Three Weeks in Paris. Barbara Taylor Bradford

had all happened seven years ago…a long time, a lot of water under the bridge.

      And could she actually face being in Paris? She didn’t know. Paris was Lucien.

      Lucien no longer existed.

      That had to be true, because he had never surfaced, never reappeared. She still heard from Alain Bonnal occasionally, and he was as baffled as she continued to be; they had come up with every scenario they could think of, and were never satisfied with any of them, never sure what could have happened.

      Accept the invitation. Go to Paris, just for the hell of it, she told herself. Then changed her mind instantly. No, decline. You’re only going to open up old wounds.

      Jessica closed her eyes, leaning back in the chair…Her memories of Paris and Lucien were golden…filled with happiness and a joy she had not experienced since her days with him.

      Better to keep the memories intact.

      She would send her regrets.

      Gary said from the doorway of her office, ‘So you finally decided to come home.’

      Startled, Jessica swung around in the chair and stared at him. He was leaning against the door jamb wearing crumpled clothes and a belligerent expression.

      He’s an angry drunk, she thought, but said, ‘You look as if you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.’

      He frowned, never having liked her southern Texan humour. ‘Why did you get back so late?’ he demanded.

      ‘What difference does it make? You had passed out dead drunk on my sofa.’

      He let out a long sigh and slid into the room, came to stand by her chair, suddenly smiling down at her. ‘I guess we got to celebrating. Harry and Phil were crazy about the first draft of the script, and after making our notes, a few changes, we were pretty sure it was almost good enough to be a shooting script. So…we decided to celebrate–’

      ‘I guess it just got out of hand.’

      ‘No. You just got back very late.’

      ‘Nine o’clock isn’t all that late.’

      ‘Why were you late? Did Mark Sylvester detain you…in some way?’ He glared.

      ‘Don’t be so ridiculous! And I don’t like the innuendo. He wasn’t even there. And I was late because there was a lot of traffic on the Santa Barbara freeway. And how was Gina?’

      ‘Gina?’ Gary frowned, then sat down on the sofa.

      ‘Don’t tell me Gina wasn’t here tonight, because I smelled her perfume in the den. And she’s always at your script meetings, drinks my best red wine and leaves her lipstick on the wine glass. Harry hasn’t taken to wearing lipstick has he?’

      ‘Your sarcasm is wasted on me, Jessica. And I fail to understand why you’re always so hard on her. Gina’s been my assistant for years.’

      And partner in bed when you see fit, she thought, then said, ‘This ain’t my first rodeo…I know what’s what.’

      Gary leapt to his feet, colour flooding his face. He looked apoplectic as he said, ‘I can see the frame of mind you’re in, and I’m not staying around to get in the way of your whip, Missy. I’m going to my place. I’ll get my stuff tomorrow. See you around, kid.’

      Jessica did not respond. She merely stared at him coldly, understanding, suddenly, how truly tired she was of having him use her. And misuse her house.

      He strode out and slammed the office door behind him. A moment later she heard the front door bang and the screech of wheels as he drove out of her front yard at breakneck speed.

      And at this precise moment, Jessica Pierce realized that she actually didn’t care that he had left in a temper…or that she had pushed him at a bad moment, and he had almost snapped.

      She opened the red leather album again and turned the pages, staring at the photographs of her three years in Paris, and with a flash of unexpected insight she recognized how little Gary Stennis meant in her life. Yes, she had feelings for him, and in the early stages of their relationship she had truly believed they had a chance of making it together on a long-term basis. But now the odds of it working were remote. If she were honest with herself, she knew she shouldn’t string him along any more. It wasn’t fair to him; or to herself, for that matter. She ought to end the affair.

      Well, maybe she just had. He had left in a huff and might never come back.

      She thought again of Lucien, gazing at a photograph of him standing between her and Alexa outside Anya’s school on the rue de l’Université. How young we all look in the picture, she thought. Young, innocent, with life ahead of us…how unconcerned we were about the future…about our lives. We thought we were invulnerable, immortal.

      ‘Lucien,’ she murmured out loud, tracing a finger over his face. ‘What really happened to you?’

      She had no answer for herself, just as she never had. His disappearance was a mystery. It was one that would never be solved.

       Chapter Eight

      To Jessica the Pacific had never looked more beautiful.

      The deepest of blues, glittering brilliantly in the afternoon sunlight, it was dazzling to the eye as it stretched into infinity.

      Her gaze remained on the ocean as she fell down into her thoughts, asking herself what her life was all about, where she was heading and where she would end up.

      In the last twenty-four hours she had felt extremely depressed about her relationship with Gary, which she now believed was doomed to failure. The end was coming, of that she was sure; she could only hope it would not be too messy.

      It was Monday afternoon, and Jessica was sitting in the small, antique gazebo which she had shipped from a stately home in England. It now stood at the tip of Mark Sylvester’s property in Santa Monica.

      On a bluff facing the sea, the gazebo was a peaceful spot, a place for reflection and tranquillity, as she had known it would be. Mark loved it, just as he loved the new house. She had been quite certain he would approve, but it was a relief, nonetheless, to know he was actually thrilled with it. He was moving in next weekend, and today she had walked him through for the first time since the furnishings had been installed.

      Everything’s gone right with the house; everything’s gone wrong in my personal life, she thought, her mind settling on Gary. She had called him yesterday, wanting to be conciliatory, to make amends, but he had not picked up. Nor had he returned his messages. At least, not hers.

      So be it, she suddenly thought. I must get on with my life; move on. I have to, in order to save myself. Instinctively, Jessica felt that Gary Stennis would only drag her down with him. She paused in her thoughts, frowning to herself. There it was again, the frightening idea that Gary was on a downward spiral.