Trial by Fire

Chapter 2

Dahlia’s children arrived for dinner at her elegant h?tel particulier on the rue de Grenelle. There was a guardian’s lodge inside the big dark green painted outer doors, tall enough for carriages to have driven through in the eighteenth century when the house was built. Louis Lambert had inherited the house from his father and left it to his daughter Constance, who had kept it. Constance and Hunter stayed there when they visited Paris, and then moved in when they left New York after Hunter retired. Dahlia had visited often when she was a child, and felt at home in her big beautiful room. She and Jean-Luc had lived there when they were married. Their children had grown up in that home and Dahlia still lived there now. Emma resided on the top floor, in the rooms with the round oeil-de-boeuf windows.

Dahlia had renovated the house several times since she had inherited it. The kitchen was high-tech now. She had added air-conditioning years before, which was a rarity in Paris, and had done the exquisite decorating herself. The house had been lived in by five generations now, and had aged well. Dahlia kept it in perfect condition. Inside the big carriage doors, which were kept closed, with a code to enter, or swung open by the guardian for deliveries and guests, there was a cobblestoned courtyard. The original bronze loops to tie up the horses were still there, regularly shined to a burnished glow, a historical detail that Dahlia loved. The stalls for the carriages were used for storage or cars now, and there were immaculate white marble steps leading to the front door. Henri, Dahlia’s ancient butler, let each of them in when they rang the bell, and greeted them warmly. He loved it when they came to dinner. He had been there since they were children. He used to give them piggyback rides and had taught them to ride their bikes.

Behind the house there was a beautiful garden, planted in all white flowers, and the lawn the children used to play on, the trees they hid behind when they played hide-and-seek, while their mother watched them, or the nanny who took care of them when she went to work. The house was rich in their own family history, not just that of the people who had built it three hundred years before. Dahlia had kept the bedrooms modern and up-to-date, with bright, cheerful colors, and pastel silks in her own rooms, with heavy satin drapes held back with thick silk cords and long tassels in the formal rooms. The family living spaces were warm and comfortable with inviting couches, state-of-the-art video and stereo equipment, and fabulous contemporary art. Her children still loved being there and visiting Dahlia. She made everything so pleasant for them, and they were happy to see her before her trip.

Charles arrived first, from the office, after a long day’s work. He was always happy to catch a few minutes alone with his mother, in a setting other than work, before the others arrived. He always said that once his sisters were in the room, it was hard to get a word in, especially with Alex there, who always had something to complain about and needed center stage. His girlfriend Catherine was meeting him at the house, and she always came late, terrified that the others would be even later, and she’d get trapped alone with his mother, since she knew Dahlia didn’t approve of her. Dahlia was always perfectly polite, whatever her private feelings about her, but Catherine felt awkward being with her without Charles to hide behind. Catherine was from a simple working-class background in Clermont-Ferrand, a particularly unattractive city, and hadn’t grown up with Charles’s advantages or education. She’d never had an important job and hadn’t gone to university, and she’d had her daughter Rose in her teens without the benefit of marriage, all of which she knew worried Charles’s mother. She and her daughter had been living in a rented room in a bad suburb of Paris when she met Charles, and two months later, she moved, with her daughter, into his very nice Left Bank apartment in the 7th arrondissement. Dahlia thought she was a gold digger, and Catherine could sense it, although Charlie never confirmed it in so many words, and his sister Alex was suspicious of her too, and outspoken on the subject to the point of being rude.

Before the others arrived, Charles chatted with his mother for a few minutes. Neither of them mentioned Catherine, which was a bigger topic than either of them wanted to address right before a trip. His mother liked to keep those evenings stress-free and enjoyable for everyone. They talked about work, and a trip to Rome Charles was taking soon. And then Henri let Delphine in, and she joined them in the library they used as an informal living room. There were family photographs on every surface, and on the shelves of a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. Delphine kissed both of them and sat down on her mother’s other side, on the couch.

“How do you like those new shades of lipstick I sent you this afternoon?” She gave her mother a broad smile and sank into the couch after a long day. She hated to miss giving her two little girls a bath and putting them to bed, but she was willing to sacrifice it for a family dinner before her mother’s trip, a tradition they all loved. “I like your haircut, by the way,” Delphine complimented her. They were both naturally blond with long hair and looked like sisters. Dahlia was wearing hers down, and Delphine had hers pulled back in a bun for work. She tried to look businesslike to compensate for her youth.

“I gave Catherine a bunch of the last ones,” Charles added, “and she loved them.”

“We still need a great pink to flesh out the summer looks,” Dahlia responded, and Delphine nodded agreement, as she took a sip of the white wine Henri handed her in one of her mother’s elegant glasses. He knew exactly what they all drank, and their preferences. Dahlia was drinking champagne, and Charles was having a short scotch on the rocks. He needed something to calm his nerves for dinner with his mother and sisters. The scotch would give him patience and courage, and a boost after a long day at work.

Alex arrived next, looking windblown and frazzled. She collapsed into one of the oversized brown leather chairs and waved at her mother and siblings. “I had the worst day,” she said breathlessly.

“Problems with the show?” her mother asked her, not too concerned. Alex frequently had “the worst day.”

