CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

TRUE NORTH

EMILY WAS IN THE VESTIBULE at the Belnord, about to ring Duncan’s doorbell for the third time, when the door swung open. A small girl wearing a blue pinafore looked at her expectantly. Her golden hair was swept off her face with a white ribbon.

“Astrid, ma chérie, who is it?” Duncan called from the other room.

“I don’t know, Papa.” The girl waited for Emily to introduce herself. “I think it’s one of your fillettes,” she said with a shrug, then retreated to the couch where she was playing with a Madame Alexander Anastasia doll dressed in a gray-belted coat and matching toque.

Duncan had never mentioned Astrid’s existence. Naturally, Emily was curious to know who this little girl’s mother was, but she also wanted to know what the deal was with all these “fillettes.” Willing herself to remain poised and calm, she smiled when Duncan appeared, his shirt buttoned up wrong.

“I see you’ve already met my darling Astrid.”

“Yes, she’s adorable. I didn’t know you had children.”

“As far as I know, she’s the only one.”

“How old is she?”

“She’ll be six in March.”

“I would have thought she was older.”

He laughed. “Typical American. In Europe parents believe in exposing children to real life, not mollycoddling them.”

Emily’s throat felt tight. “When did she arrive?”

“She and Petra flew in yesterday.”

Thoughts were swirling in her head. She looked around the apartment for signs of the Guggenheim grant–receiving, vörtbröd-making Petra. Finding none, she relaxed slightly.

“Petra is in Princeton at a symposium,” he explained. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You’re transparent. I can read you like a book.”

She wasn’t going to let her insecurities get the better of her. She’d been doing that too often recently. “I’m really glad you called.”

She and Duncan hadn’t seen each other since last week, on Halloween.

“Well, as you can see I have a slight encumbrance,” he said. “You know how that is.”

“Your daughter is hardly an encumbrance,” she replied, ignoring his tone.

“It’s a legal term of art. Don’t be so literal.” Duncan rebuttoned his shirt and then bent down to kiss Astrid on the forehead. “Papa will be home soon. Be a good girl for Emily.”

“You’re going out?” Emily asked.

“I shouldn’t be too late.”

“Weren’t we having dinner?”

“Oh, yes. I’m glad you reminded me. I told Astrid she could order whatever she likes. It’s on me. I left twenty dollars on the mantle.”

There was no question in Emily’s mind that she and Duncan had a date tonight. And here he was expecting that she’d babysit for a kid she didn’t know about instead, and worse, without even asking her. She was about to voice her concerns when he leaned in close and whispered, “I have plans for you when I get back,” and all of her indignation flew out the window.

* * *

Astrid fell asleep in Duncan’s bed watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Duncan should have been home an hour ago. Emily tried his cell, but from somewhere under the piles of papers on his desk came the “Flight of the Valkyries” ringtone. Tonight none of the books on the shelves beckoned. The only thing she noticed was dust, everywhere, copious amounts of it, on the mantelpiece, along the baseboards, picture frames—the same dust that had looked almost charmingly insouciant the first time she was here. Now it just looked grungy. Crumbs, dirty plates, and junk mail covered the dining room table.

Emily saw a stack of yellow Kodak envelopes with a rubber band around them. She told herself she wasn’t snooping, she was just passing the time, as she opened envelope after envelope. There were dozens of photographs of beautiful and exotic women, some topless, with Duncan on adventures in places just as beautiful and exotic.

She heard soft footsteps from the hallway. One of the photographs slipped to the floor. Astrid, wearing one of her father’s T-shirts, which on her was as long as a dress, sat down and looked at it.

“Here, let me put that back,” Emily said.

Astrid rubbed her eyes. “You don’t look like one of Papa’s fillettes.”

Emily glanced at her reflection in the darkened window.

As this little girl stared at her with her clear blue eyes, Emily felt a terrible emptiness. She didn’t want to be one of many. With Charles she’d never doubted that she was the most important person in the world to him. She thought about her twenty-ninth birthday. Her parents had made reservations at their favorite Italian restaurant. The four of them shared a tiramisu with long silver spoons, no champagne, because Emily was eight months pregnant. Charles had made a toast. Here’s to the most beautiful pregnant woman in the world. Reflexively, Emily hid her hands in her lap as though she was a child about to be reprimanded, and looked at her mother. The lines between her brows had deepened as if drawn with charcoal. Her father took his wife’s hand. No one is as beautiful as you, my dear. Charles had been overjoyed to find out they were having a boy. Emily was too, though she never told anyone the real reason was that she didn’t know if she could be a good mother to a girl, another thing she had in common with Emma Bovary.

Astrid tugged at Emily’s arm. “Can we watch Chitty Chitty Bang Bang again?” She was holding the DVD.

“Sure,” Emily said, but she was barely listening.

* * *

An hour later, the buzzer rang, bringing Emily back to reality. The movie was already half over and Astrid was curled up beside her on the couch, sucking her thumb. For the first time that evening Emily noticed how dirty the little girl’s fingers were and she felt a pang of guilt. She paid the delivery guy and set the containers of food and paper plates on the coffee table.

“Come, Astrid,” she said, gently removing the girl’s thumb from her mouth. “Let’s go wash up for dinner.”

Astrid stood on a stool so she could reach the sink. Her hands felt so tiny in Emily’s as she washed them with warm soapy water. After drying them with a dark blue towel, Emily searched in the medicine cabinet for a brush. The sliding mirror was covered with fingerprints and splattered with toothpaste. The only brush was a dusty Mason Pearson. As tangled as Astrid’s hair was, she couldn’t allow it to touch the girl’s golden hair.

“I want to be Truly Scrumptious when I grow up,” Astrid said as they settled back on the couch after eating, to resume watching the movie.

“Why?” Emily asked.

“Because then I would be beautiful and everyone would want to pick me first,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Pick you first for what?”

Astrid looked up at Emily, her eyes wide. “Don’t you want to be picked first?”

Emily considered the depth and meaning of the girl’s words. She thought about Charles and Nick and the strange triangle she was in now.

“Why are you sad?” Astrid asked.

“I’m not sad. Maybe a little. Sometimes.”

The girl leaned her head on Emily and closed her eyes. “I pick you,” she said.

Emily softly stroked Astrid’s cheek. “And I pick you.”

* * *

Around midnight the front door opened. Without even taking off his coat Duncan retreated to the bedroom to make a phone call. Astrid, still awake, picked up her doll and followed him. Emily could only hear Duncan’s muffled voice. After waiting for twenty minutes, she considered leaving, but his words had been so seductive. I have plans for you when I get back. Hearing no sounds coming from the other room, she tapped gently on the bedroom door, then peeked in. Duncan was fast asleep next to a sleeping Astrid.

He opened his eyes, blinking in the light. “Emily, I forgot you were still here.” His voice was gravely. “Call you tomorrow. Thanks for pitching in.”