Alexandra was peeking around the living room, and from there, wandered into the dining room with the long English table.
“It looks as though he spent a lot of time here,” Alexandra observed, “the place looks well loved.” He smiled at her choice of words, and said he wasn't sure how much time Arthur had spent in Connecticut, and he didn't add that Arthur had told him he wanted to die there.
“Would you like to go upstairs?”
“Thank you.” She smiled up at him, wondering how old he was. He seemed so boyish in some ways, and yet so mature. He was serious and yet fun … a world away from Henri, and yet he looked childish to her compared to her husband. She was so accustomed to Henri's forceful ways, his habits of command, his way of striding into a room and taking charge, with his stern face and his powerful shoulders, and it was odd how suddenly she missed it. He made other men seem weak, and too young, and as though somehow, no matter how nice they were, they lacked something. And she couldn't help wondering if things would ever be the same again, if he'd even take her back when she returned to France … maybe she'd be forced to live with her mother again, or find her own house. For the time being, everything was uncertain.
John showed her to a sunny room at the corner of the house; it was still hot from the afternoon sun, and the bedspread was sparkling white with lace trim, with a cozy rocking chair next to it, and the same Victorian furniture that seemed to fill the house. There was a love seat and a porcelain washstand, and someone had put flowers in the room, and for some reason the room made her feel young again, as though she were a young girl coming home. And there were tears in her eyes when she turned to John and thanked him.
“It's so odd being here,” she tried to explain but she couldn't find the words, “it's like being very young and very old … visiting the past … it's all very confusing.”
“I understand.” He left her to freshen up, and she came downstairs in a little while in a beige linen suit, her makeup fresh, her beige shoes with the familiar black toe of Chanel, and her red hair bringing it all to life. She looked elegant and in control, and she turned as she heard a stir of voices on the stairs behind her. It was Arthur coming downstairs with the assistance of the two nurses. He was bent over and frail, and he groaned with every step, but suddenly as he saw her, he stopped, and gave a startled sound, and then tears began to roll down his cheeks, as Alexandra walked halfway up the stairs to meet him.
“Hello, Mr. Patterson.” she said, quietly, and as he trembled, she bent down and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for bringing me here.” But he was trembling so violently, he couldn't speak. He only took her hand and squeezed it hard, with the last of his strength, and then allowed her to assist him downstairs with the help of one nurse, and when they had settled him in a comfortable chair in the large sitting room, he stared up at her and spoke at last in a voice hoarse from his illness.
“My God, you look so much like her. Are you Alexandra or Megan?” He still remembered little Hilary's jet-black hair, exactly like her father's.
“I am Alexandra, sir.” She looked serious and deeply touched and he began to cry again as she spoke.
“You even have the same accent. Through all those years, she always had that lilt of French …” He shook his head, stunned by the resemblance between Alexandra and her mother. And it was an odd feeling for Alexandra, to be so like someone she had never known, and yet who was her mother.
“Were you very fond of her?” It was something to talk about as they waited for the others. John had appeared again and he offered her a glass of wine, which she declined. She wanted to concentrate on Arthur Patterson and wait for her sisters. She was growing more tense and excited with each passing moment.
But he nodded his head now, thinking of Alexandra's questions. “Yes, I was very fond of her … she was such a lovely girl … so beautiful, so proud … so strong … with so much life in her …” With a faded smile, he told Alexandra of the first time he and Sam had seen her in Paris. “I thought she was going to call the M.P.'s on us, and she would have … except that your father was so damn handsome and charming.” He smiled, thinking back to Sam. What good friends they had been, and what good times they had had in the war years. “He was a wonderful actor too.” He told her about some of his plays, as she listened quietly, and then suddenly there was the sound of a car outside, and John disappeared, and a moment later they heard voices.
Arthur seemed to be listening too, and unconsciously, he reached out and took Alexandra's hand and held it firmly in his own, just as the front door opened. And from where he was sitting, he could see her as she entered. She looked around, just as Alexandra had done, and then saw them watching her, and like a shy child, she walked into the room, looking suddenly like a younger double of Alexandra.
Alexandra rose slowly to her feet and instinctively walked to her with outstretched arms. It was like finding a piece of the past and looking in the mirror all at the same time. The only difference was that Alexandra's eyes were blue and Megan's were green, like Solange's. But otherwise, it was obvious that they were sisters. “Megan?” she asked in a cautious voice, but it was obvious who she was. The younger girl nodded, and they went into each other's arms, with tears in their eyes, even though they had both promised themselves that they were going to control their emotions. And as Alexandra held her close, she felt for a moment as though she remembered.
“You look so much like me!” Megan laughed through her tears and hugged her again, and then pulled away to observe her with a wry smile. “Except you don't dress as well.” She was still wearing the jeans and hiking boots and T-shirt she had worn at the hospital until she'd left that afternoon. But it was what she usually wore in any case, just like Rebecca. “My God, you're beautiful.” She laughed, and shyly stepped back as Alexandra took her hand, and then took it upon herself to introduce her to Arthur.
“How do you do, Mr. Patterson,” Megan greeted him politely, almost like a young girl, and he stared at her with satisfaction. She was almost as pretty as Solange, but not quite, and she didn't have Alexandra's sophistication, but she had something of her own that stood out, a kind of purity and intelligence that were clearly etched on her face. She looked like a lovely young woman.
“So you're the doctor, are you?”
“Yes, sir. Just about. I'm finishing my residency right now. I'll be all through by Christmas.”
He nodded again, looking from one woman to the other. There was no bitterness there, no anger, they had led good lives and it showed. He had chosen well for them … but not for poor Hilary. After Chapman's warning, he was afraid of what she would say to him if she came, but nonetheless he wanted to see her.
They waited until almost eight o'clock, alternately silent and then speaking all at once, nervous and uncomfortable and strange, with Arthur telling them stories of the past, and Megan and Alexandra trying to share their lives with him and each other. Alexandra had brought photographs of the girls, and Henri, and her parents. Megan had done the same, bringing photographs of Rebecca and David, the house in Tiburon, and the hospital where she worked in Kentucky. It was as though they wanted to bring each other up to date as quickly as possible. They had thirty years to account for. And it was obvious how different their lives were. The hospital in Kentucky stood out next to the photographs of the girls in front of the villa in Cap-Ferrat. And Henri looked every inch the seigneur in front of his chateau in Dordogne, as the photographs of Margaret and Rebecca stood side by side for a moment, the one in jeans with a flower in her hair, the other in an evening dress going to a ball in Monte Carlo the year before. And Megan mentioned it with a shy smile as they walked in to dinner with Arthur walking slowly behind them with John's assistance.