“Do they know where the others are?”
“Not yet. But they're looking. And they found you, so I suppose they'll find the others.”
Alexandra nodded. It was a lot to absorb at once. Suddenly, in one afternoon, she had acquired two sisters, and a father who had killed a mother with red hair who was probably French, and the mother she'd loved all her life was no longer her mother, not to mention two adopted fathers she'd discovered instead of one. It was a bit much to swallow at one sitting, and she smiled weakly at Margaret and took a big swig of wine, with an apologetic look.
“I think I need it.”
“So do I.” And with that, Margaret stood up, and rang for André, and when he appeared she told him to bring her a double bourbon. “American habits die hard, particularly in moments of crisis.” And then she turned to Alexandra, over her drink, as she slowly swirled the ice cubes with one finger.
“Do you want to see them, Alex?”
Alexandra looked up at her thoughtfully. “I don't know. What if we all hate each other and are terribly different? Thirty years is a long time.”
“That's what I told Chapman. In truth, it's ridiculous. What can you possibly have in common?”
Alexandra agreed, and yet there was an undeniable attraction to meeting the others. But there was another problem she had to deal with first, a more pressing one. Her husband. “What do you suppose Henri would say to all this, Maman?” She eyed her mother cautiously, but they both knew what Henri would say. He would be outraged. “Do you really suppose it will make a difference to him?” Margaret could see that she desperately wanted reassurance. But she couldn't give it to her. The scandal would surely be too much for Alex's husband.
“It shouldn't, if he loves you. But I think it would be a shock to him. That's inevitable. And frankly, I still don't see why you should tell him. Your father and I talked about it when you married him, and we decided it wasn't important. We love you, you are our daughter in every possible way and what happened thirty years ago is no one's business. Perhaps not even your husband's.”
“But that's so dishonest, Maman. I owe it to him to tell him. Don't I?” Her eyes were still full of questions.
“Why? Why upset him needlessly?” Margaret tried to sound calm, but the whole thing was turning into a nightmare.
“Because the fact that I'm the daughter of the Comte de Borne is very important to him, Maman. He believes in all that lineage, and you know it. He's barely able to tolerate the fact that you're American, for heaven's sake, and only the fact that he knows what a fancy family you're from makes him willing to overlook it. How about telling him instead that my father was an actor, and killed my mother, origin unknown. I am the daughter of an unknown murderer and suicide, American to boot, with two unidentified sisters.” She grinned in spite of herself. It was a difficult situation. “Frankly, I think he'd drop dead from a heart attack. And if he survived, he'd divorce me. And take my daughters if he could get away with it. But if I don't tell him, I'm being knowingly dishonest.”
“Don't be foolish, Alex. This isn't the Dark Ages. He couldn't be that unreasonable. And besides, I still don't think you should tell him.”
“You don't know my husband. If I tell him, he might leave me and the girls, but the rest of it's not so farfetched. Particularly with his political aspirations. My God, mother, he'd die…. And if he found out in some other way … if I didn't tell him … if someone else found out.” Alexandra visibly shuddered as she paced the room, and Margaret couldn't disagree with her.
“I told you. Don't tell him.”
“And if he finds out? If there's a scandal? At least before I didn't know most of it myself. But now that I do, how can I not tell him? That's deceitful.” It was before, too, but now she was hiding a veritable mountain of information.
“Oh don't be so bloody innocent for heaven's sake.” She took a huge sip of bourbon and looked at her daughter. “You can't always be the perfect wife. You have to think of yourself from time to time, not that you do it very often. And it would be stupid to make a confession to Henri. What purpose would it serve except to cause you a great many problems?” And she could hardly disagree with her mother. There was so much at risk. She could lose everything. Her husband. Her marriage. Her children.
“But what if I decide I want to see the others? How do I explain that? How do I slip away to America to meet my sisters? I can't exactly say I'm coming here to lunch and then disappear for five days, can I?”
“Are you so sure you want to go?” Margaret was disappointed to hear it, but Alexandra shook her head.
“I'm not at all sure … but if I wanted to, I don't know what I'd tell my husband.” Margaret's solution would have been not to go at all then, but she knew it wasn't fair to say that. She had her own reasons for not wanting Alexandra to go, it was foolish but she was afraid that in some way she would lose her, to the specter of a mother long dead, and three sisters who would help prove that blood was thicker than water. It was childish, but she wanted Alexandra to turn her back on them. But she was wise enough not to say it.
“I don't think you should say anything to him, Alexandra. Nothing at all. You would be wisest if you kept your own counsel.” She scribbled something on a piece of paper then, and handed her John Chapman's name, and the name of his hotel and phone number. “Mr. Chapman wants you to call him, so he can explain it all to you. If you want to, you can call him at the Bristol.”
“Why is he here?”
Margaret hesitated, but only for an instant. “To see you.”
“That's why he came to Paris?” Margaret nodded in answer. “Then I'll call him. I owe him that at least.” And as she slipped the paper with his name into her bag, she saw the time. It was after five o'clock, and she was horrified. She had to get home to Henri and the children. It had been an amazing afternoon, full of unexpected admissions. And Margaret walked her to the door, and hugged her long and hard before she left, as Alexandra looked into her eyes with tears rolling down her cheeks again. “Maman, please know how much I love you.”
“You'll always be my little girl.” The tears began sliding down her cheeks again, and the two women held each other for a long time before Alexandra left her. It had been a shocking afternoon and she could hardly think straight on the drive home. She kept hearing a voice from the distant past … Axie … always remember how much I love you….
Chapter 21
Alexandra was still in shock when she got home. It was difficult to absorb everything her mother had told her. She felt as though she were moving in a dream, and she kept trying to remember things that had been gone for years … the woman with red hair … and the little girl she had called Hillie.
“You're late.” Henri was waiting in her study as she walked into the room, feeling as though she had lead weights on her shoulders.
“I'm sorry, I …” She jumped when she saw him, startled from her reverie. But to Henri, it made her look guilty. “My mother had some papers I had to discuss with her … I didn't think it would take … Henri, I'm sorry.” There were tears in her eyes when she turned to him, and he was looking at her as though he didn't believe her.
“Where were you?”
“I told you …” Her hands trembled as she hung up the jacket to her suit. He made her feel as though she had somehow betrayed him. “I was at my mother's.” She tried to make her voice sound calm, but she sounded nervous, even to her own ears.
“Until now? It's six o'clock.” His voice was filled with disapproval, but suddenly she turned on him, her nerves frayed beyond control. She needed time to think, to absorb what she'd been told … she needed time to remember.