The Woman From Paris Read Free Page B

like thousands of teardrops. Paintings hung on silk-lined walls in gilded frames, and expensive-looking objects clustered on tables. Tasseled shades glowed softly above Chinese porcelain lamps, and a magnificent display of purple orchids sat on the grand piano among family photographs in silver frames. It looked as if generations of Framptons had collected beautiful things from all over the world and laid them down regardless of color or theme. The floor was a patchwork of rugs, cushions were heaped on sofas, pictures hung in tight collages, a library of books reached as high as the ceiling, and glass-topped cabinets containing collections of enamel pots and ivory combs gave the room a Victorian feel. Nothing matched, and yet everything blended in harmony. George’s life had been here, with his family, and she hadn’t been a part of it. Just as she was about to cry again, Tom’s grinning face appeared before her like the Cheshire cat.
    “Hello, I’m Tom,” he said, extending his hand. His eyes twinkled at her flirtatiously. “I’ve been wondering who you are.”
    She smiled, grateful for his friendliness. “I’m Phaedra Chancellor,” she replied.
    “American,” he said, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
    “Canadian, actually.”
    “Ah, Canadian.”
    “Is that a bad thing?”
    “No, I like Canadians, actually.”
    She laughed at the languid way he dragged his vowels. “That’s lucky.”
    “Hello, Tom,” interrupted Julius. The two men shook hands. “Lovely service,” he said.
    “Yes, it really was, very lovely,” Phaedra agreed. Tom didn’t think he had ever seen such startlingly beautiful eyes. They were a clear gray-blue, almost turquoise, framed by thick lashes and set wide apart, giving her face a charming innocence.
    “So how did you know my father?” he asked.
    Phaedra glanced anxiously at Julius. “Well . . .” she began.
    Just as she was about to answer, David appeared, and her words caught in her throat. “Ah, there you are, Tom,” said David, but his eyes fell on Phaedra, and he smiled casually, as if he had chanced upon bumping into her. “I’m David,” he said. His gaze lingered at last, drinking in her beauty as if it were ambrosia.
    “Phaedra Chancellor,” she replied, putting out her hand. He took it, enjoying for an extended moment the warmth of her skin.
    “Hello, David,” interrupted Julius, and reluctantly David let go of her hand. “Where’s Lady Frampton?”
    “Oh, hello, Julius. I didn’t see you there.”
    “Well, I am here,” said Julius testily; he was very sensitive about being five feet seven and three-quarter inches short. “I need to speak to her. You’re tall, David. See if you can spot her from your lofty height.”
    David looked down at Julius’s shiny bald head and red, sweating brow, and thought how Dickensian he looked in his black suit and tie. “She’s not in here. Perhaps she’s in the hall.”
    “Then let’s go and find her. I want her to meet Phaedra.”
    Tom and David both wished Julius would go and find their mother on his own, but the portly lawyer put his arm around Phaedra’s waist and escorted her out into the hall. Curious and furious, the two brothers followed after.
    They finally found Antoinette in the library with her elder sister, Rosamunde. Wineglasses in hand, they were standing by George’s desk, talking in low voices. “Ah, you’ve found me hiding,” said Antoinette, composing herself. It was clear that she had been crying again.
    “We came in here for a little peace. It’s very busy out there,”Rosamunde explained in her deep, strident voice, hoping they’d take the hint and go away.
    Antoinette saw the stranger in their midst and stiffened. “Hello,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “Have we met before?”
    “No, we haven’t,” Phaedra replied.
    “Phaedra Chancellor,” David cut in, dazed by the force of her allure.
    “Oh.” Antoinette smiled politely. “And how . . .” She frowned, not wanting to