“No, they lost the order for my wedding shoes. Thank God I checked.” Delphine suppressed a smile, and took a sip of her wine, as Henri handed Alex a dirty martini with extra olives, chilled ice-cold the way she liked it. “Thank you, Henri.” She smiled at him. He used to help her sneak back in at night through the kitchen, when she stayed out past her curfew when she was younger. He had done it for the others too, which their mother knew, and grounded them anyway. Dahlia was loving and generous, but had run a tight ship when the children were in their teens. “I have a list of things I need my assistants to check on while you’re away,” Alex said to her mother, ignoring the others. She was obsessed with her wedding plans. She still had two fittings to do for the dress, being made by Dior. “Paul can’t come to dinner tonight. He has a production meeting. I told Henri when I arrived.” Delphine’s husband Francois wasn’t coming either. He had a business dinner. She had told her mother the day before. Their dinners were relaxed evenings. Dahlia didn’t treat them as command performances, and her own children rarely declined. They all got along very well.

Catherine arrived next, shook Dahlia’s hand, kissed Alex and Delphine, squeezed in next to Charles on the couch, and let the small talk fly around her without contributing. Alex had hair as dark as her mother’s and Delphine’s was fair, though her features were similar. There was a definite family resemblance between all of them, whatever their coloring. And Catherine’s hair was dark brown with highlights in it. It fell in waves to her shoulders. She was a nice-looking woman and didn’t look her age, but she wasn’t as beautiful, as well-dressed, or as confident as his sisters, and she was acutely aware of it whenever she was with them. They were all very striking and she looked ordinary next to them, and felt it. Charles didn’t seem to notice or care. He loved her.

As they sat drinking and talking, Emma arrived, as silent and ethereal as ever. She was delicate, with bright red hair, a pale ivory face, and huge cornflower blue eyes. She didn’t say a word as usual, until Dahlia noticed her and put an arm around her. Emma had a way of entering a room that was almost ghostlike. She hated drawing attention to herself. She smiled when the others saw her, and then went to kiss all of them. She had paint splattered on her hands. She had a studio in the attic, where she spent hours, working on her abstract paintings. Her dream was to have an art show, which hadn’t happened yet. She was taking classes at the Beaux-Arts. She had graduated from there five years before and was still studying. The Beaux-Arts was the best art school in Paris. Emma was as serious and dedicated to her art as the others were to their jobs. They treated her art as less important than their work, except Dahlia, who believed in her talent and encouraged her.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I was working on a painting and I couldn’t leave it.” Emma did acrylic paintings that looked like oil, in a riot of colors. She was wearing jeans splattered with paint too, with a clean T-shirt, and work boots, and her red hair was a wild mane of curls. Her looks were vivid, but her personality was pale. She seemed almost translucent.

The conversation at the table was lively as the prelude over cocktails. Alex talked incessantly about her wedding, ad nauseum—they were all sick of hearing about it. Delphine said to Charles in a whisper that it would be a relief when it was finally over in six weeks. They’d been hearing about it for a year, since she had gotten engaged to Paul. Charles and Delphine talked about the Lambert cosmetic line during dinner. Dahlia assured Alex that Agnes, her main assistant, had everything in total control for the wedding and would be following up while she was away. Catherine and Emma were engaged in quiet conversation, while the others bantered back and forth. Conversation was fast and lively at the table.

“It’s just a quick trip,” Dahlia told them, “to check out our stores in five locations, New York, Chicago, San Francisco, L.A., and Dallas. I want to get a look at some of the American stores in person, and make sure they’re up to our standards. If you don’t visit them from time to time, they get sloppy and do whatever they want.”

“Can’t you send someone else?” Charles asked her, as he finished the excellent meal of soft-shell crab that Dahlia’s cook had prepared.

“I could, but I’d rather see for myself. Nothing wakes them up like a visit from the boss,” she said simply. “I’ll be back in three weeks, or a little less.”

“That’s only three weeks before the wedding, Mother. You’d better be back here on time,” Alex said ominously, and Delphine and Charles exchanged a smirk. They had both known she’d say that, and she had said it at least twice at dinner.

“I’ll be back in plenty of time,” Dahlia reassured her. She had expected the reminder too, and she always tried to be patient with Alex. “Concentrate on your show and leave everything to me and Agnes. We have it all in hand,” she said confidently.

They stayed to chat for a few more minutes after dinner, kissed their mother, and hugged her tightly. She had one more day in the office the next day, so she would see Delphine and Charles again to say goodbye, and Emma at home, but she wouldn’t see Alex or Catherine, and she hugged them both when they left. Even before the last of them left, Emma scampered back upstairs like a mouse, to work on her painting again. Dahlia smiled. She loved her evenings with her children. They were helter-skelter and informal, and reminded her of their dinnertimes as kids. She was looking forward to their coming to stay with her in Saint-Paul-de-Vence in August after Alex’s wedding. She couldn’t wait for that to be over. She was tired of hearing about it too, after a year, but it would soon be behind them, and then they could get back to normal life again and think of something else.

She sat down at her desk in the little office next to her bedroom and took some folders out of her briefcase. It was only ten o’clock, and she could get in a few hours of work before she went to bed. She knew that Emma would be up until all hours, but Dahlia never saw her once she went upstairs to her own floor. It was her private world that Dahlia didn’t invade. Sometimes Emma worked all night on her paintings. Dahlia never intruded or interfered, and she had enough work to keep her busy until she went to bed. It had been a lovely relaxing evening with her kids. She knew she would miss them while she was away. And if they had a problem, or something went wrong, they always knew where she was, if they needed her. She had never been out of touch, unavailable, or too far away since the day they were born. She was their only parent, after all, and she took that very seriously. She had played a double role as mother and father almost all their lives. She was determined never to let them down, and never had so far.

She wouldn’t be away for long, and then she’d be back to make Alex’s wedding as perfect as she could. Dahlia always delivered what she promised, to them and everyone else.