Trial by Fire

Chapter 3

Dahlia’s last day in the office before her trip was always hectic, as was her first day back, playing catch-up. Before she left, she tried to think of everything that could go wrong or might need her attention, and tried to tie up every loose end. She was a perfectionist, which was why her business was so successful. She wanted every customer who bought a Louis Lambert product to be satisfied, even thrilled.

She had meetings back-to-back all day. Some of them included Delphine, others didn’t. She met with Agnes at the end of the day to go over wedding details that were still pending. Agnes was sixty-two years old and had worked for Dahlia for thirty years. She knew the business as well as Dahlia did, and she could second-guess what Dahlia’s choices would be almost every time. Not always, but very close. Agnes was devoted to Dahlia and her children, and had loved working for Lambert Perfumes for almost her entire career. She had been married, was widowed now, and had no children. The business was her family and her job, and she had enormous respect for Dahlia. Agnes was an extraordinarily efficient assistant.

“She’s nervous about all the details,” Dahlia said to her about Alex. “She thinks we’re going to forget something.”

“She should know us better by now,” Agnes said with a smile. They went over a checklist together again, and everything seemed to be accounted for, and most of the details had already been taken care of.

“I’ll be back in time to put the finishing touches on it with you. I’ll go to the final fittings with her. It’s cutting it close, but Dior will have the dress ready for sure,” Dahlia said confidently. Agnes didn’t doubt it for a second. Alex and Paul were going to Greece on a sailboat for their honeymoon, and Alex’s future husband was taking care of that. A friend was lending them the boat, with a crew of twelve.

Charles had already said goodbye to her when he left the office, and Dahlia stopped in to see Delphine to give her a last hug. And then Dahlia left. She had plans that night with Philippe. She had texted him the day before, and he was coming to spend the evening with her. Her children knew about the affair that had begun six years ago and had met Philippe at various times. They knew he was married, and it was clear he intended to stay that way. Nothing had changed during the last six years. Dahlia did not discuss him with her children, and they wouldn’t have dared to comment. He was a well-known, highly respected person, the CEO of a very successful luxury brand. Dahlia went out with him publicly from time to time and saw him privately at her home twice a week. Whatever arrangement they had seemed to suit her, and she kept it to herself. The children knew he visited her in Saint-Paul-de-Vence in the summer after they left. She didn’t make a secret of it, nor did she explain it to them. They were always with her for the first half of August, and he came for the second half. He spent four to six weeks with his wife and son in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat before that, which Dahlia didn’t tell them. If he made her happy, that was good enough for her children. He didn’t interfere with them or their relationship with their mother, which was most important to them. It wasn’t an unusual relationship in France, where most men who weren’t happily married chose to maintain their marital status, lead separate lives from their spouses even if they lived in the same house, and not get divorced. Divorce was often viewed as an expensive American practice that was far less common or popular in France.

Dahlia had always steered clear of married men who pursued her, but Philippe was so attractive and appealing, and they slid into their attachment to each other so effortlessly that it seemed normal to her now, and their six years together had flown past. He never tried to hide her—they went to public events together, and she enjoyed the two nights he spent with her every week. It gave her companionship, they shared many similar tastes and opinions, and their part-time arrangement left her the time she needed for her business and her family. He didn’t detract from her life, he added to it, which was key to her. Since she didn’t want to marry again, it no longer bothered her that he was married. She wouldn’t have had time for a full-time man, an overly demanding relationship, a marriage, or a difficult man. Philippe wasn’t. The arrangement worked perfectly for both of them. And with her children out of the house with their own lives, except for Emma, she had the freedom to do what she wanted. She had just enough room in her life for Philippe now, and their time together was wonderful. She was fifty-six and he was sixty-four. They both felt old enough to structure their life the way they wanted. What she shared with him was warm, intelligent, and familiar. She could talk to him about business or anything else. He wasn’t particularly good for advice about children, because he had been so uninvolved with his own son, and barely saw him even now as an adult. Dahlia loved her relationship with her children. Philippe was disappointed that his son, Julien, was more of a player than a worker or serious person.

