The Affair Read online

  “I’d like a little more time to think about it.” She smiled at him. “But off the top of my head, with these vast open spaces on the main floor, I’m thinking white, maybe some charcoal gray, black—but not too much—a dark, intimate dining room with modern silver gleaming. Either some striking sculptures, even enormous ones, and possibly one in the garden, or some fabulous piece of carved Chinese jade, contrasting old and new,” which she knew would cost a fortune. “We could go brighter, but the white would lighten it all up. Browns in the study if you’re comfortable with that, various shades of chocolate or hunter green, since you mentioned it. A silver blue-gray in the bedroom, which would be restful. We can work with some textures to give it relief and a great piece of art. We can go neutral in the guest room, beige or gray, whatever you prefer, maybe a gray flannel. We can look for a fabulous rug for the main floor, or have one made. I have some very good resources in India. We’re talking six months, or at worst a year. And I’d like to see the artwork you’re bringing over, because in some cases, we should be guided by them.” She was squinting as she said it, imagining it, and he looked at her with growing interest and frank admiration.

  “You’re hired. Martha was right. You’re amazing. I like every single idea you just shared with me. Would you take the job, after I see an estimate for your fees?” But she had the distinct impression that cost wasn’t going to be an obstacle, and the woman in London who had referred her had said that Nadia wasn’t cheap but she was very good.

  “Of course I’d take the job.” She smiled at him. “That’s why I’m here. I think it will be fun to work with you. How soon would you like a presentation? And I’ll include a time and fee estimate with it,” she said, respecting his businesslike get-right-to-the-point style.

  “Does a week from today sound too unreasonable?” he asked her. “I’m better dealing with something like this on the weekends.” A week was going to be a race against time to gather all the materials she wanted to show him, and enough options to excite and inspire him, but not overwhelm or confuse him.

  “I can make it work,” she said with a look of determination. She was going to have to ask their babysitter to work for a few hours on Saturday mornings, until she didn’t need weekly meetings with him.

  “Great.” He smiled broadly at her and seemed to relax. He held out a hand and shook hers. He had a firm handshake, and a gentler look in his eyes than he had at first. “You seem like a powerhouse, Nadia. At least your separation or divorce hasn’t slowed you down any, from what I can see. I was a mess for two years the first time. I felt dead inside. The second time took me about eight months to get back on my feet. The world lost all its color for me for a while.” It was hard to imagine his being overly emotional and upset by anything. He seemed to be in full control of his life.

  “It was a difficult summer,” she admitted, “but I’m better now.” She didn’t want him to think she was falling apart just when he needed her. “It was all a bit of a surprise.”

  “It usually is,” he said with just the thinnest razor-sharp edge of bitterness in his voice. “Somebody told me you don’t know the people you’re married to until you get divorced. I think it’s true. Some people know it’s wrong right from the beginning. I never did. I got blindsided by my own stupidity, I guess. Anyway, I hope your situation goes okay. I’m sure it’s even harder with kids involved, emotionally speaking. The economics can be pretty ugly either way.” She could easily imagine that greedy women would have wanted a fortune from him. He seemed like he came from old money, had made a fortune on his own, and had a big job on top of it. It was a recipe for people wanting to take advantage of him, which wasn’t her situation with Nicolas. There were no vast fortunes involved, and what Nicolas had inherited from his parents was entirely his, and she had no problem with that. She had a successful business of her own. It wasn’t about money with Nicolas. She imagined that Gregory lived a lonely life in a rarefied world, which wasn’t her situation. Gregory Holland was all business.

  “I’ll have everything to present to you next week,” she said with a smile, and they took a last run-through to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. She would need a set of blueprints from him if he hired her. Nadia made a few notes and then he set the alarm, and they walked out together. She could hardly wait to get home and get started over the weekend. He got in his car and left, and she walked out to hers on the street.

  Two hours after she’d left home, she had an enormous new project, which she thought could turn out brilliantly, and a new client. She went to meet Nicolas in the park to pick up the girls. She was going to do errands with them that afternoon.

  “How did it go?” Nicolas asked her. He was having fun with the girls, running around and letting them chase him. His eyes lit up when he saw Nadia. He thought she looked beautiful in a red sweater and jeans, with black Hermès riding boots that were just broken in enough to look chic.

  “It went great. I think he’s going to hire me. He found a beautiful little house in a courtyard. He’s a typical American businessman, probably very tough, but smart, sharp, honest, direct, no games, and lots of money.”

  “That type of guy scares me to death.” Nicolas had the soul of an artist, and had been writing since he was a child. In better times, he was sensitive, gentle, and funny. Gregory Holland wasn’t any of those things. Her new client didn’t seem to have an artistic nature, but in some ways it was a relief. She didn’t have to massage his ego or play games with him. All she had to do was work like a dog and make the interior of his new home beautiful. A tall order, but one she felt she could achieve. And the house had good bones. It was a lot easier than dealing with the mess her husband had foisted on them.

