Sunset in St. Tropez Read online

  Pascale was beaming as Diana said it. There was nothing in the world that appealed to her more than a month in the South of France with their best friends, and even John looked somewhat resigned to it as Eric announced that it was midnight.

  “Happy New Year, sweetheart,” Eric said, kissing his wife, as Robert leaned toward Anne, kissed her discreetly on the lips, and put his arms around her as he wished her good things in the coming year, as Pascale came around the table to kiss her husband. He was surrounded by a cloud of smoke from the cigar, but she didn’t mind the taste of it, as he kissed her on the mouth with slightly more passion than she had expected. For all their battles and the noise they made, theirs was as solid a marriage as the others’, in some ways even more so, as all they had as their bond was each other, and no children to distract them.

  “I can’t wait till next summer in St. Tropez,” Pascale said breathlessly as she came up for air. “It’s going to be fantastic.”

  “If it isn’t,” John said practically, “we’ll have to kill you, Pascale, since it was your idea. Just make sure you find us a decent house. No summer rat trap that they foist off on unsuspecting tourists.”

  “I’ll find the best house in St. Tropez, I promise,” she vowed to all of them, as she took the cigar from John again, and drew on it, as she perched on his lap, and everyone talked animatedly about the plans they’d made. The one thing they all agreed on easily was that it was going to be a terrific summer. Coming up with the idea had been a wonderful way to usher in the New Year.

  2

  THE NEXT TIME THEY ALL GOT TOGETHER WAS AT Pascale and John’s West Side apartment, two weeks later, on a night when it was pouring rain. The Morrisons and Smiths arrived punctually, as always, and left their dripping raincoats and umbrellas in the Donnallys’ front hall. The decor at the Donnallys’ was eclectic, there were African masks, modern sculptures, antiques Pascale had brought from France, and beautiful Persian rugs. And there were fascinating objects she had bought on her travels with the ballet.

  The light was soft and the aroma from the kitchen delicious. She had made thick mushroom soup, and rabbit in mustard sauce for the main course. And John had opened several bottles of Haut-Brion.

  “It smells wonderful!” Anne said, warming her hands at the fire John had lit, as Pascale passed a plate of hors d’oeuvres.

  “Don’t believe everything you smell!” John warned, pouring them each a glass of champagne. “You-know-who made dinner!” he said with a grin of warning.

  “Toi alors!” Pascale said with an evil glare at him, before disappearing into the kitchen to check on dinner again. But she had good news for all of them, she said, when she came back to sit down with them on the dark red velvet couches in their living room. There was a handsome painting over the fireplace, and candles lit everywhere, and on one wall were dozens of photographs of Pascale with the New York City Ballet. It was a room that reflected both their personalities, the places they had been, and the life they led. And the aura of the room was definitely French. There was even an open pack of Gauloises on the table, which Pascale indulged in from time to time, while John smoked his cigars.

  “So what have you been up to?” Diana asked, as she leaned back against the couch, in a well-tailored black pantsuit, sipping her champagne. She had been hard at work all day, organizing another fund-raiser at Sloan-Kettering. And Eric had been up for three nights in a row, delivering babies. The whole group seemed quieter than usual, and a little tired.

  “I found a house!” Pascale beamed, as she went to the handsome old partners’ desk she and John had found in London years before. She returned with a thick manila envelope, and handed a stack of photographs to her friends. “Voila! It’s exactly what we wanted.” John reserved comment for once, he had already seen the photographs, and although he didn’t like the price, he had to admit he liked the house. It was an elegant, well-maintained, rambling old villa, with beautiful gardens and lovely grounds. It was right on the water, there was a small dock, and a pretty little sailboat came with it, which would be fun for all of them, particularly Eric and Robert and Anne, who were the sailors of the group. And the photographs of the interior showed a handsome living room filled with French provincial furniture, five huge well-decorated bedrooms, and a dining room big enough to seat two dozen people. The kitchen was immaculate, though a little old-fashioned, but it was cozy and had a lot of charm. And best of all, there was both a maid and a gardener, who was willing to act as chauffeur. Pascale was right, they all agreed, it looked like the perfect house. In fact, it was called Coup de Foudre, which meant “love at first sight,” or “bolt of lightning.” It was available for the entire month of August, and quite reasonably, because of the desirability of the house, the owners wanted to know immediately if they were going to rent it.

