Sunset in St. Tropez (11 page)

She fell into bed exhausted again that night, but with a sense of accomplishment. She was enormously relieved that she had had the foresight to come down two days before their lease began. If she hadn't, she was sure the others would never have stayed, and now she thought they would. At least, she hoped they would. She didn't want to give up the month in St Tropez.

She slept like a rock that night, and it was ten o"clock when she woke up the next day, the sun was streaming into the room, and the flowers she had put on tables everywhere added splashes of color and life to the room. She made herself coffee from the supplies she'd bought, and ate a pain au chocolat as she read an old copy of Paris Match, and then moved on to The International Herald Tribune. When she was in France, she liked reading Le Monde too, but John always insisted on having the Herald Tribune, and she had bought it for him the day before.

As Pascale put her dishes in the sink, Agathe came into the room, wearing electric green bicycle pants, and a white halter top you could just barely see through. She looked like one of her French poodles with her hair all puffed out, and she was wearing harlequin sunglasses with rhinestones at either end, and frighteningly high gold platform shoes.

“Nice day,” Agathe commented, rinsing Pascale's cup out with a lazy hand. “What time do your friends arrive?” she inquired disinterestedly, as though it was of no great consequence to her.

“Not until late this afternoon. I'd like Marius to drive to the airport with me, with the truck. I don't have room in the trunk of my car for their things.”

“He hurt his back yesterday,” Agathe said accusingly, as her left eye squinted at her employer for the month. Her right eye was closed to accommodate the Gauloise that seemed to be eternally glued to her lips.

“Can he still drive?” Pascale inquired, watching her, wondering whether or not to say something about her clothes.

“Maybe” was all Agathe would say. And Pascale understood what was required. She went discreetly to her handbag and took out five hundred francs for each of them. They had worked hard, surely harder than either of them had worked in years. And Agathe looked pleased. Pascale had understood. She had meant to give them something anyway. “I think he'll be all right to drive. What time do you want to leave?”

“Three o"clock. Their plane arrives at five. We'll be back by dinnertime.” Pascale had already planned to leave dinner on the stove. None of them would want to go out the first night. They'd be tired from the trip, and want to settle in.

She even got Marius to paint some of the lawn furniture that day, for an extra five hundred francs, and by the time they left, the house actually looked okay. She had wrought a miracle, and even Agathe commented just before they left, and said that the place looked great. She was surprised Pascale had stayed, and not gone to a hotel. No one had actually stayed in the house in years.

“We did good work, didn't we?” Pascale looked pleased, and Agathe's dogs yapped around her feet as she helped herself to a beer and took a long swig. And when they left for the airport, she waved at Pascale as though they were old friends. She was wearing a shocking pink see-through blouse, with a black bra, and bright pink shorts, and her favorite red FMQ shoes. She was quite a fashion plate, and Pascale had decided not to tackle her wardrobe with her. The others could live with it, although perhaps not with the barking dogs. Pascale had asked her to keep them in her room as much as she could. Pascale said her husband was allergic to them, which he was, not to their fur, but most assuredly to their noise.

It was a long hot drive back to Nice from St Tropez, and when they got to the airport, Pascale bought a glass of orange juice, and she saw Marius buy a beer. He was wearing his overalls and patent leather shoes again, obviously his dress uniform, as she waited for the plane to get in. She had never been as tired in her life. She really needed the vacation now.

The flight from New York had gone smoothly, and John had flown with the Morrisons, although he didn't sit with them. They had flown business, as they always did, and he had flown coach. Eric had teased him about it when he walked back to visit him, and they'd chatted for a while, and then John walked him back to his seat. Diana had been reading quietly, and John saw an odd look pass between them. It was a chill he had never seen before, but neither of them said anything, and he went back to his own seat to sleep. He was excited about seeing Pascale. For all their bickering, he was still very much in love with her, after twenty-five years. She kept his life interesting, and she was so passionate about everything, whether it was lovemaking or arguing. The apartment in New York had seemed lonely and lifeless without her for the past six weeks.