  She left with the two girls then, and Nicolas said he’d be in touch when he came back from Brittany in a few days. He said he wasn’t staying long. Pascale’s mother’s house was tiny, with one bathroom, and there was barely room for all of them. Nicolas was accustomed to bigger spaces and more comfort, and he wasn’t crazy about her mother. Nicolas found her brassy and common. But she was useful, and had promised to take the baby off Pascale’s hands to make up for her own past sins with her daughter.

  Nadia began working on concepts and drawings for Gregory Holland on Saturday night, and again on Sunday night after Sylvie and Laure were asleep. By Monday, she was on a roll and knew what direction she was heading in. She pulled fabrics from the mills she liked to work with, and included a few photographs of sculptures on her suggestion boards. She computerized drawings and photographs to show him what it could look like.

  * * *

  —

  On Tuesday, she finally got to see her lawyer, whom she hadn’t seen since late July. She told him what she was thinking about the divorce, and their current separation.

  “You want to file the divorce, Madame Bateau, or wait until he does it?” That idea didn’t appeal to her. It put the controls back in his hands, on his schedule. If he didn’t want a divorce, he could drag it out forever, or for a very long time. And if their marriage was truly over, she wanted to close the door for good and be free.

  “He just got a small apartment last week,” she informed her attorney. “He hasn’t moved his things out, but I’m sure he will soon.”

  “It sounds like he’s still got a foot firmly planted in your camp, and probably wants to keep it that way, while he makes up his mind,” the attorney said wisely.

  “He says that he doesn’t want a divorce, and wants to come back. But he’s still with his mistress, and they’re having a baby.”

  “Are you sure you want a divorce, Madame Bateau?” he asked her pointedly. He had had plenty of clients change their minds. Sometimes it was just too hard to let go, and he suspected that she was still in love with him, despite her brave words about how “done” she was.

  “I believe so,” she said quietly. “For now I would like a legal separation that offic
ially acknowledges the fact that we’re not living together, and I don’t want him staying at the house, or even pretending he is to my children. We can always get divorced later. I see it happening more in stages, at least that’s what’s comfortable for me.” She wanted her freedom, but at a dignified pace, which she thought would be better for the children too. They had all been shocked enough.

  “We can start the wheels turning now for a legal separation. We can always turn it into a divorce,” the lawyer said. Nadia knew that she needed time each step of the way to adjust, as the air got thinner. Like mountain climbing. For now, she realized that she could handle it better, and not panic, if they did it in stages. They still had money and custody to work out, and she knew that Nicolas wasn’t ready to discuss that either. She thought she might do better with him with the sensitive issues after the baby, rather than stressing him out even more while he was already unnerved about having a baby with a woman he barely knew. He said he had been in love with Pascale at first, but Nadia wasn’t so sure. He was enamored with Pascale, and wanted her body, even pregnant. He had never seen a more gorgeous female body, but that was very different. She had a mouth and a mind and ideas which conflicted with his, even though he was choosing to ignore it so he could be with her. But to Nadia, his relationship with Pascale seemed more like lust than love.

  The separation she wanted wasn’t a solution to everything, but she felt better after she saw the lawyer. They were on a path now, moving slowly, but there was nonetheless some slight but definite forward movement toward the dissolution of their marriage.

  She felt strangely peaceful that night, and in the morning she went back to work on her proposal to Gregory Holland. True to her extraordinary work ethic, Nadia was ready for him the following Saturday when she met him at the house. She had a beautifully put-together proposal, with just enough options, but not so many she’d confuse him. She had good instincts with most of her clients about where that line was, particularly with men, who couldn’t tolerate too many decorating choices before their minds turned to mush and they refused everything to escape making any decisions.

  Gregory Holland was not afraid of making decisions. He made them every day in his office. Nadia handed him the folder and they sat on the stairs leading up to his bedroom and study. He asked very few questions and said nothing as he went through it. There were fabric samples attached throughout, paint chips, and photographs of paint finishes she thought would make the rooms more interesting and give them some texture. He looked at her when he was finished and handed it back to her. She wasn’t sure what that meant for a minute. If he was rejecting her proposal in its entirety or felt too confused to choose anything.

  “Fabulous,” he said, as he sat close to her on the stairs.

  “What part?” she asked him.

  “All of it. You’re a genius.” And he had glanced at her fee estimate without comment.

  “Can we pick some options?” she asked him cautiously, and handed the folder back to him. They went through it item by item, while he selected his favorite in each case. The process was fast, simple, and efficient, and in several instances, he loved all of her suggestions. She had never had a client as easy to deal with. In less than half an hour they were finished, including the explanation of why she thought some of the options would work well. And he thought her gray flannel guest room was the epitome of chic. He had even picked several upholstered pieces, large couches for the living room, oversized chairs in dark green leather for his study, and a dining table that seated thirty. With the choices he’d made, the house was going to have a decidedly masculine look, which suited him. He had emailed her images of the art he was having shipped from New York. They were all from major artists, Rothko, Pollock, Warhol, and a stunning Picasso they were going to put in the living room.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been able to do this part of the process as quickly,” she said, smiling at him as they left the house. “It’s terrific. I’ll get everything ordered by Monday.” She hadn’t promised him, but she was promising herself to have his house finished by Christmas, which was only three months away. She had given him a date further out, so he wouldn’t be disappointed if everything didn’t arrive as quickly as she hoped, or if they ran into problems or delays.

