Three Weeks in Paris. Barbara Taylor Bradford

so long, so many years, and it’s still going strong. A record of sorts, isn’t it?

      ‘Mom, what are you pondering? You’re looking very strange. Are you okay?’ Alexa probed.

      ‘I’m fine. I was just thinking about your father. And our marriage. It’s amazing that we’ve been married for thirty-three years. And what’s even more staggering is that the years seem to have passed in a flash. Just like that.’ She snapped her fingers together and shook her head in sudden bemusement.

      ‘You two have been lucky,’ Alexa murmured, ‘so lucky to have found each other.’

      ‘That’s absolutely true.’

      ‘You and Dad, you’re like two peas in a pod. Did you start out being so alike? Or did you grow to resemble each other? I’ve often wondered that, Mom.’ Her head on one side, she gazed at her mother, thinking how beautiful she was, probably one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen, with her peaches-and-cream skin, her pale golden hair and those extraordinary liquid blue eyes.

      ‘You’re staring, Alexa. You’re going to see all my wrinkles!’

      ‘Oh Mom, you don’t have one single wrinkle. I kid you not, as Dad says.’

      Diane laughed, and murmured, ‘As for you, my girl, you don’t look a day over twenty-five. It’s hard for me to believe you’ll be thirty-one in August.’

      ‘It’s my new short haircut. It takes years off me.’

      ‘I guess it does. But then short hair makes most women look younger, perkier. And it’s certainly the chic cut this year.’

      ‘You once told me short hair was the only chic style, and that no woman could be elegant with hair trailing around her shoulders. And you should know, since you’re considered one of the chicest women in New York, if not the chicest.’

      ‘Oh, I’m not really, but thanks for the compliment. Although I should point out that the whole world suspects you’re a bit prejudiced.’

      ‘Everyone, the press included, cites you as a fashion icon, a legend in your own time. And your boutiques have been number one for years now.’

      ‘We’ve all worked hard to make them what they are, not only me, Alexa. Anyway, what about you, darling? Have you finally finished those winter sets?’

      Alexa’s face lit up. ‘I completed the last one of the snow forest earlier this week, on Tuesday actually. Yesterday I saw blow-ups of them all at the photographic studio, and they’re great, Mom, even if I do say so myself.’

      ‘I’ve told you many times, don’t hide your light under a bushel, darling. It doesn’t do to brag, of course, but there’s nothing wrong in knowing that you’re good at what you do. You’re very talented, and personally I was bowled over by the panels I saw.’ Diane’s pale blue eyes, always so expressive, rested on her daughter thoughtfully. After a moment, she said, ‘And so…what’s next for you?’

      ‘I have one small set to do for this play and after that my contract’s fulfilled.’ Alexa laughed a little hollowly, and added, ‘Then I’ll be out of work, I guess.’

      ‘I doubt that,’ Diane shot back, the expression on her face reflecting her pride in her only daughter. ‘Not you.’

      ‘To be honest, I’m not worried. Something’ll turn up. It always does.’

      Diane nodded, and then her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘You said on the phone that you wanted to talk to me. What–’

      ‘Can we do that later, over coffee?’ Alexa cut in swiftly.

      ‘Yes, of course, but is there something wrong? You sounded worried earlier.’

      ‘Honestly, there’s nothing wrong. I just need…a sounding board, a really good one, and you’re the very best I know.’

      ‘Is this about Jack?’

      ‘No, and now you’re sounding like all those other mothers, which most of the time you don’t, thank God. And no, it’s not about Jack.’

      ‘Don’t be so impatient with me, Alexa, and by the way, Jack Wilton is awfully nice.’

      ‘I know he is, and he feels the same way about you. And Dad.’

      ‘I’m glad to hear it. But how does he feel about you? That’s much more important.’

      ‘He cares.’

      ‘Your father and I think he would make a good–a very nice son-in-law.’

      Alexa did not respond.

      Half an hour later Alexandra sat opposite her mother in the living room, watching her as she poured coffee into fine bone-china cups. She was studying Diane through objective eyes, endeavouring to see her as clearly as possible. It suddenly struck her, and most forcibly, what a unique person she was, a woman who was savvy, smart, successful, and highly intelligent as well. And she really did understand human frailties and foibles, because her perception and insight were well honed, and she was compassionate. But would she comprehend her dilemma, a dilemma centred on two men?

      After all, there had only been one man in her mother’s life, as far as she knew, and that man was her father, who Diane Carlson had met at twenty-four and married within the year; they had been utterly devoted to each other ever since. I know she’ll understand, Alexandra reassured herself. She’s not prudish or narrow-minded, and she never passes judgement on anybody. But how to tell her my story. Where do I begin?

      It was as though Diane had read her daughter’s mind, when she announced, ‘I’m ready to listen, Alexa, whenever you want to start. And whatever it’s about, you’ll have all my attention and the best advice I can give.’

      ‘I know that, Mom,’ Alexa answered, adding, Thanks,’ as she accepted the cup her mother was passing to her. She put it down on the low antique table between them, and settled back against the Venetian velvet cushions on the cream sofa. After a second or two, she explained, ‘Late yesterday afternoon I got an invitation to go to a party in Paris. For Anya. She’s going to be eighty-five.’

      A huge smile spread across Diane’s face, and she exclaimed, ‘Good Lord, I can’t believe it! She’s a miracle, that woman.’

      ‘Oh, I know she is, and aside from looking so much younger than her age, she’s full of energy and vitality. Whenever I speak to her on the phone she sounds as busy as ever, running the school, entertaining and travelling. Only last month she told me she’s started writing another book, one on Art Deco. She’s just so amazing.’

      ‘I’ll say she is, and what a lovely trip for you. When is the party?’

      ‘On June second, at Ledoyen. It’s a supper dance, actually.’

      ‘That’ll be fun, we must find you something pretty to wear. Is it black tie?’

      ‘Yes, it is, but look, Mom, I’m not sure that I’m going to go.’

      Diane was startled, and she frowned. ‘Whyever not? You’re close to Anya, and you’ve always been a special favourite of hers. Certainly more than the others–’ Diane stopped abruptly, and stared at her daughter. ‘But of course! That’s it. You don’t want to go because you don’t want to see the other three. I can’t say I blame you, they turned out to be rather treacherous, those women.’

      With a small jolt, Alexandra realized that she hadn’t even thought about her former best girlfriends, who had ended up her enemies. She had been focused only on Tom Conners, and her feelings for him. But now, all of a sudden, she realized she must throw them into the equation, along with Tom. Her mother was quite right, they were indeed an excellent reason she should stay away from Paris. They were bound to be at the party…Anya would have invited them as well as her…together the four of them had been her greatest pride the year of their graduation…her star pupils. Of course they’d be there…with