French Coast (10 page)

“I spent the next six months seeing shrinks, and finally they sent me to boarding school in England,” Zoe mused. “My mother was so angry at him for leaving me alone, it took her a year to move back in their bedroom.”

“I don't know what to say,” Serena said. Her chest felt tight and her stomach turned over.

“Six years of boarding school, four years at St. Andrew's, some very understanding house mothers, and an addiction to Cadbury chocolate,” Zoe said, and smiled, scooping up a handful of peanuts from the console between them. “I'm almost good as new, but I'm not very good at being alone.”

“Why is your father in Cannes?” Serena frowned.

“I moved back to Sydney after university,” Zoe continued. “My parents wanted me to live at home but I rented a flat in Darling Point with two girlfriends. My father taught me about Gladding House and my mother put me on her charity boards.

“Last month we traveled to London to accept my father's knighthood. I hadn't seen my mother so radiant in years; she wore a floor-length Collette Dinnigan gown with gold Manolos. My father surprised her with a diamond-and-sapphire pendant from Harry Winston. We stayed at Claridge's and ate at the Savoy and saw a play in the West End.

“My mother returned to Sydney to chair a charity ball, and my father and I were going to travel to Paris and Milan. He wanted to show me the capitals of fashion. I knocked on the door of his suite to go to the airport.” Zoe blinked back tears. “He had checked out. He left a note saying he had to take care of something, and I should go back to Sydney without him.”

“How did you know he was in Cannes?” Serena asked.

“I hacked into his credit card account and saw he booked a flight to Cannes and reserved a room at the Carlton-InterContinental.”

“He's staying in the same hotel!” Serena exclaimed. The speedboat drove close to the shore and Serena could see sunbathers lying on fluffy yellow towels. Children built castles in the sand, filling red plastic buckets with water.

“That's why I checked in under the name Zoe Pistachio. I was going to surprise him, and then I saw him in the lobby with that woman.” Zoe's face crumpled and she sipped her iced tea noisily. “My parents are fixtures in Sydney society. They're always photographed on someone's yacht or at someone's beach house. I've never seen my father look at another woman.”

“Maybe she works for Gladding House,” Serena offered.

“I've been following them for days,” Zoe replied. “Morning croissants at the Carlton Bar, dinner at La Palme d'Or. I even saw them in Bouteille—the perfume costs more than gold per ounce. She's so beautiful, she's like a centerfold without the airbrushing.”

“You can't snoop around like Nancy Drew,” Serena insisted. “You have to ask him what's going on.”

“I can't knock on his door and say, ‘Why are you shacking up with some bronze pencil when your wife is at the Sydney Opera House donating a hundred-thousand-dollar check to the cystic fibrosis foundation?'”

Serena waited until the driver tied up the speedboat at the dock. She handed him a wad of euros and jumped onto the landing.

“Where are we going?” Zoe asked when they reached the sand.

“I'm a journalist.” Serena walked quickly through the throng of bodies. “I make my living asking people uncomfortable questions. Maybe it's perfectly innocent; she's the daughter of an old friend. You won't know unless you ask him.”

They reached the boulevard and waited for the light to change. Zoe gazed at the flags flying above the Carlton and turned to Serena. “What if I don't like the answer?”

 

chapter eight

Serena slipped diamond teardrop earrings into her ears and gazed at her reflection. She had showered and put on a sheer turquoise dress over a lace slip. She tied her hair in a low knot and secured it with a gold pin. She dabbed her wrists with Givenchy and coated her lips with pink lipgloss.

“Are we really going to sit in the lobby bar and wait for them to walk by?” Zoe asked as she appeared at the door of Serena's bedroom. She wore a yellow linen dress with a thin gold belt. Her bangs were brushed to the side and her cheeks were dusted with sparkly blush. “I'll give my father a heart attack.”

Serena smiled at Zoe. “You look lovely. I like your hair, and that dress suits you.”

“My father is my backgammon partner and the only person I know who can do the
Sydney Morning Herald
crossword puzzle.” Zoe turned to the mirror, wrinkling her nose at her reflection. “I can't march up to him and accuse him of having a mistress.”

