ÎLE SAINT-LOUIS
PARIS
NOVEMBER 2001
“To be clear,” Jamie said as he dumped a handful of diced shallots into the snapping skillet. “When I claimed to love cooking I did not promise to be especially talented.”
“Well, it smells great,” Annie said.
“Those are the shallots talking.”
She nodded absently, her mind on Gus’s tape, likewise the needless description of her mother’s underwear and naked breasts.
“Is it drafty in here?” Jamie asked, mistaking her shudder for a shiver. “I can crank up the heat.”
He opened a can of tomato paste, and then spooned it into the pan.
“The temperature’s perfect,” she said and sipped her Bordeaux. “Listen, Jamie, I have a confession to make.”
“A confession?” He glanced over his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows. “One of my favorite things to hear.”
“Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing steamy.”
Gus’s erection. Laurel nude. Annie was just about maxed out on “steamy.”
“It’s about your brother,” she said. “Gus. He’s been telling me the story behind the book, the story of Win and Pru.”
“Of your mum.”
“Yes, my mum,” Annie said, thinking of Laurel who was probably right then stepping into an empty hotel room and also into a cold panic. “I had no idea who Win was until about twenty minutes ago. I never realized Win and Gus were the same person. For a second there I thought Win was you.”
“Really?” Jamie turned to face her, his back pressed against the counter, a curious smile playing at his lips. “Me?”
“Only for a second.”
“The name didn’t tip you off?”
“J. Casper Augustine Seton?” Annie said. “I assumed the J was for James.”
“It’s for Jerome. Also, there’s a ‘Gus’ in there.”
Annie repeated the name in her head.
“Augustine?” she said. “That’s, like, barely a Gus.”
“Didn’t he tell you that he was the Earl of Winton?”
“Yes, but…”
Gus had told her that early on, but Annie thought it was a joke.
“It goes without saying Win refers to that,” Jamie said.
“Our nicknames are more straightforward in the States, I guess.”
She pictured Gus, sitting across the table, or beside her at the bar. Gus with his wavy, white hair, his pressed trousers, that slippery smile. She recalled how he’d tip his head toward her when getting to the good stuff, taking on and off his glasses as he spoke.
The glasses. He wore them to read the newspaper, or a transcript, or the bar tab from Ned. But he never needed glasses to read the book. He didn’t have to. The words were his.
“Damn,” she said. “I like to think of myself as pretty perceptive. But I honestly never figured it out.”
“No worries. The bloke’s a roguish sort.”
“In my defense,” Annie said. “Gus … Win … whatever his name is, he told me that the writer lives in Paris. Plus he was always so disdainful of the guy.”
“My brother is his own worst enemy.”
Annie reached deep into her pocket.
“Here,” she said and tossed the luggage tag onto the table. “I found this at the Grange. It appears to have your name on it.”
“No!” Jamie picked up the tag. He held it to the light. “Well, I’ll be. Those two bastards used my very nice set of matching baggage for their return trip to the Grange. Brought it back worse for the wear, as you can see.”
Jamie kissed the tag and then dropped it into his own pocket. Annie bristled. That was supposed to be her good-luck charm, even if his name was on it.
“So they went back?” she asked. “Win and Pru? To the Grange?”
Jamie nodded.
“They did,” he said.
“Because of Tom.”
“Criminy, I forgot about that old Pole.” Jamie chuckled. “That’s what old age will do to a person. But, yes, his call precipitated their return.”
“When they arrived,” Annie said, “were the Marlboroughs there, too?”
“Those are the events as I know ’em.”
Jamie moved to a larger pot and examined the potatoes boiling inside. This dinner was starting to look more Virginia and less Paris.
“So that was it, then?” Annie said and took another sip of wine. “They went to the Grange, end of story.”
“End of story?” Jamie said. “What makes you think that?”
“The Marlboroughs were at the Grange.”
“They were.”
“They—and Edith—wanted to have the duchess hospitalized.”
“They did.”
“If Mrs. Spencer ended up in a hospital, there was no reason for my mom to stick around. And we both know that she ended up back in the States, alone.”
“Your mum did return to the States,” Jamie said. “But not right away. Their story went a little longer. You see, Win and Pru managed to find their way back to Paris. Thanks to a little help from a bloke named Gads.”