The Woman from Paris(136)
“I don’t suppose you have coffee up here, do you?” Margaret asked, running her eyes over the immaculate room.
“I’m afraid not,” Antoinette replied.
“Then we’ll put in an order.” The Dowager Lady Frampton grinned and pulled out her mobile telephone.
Antoinette was amazed. “I forgot you had one of those.”
“Tom got it for me, in case I fell and couldn’t get up. Really, he thinks I’m an old cripple.”
“He’s very thoughtful.”
“I shall call the house and get Harris to bring us some breakfast. I don’t know about you, but all this emotion has made me hungry.”
“Me, too.” Antoinette smiled at Margaret, and the old lady smiled back.
“Let’s see if he can do it without letting the rest of the family know. I’m rather enjoying being up here with you, Antoinette. Just the two of us.” She dialed the number. A moment later Harris answered. “Ah Harris, I wonder whether you might do Lady Frampton and me a small favor . . .”
* * *
David was inconsolable. He hadn’t slept all night. Everything reminded him of Phaedra, from Boris screeching in the tree outside his window to the Aga that brought back memories of pancakes and cozy suppers at the kitchen table. He replayed conversations over and over in his head and now understood the deeper significance of her words: I’m not a Frampton, David . . . I don’t feel comfortable accepting hospitality from your mother . . . I’m not sure I can live without George . . . I’ve been desperately, deliriously, and overwhelmingly in love . . . I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know . . . Thank you for your forgiveness . . . Oh, David, I lied . . . Her voice was carried from the past on waves of memory, a sentence at a time, and he dissected each one and made sense of it from the vantage point of what he now knew.
He felt a fool for not having worked it out. She never declared that she was a Frampton, except when she originally told the lie in the library with Julius Beecher. She felt guilty about accepting the Frampton Sapphires, insisting that they stay within the family. She never called George “Dad” and always referred to him as “your father,” and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that her mourning for his death was more like the grief of a lover than the sorrow of a child. It was all so clear in retrospect. How he had prayed for the DNA test to disappear—and now it had, she had been propelled even further away than before.
He hadn’t bothered to shave. His face was dark with bristles and restless shadows beneath his eyes. He had never loved a woman as much as he loved Phaedra. He had invested every fiber of his heart into her. Now it felt as if those fibers had been ripped from his chest and hung torn and bleeding. Her betrayal was total and devastating. He didn’t think he’d ever recover, and yet at the very bottom of his battered heart was the faint hope that somehow there might be a way for her to redeem herself: a small window of light through which he could leap to forgive her.
He made himself a strong cup of coffee. Rufus lay on the floor, watching him with sad eyes. Once or twice he sighed, as if he knew the situation and felt as sorry as his master. David’s thoughts moved from Phaedra to Julius Beecher. Was it possible that he sent the DVD without having watched it? Or had he seen it and exposed Phaedra on purpose? Either way, he was now ruined for having lied about the DNA test. Why would he ruin himself, unless the satisfaction of ruining her was greater than his will to survive? Why would he wish her such misfortune—unless perhaps they were in it together and she had betrayed him in some way?
David remembered Roberta saying that she had seen them having dinner together at Le Caprice, and how much like a couple they had looked. His body stiffened with fury. As far as he was concerned, they were welcome to each other.
* * *
When Antoinette returned to the house with Margaret and Basil, Dr. Heyworth’s car was parked on the gravel. “You have a visitor,” said Margaret.
“A surprise visitor, unless I’m losing my mind.” Antoinette looked at her watch. “It’s eight a.m., I can’t imagine what’s brought him here so early.”
“Brought whom, my dear?”
“Dr. Heyworth. That’s his car.”
“Really? Dr. Heyworth.” She smiled slyly. “Well, well, well. I wonder why he’s come calling.”
They stepped into the hall to find the whole family in a huddle, explaining the details of the night before to Dr. Heyworth, who was patiently trying to listen to four people all speaking at the same time. When they saw Antoinette, they rushed at her like a herd of cattle.