he goes out with girls younger than Tatianna. He spends a lot of time at Annabel's over here.”

“I'm not surprised.” It was a private nightclub in London, frequented by all the most elegant people, as well as a lot of old men and much younger women. She and Arthur had been there many times. They were members of the club, as well as Harry's Bar, both of which were owned by the same man. “How do men get away with behaving that way?”

“Some women love it. Most gallery owners would probably have slept with him to sell the painting.”

“Yes, and when they did, the next day the painting would come back anyway.” Her father had warned her about men like that when she came into the business. Gonzague de St. Mallory was anything but unique, and certainly ill mannered, as far as Sasha was concerned.

She was still fuming about it when she lay in bed that night. And the next morning she told her gallery manager that they would not be selling the painting to the count.

“Oh? I thought you were having dinner with him last night,” Bernard commented.

“I did. The count behaved very badly, and is lucky he didn't get slapped. Apparently, he was expecting to buy my services along with the painting. He thought I should stay with him in St. Moritz, and cancel my holiday with the children.”

“And you didn't accept?” Bernard pretended to be shocked. “What bad salesmanship on your part, Sasha. My God, think of it, a million dollars. Have you no sense of responsibility to your father's business?” He loved to tease her. After fifteen years at the gallery, they were friends.

“Oh shut up, Bernard,” she said with a half smile, marched into her office, and went back to work. As far as Sasha was concerned, it was the most insulting offer she'd ever had. And the following week she told her manager about it in New York, who was genuinely shocked.

“Americans don't behave that way,” Karen said, staunchly defending her fellow countrymen.

“Some of them probably behave worse. I'm beginning to think it's about men, not nationalities, although admittedly the French might be a little bolder about things like that. But I'm sure it happens here as well. Hasn't anyone ever implied that you should sleep with them in order to sell a painting?” Sasha sat back in her desk chair with a chuckle. It was finally beginning to seem funny. Karen, her New York gallery manager, thought about it for a minute, and then shook her head.

“I don't think so. Maybe I missed the point.”

“And what would you have done?” Sasha was playing with her now.

“I would have slept with him, and paid him the million dollars,” Marcie, her assistant, piped up. “I saw him in a magazine. He's gorgeous, Sash.”

“Yes, he was,” Sasha admitted, looking unimpressed. She thought her late husband was far more handsome. She didn't like the overpolished, sleazy looks of the count. She preferred Arthur's far more clean-cut Gary Cooper appearance. Men like Gonzague de St. Mallory were a dime a dozen, with or without a Ferrari. She knew the type.

The three days Sasha spent in New York were busy and went quickly. She had a number of artists to see, big clients she had promised to have meetings with, and the board meeting that had brought her over. The first two nights she spent in her apartment, going through some of Arthur's things. She had promised herself she would put at least some of them away. It had taken her fourteen months, and her closets looked empty and sad when she had done it. But it was time.

On her last night she went to a Christmas party given by friends. There was something very bittersweet for her about being in New York before Christmas. It reminded her of when her children were small and she took them skating at Rockefeller Center, and of when Arthur was alive, two Christmases before. It was hard for her being there. She was glad to see her friends, but tired of explaining to them that there was no man in her life. It seemed to be the only question anyone asked her anymore. As though she didn't exist unless she was attached to a man. It made her feel like a failure, in an odd way, that her husband had died, and she was now alone. Watching all her married friends leave with each other made her feel like the only single species on Noah's ark. She was relieved to go back to Paris the next day, and excited that her children would be there the day after.

She had someone come in and cook Christmas goose for them on Christmas Eve, and she had decorated a tree, and put decorations around the house. She was thrilled to see Tatianna, whom she hadn't seen in two months. She looked well and happy and had had a wonderful time. She could hardly wait to show her mother the photographs. They were sorting through them, as Xavier told her about Gonzague.

“Mom nearly canceled our trip to St. Moritz” was his opening volley. Tatianna looked surprised. “She was going to go without us, to a sell a million-dollar painting to a French count.”

“No, I wasn't, you rotten kid.” She told Tatianna the story then, who looked shocked that a Parisian playboy had tried to bed her mother, with the lure of his purchasing a million-dollar painting.

“That's disgusting, Mom,” Tatianna said with feeling, and sympathy for her mother. She could easily imagine how humiliating it must have been for her.

“No, it wasn't. I think she should be flattered,” Xavier added.

“You're a disgusting chauvinist,” Tatianna said, glaring at her brother. “That's horrible for Mom.”

“All right, all right. You both win. I'll go and punch him out. Where does he live?” He turned to his mother and she laughed.

“I never should have told you. You'll never let me live it down.”

“Yes, I will. And by the way, I keep forgetting to tell you. Liam is finally sending you slides. He showed them to me. They're good,” he said proudly on behalf of his friend.

“I'm looking forward to seeing them.” She knew that sometimes Xavier had a good eye, and sometimes he tried to help his friends, at her expense. She was never sure which to expect, but it was worth a look. She had been hearing about the young American artist in London for ages. Far more about his adventures and escapades than his art.

“I think you'll be impressed by his work,” Xavier reassured her. Sasha nodded and didn't comment. She still hoped she wouldn't. He sounded like a handful to her.

“What's his last name again?” she asked vaguely.

“Liam Allison. He's from Vermont. But he's been living in London since he got out of college.”

“I'll remember the name. If I like the slides, I'll try to see him next time I come.” Once in a while, Xavier did some good scouting for her, and this might just be one of those times. She was always willing to look. It was why she had the reputation she did. Sasha had an adventuresome spirit, and an unfailing eye. But she also knew in advance that Liam was a loose cannon. It was an unavoidable conclusion after all the mischief Xavier had gotten into with him.

They went to midnight mass that night, and spent a cozy day together the next day. Tatianna had brought her mother a beautiful sari from India, and some lovely gold sandals to go with it. And Xavier had bought her a gold bracelet from an antique shop in London. It was the sort of thing his father would have given her, and it warmed his heart to see her face light up when she put it on.

She looked at both of them when they went to bed on Christmas night, and smiled lovingly at both her children. “I'm the luckiest woman in the world,” she said, and meant every word of it. For the first time in a long time, she knew she was.