“My father was a big collector. I inherited two from him,” she said demurely. Jean-Pierre didn’t know that about her. She had been very discreet, and only spoke about business with him, or funny experiences at Christie’s or in college. He didn’t know who her mother was either. “My grandmother is an artist,” she admitted then. “Gabrielle Waters. She does very large bronzes, mostly horses.” Arnaud looked at her in amazement and laughed.
“I have always wanted one for our country home. I’ve been on a waiting list for one of them for ten years. I think she only sells to old clients and her best friends. She’s not impressed by me at all.”
They left Jean-Pierre’s father after a while and went back downstairs, so he could show her the offices his father was willing to let them use. They were very handsome spaces, which would be excellent for meeting clients. He looked at her with a smile. “You’ve been keeping secrets from me. You didn’t tell me your grandmother is a famous artist. She’s quite old now, isn’t she?”
“She’s ninety-two and going strong. And there have to be some surprises.” She smiled at him. “She lives with a younger man of eighty-four, Federico Banducci, the photographer.” Jean-Pierre’s face lit up when she said it.
“I sold one of his photographs last year. We don’t normally handle photography, but we had a client who wanted one and couldn’t find it, so we got it for him. And I have two myself. I love his work. So you come from a long line of artists. What did your father do?” She had told him in New York that her father was deceased.
“He was a producer, Tom Page,” she said proudly, and Jean-Pierre recognized the name immediately. “And my mother is an actress.” She didn’t explain further, but Jean-Pierre was curious about this surprisingly discreet young woman with a distinguished artistic heritage. He was interested in knowing more about her, especially if they were going into business together.
“Would I recognize your mother’s name?”
“Probably.” Olivia smiled innocently at him.
“Well? Are you going to tell me?” Jean-Pierre said expectantly, and she laughed.
“Gwen Waters. She’s an American actress,” she said, as though he might not know.
“Yes, and Renoir was a French artist. I’ve heard of both of them. Are you serious? Gwen Waters is your mother?” She nodded, as they stood in the space that was going to become the site of their joint venture, her Paris branch. “Now we have to go into business together. I would love to meet her.”
“I’m sure you will. Actually she paints. She’s pretty good. She just started painting again. She does it between films.”
“I’ve seen all of her movies. My father would die to meet her. He has a huge crush on her.” Most men did.
“So that’s me. What about you?”
“You’ve met my father. My mother died when I was seven. I’m an only child.”
“My father died when I was seven. And I’m an only child too.”
“Clearly, we’re twins, separated at birth, and now we’ve found each other and we’re going into business together. Destiny.” He wanted to ask her if she had a boyfriend, but he thought it too forward. They were engaged in business, not internet dating, but he was curious about her. She was so strikingly beautiful, and she certainly had an interesting family, loaded with famous people. “Are you too tired to go out tonight?” he asked her as they left the building and walked a short distance down the Faubourg Saint-Honoré. All the most luxurious stores were there. Chanel, Hermès, Saint-Laurent, and many important jewelers.
“I’m not tired at all. I slept enough on the plane.”
“A client of ours has taken over a nightclub, Castel. It’s a private club. He’s giving a party there tonight, and I told my father I’d go. Would you like to come with me?”
“It sounds like fun.” She smiled at him. “But I’m not sure I brought the right clothes.”
“You can wear jeans if you want to, with a blouse or sweater of some kind. No one dresses up much in the clubs. Why don’t we have dinner first, and go late? Nobody will get there till midnight or later. Or are you tired of me?”
“I’d better not be if we’re going to work together,” she said, smiling.
“I’ll figure out some bistro for dinner. I’ll pick you up at the Ritz at nine.” He hailed a cab for her then to take her back to the Ritz. She’d had a wonderful time with Jean-Pierre all afternoon, having lunch, meeting his father, seeing the gallery and the space they were going to use. And their plans for the evening sounded like fun too, with dinner and the party at Castel.
She wore a sweater with rhinestones on it, jeans, high heels, and a short fur jacket she’d brought with her. It was still cold in Paris in March. He arrived promptly at nine, and took her to a small cozy bistro, then shortly before midnight, they went to Castel, which was on a narrow backstreet. It was a fashionable disco for members only, and because it was a private party, the crowd filtering in was well dressed and attractive. But there were several guests dressed as informally as she was, in jeans, and assorted creative outfits, since some were artists. There was a small, cramped restaurant on the main floor, and carpeting with an erotic design of male genitals leading downstairs to the club. People were drinking and having fun. The music was techno but not too loud. Jean-Pierre introduced Olivia to their host, a very attractive man in his forties, with an equally handsome young Englishman in his twenties, whom he introduced as his partner, standing beside him. And there was a beautiful blond woman with the younger man. She was wearing a lace blouse with jeans. Hugo, the young Englishman, introduced them. Her name was Eileen Jackson, and Olivia tried not to look shocked when she heard it. Jean-Pierre introduced Olivia, and the two women stared at each other and held their breath for an instant. Then Eileen held out a hand to her, and Olivia smiled nervously. They had recognized each other’s names. Olivia knew instantly who Eileen was and Eileen had heard Olivia’s name a few times, so it clicked immediately as the woman who had destroyed her marriage.
“I guess fate brought us both to Paris so we could meet each other,” Eileen said graciously. “You’re as beautiful as my sons said.” She was incredibly nice about it.
“I’m so sorry,” Olivia said just loud enough for Eileen to hear her. Suddenly Eileen was real to her, as they met face-to-face. Before that she was just an idea.
“Don’t be. Good things have come of it. I’m doing things I’ve wanted to do for years. I have my freedom. We should have ended it a long time ago. You woke us up.”
“Thank you. Truly, I am sorry,” Olivia said to her as the men watched, but didn’t understand the exchange. “It’s all much more complicated than I thought. If I could, I wouldn’t do it again. I learned an enormous lesson. I’m sure Paul did too.”