“John tells me that Pascale says the house looks great,” Eric said as he sat down next to Diana again, and for a long moment, she didn't answer him, and kept her eyes on her book. “Did you hear what I said?” he asked quietly, and she lifted her eyes to his. It had been touch and go for the past several weeks as to whether or not she would come.

He was glad she had decided to in the end, and relieved. Things had been tense between them for the past month.

And the stress they'd been through showed on Diana's face, if not his.

“I heard what you said,” she confirmed expressionlessly. With no one else they knew around them, she didn't have to make any pretense. “I"m glad Pascale likes the house.” Her eyes looked dead as she spoke.

“I hope you will too,” he said gently. He wanted this to be a good time for them. They needed that desperately, and he was hoping that a month in France would solidify the bond between them again. They had always had so much in common, loved doing the same things, enjoyed the same people, and genuinely admired each other.

“I don't know how long I"m going to stay,” she reiterated the mantra she'd been saying for the past two weeks. “I'll see.”

“Running away isn't going to solve anything. We'll have fun with the others, and it'll do us both good,” he said hopefully, but Diana looked anything but convinced.

“Having „fun" isn't going to solve anything either. It's not about „fun."” There were far bigger issues at stake. He had put their life on the line and their marriage in jeopardy, and Diana had not yet made up her mind what she was going to do about it. Several times in the past weeks, she had come to a decision, and then changed her mind again.

She didn't want to be hasty. But she wasn't sure she could forgive him for what he'd done. He had wounded her mortally, and shaken her faith, not only in him, but in herself. She felt flawed now, and undesirable, and suddenly far older than she looked. She didn't know if she would ever feel the same way about him again.

“Diana, can we try and put this behind us now?” he asked quietly. But it was easy for him to say, far easier than it was for her.

“Thanks for asking me,” she said sarcastically, and picked up her book again. “Now that I know what I have to do, I"m sure everything will be fine.” There were tears in her eyes as she pretended to read the book she held, but her mind had been drifting for the past hour, and she had no idea what she'd read. She just held the book so he wouldn't talk to her. There was nothing left she wanted to say. In the past agonizing weeks, they had said it all.

“Diana … don't be like that …” he said, and she pretended not to hear at first, and then turned her head to look at him. All the grief she felt was written all over her face.

“How do you expect me to be, Eric? Amused? Indifferent? Casual? Cheerful, maybe? … Oh that's right, I"m supposed to be the doting, adoring, understanding wife. Well, maybe I can't.” Her voice caught on the last words.

“Why don't you just give us a chance? Let the dust settle while we"re here. It's been a tough time, for both of us …” Before he could say anything more, she cut him off, and stood up.

“Forgive me if I"m not too sympathetic about how tough" this has been for you. That's not exactly my take on it.

Nice try.” And with that, she climbed over him, and disappeared down the aisle to get away from him and go for a walk. She didn't want to discuss it with him again. They'd said enough in the past month. She didn't want to hear about it again, his excuses, his promises, his apologies, his rationale for what he'd done. She didn't even want to be there with him, and was sorry she had come. She had only come on the trip so as not to disappoint their friends. She walked all the way back to where John was sitting, and when she spotted him, she saw that he was sound asleep. She stood looking out the porthole in the door at the back of the plane, thinking of the state their marriage was in. She was devastated, she had never thought it would come to this. Everything they had shared and believed, all the trust she had always felt for Eric seemed shattered beyond repair. And when she went back to her seat, she said nothing to him, and they didn't speak to each other again for the rest of the flight.

Their flight got in on time, and Pascale beamed when she saw John, with the Morrisons walking right behind him.

They looked tired, and were less talkative than usual, but all four of them chatted animatedly about the house once they were in the car, with Marius following in the truck with their bags. They were a little startled when they saw Marius, and she tried to prepare them for Agathe on the drive back to St Tropez, but it was difficult to describe her adequately, particularly in the red bikini and FMQs.

“Doesn't she wear a uniform?” John inquired. He had somehow envisioned a French couple in white dress and white jacket, serving lunch impeccably in the elegant villa. But the portrait Pascale was painting for them was definitely different from what he'd had in mind.

