CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEENBy the end of the week, Henri was back in town, but I still hadn’t found the right moment to push him about my unpaid invoices. I was too cowardly, though, to quit working for him until I got a check. So I spent that week just as I had the one before—organizing his meals, his laundry and dry cleaning, his maid service. I even took his luxury car to have the oil changed and the tires rotated.
By Friday, I decided enough was enough. Time to beard the lion in his den. Far more professional to beard the lion in his downtown high-rise than in his, well, actual den. Every time I’d tried to introduce the subject while standing in his apartment, I had wound up either being seduced or running away from his attempts at seduction.
The bloom was definitely off the rose, I thought, as I found a parking garage near his office and managed to wedge my land yacht into a spot designated for compact cars. By now, I was far more concerned with the money Henri owed me than with his ability to make me feel special and sexy.
I took the elevator to the twenty-fifth floor and followed the signs for The Triumph Group. When I entered the suite of offices, I was surprised to find that Henri’s business consisted of only a very young receptionist in the outer office and two closed doors beyond that, one marked with Henri’s name.
“I’m Ellie John—I mean, Hall. Ellie Hall. I’d like to see Mr. Paradis.”
The girl gave me the once over. “What is this regarding?”
“Business.” I had worn my robin’s egg blue suit for courage. The receptionist evidently knew her designer labels, because she nodded her approval.
“I’ll see if he’s available.”
She picked up the phone and spoke in low tones while I wandered to the opposite side of the small reception area and pretended to inspect the artwork, really just framed copies of a generic landscape like you’d find in any office building anywhere.
“Mr. Paradis says it’s not a convenient time. Perhaps you would like to come back after lunch?”
“You’re kidding.” I verbalized my thought before I could stop myself. “I mean, it’s imperative that I speak with him right away.”
From behind the door bearing Henri’s nameplate, I heard muffled voices, one of them a woman’s. Maybe I should have felt some shooting rush of jealousy, but I only felt annoyed. I was tired of the game-playing.
“I’ll just show myself in.” Without waiting for her response, I walked past her desk and threw open the door to Henri’s office.
“Ellie!” He was halfway between the door and his desk, standing there with a confused look on his face. “This isn’t a good time to talk.”
How could I not know that something was going on? Henri looked guilty but also a bit smug, and then I noticed that there was another door in the wall to my right. Whoever he had been talking to, that door was apparently her escape route.
“I’m afraid it can’t wait.”
“What is it, then? What is so important that you must interrupt my work?”
I thrust the file I was holding into his hands. “Here are the unpaid invoices from Your Better Half. I took the liberty of making you additional copies. As you can see, some of them are more than thirty days past due.”
He scowled. “Yes, yes. I know this already, and I promised you that I would see to them.”
“Yes, you did promise. But nothing seems to have been done about it.”
He shoved his fingers through his hair, unknowingly spiking the ends so that they stood straight out from his head. I’d never seen him do that before.
“You came all the way downtown for this?”
“Yes.” I crossed my arms over my chest, prepared to stand there until doomsday if that’s what it took to get the money I was owed.
“I’m afraid our accountant isn’t in right now.”
“I thought you said there was an accounting department. A bunch of Italians.”
“Of course there is. But they are actually in Italy, ma petite.” In the blink of an eye, he dropped his defensive posture and came toward me. “When Jason, my partner, returns, I will have him call Italy immediately. Really, Eleanor, there is no need to be so dramatic.”
“When do you expect him back?”
His smile faded. “Jason? Soon.”
And then I heard a toilet flushing from behind the closed door. “Who’s that?”
For the first time since I’d known him, I was given the opportunity to see Henri speechless. More sounds followed the flush—water running and the snap of paper towels being pulled from a dispenser—and then the door opened.
The woman who emerged from the bathroom was stunning, half my age, and obviously French. You could tell by her cheekbones and her shoes. Also, she looked at me with that Gallic disdain that I’d seen on Henri’s face on several occasions.
“Henri? Who is this?” She dismissed me, robin’s egg blue suit and all, with a flick of her hair over her shoulder.
“This is Eleanor. She’s the woman who has been helping me with my domestic arrangements.”
“Oh, but of course. Your little wife.” Only she said it in French. “Bien sur. Votre petite mariée.” Even my high school classes ensured I could translate that much.
“Ellie, this is Giselle. Giselle Paradis.”
I smiled, trying very hard to be pleasant in the face of the other woman’s hauteur. “Nice to meet you. I didn’t know Henri’s daughter was coming to visit.”
Her eyes grew the slightest bit wider, and then she smiled like a cat about to devour a mouse that it had been toying with. “Daughter? Oh, no, madame. You misunderstand. I am Henri’s wife.”
“Sorry?”
“Giselle is my wife. She arrived unexpectedly last night.”
