Secrets of Paris_ A Novel - Luanne Rice [71]
“Hello, baby,” Didier said.
“I am ripping mad,” Patrice said. “You know what Lydie did? She stole Kelly right out from under my nose.”
“You mean she kidnapped the maid?”
“Don’t start with the jokes, Didier. I’m not in the mood. She waited until I left town, then she moved in on Kelly. She promised to take her to New York with her.”
“But that’s good, no? At the beach you were telling me you wanted a better life for Kelly … ”
Patrice fought to control her temper. Sometimes men, Didier, could be so dense. She remembered the exact conversation: it was after an especially lovely lunch. She had felt so close to him, it had seemed like a good time to enlighten him on the topic of Kelly. Specifically, to chide him gently about the way he treated her like a servant. She had been feeling expansive, and Didier had taken it well. “Didier,” she said now, patiently, into the phone. “Imagine training a gem cutter. Some guy from the provinces, a mec, a diamond in the rough, so to speak. Say you treated him like a little brother, taught him to operate in the business world, showed him how things were done in Paris. How would you feel if Léonce came along, took your little gem cutter—now a little more sophisticated, able to tell the difference between Haut-Brion and vin ordinaire, for example—and took him off to Geneva?”
“What difference would it make? One man can’t own another, can he?”
Patrice screamed, did not bother to cover the mouthpiece. “Thanks for trying to understand!” she said.
“Listen, my baby,” Didier said. “I do understand. It is very obvious you care a great deal for Kelly—and for Lydie. But how can you do for Kelly what Lydie can? How can you take her to the United States?”
“What’s so wonderful about the United States?” Patrice asked.
“Patrice,” Didier said patiently. “Get ahold of yourself. Think about what you are saying.”
Patrice took a breath, deep, deeper; the breath filled her, forcing the tears up and out. “It just gets me,” she said, “down there in Saint-Tropez, missing them both … buying them presents. And they’ve been planning their escape to the good ol’ U.S.A.”
“They’re not escaping you,” Didier said. “Leaving you will be their profound regret.”
Patrice snorted. “You know just the way to talk to me, don’t you, honey?”
“Imagine,” Didier said. “Your two girlfriends leaving you all alone in France with me.”
“The big bad wolf,” Patrice said, laughing now. “But it’s not you I’m thinking about. It’s your snooty sister and your rat pack. Do you blame me for wanting allies?”
“Well. You must think about it,” Didier said. “Just don’t be too quick to turn on Lydie. You know she is your best friend.”
“That’s true,” Patrice said, suddenly struck with real and deep sympathy for her. “Didier, something awful happened. Michael moved out.”
“Ah …” Didier said.
“Why don’t you sound surprised?” Patrice asked, instantly suspicious.
“It was a moment between men,” Didier said. “But Michael did confide in me about someone else.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” asked Patrice, convinced that Paris was full of betrayal.
“You know I couldn’t have done that,” Didier said.
“I hear the little pilgrim now,” Patrice said, listening to the sound of Kelly’s key in the lock. “I think I’d better have a talk with her.”
“Be gentle,” Didier said.
“I’ll try,” Patrice said, already feeling her heart beat faster.
Twenty minutes later, reclining in her bedroom chaise, Patrice reread her favorite section of the Dumas book and tried to breathe evenly. She had not yet spoken to Kelly; she heard Kelly moving through the rooms, presumably removing the sheets that had covered the furniture during the d’Orignys’ absence. She wondered what was running through Kelly’s mind. Perhaps she was rehearsing what she would tell Patrice: “I am sorry, Mum, but I must leave you.” Or “Thanks to your supreme generosity in introducing me to Lydie, I have found passage to the States.” Something contrite and humble, Patrice was sure. What a relief it would be if, instead, Kelly