Nine Lives Read online

  Brad had been just the opposite from her father, and had protected Maggie and Aden from anything that might happen if he died. His insurance policy had cost him a fortune in his lifetime, sometimes even more than he could afford, Maggie realized. But it provided her with a lifestyle that she had never dreamed of, like this trip, which was possible for her now. Even after his death he had taken care of her handsomely, which was so typical of Brad. And Aden would have a solid foundation under him, and a great education, without their ever touching the money from the airline. Brad had already given them everything they needed. The airline money was just an unimaginable bonus, like winning the lottery, and she wanted that money to go to Aden one day for having lost his father so young.

  Maggie felt incredibly blessed and lucky as she explored the Left and Right Banks, walked past every monument, went to museums, hunted for famous statues in tiny parks, and fell in love with the Rodin Museum. She took herself to tea at the Plaza Athénée and La Durée, had lunch at the famous Café de Flore and the Deux Magots, dug around in antique shops, and admired the spectacular flower arrangements by Jeff Latham in the lobby of the Hotel George V. She bought flowers from a street vendor and asked a maid at the Ritz to put them in a vase. It was another incredibly romantic city, and she wished she had seen it with Brad, but she was so happy there and so busy once again that she didn’t mind being alone, and reminded herself that this was now her life, having to experience everything on her own. She was slowly making her peace with it, adjusting to her solitude and new circumstances. She couldn’t imagine sharing her life again with someone else. It felt like her destiny now to be on her own. She chatted easily with people in museums and bistros, some of them Americans, others from all over Europe. Every day was an adventure and every encounter interesting.

  She could easily see why Helen said she wanted to live there for a year. Maggie couldn’t imagine being lonely there. The underlying feeling was one of contentment and peace, and a rich abundance of beauty all around her. When she woke early in the morning and looked out over the Place Vendôme, the light was a soft luminous pearl-gray washing over the rooftops until the sun broke through the clouds a little later and bathed all in sunlight with blue skies. It stayed light very late at night, until ten o’clock. She could see why it was called the City of Light. And she loved watching the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the night sky on the hour.

  She was picking up her key at the desk one afternoon, when she saw a brochure for a very grand-looking hotel in Monaco. It reminded her of her travel agent’s suggestion to visit the South of France if she had time. Monaco was a tiny principality, nestled along the French coastline. It was where Grace Kelly had married a storybook prince in the 1950s and become Princess Grace of Monaco. Maggie looked at the brochure for a minute and inquired about it at the desk.

  “Is it complicated to get there?” She wasn’t sure where it was.

  “Oh no, madame, it’s a short hour’s flight. It’s quite close. Directly south, on the Riviera.” He mentioned Saint-Tropez too, which was more of a beach town, and very fashionable. According to the concierge, Monte Carlo was a tiny city, with a port full of yachts and a very international group of visitors, great restaurants, and an elegant casino where people gambled and played blackjack and roulette. It sounded like fun to Maggie, and a little bit old-fashioned, which appealed to her. She was going to London, but the concierge said she could easily fly from Nice to London. He said the weather in the South was excellent at this time of year, and still very warm. She could lie by the pool at her hotel after she saw the sights. It would be a pleasant interlude between Paris and the hubbub of London. She was in no rush to get back to the States. She had adjusted to the more leisurely pace of Europe, where quality of life was all-important. She could feel her own rhythm slow as she explored first Rome and then Paris. Monte Carlo seemed like an excellent stop on the way to London. She had seen everything she wanted to in Paris, although she hated to leave, just as she had been sad to leave Rome. But she was sure she would come back again, and maybe see Venice next time, and other European cities, like Barcelona or Madrid. Her trip had been perfect so far, at just the right speed, but there was so much more to see that she hadn’t seen on this trip. She was feeling adventuresome, which was new for her. She had met several other widows, some of them traveling together. They were older than she was, but there was a kind of unspoken understanding between them, like a secret club.

  On the spur of the moment, she asked the concierge to book her a room at the Hermitage in Monte Carlo for the weekend. She could leave for London on Monday, and was planning to spend a week there before she went home.

  He called her in her room a few minutes later and told her it was all confirmed. She was on a ten o’clock flight the next morning, would fly into Nice, and be at the Hermitage by noon, which would give her a whole day to explore, go for walks, and lie by the pool, and even go to the casino at night. Even if she didn’t gamble, it sounded like a scene worth observing, as high rollers from all over the world came to play.

  She packed her bags that night, went for a last walk around the Place Vendôme, and left the hotel at eight o’clock the next morning, to catch her ten a.m. flight.

  This time a white Rolls picked her up at the airport in Nice, which felt mildly embarrassing, but it seemed like fun in the spirit of the moment. Her room at the Hermitage looked out over the sparkling water of the Mediterranean. She noticed that there were huge yachts in the port, and promised herself she’d go for a walk there later to check it out.

