Page 12 of A Noble Affair
“Not at all,” Charles answered. It was widely rumored that British actor Bruce Richards had been smitten with Manon ever since he met her, and it was he who pushed the director to give her this first starring role in an international film. If this was a ploy to get him jealous, it was not going to work. “We can meet them in the lounge.”
“That’s precisely what I told him. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
When they arrived,Bruce Richards and Guy Moss, the director, were already seated at the bar. Both of them had a whisky in front of them, and Bruce stood. “Manon,” he cried out, his fair skin already flushed from the alcohol. “It’s great to see you again.” He kissed her on one cheek.
“Hello, Bruce. Hello, Guy.” She tilted her cheek to be kissed and spoke in awkward English. “I present Charles.”
“It’s an honor.” Bruce shook his hand, and Guy gave a nod and extended his hand.
“So you’ve made it.” Bruce switched his attention back to Manon. “I hope you find the Kensington Suite to your satisfaction. I haven’t seen it myself yet, but I’m told it’s very comfortable.”
“It’s lovely.” Manon smiled graciously. “It will be hard to leave the bed in the morning for our five o’clock call.”
“That won’t start until Monday and will only last for two weeks,” Guy interjected, with a strong Glaswegian accent. “This is the last location before we wrap things up, and I find it’s best to get through the difficult scenes first.” He smiled in his crooked way that was easy to mistake for a grimace. He was not known for being an easy person to work with.
“How long are you staying?” Bruce addressed Charles, before lifting his drink to his lips.
“Only until Sunday,” Charles answered. “I’ll have to begin work again.”
“He has to oversee the upcoming races, too. He owns the racetrackandthe château at Maisons-Laffitte.” Manon tapped her escort’s arm.
“Not to mention my real work,” Charles muttered inaudibly.
“Oh—where’s that then?” Bruce’s pale eyes didn’t waver from Manon.
“It’s not far from Paris.” Charles took a sip of the whisky, which had just been set down in front of him.
“I’ll have to come and visit the château sometime,” Bruce said, not realizing he was inviting himself over to the viscount’s principal residence.
“Certainly,” Charles replied, without missing a beat.
At that moment, the hostess came over to tell them their table was ready, and a fan walked up at the same time to get Bruce Richards’s autograph. Manon tensed up when he headed their way but looked comical when she realized the young man had no idea who she was. Charles put his arm around her slender waist and pulled her close. Bruce caught the gesture and put his brows together, but immediately handed the signed napkin back to the gentleman with a large smile.
The dinner did not interest Charles, and it took all his good breeding to hide just how bored he was. The talk centered around the industry, actor gossip, details of the scenes in the movie, with Guy giving directions to both Manon and Bruce in a sonorous voice, and no one apart from Manon making an attempt to include Charles in the conversation. When they finally stood to leave, and Charles was signaling for a taxi on the corner, Manon leaned in and said in a small voice, “I’m afraid you found the evening to be terribly boring.”
“Not at all,” he responded, politely. But when they reached her suite at the hotel and she invited him in, he surprised even himself by saying he was tired and would see her in the morning. The pretty blond actress was unable to cover her chagrin, and her smile glittered. She shut the door loudly behind him as Charles walked away, which made him chuckle. When he entered the blessed silence of his own room, he found he didn’t regret his decision.
6
Thomas tugged on Chastity’s hand then ran up the grassy steps ahead of her. Up and up without seeming to tire at all. Each small footstep spun off the old wooden beamsthat werepegged into the earth to make stairs.
Chastity made her way up more calmly, preserving her energy for the long climb. They were at Etretat—the beach in Normandy, famous for its cliffs, with long arches carved out by centuries of water flowing through. She rounded the bend in the rustic staircase, and her son was sitting calmly on a boulder waiting for her. As soon as she appeared, he darted off again, running up the hillside.
Nearing the top, Chastity saw the edge of the cliff on her left, but the path was distant enough from the edge that she didn’t fear for Thomas’s safety. On the right was a small hill where cows grazed. The solid and wooly white creatures munched on long, lush grass, almost silver in its shininess. Perhaps the cows needed that extra layer on their hides against the wind that must blow fiercely on the cliffs in the wintertime. Even now, at the end of October, she and Thomas wore scarves and jackets zipped tightly to their necks.
The two of them reached the highest spot on this side of the cliff, the best view for the rock formation that Monet had made famous across the bay. Chastity stood at the top, her hands on Thomas’s shoulders, both of them looking over the horizon into the soft autumn sun. The water crashed against the cliff below, and the wind blew steadily against her face, filling her lungs with cold air.
This is my life!She wanted to shout in the joy of that moment—alive, with her beloved son, breathing in the age-old, glorious surroundings. But later that night in the hotel room, she sat next to her sleeping son and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead with her hand.This is my life, she thought again, quietly.
She got up and walked over to the little desk. They were spending the All Saints holiday at a Bed & Breakfast in Trouville, which was cheaper than Deauville, but not far. Their room—papered in light, flowered wallpaper—was on the top floor with a sloped ceiling and dormer windows. A candle she had bought at a small boutique in Etretat caused flickering shadows to dance on the faded walls. Leaning her head in her hands, Chastity let out her breath.
I’m lonely. She picked up her phone and turned it over in her hands, tracing the red poppy decal on the white background. She had no one to call. It had never bothered her much that she never had anyone to turn to, apart from her parents. But here, with all this beauty around her, she found she wanted to share it with someone. She missed intimacy.
Passing the phone from hand to hand, she turned her thoughts to Marc, remembering the way he stared at her on their recent outing after that first date—the baby steps in their relationship of two plus one. His gaze never left her face when she spoke, and he looked at her the way he used to. He put his arm on the small of her back as they crossed the street together, Thomas on his scooter sailing across in away she had told him countless times not to do. Marc'stouch distracted her, but it didn’t weaken her. She wasn’t ready to go back to that place.I’m not sure I ever will be.
She put the phone down on the desk and touched the switch on the lamp cord. The flickering shadows on the wall entranced her, but only for another minute. She got up, blew out the candle, and went to bed.
Charles walked briskly downthe broad sidewalk in the noonday sun, his face a perfect scowl. He had seen the morning paper.If she thinks she can play me for a fool, she doesn’t know who she’s dealing with…He grit his teeth, and his pace quickened.
