A Tangled Web by Judith Michael

Author:Judith Michael
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Books

CHAPTER 14

Stephanie heard a key turn, the front door open and close, the key locking it again, and she pictured Jacqueline walking into the coolness of the shop from the July heat on the cours Gambetta, adjusting a vase here, a lamp there as she approached the back room.

“Good morning, did you have a pleasant weekend?” Her voice seemed preoccupied. “Did you and Max do something exciting?” She opened a closet in the corner and exchanged her walking shoes for high heels. “You’re very quiet, my dear. Is something bothering you?”

“Yes.” This is not between you and Jacqueline; it is between Jacqueline and me. She heard Léon’s voice, felt his arms around her in the cool forest clearing where they had made love. But it had been four days since then, with a weekend in between, and she could not stand it any longer; she had to talk to Jacqueline. Because it is between us, she thought, and she and Léon must have been together this weekend, and I can’t go on pretending everything is the same, because nothing is.

“Well, then, we must talk about it.” Jacqueline sat on the edge of the table and reached out to put her arm around Stephanie.

“No, wait, please. I have to tell you . . . I thought, this weekend, you might have . . . you would have seen . . .”

“I was not here. I was in Paris from Friday afternoon to late last night. What would I have seen if I had been here?”

“Léon.”

Jacqueline’s body stilled, as if poised to listen, perhaps to flee. “So.” Her voice was a murmur. “I did not guess it was you.”

“What do you mean? You said you weren’t here; you didn’t talk to him.”

“But he came to my house on Saturday and when he found I was gone he left flowers and a letter. I did not open the letter; it was late when I returned and I was tired and I left it for this evening. Because when a man leaves flowers and a letter, my dear, it means only one thing. Come now, don’t hide your face; let me look at you.”

Stephanie met her eyes. “I didn’t know. And then he told me, but by then everything had changed.”

“By then you were in love with him. And he with you, of course, since he has written me a letter.” She smiled faintly. “Léon and I once promised each other we would not linger, half in and half out of the door, if we met someone else.”

“I’m sorry, Jacqueline, please believe that. I wouldn’t have—”

“Of course you would have. It is clear that this was meant to be; you could not have fought it without destroying yourself. You must not even think that you would have turned away from it; that would have been wrong. And what are you sorry for? Loving Léon? There is no better man anywhere; why would you be sorry you love him?”

“I’m not sorry I love him. I’m sorry that you must be hurt by it.

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