Dahlia’s relationship with Philippe was a purely private pleasure. They were almost like good friends or an old married couple. It wasn’t the kind of relationship she had expected to have, but it was the one they had fashioned in the circumstances, with the time they both had available and were willing to share. There were nights when she actually preferred being alone to do whatever she wanted. And it wasn’t easy for Philippe to be close. He had spent years before he met her guarding his emotions, having affairs with women he didn’t really care about, and having a fraudulent relationship with his wife. He kept a distance between himself and Dahlia that was comfortable for him. Dahlia realized that he was afraid of closeness, even though he was at ease with her now, and she kept a safe distance from him too by not being with him all the time. Whatever it was, or the reasons for it, it worked for them.

—

She was happy to see him when he arrived in time for dinner. He brought a bottle of her favorite champagne, and Henri had gotten caviar at her request. They liked spoiling each other to make their time together special. There was always something festive about it. She was wearing white satin lounging pajamas, with high-heeled silver sandals, her long blond hair swept up. He loved the way she looked and how elegantly she dressed. He loved being out with her, and being seen with her, and she was proud to be with him. And what happened between them was no one’s business. There was a touch of mystery to it because no one knew what it was for sure. What they lacked in deep emotion they made up for with intellectual attraction, comfortable companionship, and good sex. She didn’t think she had a right to expect more at her age, and was convinced that true love only came around once, and she’d already had hers, so what she shared with Philippe was enough, and more than many people had at their age. It was romantic in a superficial way, and warm at the same time. After six years, they knew each other well. She couldn’t imagine having more than that now, and Philippe had made it clear right from the beginning that divorce would never be an option, nor remarriage. He intended to end his days legally married to Jacqueline, even if they spent little time together, had never had an honest exchange, and according to Philippe had never been in love. It had been an appropriate joining of two important families and nothing more.

At least what he shared with Dahlia was sincere. It was a bond between two people with bright minds who enjoyed each other’s company, were attracted to each other, and were surprisingly at ease with each other in parallel lives. There was no pretense that it was more than it was. She felt she could say anything to him. Philippe had been an unexpected gift in her life, and she was always surprised that it had lasted this long, given his circumstances.

He wasn’t what she had expected or wanted, but she was happy to have him in her life. There were definite limitations to their relationship, but she accepted it for what it was. He had warned her early on that he had a fear of women who wanted too much from him, and deep emotions weren’t his strong suit. She had accepted that about him, which he appreciated. She never tried to make more of their affair than what it was. She was an unusual woman in that respect, and never tried to change him. In her own way, she loved him as he was. She wasn’t disappointed by him, because he didn’t pretend to be more. She missed what she’d had with Jean-Luc sometimes, but she had no illusions about finding that again. She was content with Philippe.

Jean-Luc was ancient history, a youthful dream that hadn’t lasted long. What she shared with Philippe, however limited, was her reality now. She never tried to alter it or asked him to leave his wife. She knew he wouldn’t have, and she accepted the timetable he set, and his limited emotions as the price she paid for being involved with a married man. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked well enough for them, and particularly for him. The American in her would have preferred a cleanly divorced man, even if they never married and didn’t live together, but Philippe was who life had put on her path, and she made the best of it with good humor and grace, and never made him feel he was falling short, even when he was. At sixty-four, he was never going to change, and he had made the ground rules clear right from the beginning, and had never deviated from them, or deepened their relationship, which was precisely what he didn’t want.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked her over lobster salad. She knew all his favorite meals and had them for him whenever he dined with her. He took her to the finest restaurants and liked to eat well. He was a bon vivant, a man of sophisticated tastes.

“About three weeks. I enjoy trips like it occasionally, checking on our image in other countries and cities, and seeing how well our representatives are upholding the standards we set here. I enjoy going to the States now and then.”

“I always forget you’re half American,” he said, smiling at her. “You don’t seem like it.”

“I don’t feel like it. I’ve been here for a long time. It felt more real when my father was alive. Delphine has always been attracted to life in the States. The others have no interest in it whatsoever. It’s funny how different they are.”