The doorbell rang and Zoe disappeared to the living room. Serena heard her talking to someone and then she poked her head in the door. “It's for you.”

Serena frowned, hoping she hadn't missed an appointment with Yvette. She walked into the foyer and saw the door of the suite flung open. Chase stood in the entry, wearing tan slacks and a blue blazer. His hair touched his collar and his cheeks were freshly shaven.

Serena dropped her purse on the cream marble. She picked it up and felt her heart hammer in her chest. She hadn't realized how much she missed Chase, how she'd been living on pins and needles since he called.

“What are you doing here?” Serena asked, standing up and smoothing her skirt.

Chase walked over and kissed her softly on the lips. His white collared shirt was wrinkled and he smelled of Tommy Hilfiger cologne and mint shampoo.

“I remembered I have a date,” Zoe interrupted. “I'll see you two later.”

Serena pulled away, her cheeks turning pink. “This is Chase.”

“I gathered that,” Zoe replied, grinning. “He's even better than his photo.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you.” Chase held out his hand. “Please don't leave because of me.”

“I'm meeting a Swiss polo player at La Plage for cocktails,” Zoe said as she walked to the door. “He's going to help with my badminton swing.”

“Wait,” Serena called, following Zoe into the hallway. “You don't have a date with a polo player; you promised you wouldn't lie.”

“I promised I wouldn't lie to you.” Zoe waited at the elevator. “Your incredibly hot fiancé flew five thousand miles to see you.”

“But we were going to sit at the lobby bar and wait for your father.” Serena frowned.

“I don't think my father is in any hurry to stop working on his tan,” Zoe replied. “We'll do it tomorrow. I have a sudden desire to go dancing at Bâoli. It doesn't get going until midnight, so don't expect me back until late.”

Serena watched Zoe step into the elevator and grinned. “I was wrong, you are a true friend.”

*   *   *

“I didn't think Chelsea's expense account stretched to this,” Chase said, standing in the middle of the living room gazing at the crystal vase of birds of paradise, the sideboard set with gold-inlaid china, the silk curtains pulled back to reveal the twinkling harbor.

“The Carlton-InterContinental messed up my reservation.” Serena stood beside him. “I met Zoe and she offered to share her suite. It's a bit over the top.”

“It's spectacular.” Chase stepped onto the balcony and leaned against the railing. “It suits you, you've never looked so beautiful.”

“I thought you were at a retreat at the Bohemian Grove.” Serena joined him and gazed down at the Boulevard de la Croisette.

“I stood under a massive redwood tree listening to men wearing suspenders discuss torts.” Chase breathed in the sweet night air. “And decided I'd much rather be in the South of France with you.”

“That was a smart decision,” Serena said, grinning. She wanted to ask Chase about the letter and her father but the night was so beautiful—the sky filled with stars, the yachts bobbing in the harbor, the sound of laughter floating up from the avenue—she didn't want to break the spell.

Chase put his arm around Serena and pulled her close. He kissed her slowly, running one hand down her back. He reached under her dress and stroked her breasts, gently massaging her nipples.

“You must be starving,” Serena said when he released her. “Room service changes the buffet every few hours. There's smoked salmon and cracked lobster and sliced honeydew melon.”

Chase pulled the gold pin out of her hair. “I haven't slept in twenty-four hours and I ate rubber chicken and soggy French fries on the plane. I'd love to lie down on a king-size bed with crisp sheets and down-filled pillows.”

“No shower?” Serena asked. Her body felt like it was lit by an electric charge, and a warmth spread between her legs.

“Why would I want to shower,” Chase whispered, “when we're going to get sweaty.”

*   *   *

Chase stood at the side of the bed. He unzipped his slacks and draped them over a chair. He walked over to Serena and unsnapped her bra, his fingers warm and familiar against her skin.

He turned her around, tugging at her panties. He thrust his fingers inside her so quickly she felt like she had stopped at the top of a roller coaster. His fingers worked faster, deeper, pushing her to the edge. She felt the sense of wonderment and then the gasp of exquisite release. He kept his fingers inside her, not satisfied until she gripped his shoulders, waiting for the waves to subside.

