The Viscount – Chapter Twenty-Two

THE VISCOUNT OF MAISONS LAFFITTE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Salut Tommy.” Marc reached down awkwardly and wiggled Thomas’ knee before straightening back up again. Thomas continued to stare down at the action figure he had in his hand without giving any indication that he had seen his father. “Well, uh, I’ll let you get back to your toys.”

Chastity walked into the room, putting her coat on and digging through her purse at the same time. “Mom, I’ve got my phone. So if you need anything at all, just call me.” Turning to Marc, “We’re just gone for the afternoon, right? We’ll be back in time for dinner?”

“Yeah, sure. It takes an hour and fifteen to get there, but then we’re just staying a couple of hours for the apéro. We’ll be back by six o’clock easy.”

“Okay buddy.” Chastity kissed Thomas, and then lifted his chin so that she could look him in the eyes. “You and Grandma are going to hang out and I’ll be back, alright?”

“Okay, Mom.” Thomas flashed her a rare smile, and her heart melted.

The March weather had started to warm up a bit, and there was a smell of stables in the air, which was not unusual in her neighborhood. She smiled to herself. She had never thought she would associate the smell of horses with home. She still needed to see if she could get Tommy some riding lessons as soon as he got better. It was one of the few things that seemed to animate him. Then she had a sudden vision of him falling off of a horse and she shuddered involuntarily.

“You cold?” Marc asked her.

“Yes, a little.” She stopped short and gasped. “It just occurred to me that I should be bringing something for your parents.”

“Oh, it’s alright. They won’t expect anything.”

“No, no. I can’t show up empty-handed. But there’s a florist right by the RER station and I will get your mom a bouquet from there.”

“That’s probably a good idea, actually. I’m sure she will love that.” She could see that he was pleased, and hoped that he wasn’t misinterpreting her gesture. She was doing this so he could be reconciled with his parents, not because she had any desire to win them over for her own sake.

They arrived in the 16th arrondissement at Marc’s parent’s building, and he punched in the code. As soon as they had stepped over the raised metal doorframe, they entered a cobblestone hallway with glass doors on either side, and which continued on to an open courtyard. Marc buzzed his parent’s apartment and she heard his father’s voice crackling through the intercom. “Oui, âllo?”

“C’est nous, Papa.”

“Entrez.” She followed Marc inside, on to the plush dark-red carpet, and then up the winding wooden staircase with its shallow, narrow steps. The door to the apartment was already open when they got to the second floor.

“Marc. Chastity.” His mother was beaming as she kissed her son, and then reached over to kiss Chastity on both cheeks. Taking the flowers, she said, “Thank you. This is so sweet of you. I will put these in water.”

“Marc.” His father reached out to shake his hand, and Chastity remembered that he used to kiss his son. This made her heart ache for him, and she was caught by surprise when Marc’s father leaned over to kiss her cheeks. “Welcome, Chastity. It’s good to see you again.” But Marc’s father had always been kind to her.

They walked into the large entrée to the apartment and Chastity peered into the kitchen where Marc’s mother was busy arranging the flowers in a vase. She looked the same as she did in New York, only older. Chastity noted that she was still wearing high heels at home, even on a Saturday, and she thought she recognized the slim skirt and navy cardigan.

“There.” Madame Bastien brought the flowers over to the table in the sitting room, and showed Chastity and Marc to a small sofa. There were already round tables with chips, pistachios, and a few petits-fours.

“What would you like to drink?” Marc’s father asked.

“Brandy for me, Papa.”

“I’d like some Cointreau, please.”

When everyone had been served and had raised a glass to the general health of everyone else, Marc’s father leaned back in the straight chair and crossed one leg over his knee. His mother sat forward in her chair in that focused, energetic way of hers Chastity remembered.

“So how is Thomas?” Chastity could see that Marc’s mother was determined to be pleasant. She decided to answer in kind.

“Thank you for the teddy bear you sent him. He really likes it. He is recovering quickly, and has even surprised the doctors. But I can see that he has a long way to go. He is not himself. He gets frustrated easily when he used to be so easy-going. And truthfully, I can’t tell the extent of how much he has lost cognitively because he simply doesn’t communicate as much as he used to.”

“We’re hoping you’ll be able to visit him soon,” Marc piped up.

His father must have seen the look of alarm in Chastity’s face because he said, “Well, well. There’s no rush. We’ll still be here. Let the boy get his bearings first.”

“Surely a short visit …” his mother interpolated.

“Uh, so … how long have you been back in France?” Chastity quickly stepped in, hoping to avoid what would be a very awkward conversation.

“Oh, it’s been about six years, right dear?” Madame Bastien smoothed imaginary crumbs from her skirt and re-crossed her ankles. Chastity had never seen her eat anything. “Of course we had to wait until our renters were able to find another lodging, but once we decided to return, it didn’t take long until everything was settled.”