“You’ve done a good job with them.” Philippe was always surprised by how close she was to her children, a little too much so he thought. He often advised her that she should let them fly on their own, without providing such a strong safety net under them. He thought they needed a chance to fail too, but she never wanted them to get hurt, and was determined to protect them. He found it touching and startling at times. His parents had never done that for him. He’d been raised in boarding schools from a young age. His parents had manifested very little interest in him, and expressed no emotion, which was why he found deep feelings unfamiliar and alarming and had no idea how to navigate them.

He had married a cold woman because it was all he knew of relationships. He had thought that good breeding and good manners were enough, and yet had always found something lacking, until Dahlia came along, and he was attracted to her like a moth to a flame. But when he got too close to her, her warmth seared him, and he backed away immediately.

She was a loving person, and he admired that about her, but he had no role model to follow, and no idea how to reciprocate. Philippe took no risks with his heart—the only risks he took were in business. He only got as close to her as he could tolerate, like sitting near a warm fire in winter, but never getting close enough for the sparks or flames to touch him. The fire within her burned much more brightly than the fire in him, but he appreciated the fact that she accepted him as he was, without forcing him to come closer, or expecting more of him. The deep love she had described to him that she had shared with her husband in her youth would have terrified him.

As expected, after dinner, which had been excellent, they disappeared to her bedroom. Henri had left by then, and their lovemaking was testimony to how well they knew each other and enjoyed each other, rather than being inspired by deep emotion. He left her at midnight, and would have preferred to spend the night as he always did on their nights together. But she was leaving early in the morning for her flight to New York and had to get up at dawn. Her suitcases were packed, and after he dressed, still basking in the haze of their very satisfying lovemaking, she walked him to the door in a pink satin dressing gown that outlined the lithe figure that never failed to arouse him, even more so than some of his younger partners had before he met her. He had never cheated on her in their six years together, which was new for him, and always surprised him. He knew she was faithful to him and was touched by it. Fidelity had never been part of his marriage.

“Don’t go falling in love with an American,” he said in a raw whisper, as he kissed her when they reached the front door. She looked beautiful and tender in her pink dressing gown and bare feet. He would have liked to make love to her again, but she only had a few hours left to sleep. “A handsome New Yorker, a movie star in L.A., or a cowboy in Texas.”

“I’ll try not to,” she said, as she kissed him. They both knew that would never happen.

“I’ll call you,” he said. It was the unspoken agreement they had. She very rarely called him, not wanting to get him at a bad time, if Jacqueline was around. And she knew that soon, before she got back from the States, he would be leaving for his annual summer vacation with his family in the south of France. It was the only time all year that he, his wife, and son Julien went anywhere together. He would be leaving sometime in early July and staying in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat until mid-August, when he joined Dahlia in Saint-Paul-de-Vence. He would already be gone when she got back, and he wasn’t coming to Alex’s wedding. They had discussed it and agreed that he didn’t belong there, as he wasn’t close to Alex. Dahlia would be busy overseeing the wedding, so she wasn’t going to be seeing him for a long time, about seven weeks, until he came to Saint-Paul-de-Vence in mid-August, longer than usual this year, because of her trip.

He left a few minutes later and walked to his car in the courtyard. It was a balmy June night and she stood in the doorway and waved as he got to his car. He stopped the car at the big outer doors, and the guardian came out to help him. After he drove out onto the rue de Grenelle, she closed the door and went back into the house.

She had her own life to live, and Philippe had his, in their separate worlds, with the distance between them that he needed and that she told herself was best for her too. But now and then she wondered what it would be like if he wasn’t married, and he wasn’t afraid that love was too great a risk to take, even after six years. He always retreated to the distance where he felt safe. Seven weeks apart now would be easy for him. It gave her the time she wanted with her children, and for her work. She told herself that this way no one would get too attached, and no one would get hurt. The distance between her and Philippe kept her life orderly and predictable, even though she knew it wasn’t what love could be, with all the ups and downs that made it exciting and so much sweeter. Philippe had never experienced what that kind of love was, and didn’t want to. And Dahlia was happy enough being his lover twice a week. It was what destiny had given her, and she accepted with grace.