Marc-Edouard. At least not for much longer.” She stopped, and he stared at her, stunned. He didn’t dare ask if she were serious. For a terrible instant, he knew that she was.
“What do you expect me to do about it?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ve been giving it a lot of thought lately. The Americans have a perfect expression, I believe: ‘Shit or get off the pot.’”
“I don’t find that amusing.”
“I don’t find San Remo amusing.”
Christ! It was useless. A small sigh escaped him, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Chantal, I can’t take you to Antibes.”
“You won’t take me to Antibes. There’s a difference.”
And what’s more, she had added San Francisco to the list of her complaints. That startling bit of information hadn’t escaped him either. She had never even wanted to go to the States before.
“May I ask what brought all this on? It can’t just be your thirtieth birthday. That’s still four months away.”
She paused, her back to him, as she looked silently out the window, and then slowly she turned to face him again. “Someone else just asked me to marry him.”
Time seemed to stand still. Marc-Edouard stared at her in horror.
8
“Deanna?” The phone had rung before she’d gotten out of bed. It was Ben.
“Yes.”
She sounded sleepy, and he smiled. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
“More or less.”
“What a very diplomatic answer! I’m calling to bug you a little more. I figure that sooner or later I’ll wear down your resistance and you’ll sign with the gallery just to get me off your back. How about lunch?”
“Now?” She was still half asleep and turned toward the clock wondering how late she had slept, but Ben was laughing at her again.
“No, not at eight o’clock in the morning. How about twelve or one? In Sausalito?”
“What’s there?”
“Sunshine. A condition we’re not always blessed with on this side of the bridge. Have I sold you?”
“More or less.” She laughed into the phone. What the hell was he doing, calling her at eight o’clock in the morning? And why lunch so soon? They had had dinner the night before, and lunch in her studio the day before that. She was beginning to wonder if she had found a new friend, an ardent potential dealer for her work, or something else. She wondered if it were wise to see him again quite so soon.
“Yes, it is.”
“What is?” She was confused.
“You’re wondering if it’s a good idea to have lunch with me. It is.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Then we’ll have lunch in the city.”
“No, Sausalito sounds nice.” She had accepted without thinking further and found herself smiling at the ceiling as she spoke into the phone. “I’m an easy sale at this hour of the day. No defenses yet, no coffee.”
“Good. Then how about signing with the gallery before coffee tomorrow?”
“I may hang up on you, Ben.” She was laughing, and it felt wonderful to start the day off with laughter. She hadn’t done that in years.
“Don’t hang up on me till we settle lunch. Do you want me to pick you up around noon?”
“That’ll do.” What’ll do? What was she doing having lunch with this man? But she liked him. And lunch in Sausalito sounded like fun.
“Wear your jeans.”
“O.K., see you at noon.”
He pulled up in front of her house at exactly 12:02. He was wearing a turtleneck sweater and jeans, and when she climbed into the car, she saw that there was a basket on the seat, draped in a red-and-white cloth. The neck of a bottle poked its way out at one side. Ben opened the door for her and put the basket on the backseat.
“Good morning, madam.” He smiled broadly as she slid in beside him. “I thought maybe we’d have a picnic instead. O.K.?”
“Very much so.” Or was it? Should she be having a picnic with this man? The head of Madame Duras told her no, while the heart that was Deanna’s wanted an afternoon in the sun. But surely there were other things she could do, and she had the terrace
“What do you expect me to do about it?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ve been giving it a lot of thought lately. The Americans have a perfect expression, I believe: ‘Shit or get off the pot.’”
“I don’t find that amusing.”
“I don’t find San Remo amusing.”
Christ! It was useless. A small sigh escaped him, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Chantal, I can’t take you to Antibes.”
“You won’t take me to Antibes. There’s a difference.”
And what’s more, she had added San Francisco to the list of her complaints. That startling bit of information hadn’t escaped him either. She had never even wanted to go to the States before.
“May I ask what brought all this on? It can’t just be your thirtieth birthday. That’s still four months away.”
She paused, her back to him, as she looked silently out the window, and then slowly she turned to face him again. “Someone else just asked me to marry him.”
Time seemed to stand still. Marc-Edouard stared at her in horror.
8
“Deanna?” The phone had rung before she’d gotten out of bed. It was Ben.
“Yes.”
She sounded sleepy, and he smiled. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
“More or less.”
“What a very diplomatic answer! I’m calling to bug you a little more. I figure that sooner or later I’ll wear down your resistance and you’ll sign with the gallery just to get me off your back. How about lunch?”
“Now?” She was still half asleep and turned toward the clock wondering how late she had slept, but Ben was laughing at her again.
“No, not at eight o’clock in the morning. How about twelve or one? In Sausalito?”
“What’s there?”
“Sunshine. A condition we’re not always blessed with on this side of the bridge. Have I sold you?”
“More or less.” She laughed into the phone. What the hell was he doing, calling her at eight o’clock in the morning? And why lunch so soon? They had had dinner the night before, and lunch in her studio the day before that. She was beginning to wonder if she had found a new friend, an ardent potential dealer for her work, or something else. She wondered if it were wise to see him again quite so soon.
“Yes, it is.”
“What is?” She was confused.
“You’re wondering if it’s a good idea to have lunch with me. It is.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Then we’ll have lunch in the city.”
“No, Sausalito sounds nice.” She had accepted without thinking further and found herself smiling at the ceiling as she spoke into the phone. “I’m an easy sale at this hour of the day. No defenses yet, no coffee.”
“Good. Then how about signing with the gallery before coffee tomorrow?”
“I may hang up on you, Ben.” She was laughing, and it felt wonderful to start the day off with laughter. She hadn’t done that in years.
“Don’t hang up on me till we settle lunch. Do you want me to pick you up around noon?”
“That’ll do.” What’ll do? What was she doing having lunch with this man? But she liked him. And lunch in Sausalito sounded like fun.
“Wear your jeans.”
“O.K., see you at noon.”
He pulled up in front of her house at exactly 12:02. He was wearing a turtleneck sweater and jeans, and when she climbed into the car, she saw that there was a basket on the seat, draped in a red-and-white cloth. The neck of a bottle poked its way out at one side. Ben opened the door for her and put the basket on the backseat.
“Good morning, madam.” He smiled broadly as she slid in beside him. “I thought maybe we’d have a picnic instead. O.K.?”
“Very much so.” Or was it? Should she be having a picnic with this man? The head of Madame Duras told her no, while the heart that was Deanna’s wanted an afternoon in the sun. But surely there were other things she could do, and she had the terrace
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