“Are the Ducamps still around?”

“Oh yes. You remember Marie Ducamp – she was about your age. She’s married now and has two children. We see them with the Ducamps at the boulangerie sometimes. Séverine is lucky that her grandchildren live so close by. She’s able to see them often.”

“What about the de Fleurys? I haven’t had heard from them in years.” Chastity could see that Marc was making an exceptional effort at conversation, but those words seemed to be the wrong ones because his mother puckered up her face and went silent.

“We’ve not had news from them in about six years now,” Marc’s father said quietly. “More Cointreau?” Chastity shook her head silently. Six years must have been about the time that Marc went to prison. She could see that he had made the connection too.

“So, I recognize some of the artwork from your New York apartment,” Chastity said brightly. “Were you able to bring everything over?” And from there the conversation steered towards safer grounds, and Chastity made every effort to keep it there. She wasn’t ready to sacrifice her son’s healing by arranging a visit with his estranged grandparents, but she did indeed want Marc to be fully reconciled with his parents, and she would do whatever it took to help. He was not ungrateful.

“You were really great,” said Marc, as they walked towards the Metro. The sun was still out, but it was starting to feel a bit chillier and she knew that when they got off the RER in Maisons Laffitte it would already be dusk.

“I really do want you to be on good terms with your parents, Marc. Nobody should be estranged from their own family. I’m glad I was able to help.” She touched his arm, and he smiled at her gratefully. For once, he didn’t push his advantage and try to ask for more from their relationship, and that made her feel quite in charity with him. They talked mostly about the occupational therapy Thomas was undergoing on the way home, and walked towards her apartment in easy friendship.

When they got to her door, Marc kissed her on the cheek and said, “Good night Chas. Thanks again. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” She smiled a little as she watched him saunter off, relieved that she didn’t need to tell him tonight that she was sure she didn’t want more than a friendship with him. She knew she needed to tell him at some point – at least she thought she did because he had made it clear he wanted more. But maybe he had taken the hint and knew what she wanted without her having to say it. He had been respectful today, and treated her like a friend. Perhaps they could transition smoothly into this phase without any awkward explanations.

Chastity turned on her heel and inserted her key in the front door. She rushed towards the elevator, suddenly eager to give Thomas a hug.

* * *

The Viscount was dressed in a black suit with a grey vest and a burgundy silk scarf at his throat, whose elegant folds were held in place by a discreet pin. Manon Duprey was at his side in a skin-tight black dress, with the back of the dress cut lower than her waist, but with black lace discreetly covering her bare skin. Her face looked like an angel with her large blue eyes and the blond curls that framed her face. He wouldn’t have been human if he didn’t admire her perfection.

But he didn’t like the flashing bulbs as entertainment journalists took their pictures on the red carpet. He didn’t like posing, and he didn’t like the fake ambiance of people pretending to be happy to see each other. Their look of pleasure was purely for the camera and did not go any deeper than that. Although …  Michael Richard’s look of lecherous delight was authentic. If the Viscount hadn’t found his pathetic fawning so irritating, he would have been amused.

Manon was in her element. She was never better than when people gathered around to adore her. She was gracious and charming. She could, at turns, look innocent and naïve, then sultry and seductive. Watching her somewhat dispassionately, the Viscount could see how he could have been taken in by her. He had believed the innocent more readily than the seductive, and when accompanied by such an angelic face, well, he supposed he didn’t really stand a chance.

“Shall we go in Charles?” Manon asked sweetly. She was on her best behavior, aiming to please, knowing that he didn’t really like a lot of attention. She had even expertly fielded a question that a journalist had directed towards the Viscount, joking that he was a very private man and if the reporter didn’t stop asking questions, she would be left all evening without a date. He took it in good turn, and joked back that he would be happy to step in, and they were allowed to pass without the Viscount getting further accosted.

The movie was good. The Viscount could see that she was very talented, and at one point, he felt a lump forming in this throat when her character suffered humiliation that would eventually lead to her taking her life. But then he disassociated and stopped allowing himself to feel anything. He didn’t want to show any emotion when the entire world would be watching him for a reaction.

Instead, he started thinking about Chastity. Her slamming the books down on the table at their first meeting. Her lifting a tear-stained face from her son’s bedside, and then jumping to her feet in confusion when she saw him. Her dropping the coffee cup and splattering hot coffee all over the floor and the wall when he had gotten Thomas to squeeze his hand. Her eyes lighting up when she told him that her mom was coming to visit. Her rushing to leave the room in the art gallery when she saw him walk in with Manon. (She had looked beautiful that evening). Her face, soft with regret as she told him good night. Her lips …

Oh my God, thought the Viscount, thunderstruck. I am in love with her.

* * *

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