I was at a complete loss for words. A shiver ran down my spine, and then it settled as a knot in my stomach.
“I flew in from Paris to make sure Henri was not being too naughty here among the Southern belles.” She made it sound like the women of Nashville ran around in hoop skirts and pantaloons while hopping in and out of horse-drawn carriages.
Finally, I found my voice. “I’m sure he’s as well-behaved here as he is at home.” A statement that provided me with all the leeway of its double meaning.
She frowned. “Yes, well, now that I am here, I will look after his…how did he say it?…domestic arrangements.”
At that moment, it dawned on me that she was looking at me the same way I had looked at Tiffany Trask the week before at Green Hills Grille. As if she couldn’t believe her husband would involve himself with someone so lacking in sophistication, someone so clearly devoid of refinement and gentility.
Well, how did that saying go? One man’s trash was another man’s treasure?
“Of course. You’ll want to resume your wifely duties.” Wifely duties? My cheeks flamed. “I mean, you’ll want to take over the household management.” I gestured toward the folder of invoices Henri still held in his hand. “Those are up to date, so it would be simplest to terminate my services today.” I kept myself from saying, “right this very moment before I take a club to your no-good husband.” After all, about the only thing I had left was my pride. I was going to tie a knot in it and hang on.
“Yes. I think that would be for the best,” Giselle snapped. Clearly she was losing patience with our conversation.
Henri had been uncharacteristically mute during this exchange, but at that point, he seemed to collect himself. “I’ll just walk Ellie to the elevator, ma chère.” His use of the endearment that had weakened my knees now had the opposite effect of straightening my spine.
“That’s not necessary. I can find my way out.”
“Oh, but I insist. I won’t be a moment, darling.”
Giselle arched an eyebrow but offered no protest.
“Nice to meet you,” I said inanely before spinning on my heel and making a beeline for the door. I didn’t particularly want Henri to walk me anywhere. Mostly I just wanted to flee the building—and the greater Nashville area—as quickly as possible.
But he wasn’t going to allow me to make a quick escape. He didn’t say anything until we passed the receptionist and were safely in the deserted hallway. I strode to the bank of elevators and punched the DOWN call button.
“Ellie! Wait.” His hand covered mine on the button. I snatched my fingers back as if I’d placed them on a hot stove.
“But I can explain.”
I snorted. “I’m sure you can. But the bottom line is you told me you were divorced. I would never have slept with you if I’d known you were married.”
“But I am divorced.” He actually had the gall to look wounded. “I did not lie about that.”
“Well, Giselle doesn’t seem to be aware that you two no longer share a legal bond.”
“Oh, no, ma chère. I am not divorced from Giselle. Marie, I am divorced from Marie. She was my first wife.”
It was the closest I’d ever come in my life to committing homicide. Any reasonable jury would have declared me not guilty. Still, if I wound up in jail, I wouldn’t be available to enjoy my total humiliation when all the transportation arrangements for the Cannon Ball turned into a disaster.
“You knew what I assumed when you told me you were divorced.”
“Yes, but I did not lie.”
“You turned me into an adulteress!” I hadn’t meant to shriek the words quite so loudly. Down the hall, an office door opened and a woman’s head popped out.
“Everything okay down there?” She was a formidable-looking tank of a woman with gun-metal gray hair pulled back in a severe style.
“Everything’s fine.” I waved, trying to act nonchalant. “No problem here.”
“Then keep it down. Some of us are trying to work.” The door slammed.
“Ellie, please don’t be mad.” Henri put his hands on my upper arms and tried to draw me closer. “I cannot help it if I was bewitched by your beauty.”
I was pretty sure the only reason he put his hands on my arms was to keep me from slapping him. Really, though, the person I wanted to slap was me. For being so stupid. For thinking a man like Henri would want anything more from me than sex. For hemming and hawing about those invoices when he had played me like a fiddle. 1 felt more ashamed of how I’d fallen for his spiel hook, line, and sinker than of being duped by Jim. My ex-husband, at least, could boast two decades of dependability and fidelity before middle-age had addled his brain.
“The only thing that bewitched you was the possibility of getting some.”And then my mouth went round with shock, like a little “o.” I’d never used an expression like that in my life.
“Is that what you think?” Henri dropped his hands and drew himself up to his full height. “That I am just some alley cat on the prowl?”
Evidently, I’d offended him. I let out a bark of laughter. “No, Henri. I would never compare you to an alley cat. That would be insulting to felines everywhere!”
Happily for me, the elevator bell dinged at just that moment. The doors slid open, and I stepped inside.
“If those invoices aren’t paid within five business days, I’ll turn the matter over to my attorney.”
His face darkened like a thundercloud. “You ungrateful little—”
Fortunately, the doors closed, shutting out the rest of Henri’s invective.