“Not exactly,” she answered. “They"re a little eccentric, but they work hard.” And they drank a lot. And their dogs never stopped barking, she could have added, but didn't. “I hope you like the house,” Pascale said nervously, when they finally got back to St Tropez at seven-thirty.

“I"m sure we"re going to love it,” Eric said confidently as she drove between the crumbling pillars, and passed through the gates.

“It's a little more rustic than we thought,” Pascale said, as she rattled down the potholed driveway. John already looked a little surprised, and she noticed that the Morrisons were sitting in the backseat in total silence, which wasn't like them. But they were probably tired, and subdued by her subtle warnings. And as she pulled up in front of the house, John stared.

“It needs a coat of paint, or an overhaul or something, doesn't it?” “It needs a lot more than that, but at least it's clean now,” Pascale said humbly.

“Wasn't the house clean when you arrived?” Diana asked, with a look of amazement.

“Not exactly.” And then Pascale laughed. There was no point keeping it from them. Now that they were here, it seemed better to

tell them the truth. “It was a pigsty when I arrived. I"ve spent two days cleaning it up with a team of ten people. But the good news is we got half our money back, because they really misled us.” John looked thrilled by what she had just said. To him, it was almost like getting a free vacation, and he loved that.

“Is it really awful, Pascale?” Diana looked suddenly worried, and Eric was ready to reassure her. The last thing he wanted was for Diana to leave.

“No, it's not awful, but everything in it is pretty old and battered, and there's not much furniture. And the kitchen is out of the Middle Ages,” Pascale said honestly.

“Oh, so what? Who cares?” John laughed. Now that he knew he'd gotten half his money back, he already loved it. It had been the right thing to say to him before he saw it up close.

And as they walked inside, Diana gasped. She was startled by how bare and ramshackle it was, but she had to admit that Pascale's shawls on the furniture were a clever touch. She knew that the upholstery must have been a disaster for her to do that. But once they looked around, they decided it wasn't so bad. Not what they had hoped for, of course, but at least Pascale had prepared them. And when she told them what it had looked like when she'd arrived, and what she'd done, they were impressed and grateful for her efforts.

“It's a good thing you got here before we did,” Eric said as they glanced into the kitchen. It was spotless, but as antiquated as Pascale had already warned.

“How the hell did they ever get those pictures?” John said with a look of astonishment.

“Apparently they took them about forty years ago, in the sixties.” “How dishonest of them, that's disgusting,” Eric said with a look of disapproval, but he seemed satisfied with the house. It was comfortable and clean, and very informal, not the luxurious villa they had been expecting, but thanks to Pascale and her efforts on their behalf, it had a certain charm, particularly with all the flowers she had put around, and the candles. She offered to give up the master suite to the Morrisons, but when they realized all she'd done for them, they insisted that she and John keep it.

“I just did it so you wouldn't hate me,” she admitted, and they all laughed as John went to find a bottle of wine, and ran smack into Agathe, standing in the kitchen. She was wearing white shorts, and the top of her red bikini, with her red high-heeled sandals, and he stood and stared at her for an instant. As usual, she had one eye closed and was smoking a Gauloise.

“Bonjour,” he said awkwardly. He had learned that much French the first time he"d gone to meet Pascale's mother. Agathe smiled at him, and an instant later, Marius appeared, with the flock of barking dogs just behind him. “Oh Jesus” was all John could think of to say, as one of them grabbed his pants leg, and in less than five seconds, managed to chew through it.

Marius opened the wine for him, and Agathe disappeared with the dogs again, as John looked a little dazed, and went upstairs, carrying the bottle of red wine and four glasses.

“I just met the hounds of the Baskervilles and Tina Turner's evil twin.” Pascale laughed at the description, and saw something sorrowful flit across Dianas face, but when she glanced at Eric, she saw nothing. She wondered if Diana had been thinking of Anne, and how much she had wanted to come here. It had crossed her mind too, when she arrived, but from then on she had been too busy to think about her. And she was sure it would hit Robert too. Anne was still sorely missed, and it was impossible not to think of her enthusiasm about spending a month here.