“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice. I just got the final paperwork on the house this weekend, and I’m anxious to get started. It’s in a great location, the building has full concierge services, which is convenient for me. It’s actually a house within a building.” As soon as they sat down, a waiter came to the table. Nadia ordered white wine, and he had scotch. He was a classic American, the best of his breed. Handsome and in great shape. He looked like someone who went to the gym regularly, and probably had one of his own. His suit was perfectly cut. He was businesslike, efficient, had an impressive job, and sounded like a straight shooter. She could hear a faint hint of Texas when he spoke, but very little, and he wanted the job finished yesterday.
“That’s a big house for one person,” she commented, as he showed her the plans and the pictures he had brought with him. They looked interesting.
“I like a lot of space, and I entertain frequently for business. I need the name of a good caterer, by the way.” He was all business and no frills, and she liked dealing with clients like him. They knew what they wanted, didn’t get emotional about it, and rarely made mistakes.
She wrote down the name of the best caterer in Paris, and a smaller one that was good for intimate dinners, and handed the slip of paper to him. He took it and put it in his jacket pocket.
“I lived in London for five years,” he told her. “I’m looking forward to Paris. That’s the advantage of no wife and kids. I’m free to move around. I don’t have to worry about schools, or anyone complaining about leaving home. How long have you lived here?”
“I’ve been here since I was twenty. I came to go to the Sorbonne, and stayed. I was…I’ve been…I am,” she corrected herself, “married to a Frenchman.”
“That sounds a little vague, past or present?” he teased her, and she blushed in embarrassment.
“Sorry, it is a little vague at the moment. We’re separated.” She didn’t want to tell him her personal life, which was unprofessional, but she had fallen into it.
“That’s too bad. I’ve been divorced twice. It’s not fun. Fortunately, no children. I married my high school sweetheart the first time, and she turned out not to be such a sweetheart,” he said with a grin. “The second time I married a powerhouse in finance. Brilliant woman, lousy wife. She cheated on me with my trainer. That’s a little low rent for me. Actually, we got divorced and she married him. And now I’m here.” He seemed very matter-of-fact about it. She didn’t tell him about Nicolas and Pascale. “Do you have kids?”
“Two girls.” She smiled. “Seven and ten. Now let’s talk about your house. Tell me about your dream house. If you had a magic wand, what would you want?” She liked giving people their dreams and improving on them.
“Everything,” he answered. “A huge living room, which it has. I like big furniture, I’m a big man. Fabulous bedroom, a gym. A dining room I can entertain in. Big table for anywhere from ten to twenty-four guests. A cozy den where I can work at home. The place has everything I need space-wise, but big rooms can look cold if you don’t do them right. That’s where you come in.”
“Colors?”
“Dark blue, hunter green, deep red, good lighting for the art.” He had very definite ideas, which in some ways would make it easier, in others harder, if he wasn’t open to new ideas. “I like charcoal gray too.”
“Modern?”
“Traditional, classic,” the way he dressed. “I’d like to show you the space when you have time. I’m pretty tied up this week. Maybe on the weekend?” She knew she’d have to get a sitter, or maybe Nicolas would take the girls for a few hours. That was the hard part of being alone now, juggling her work schedule and her daughters, but that wasn’t the client’s problem, it was hers, and she wasn’t going to make it his. He didn’t look like the kind of man who would put up with it. He’d expect her to be available when he was, and since he didn’t have children, he wouldn’t be sympathetic to hers. She had other clients like him, and as long as you delivered what they wanted, on schedule, it all went well. And she liked working with businessmen like him. They were decisive, knew what they wanted, and didn’t waste time.
At seven o’clock, he paid the check, wrote down the address of the house for her, and they agreed to meet at noon on Saturday. Then they stood up and walked out of the Ritz together. He was all business, but she liked him. He was smart, fast, and efficient, and the client he had mentioned knowing had been a pleasure to work with too. He said he was on his way out for dinner.
They shook hands in front of the Ritz, and the doorman got her a cab, while Gregory Holland got into his car. He drove a sleek black Bentley sports car. He wasn’t showy or vulgar, but he clearly had money. And as long as she came up with ideas he liked, and delivered on time, she thought she had a new client. She couldn’t wait to see what his “house within a house” looked like and to get started.
She felt alive again on the way home. For the past four months she had thought of nothing but Nicolas’s affair. She had let her business slide, and fortunately much of that time had been during the slow summer months, and in August, almost everything in France was closed. She had felt dazed with her children, depressed about the collapse of her marriage, indifferent to her clients, and now she suddenly felt back on track, and ready to take life by the horns. Gregory Holland heralded a new era in her life. For eleven years, she had been married, putting everyone else’s needs first, making her schedule work with theirs, worrying about Nicolas’s career with each new book, delicately giving him advice when she read his early manuscripts, being available at all times, at work, at home. Now it was just her and the kids. It was true that at times it would be more of a balancing act without another adult present, especially on weekends, but she also had one less person to drop everything for and take care of. At times, especially when he was writing, Nicolas had been needy and demanding, almost like a child.
Meeting with Gregory Holland had infused new life into her work. She had a feeling that his house was going to be amazing. Even more so if she got to work on it. She had no other big projects at the moment. The house she had installed in Madrid in May was a huge job, and the client had spent a fortune on it. The installation was why she hadn’t been able to join Nicolas at the Cannes Film Festival, and their life had imploded after that. She had done a fabulous vacation home in Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic right before that, and had juggled both projects for over a year. But since Madrid, there had been a lull. She had time to tackle a big job now, and it would be easy managing it right in Paris, and not abroad.
One of her clients was looking for a new larger home in London, but they hadn’t found what they wanted yet, and she had a new client in London for a small pied-à-terre she could do easily, so Gregory Holland’s job was welcome. Her work was always feast or famine. Either five of her clients had new homes, half of them in different cities, or they had a quiet spell, which never lasted long. Her reputation carried her along, and eventually brought in new clients by word of mouth. A particularly showy project, with a client who wanted it photographed in every magazine, helped to build her business. She had done extremely well in the past ten years, and was one of the youngest, most successful decorators in Paris.