“Come here,” he whispered, leading her to the bed. She lay on the cotton sheets and watched him peel off his socks. She pulled him on top of her, pressing her fingers into his back. She drew him inside her and arched her body against his chest. He came first, falling against her breasts and burying his head in the pillow until she wrapped her legs tightly around him and let her body split open.

*   *   *

Serena opened her eyes and glanced at the bedside clock. It was almost two
A.M.
and suddenly she was thirsty. She gingerly moved Chase's arm and slipped on a robe, padding into the living room. She poured a glass of Fiji water and nibbled a chocolate-covered strawberry, feeling deliciously wanton and decadent.

She picked up Chase's blazer to carry it to the bedroom and his plane ticket fell out of the pocket. She reached down and gazed at it absently. Suddenly she saw the date and froze.

Why had Chase said he just arrived when his ticket said his plane landed in Nice two days ago? She put the ticket in his pocket and walked back into the bedroom. She climbed into bed next to Chase and tried to stop her heart from racing.

*   *   *

Serena woke and saw Chase's side of the bed was empty. She remembered him tucking her against his chest, his skin glistening with sweat. Then she flashed on the date on the plane ticket and a pit formed in her stomach.

She jumped out of bed and slipped on a yellow knit dress. She brushed her hair and tied it with a yellow ribbon. She walked into the living room and found Chase eating a triple-decker turkey club sandwich.

“I was telling Chase you should go to Australia on your honeymoon.” Zoe sat at the round glass dining-room table, nibbling a piece of toast with honey.

“I woke up starving.” Chase wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Zoe was kind enough to order lunch.”

“I love watching Americans eat,” Zoe said, grinning. “They put bacon on bread and smother everything with mayonnaise.”

“We could go to the Marché Forville,” Serena suggested. “Buy baguettes and pâté and have a picnic in La Croix des Gardes.”

“I'm going to the Casino Croisette,” Zoe announced. “I have an appointment with a roulette wheel.”

“I'll shower and let you ladies plan the day,” Chase said as he stood up, kissing Serena on the cheek.

Serena waited until she heard the shower running and turned to Zoe.

“Why are you gambling in the middle of the day?”

“Because I overheard my father ask the valet for directions to the casino.” Zoe stabbed her toast with a knife. “He's never gambled in his life. I can't let him go there with her, she'll make him bet his Rolex or his wedding ring.”

“I'd go with you but I need to talk to Chase.” Serena twisted her ponytail. She wished she'd told Zoe that Chase insisted they not mention the engagement. She didn't want her new friend to think she was abandoning her.

“I'll be fine, I can practice my French.” Zoe smiled, grabbing her wide straw hat and dark sunglasses. “What trouble can I get into at a casino in broad daylight?”

*   *   *

Serena and Chase walked along the harbor, passing rows of sleek chrome-and-glass yachts. Neither of them had said a word since they walked out the revolving glass doors and down the Boulevard de la Croisette. Chase curled his fingers around hers, but there was something about his expression that made Serena uneasy.

“My father would love it here,” Serena said finally. “Can you imagine him parking the
Serena
among these yachts?”

“The
Serena
would fit in perfectly,” Chase said, then hesitated, drawing an old color photo out of his blazer pocket. He wore tan slacks with a white collared shirt and beige loafers. “I have a photo, it came with the letter.”

Serena studied the photo of a man and a woman standing in front of a whitewashed villa. The man had blond hair and green eyes and carried a baby girl in a pink ruffled dress. The woman had long glossy brown hair and wore a white miniskirt and gold hoop earrings. She held hands with a little boy in a powder-blue suit.

“Who are these people?”

“The woman's name is Jeanne Delon, and the children are Giles and Veronique.” Chase dug his hands into his pockets. “The man is your father.”

“This could be anywhere, my mother might have taken the photo.”

Chase turned the picture over and read the faded cursive. “In the garden of Villa Mer, Antibes, 1988.”

“That's almost thirty years ago!” Serena exclaimed. “My father wasn't in France then.”