* * *
I fled to Jane’s house out of instinct. I don’t know why I sought her out rather than Linda or Grace. Mostly, I guess, it was because I hoped she could help me sort out this horrible social-life-and-work-life cocktail I’d mixed up for myself.
“Ellie? What’s wrong?” She took one look at my face and waved me inside. I’d cried all the way to the parking garage, all the way up Broadway, and all the way down Twenty-First Avenue where I’d almost plowed through a group of Vanderbilt co-eds.
“He’s married,” I sobbed. “Henri’s married.”
That was all I needed to say. Jane led me to her sofa and handed me a box of tissues. “What happened?”
“I went to confront him about the invoices.”
“What invoices?”
I burst into fresh sobs. ‘The ones he hasn’t been paying.” I flushed with embarrassment. I hadn’t wanted any of them to know what a miserable businesswoman I’d turned out to be, despite Jane’s tutelage.
“He still hasn’t paid you a dime?”
“Not a cent.”
“And you kept working for him?”
I let that one pass and took the opportunity to blow my nose into the wad of tissues in my hand.
“So how do you know he’s married?”
“She was there.”
“His wife was there?” She winced.
I nodded miserably.
“What did she look like?”
“Damn.”
“You can say that again.”
Jane shot me a weak smile. “I could, but I’ll refrain.” She was quiet for a moment, obviously thinking about something. “Well, now that he’s revealed his hand, you can become the captain.”
“What?” Either I was far more distressed than I thought or Jane had started speaking in tongues.
“In bridge, when you’re bidding back and forth with your partner, the first one to reveal the point range of her cards by bidding a certain thing limits their hand.”
“Limits their hand?”
“It means that they’ve pretty much told everyone at the table what kind of cards they have.”
“What does that have to do with the captain thing?” I said, sniffing.
“Once your partner limits his hand, then you take charge of the bidding. Your partner has revealed all her—or his—secrets. Since you haven’t, you take charge of the bidding process.”
“And this has what to do with Henri?” Honestly, sometimes I wondered about these women and their fanaticism for a recreational card game.
“Look, now that you know his secret, you have the power.”
“To do what?”
“Well, for one thing, you can get him to pay those invoices.”
“What am I supposed to do? Blackmail him?”
I was speechless for a moment. “I can’t threaten to rat him out to his wife.”
“Why not?”
“Because I would never do that.” I stopped and swallowed back the knot that lodged in my throat. “I know how it feels to be cheated on. The last thing I would want is to hear the truth from the other woman.”
“You don’t have to actually tell her. You just have to threaten to tell her.”
That brought me up short. Because I hadn’t stopped to consider that the threat alone would probably force Henri’s hand.
“Do all captains resort to blackmail?”
Jane chuckled. “Only the really good ones.”
I smiled back at her through my tears. Henri’s betrayal still hurt, even if I’d begun to pull away from our romantic involvement. But the idea that I was in any way the same kind of woman as the despised Tiffany was even more painful. I’d been so sure she was pure, unadulterated—or adulterated as the case might be—evil. But did I even know for sure that she’d known Jim was married when they became involved? Jim hadn’t said, and I certainly hadn’t asked. She might be as innocent as I was. And even if she wasn’t, Jim was the one who should have known better. He was the one with the wedding ring on his finger.
“So you think I can get Henri to write me a check?”
“If you play your cards right.”
“Captain, huh?”
“The ball’s in your court.”
Jane stood up. “I just took a pound cake out of the oven. Let’s have a slice and draw up a plan.”
By the time I left Jane’s house and stumbled across the yard to my own front door, I was exhausted, even though it was barely noon. I really wasn’t in the mood to deal with who I found sitting on my front steps. Jim. With a dozen red roses in hand and a look of contrition in his eyes.
“Hello, Ellie.”
Honestly, I wished a hole like the police had dug in my backyard would open up and swallow me.
“Go away, Jim.” I was too tired for any measure of diplomacy. “I’m really not up to this.”
Honestly, I’d expected him to call or show up before now. I figured once Tiffany told him about our bathroom conversation at the Green Hills Grille that he’d come by and chastise me. But as the week wore on and he didn’t show, I began to think she hadn’t told him what had happened. And then I’d spent way too much time wondering why she hadn’t told him instead of writing copy for Your Better Half’s Web site or calling the leads on potential clients Jane had e-mailed me.
He stood up and held out the flowers. “I brought you these.”
It had been six years since he’d given me flowers of any kind and more than a decade since I’d been presented with roses.
“I don’t want them.”
“Please. Take them.” If he’d had a hat, it would have been in his hands. The sharply sweet scent of the roses stung my nose.
“Jim, it’s really not the time.” I tried to keep my face slightly averted. I did not want him to know I’d been crying, and I definitely did not want any probing questions about why. The last thing I needed was Jim learning that Henri was married. He’d never let me live that one down.