  “Wow, that looks great, Pascale,” Diana said with pleasure, poring over the pictures again. “It even has two guest rooms, if we want to invite friends, or some of our kids. And I love the idea of the maid. I don’t mind cooking, but I hate cleaning up after.”

  “Exactly,” Pascale said, looking thrilled that they liked it. “It’s a little expensive,” she admitted hesitantly, “but divided by three, it’s not so bad.” John rolled his eyes at that, but even he had to admit that it wasn’t beyond reason. He was going to use air miles to cover the air fare, and if the girls did most of the cooking, and they didn’t go out to fashionable restaurants every night, it almost sounded reasonable to him.

  “Do you suppose it really is as good as it looks in the pictures?” Robert asked cautiously, helping himself to Pascale’s hors d’oeuvres. Her culinary skills were a lot better than John admitted. Most of the pretty little canapés had already been devoured, and the aroma wafting from the kitchen smelled delicious.

  “Why would they lie to us?” Pascale asked, looking surprised. It was the same thing John had said. “I used a very reputable agent to find it. I can ask my mother to fly down to see it, if you want.”

  “Oh God, no!” John said, looking horrified. “Don’t let her get involved in this. She’ll tell them I’m a rich American banker, and they’ll double the price.” He looked agonized just thinking of it, and the others laughed at him.

  “I think it looks absolutely perfect,” Anne said sensibly. She had been enthusiastic about the project from the beginning. “I think we ought to move on it before we lose it to someone else. And even if it turns out to be a little less perfect than the pictures, so what? How bad can a month be in a villa in the South of France? I vote that we fax them tonight and tell them we want it,” she said decisively, with a warm smile to Pascale. “You did a great job!”

  “Thank you,” Pascale said, looking ecstatic. She loved the idea of spending an additional month in France. She always stayed with her family in Paris for most of June, and all of July. But this year she could also stay for August.

  “I agree with Anne,” Robert said without hesitation. “And I like the idea of the guest rooms. I know our kids would love to come over for a few days, if the rest of you don’t mind.”

  “I’ll bet ours would too,” Eric joined in, and Diana nodded.

  “I don’t know if Katherine’s husband could get away, but I know she’d love to come over with the boys, and Samantha is crazy about France.”

  “So am I,” Anne smiled. “Do we agree then? Shall we do it?” They rapidly calculated how much it would cost each couple, and although John pretended to clutch his heart as they converted it to dollars, in the end they all agreed that for a house as large and well cared for as this one, it was a fair price, and well worth doing.

  “It’s a done deal then,” Robert said, looking pleased. He knew he could arrange to take the month off, and he wanted Anne to take a vacation. She had been looking very tired, and even she admitted that she worked too hard. Robert had even told her lately that he thought she should think about retiring. Life was too short to spend every waking hour either in the office, in the courtroom, or preparing c
ases for their litigators to try. Although she loved her work, it was very stressful, and her clients demanded a lot of her. She worked nights and some weekends, and although her career was her passion, he was beginning to think it was time for her to slow down. He wanted to spend more time with her. “Will you take the whole month off?” he asked his wife pointedly as Pascale called them in to dinner, and Anne nodded, with a twinkle in her eye. “Do you mean that? I’m going to hold you to it, you know,” he said, as he pulled her close to him and kissed her. He was really looking forward to their time together in France. For the past two years, she had cut short their vacations in order to come back to the office and handle emergencies for her clients.

  “I promise to stay for the whole time,” she said solemnly, and meant it. For now at least.

