The Woman From Paris Read Free Page A

sunlight, and birds chirped once again in the treetops.
    “Who’s the blonde?” asked Tom, sidling up to David.
    “What blonde?” David replied nonchalantly.
    Tom chuckled. “The really hot blonde you couldn’t have failed to noticed about six pews behind. Very foxy. The day is suddenly looking up.”
    “Come on, darling. Let’s not linger outside the church,” said Antoinette, longing for the privacy of the car. The two brothers glanced behind them, but the congregation was slow to come out.
    Margaret sniffed her impatience. “Take me to the car, David,” she commanded. “I will greet people back at the house.” She strode forward, and David was left no alternative but to escort her down the path. As she carefully lowered her large bottom onto the rear seat, David’s eyes strayed back to the church where the congregation was now spilling out onto the grass. He searched in vain for the white curls in the sea of black. “Come, come, don’t dawdle. Good, here are Joshua and Roberta. Tell them to hurry up. I need a drink.”
    “Beautiful service,” said Roberta, climbing in beside Margaret.
    “Lovely,” Margaret agreed. “Though Reverend Morley does go on, doesn’t he?”
    “They all love the sound of their own voices,” said Joshua.
    “That’s why they’re vicars,” Roberta added.
    “I thought what he said about Dad being every man’s friend was spot-on,” Joshua continued, getting into the front seat. “He loved people.”
    Roberta nodded. “Oh, he was terrifically genial.”
    “We certainly gave him a good send-off, didn’t we, Grandma?”
    “Yes, he would have enjoyed that,” said Margaret quietly, turning her face to the window.
    David returned to Fairfield Park with his mother and Tom. The house was restored to its former splendor now that the sun had burnt away the fog. Bertie and Wooster, the Great Danes, were waiting for them on the steps. It seemed that the sun had lifted their spirits, too, for they leapt down to the car, wagging their tails.
    Harris opened the door, and Mary, who cleaned for Lady Frampton, stood in the hall with her daughter, Jane, bearing trays of wine. The fire had warmed the place at last, and sunlight tumbled in through the large latticed windows. The house felt very different from the one they had left a couple of hours before, as if it had accepted its master’s passing and was ready to embrace the new order.
    David and Tom stood by the drawing room fire. David had helped himself to a whiskey while Tom sipped a glass of Burgundy and smoked a sneaky cigarette—his mother and grandmother abhorred smoking inside, probably one of the only opinions they had in common. Little by little the room filled with guests, and the air grew hot and stuffy. At first the atmosphere was heavy, but after a glass or two of wine the conversations moved on from George and his untimely death, and they began to laugh again.
    Both brothers looked out for the mysterious blonde. David had the advantage of being tall, so he could see over the herd, but, more dutiful than his brother, he found himself trapped in conversation first with Great Aunt Hester and then with Reverend Morley. Tom had thrown his cigarette butt into the fire and leaned against the mantelpiece, rudely looking over Great Aunt Molly’s shoulder as she tried to ask him about the nightclub he ran in London.
    At last the mystery guest drifted into view, like a swan among moorhens. Tom left Molly in mid conversation; David did his best to concentrate on Reverend Morley’s long-winded story, while anxiously trying to extricate himself.
    Phaedra suddenly felt very nervous. She took a big gulp of wine and stepped into the crowd. Julius cupped her elbow, determined not to lose her, and gently pushed her deeper into the throng. She swept her eyes about the room. What she could see of it was very beautiful. The ceilings were high, with grand moldings and an impressive crystal chandelier that dominated the room and glittered