I tried to brush past him to get to the front door, but he stepped in front of me. “Ellie, stop. I’m worried about you.”
And he was. I could see it in his eyes, big and brown and full of concern. Eyes that had looked at me in just that way countless times over the years, and always, always that look had been both my comfort and the undoing of my composure.
If I thought I’d cried all my tears at Jane’s, I was wrong.
“Shh. It’s okay.” Somehow, I wound up with my head against his chest, and I was sobbing into his shirt. He smelled like Jim—the slightest hint of Gray Flannel mixed with antibacterial soap. His arms came around me at waist height, holding me securely as they’d always done. We fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces, the result of years of practice.
I knew I shouldn’t indulge myself, but I did it anyway. I let Jim hold me and murmur reassuring, mindless words in my ear. I sobbed against his shoulder, dampening his shirt, until the new well of tears ran dry. And then I just rested my head there for several long moments because I didn’t have the courage to lift it up and look at him. I felt warm and safe, a different feeling from the excitement I’d found with Henri but one more likely to last over time.
“I have to tell you something.”
“What?” I mumbled into his shirt.
“I’m a first class jerk.”
I sighed, stepped back, wiped away the last traces of my tears, and looked at him. “This is not particularly new information.”
Now his eyes were filled with sadness. “No, I guess it’s not.”
I looked down at my feet, unsure what to do next.
“Ellie, I’ve also been a fool. An idiot. And a bunch of other names that I shouldn’t say in front of a lady.”
“You’ 11 get no argument from me.”
The whole moment had a hugely surreal quality. I half expected clocks to start slithering down walls and over pieces of furniture.
“I’ve broken it off with Tiffany.”
That caught me by surprise. I looked up. “Why?”
He grimaced. “Actually, that’s been coming on for a while. Ever since we started planning the wedding.”
I wanted to feel vindicated. I wanted to crow out in triumph and rub his nose in his admission of failure and wrongdoing. Before that morning, I might have. But now that I was myself the “other” woman, I was feeling slightly less righteous.
“And so you think if you dump Tiffany you can just show up here with a dozen roses and all is forgiven?”
At least he had the grace to blush. “I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid.”
“Then why are you here?” My chest was tight, but whether it was hope or grief constricting me, I couldn’t say.
He shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, to apologize, I guess.”
“And?”
“I know you don’t want me back, but, Ellie, for old times sake, I was wondering…”
“Wondering what?”
“Would you at least let me buy you dinner sometime?”
If he’d shown up like this a month ago, I might have responded very differently. But in the last six weeks, I’d learned a lot—some of it good and some of it not. One important thing, though, I’d come to realize was that I wouldn’t have been so utterly destroyed when Jim left if I’d had more things in my life that were just for me.
Another thing I’d come to realize was that Jim was not the only guilty party in the situation. Yes, his had been the greater offense. But I’d known for years that our marriage wasn’t what it had once been. We’d been complacent enough to let comfort take the place of intimacy. Stress and children and the busyness of our lives had driven us apart long before Tiffany’s impressive cleavage had burst onto the scene.
“There’s no going back, Jim.” Nothing said that more clearly than the fact that we were standing on the front porch of my home. Mine alone. Not the one we had once shared.
“I know. I guess I’m just realizing exactly how bad I’ve fouled up.”
My smile was so sad it felt more like a frown. “It’s not exactly news to me.”
And yet, I could see that he was really suffering. Men’s mid-life crises might be the butt of a lot of jokes, but when it was your man suffering through one, it really wasn’t very funny.
“So can I call you sometime? Maybe take you out to dinner?”
I paused. In the last six weeks, I’d gone on dates with a married philanderer and a young man half my age. Dinner with my ex-husband would make the hat trick complete.
“Okay. I guess.”
And then something occurred to me. Standing in front of me was the answer to several of my current problems, as well as a great way to tweak Roz’s nose. The Cannon Ball was a week away, and I was pretty sure Henri was no longer my escort. Plus there was one thing I still needed to take care of.
“I tell you what, Jim.”
“What?”
“Buy me a dress for the Cannon Ball, and you can be my date.”
“A dress?” He blanched. “Ellie, you know I’m broke.”
“Jim, I know exactly what you’re worth and what you own. And it’s a whole lot more than I have.”
He stared at me like I’d grown another head. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
He looked down at the roses, thought for a moment, and then lifted his eyes to me.
“Fine. I’ll charge it at Elliott’s.” I couldn’t resist that dig.
To my surprise, Jim smiled instead of scowled. “You’re really something, you know that?”
After a day of tears, it felt good to return his smile. “Oh, yes, honey. I’m well aware of that.”
I also knew that as risky as it might be, I could develop a liking for becoming the captain.