  “Then it’s worth every penny,” Robert said, looking happy as they walked into the dining room arm in arm. They looked very distinguished together, and very cozy.

  “Particularly with a sailboat,” she teased him. Sailing with him was one of her great pleasures, and it always reminded them of their early summers on Cape Cod, when the children were small.

  All six of them talked animatedly about the house in St. Tropez all night. It was a lively, friendly evening. They talked briefly as well about their work and their children, but for the most part, they talked about the villa and the time they were planning in France.

  And as they sat drinking Chateau d’Yquem afterward, at the dining table, they felt the warm glow of the pleasure they had in store for them. It sounded like a perfect summer to all of them.

  “I can even go down a few days before, if they let me, to get things organized and buy whatever we need for the house,” Pascale volunteered, although there wouldn’t be much to add, the brochure said that the house came fully equipped with bed linens, towels, everything they needed in the kitchen, and Eric said he was sure that the couple who came with the house would probably have everything well in hand. “I don’t mind going down before you all arrive,” Pascale said cheerfully, and even her husband smiled. They had come up with a very appealing plan.

  It was nearly midnight when they finally disbanded, and the Morrisons and Smiths shared a cab to the East Side. It was still raining, but they were in high spirits, as Anne leaned back against the seat in the cab and smiled at them. Robert suspected that he was the only one who noticed how tired she looked. She seemed exhausted.

  “Are you okay?” Robert asked her gently after they dropped off the Morrisons. Anne had been quieter than usual in the cab, and he could see that she was tired. She had been pushing herself too hard again.

  “I’m absolutely fine,” she said with less energy than conviction, “I was just thinking about how nice it’s going to be to spend a month in France. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do with you than have time like that, reading, relaxing, sailing, swimming. I just wish it weren’t such a long time from now.” It seemed a long time to wait for their next vacation.

  “So do I,” Robert echoed. The cab dropped them off in front of their house on East Eighty-ninth Street, and they rushed inside to get out of the rain, and as Robert watched Anne take off her coat in their comfortable apartment, he thought she looked pale. “I wish you’d take some time off before next summer. Why don’t we take a long weekend, and go someplace warm for a few days?” He worried about her, he always had. She was the most precious person in his life. Even more than his children, Anne had always been his top priority. She was his lover, his confidante, his ally, his best friend. She was the hub of his existence.

  When she’d been pregnant, and for the few times she’d been ill in their thirty-eight years together, he had treated her like antique glass. He was, by nature, a very nurturing person. She loved that about him, his tenderness, his caring, his gentle spirit. She had seen that in him the first time she met him, and the years since had proven her right. In some ways, she was hardier than he was, tougher, stronger, and in some ways less forgiving. She was fierce when defending her clients’ rights, or her children, but it was Robert who had always owned her heart. She didn’t say it to him often, but theirs was a bond that had withstood the test of time, and needed few words. When they were younger, they used to talk more, about their hopes, their dreams, and how they felt. It was Robert who was the romantic, the dreamer who envisioned what the years ahead would be like. Anne was always more practical, and more wrapped up in their daily life. And as the years went on, there seemed to be less to talk about, less need to plan and look ahead. They just moved along, hand in hand, from year to year, satisfied with what they’d done, respectful of the lessons they’d learned. The only tragedy they had shared had been the loss of a fourth child, another daughter, at birth. It had devastated Anne at the time, but she had recovered quickly, thanks to Robert’s support and kindness. It was Robert who had mourned the little girl for years, and who still talked about her from time to time. Anne had put it behind her, and instead of grieving for what she had lost, she was satisfied with what she had. But knowing how deeply Robert felt things, she was careful with his emotions, and unfailingly kind. He was the sort of person you wanted to shield from things that hurt him. Anne always seemed just a little better able than he was to take the blows that life dealt.

  “What do you want to do tomorrow?” he asked as she slipped into bed beside him in a blue flannel nightgown. She was a handsome woman, not beautiful, but distinguished, elegant, and fine. And in some ways, he thought her even more attractive than he had when they were first married. She had the kind of looks that improved with time. She had worn well as his lifetime companion.