  She had lunch by the pool, then walked around Monte Carlo for a while. Every luxury shop in the world was represented there, and then she walked down to the port and stood admiring the many large boats moored in the harbor. There was a whole section of the largest yachts, with uniformed crews washing down the boats, or the owners and their friends on deck having an elegant late lunch. She was fascinated by it, then she saw the largest sailboat among them. A sleek beauty, with a flag she didn’t recognize flying off the back of the boat. She was called Lady Luck, which made Maggie smile as she walked past her. The crew were diligently washing the boat, and the owner was nowhere in evidence. It looked like a wonderful life, sitting on the deck of those yachts. She walked back up the hill to the hotel after she left the port. It was a steep hill and a healthy walk.

  She went swimming in the hotel pool late that afternoon, and took out her one slightly dressier dress to wear to the casino that night. They told her that it was usually pretty thinly populated until after midnight, and lively after that. So she ate dinner late at her hotel, and at twelve-thirty, she walked the short distance to the casino. As the concierge had told her, there were lots of people getting out of chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royces, tourists in evening clothes. She heard Russian, Arabic, Chinese, English, and French all around her, as well as a little German and some Italian. It looked like a tiny city mostly for the rich, and since it was a tax haven where residents didn’t pay taxes, it was a magnet for people with a great deal of money. She saw several Ferraris pull up too, and beautiful women in evening gowns getting out. When she walked into the casino, she saw that most of the tables were full. It looked like a busy night, it was Saturday, and everyone was out.

  She stopped at the roulette table for a while, which was fun but never seemed as exciting to her as blackjack or poker. She and Brad had gone to Las Vegas for some of his conventions. Neither of them were big gamblers, but it had been a lot of fun just playing the slot machines and watching the people intent at the blackjack tables.

  Monte Carlo was infinitely more elegant and far more glamorous. The way people were dressed, who was there. Their whole demeanor, and the international mix among the crowd. She felt underdressed in her simple black dress, with her hair down. She noticed that all the women surrounding the tables and strolling through the casino were covered in expensive jewels. All she had was her gold wedding band and a small gold wat
ch Brad had given her. She didn’t feel as though she was competing with the women in the casino. They were all standing close to the men they had come with, who were gambling, and a few of the women were gambling too. Maggie felt like an invisible observer whom no one would notice, and was surprised to see several men staring at her. She was beautiful and didn’t know it, and didn’t really care. One of them invited her for a drink, and she politely declined. He had a heavy Spanish accent and was very handsome, but she was content to watch the gaming tables and didn’t want to get tangled up with any man. She wasn’t there for that. Just to have fun and see the life of the casino.

  She noticed at one table they were playing blackjack with important-looking men in every seat. The stakes were high, and there was a huge amount of chips on the table. She wasn’t sure how much it added up to, but she guessed at several hundred thousand euros, an almost equal amount of dollars. None of the players were speaking, the atmosphere was intense, and a few minutes after she began to watch, a youngish-looking man with silver-gray hair and a broad grin won. The croupier pushed an astounding amount of chips toward him, which he put in neat piles in front of him, and then started the betting again, as the men he had beaten groaned. He was handsome and looked much younger than the gray hair suggested. He appeared about Maggie’s age, and had a youthful air. He looked vaguely familiar but she didn’t know him. She heard him speak and he sounded American. He won the next hand too, much to everyone’s dismay, but he lost a lot of money on the round after. It didn’t seem to bother him, he remained good humored, and put a stack of chips in again. He looked up to where Maggie was standing and smiled at her. He had noticed her for a while and suddenly he called across to her with a look of surprise.

  “Maggie Kelly? Is that you?” She was startled to hear her maiden name and nodded as he laughed. Suddenly she realized who it was, as her eyes grew wide in disbelief. It was Paul Gilmore, her high school love who had gone off to race motorcycles and later cars. She hadn’t seen him in thirty years, he had disappeared into the mists of another life. She remembered how dangerous and wild her mother had thought him, and her dire predictions about him, and now here he was, winning and losing a fortune at the high-stakes table in Monte Carlo. She remembered how poor he was when they were in school and the shabby cottage he lived in with his mother. It was obvious he had done well. She remembered his saying he would be rich one day, and apparently he was. She vaguely recalled hearing that he was a famous Formula One driver, but his life was light-years from hers by then, and she was happily married to Brad. He wasn’t interested in car races and Paul Gilmore was off her radar, and now suddenly he was smiling at her as though he had never left.

  He had the aura of a rich man, and had the same dazzling smile as when he flew past her on his skateboard at seventeen. He beckoned to her as he picked up a hand, and she made her way quietly around the table to stand behind him. Then the chair next to him became vacant, and he whispered to her to sit next to him and bring him luck. His eyes were full of mischief and he almost looked the same, except for the gray hair.