  “You’re a whiz, Nadia,” he said admiringly. “Do you have time for lunch?” It was a rainy Saturday, and both of her girls were out with friends. She had begun to organize her Saturdays for their morning meetings.

  “Actually, I do,” she said easily.

  “Do you like Costes?” It was trendy and popular, a lot of fashion people and models went there, and they had a year-round covered garden and good food. It was only about a block away from the Ritz in a small boutique hotel. The restaurant was jammed most of the time, and particularly during any of the fashion weeks. It was fun people-watching there.

  “I like it a lot.” You could have anything from a salad to a major meal, and the food was more international than just French, so Americans loved it.

  When they got to the hotel, there was music playing in the hallway leading to the restaurant, and the garden looked bright and cheery under a canvas canopy. The outdoor space was heated, as dozens of sexy young waitresses buzzed around in miniskirts waiting on tables. The headwaiter led them to a quiet table in the corner at Gregory’s request. Compared to most popular restaurants, it was busy but not too loud, so they could talk.

  Gregory ordered a Bloody Mary, and they ordered spring rolls and salads for lunch. He smiled as he sat back and looked at her. “It’s funny, Nadia, you seem so French to me. I forget you’re American. Are you part French too?”

  “My mother is half English and half Italian, which is a bit of a conflict. She is incredibly organized, and at the same time very creative. I think I inherited it from her.”

  “Is she an interior designer too?” He could tell from how efficient Nadia was that she had years of experience, despite the fact that she looked very young.

  “My mother is the editor-in-chief of Mode Magazine,” she said with a hint of pride. “She’s incredibly good at what she does.” He smiled as her face lit up when she said it.

  “So I’ve heard. I didn’t realize she’s British.”

  “I’ve been here for all of my adult life, including college, so I guess a lot of that has rubbed off too. I have to admit, I don’t feel very American anymore. It’s kind of a disconnect for me. My husband was…is…French, and so are my daughters. I’m just very comfortable here. I always feel a little out of place now when I go back to the States.”

  “Do you go back often?” He was interested in her, who she was, what she thought, and what made her so talented, because it was clear to him that she was.

  “A few times a year,” she answered. “I have three sisters there. Two in New York and one in L.A. We’re very close, and as different as night and day, or ‘chalk and cheese’ as the British say. We don’t even look related. One of them is a fashion designer, Venetia Wade, my next oldest sister is a superior court judge, and my sister in L.A. is a TV chef and food guru.”

  He was amused. “That’s quite a variety. It must have been fun at your house when you were growing up. What did your father do?”

  “He was in finance, and grounded all of us. That’s a lot of female energy under one roof. He handled it very well and was very supportive of my mother’s work. We still have a great time when we get together. Two of them just came over for a week in August with their families. My oldest sister, the foodie, has dogs instead of children.” He laughed.

  “Smart girl.”

  “I take it you’re not crazy about kids.” She was intrigued by that. He made occasional negative comments about children and marriage.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” he said, pensive for a moment as their food arrived. “I’ve just never wanted any.” He wasn’t a warm, cozy person, but he was obviously very smar
t, which she did find appealing. He was so quick in his responses and thought processes. “I grew up in a scientific household. My father was a research scientist and worked for a big pharmaceutical company in Texas. My mother was a doctor. They wanted me to be a doctor too, but I’ve always been attracted to business. I find investments fascinating. I love entrepreneurial ventures. What does your ex-husband do, or shouldn’t I ask?” It jolted her when he called Nicolas her ex-husband, but she realized she had to get used to it, since he was going to be.

  “He’s a writer, a novelist.” Gregory was intrigued by that.

  “That must have been interesting. Bestsellers?”

  She nodded. “He’s very well known here. It’s a pretty dull story otherwise. Several of his books have been made into movies. He had an affair with the star on his last one. The usual tabloid trash. They’re having a baby in a couple of weeks.”

  He winced when she said it. “Wow, I bet that hurt. You filed for divorce, I assume.”

  “I’m working on it. I just started the process. It took me a few months to catch my breath.”

  “I’m sorry, Nadia. That must have been nasty to live through. My last divorce was small potatoes compared to that, although finding her getting it on with my trainer wasn’t a happy moment for me either. I moved out that night. I gave her the apartment. You can see why I’m not too keen on marriage. You do get over it, but it leaves scars.” She nodded, well aware that hers were still raw, even if she was feeling better.

  “People have affairs here all the time. It’s the one part of French life I’ve never adapted to. I don’t see the point of being married and cheating.”