  “Tomorrow, I want to sleep late, and read the paper,” she answered with a yawn. “Do you want to go to a movie tomorrow afternoon?” They liked going to the movies, usually foreign films, or serious ones, which more often than not made Robert cry. When they were younger, she used to tease him about it. Anne never cried in movies. But she loved his tenderness and soft heart.

  “That sounds like fun.” They had a good time together, they enjoyed the same people, the same music and books, most of the same things, even more so now than in their early years. In the beginning, there had been more differences between them, but Robert had shared so much with her that over time, their tastes had merged, and their differences disappeared. What they shared now was intensely comfortable, like a huge feather bed into which they sank, hand in hand, with total ease.

  “I’m glad Pascale found that house,” Anne said as she drifted off to sleep, cuddled up to him. “I think next summer is really going to be fun.”

  “I can’t wait to spend some time sailing with you,” he said, as he pulled her close to him. He had felt amorous toward her earlier that night, while they got dressed to go to the Donnallys’, but she was so tired now, it would have seemed unfair to try and make love to her. She worked too hard, and pushed herself too much. He made a mental note to lecture her about it the next day, he hadn’t seen her this tired in years. And as he held her in his arms, she fell asleep almost instantly, and a few minutes later, he was asleep too, snoring softly.

  It was four o’clock in the morning when he woke up, and heard Anne in the bathroom, she was coughing, and it sounded as though she was throwing up. He could see the light under the bathroom door, and he waited a few minutes to see if she came back to bed. But ten minutes later, there was no sound, and she still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom. He got up finally, and knocked on the door, but she didn’t answer.

  “Anne, are you okay?” He was waiting to hear her say that she was fine and for him to go back to bed, but there was no sound from within. “Anne? Sweetheart … are you sick?” The dinner Pascale had prepared had been delicious, but heavy and rich. He waited another minute or two, and then gently turned the knob and peeked in, and what he saw was his wife, lying on the floor, her hair disheveled, her nightgown askew. There was evidence that she’d been vomiting, she was unconscious, and her face was gray, her lips almost blue. The sight of her terri
fied him. “Oh my God … oh my God …” He checked her pulse, and he could still feel it, but he couldn’t see her breathe. He wasn’t sure whether to try to revive her, or call 911. And in the end, he ran for his cellular phone, returned to Anne rapidly, and called from the bathroom. He had tried to shake her, call her name, but Anne showed no sign of regaining consciousness, and Robert could see that her lips were turning a deep blue. The 911 operator was already on the phone by then, and he gave his name and address and told them his wife was unconscious and barely breathing.

  “Did she hit her head?” the operator said in a businesslike tone, as Robert fought back tears of terror and frustration.

  “I don’t know … do something … please … send someone right away….” He put his cheek close to her nose, still holding the phone, but he could feel no breath on his face, and this time when he felt for her pulse, at first he thought it was gone, and then he picked it up again, but he could hardly feel it. It was as though she were rapidly slipping away from him, and he could do nothing to stop it. “Please … please help me … I think she’s dying “

  “There’s an ambulance on the way,” the voice said reassuringly, “but I need some more information from you. How old is your wife?”

  “Sixty-one.”

  “Does she have a history of heart disease?”

  “No, she was tired, very, very tired, and she’s overworked,” and then without saying more, he put down the phone, and gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, he could hear her breath catch and she let out a sigh, but there was no other sign of life from her. She was as gray as she had been before, as Robert picked up his phone again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her, maybe she fainted and hit her head. She threw up.…”

  “Did she have chest pains before she got sick?” the voice asked.

  “I don’t know. I was asleep. When I woke up, I heard her coughing and getting sick, and when I came into the bathroom, she was passed out on the floor,” but as he said the words, he could hear sirens approaching, and all he could do was pray that it was an ambulance for her. “I hear an ambulance … is that ours?”