  “You’ve been doing fine without me,” she whispered as she sat down, and made no comments as they played. Paul lost again, but not as much, and again didn’t seem bothered by it. He filled his pockets with the vast amount of chips he had left, and stood up to cash them in.

  “Bonsoir, Monsieur Gilmore,” the croupier said. Paul left the table and Maggie followed him. He stopped immediately and gave her an enormous hug. She remembered easily how close they had been and how much she loved him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked her.

  “I’m on vacation,” she said, slightly embarrassed. It was too much to explain, without sounding pathetic.

  “Are you alone?”

  She nodded, suddenly feeling seventeen again. She had turned eighteen while they were dating. He was slightly older than she was, forty-nine now, and she was forty-eight. He still had a handsome boyish face, and the silver hair made him look sophisticated, but it was still Paul, no matter how far life had taken him from their humble beginnings. No one would have guessed it to look at him now. He had the appearance of a man of substance, accustomed to the fast life. “Come and have a drink with me,” he said, visibly happy to see her. He cashed in his chips and put the money in his pocket, then led her to the bar. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, as though she were some kind of mirage.

  “You haven’t changed a bit,” he said, still beaming at her, and she laughed.

  “You must be blind. I wish that were true.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Thirty years.”

  “We have a lot of catching up to do.” He ordered champagne for both of them. “What are you doing here? Do you live in Europe?” he asked. She laughed at the thought and suddenly wished she did. He seemed so worldly and sophisticated, she felt like a hick next to him.

  “No. I live in Lake Forest, Illinois. I’m just here on vacation.” She tried to make it sound ordinary, although it wasn’t for her, and she was acutely aware of how plain her dress was, and how simple she looked compared to the other women in the casino. When they had known each other, he had lived in that awful cottage, dirt poor, racing motorcycles, and she had had a stable home with Harry and her mother, who hadn’t approved of him. He appeared to have done well in thirty years. Everyone in the casino seemed to know him and smiled when they saw him.

  “Why are you here alone? You’re married?” She was wearing her wedding ring. He knew nothing of her life since he’d last seen her. He had never gone home again, except for two days when his mother died, not long after he won his first big race. He had lost touch with everyone from his past.

  She shook her head with a serious expression when he asked if she was married. “No, I’m not,” she said simply.

  He pointed to the ring with a quizzical expression. “Divorced? Bad guy? I remember how much your mother hated me.”

  Maggie grinned at the memory. “She thought you were wild and dangerous, and said you would break my heart.” But he hadn’t, they had parted on good terms when he left right after they graduated. She went to college, and he went to Southern California and Mexico to race. “No, I’m not divorced, and he was a great guy. We loved each other and we have a son. We were in a plane crash last December, and he died.”

  “Oh God. I’m sorry, Maggie. Was he flying his own plane? I fly too. That hits close to home.” She smiled at the question, his life was obviously a lot more extravagant than theirs, and worlds apart.

  “No, it was a commercial flight, from Chicago to New York. We wound up in the Hudson River in a snowstorm. Forty-nine people died and he was one of them.”

  “What rotten luck.” He looked sympathetic and sad for her. She was still beautiful and too young to be a widow.

  She nodded, there wasn’t much more to add, except that it had nearly killed her and this was the first trip she’d ever taken alone, which she didn’t want to say.

  “What about you? Married? Kids?” she asked him.

  “Twice and none,” he answered with a grin. “I’ve been divorced twice, no kids. My exes tell me that my lifestyle is not compatible with marriage. Formula One racing, I climbed Everest ten years ago, helicopter skiing. I still like the scary challenges, women don’t. Not in a husband anyway. And it never seemed right to me to have kids, given the things I like to do, so I never did. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”

  “So you haven’t changed.” She smiled. He still liked all the high-risk, dangerous activities, her mother had been right. But she admired him for being responsible and not adding children to the mix. And his wives had bailed. “Where do you live?”

  “All over the place. Paris, London, I have an apartment there. In Paris, I have a permanent suite at the Ritz. I have an apartment here too,” he said.

  “I just stayed at the Ritz,” Maggie said.

 
“I spend time in Switzerland too. New York occasionally. My work goes with me, so I can live pretty much anywhere.” He seemed totally at ease and comfortable in his own skin. And he looked delighted to see her again. “How old is your son?” He wanted to know everything about her.

  “He just started college in September, at Boston University.” He understood better now. She was trying to find her way, and totally alone. Her husband had died, her son was gone. He felt a pang of deep sorrow for her, but she was brave and honest as she gazed at him. She always had been, and she looked no different to him now. “This is my first trip alone, and first trip to Europe,” she confessed.

  “What did your husband do?” He wondered what kind of man she’d married.

  “He owned a family accounting firm.”

  “Do you work too?” He could just imagine it, they had had a wholesome, clean-cut, simple suburban life, and the bottom had dropped out of her world when her husband died.