Find Me in Paris

Chapter 20

Twenty

ISABELLE

Isabelle was grateful for her meeting with an up-and-coming artist the next day because right now she needed something to take her mind off the dinner last night—and everything else. She’d discovered this woman while walking the streets of Montmartre a few months ago; she’d been immediately captivated by her fresh angle on landscapes, focusing on the windows of Paris, and had been delighted when the woman agreed to a show at the gallery.

“Amazingly, I can look at this city all day long and always see it with fresh eyes,” Isabelle said as she admired the pieces the artist had brought with her today. The collection was nearly complete, and they set a date for the opening two months from now.

Two months , Isabelle thought when she was alone at her desk with her calendar. What would her life look like in two months? It would be the start of summer. Gabriel’s show would be over, and maybe her marriage would be, too.

She looked at her phone, thinking of how easy it would be to call Hugh—if he would even answer. To pretend like everything was fine, the way that he seemed to be doing.

Two months. Not so long ago she might have hoped she’d be entering her second pregnancy trimester by June. That she’d be shopping for nursery furniture and sweet little stuffed animals.

Now, her entire future seemed uncertain. Maybe it always had been. Maybe she was wrong to think that anything in her life was as she thought.

The door opened again, and she looked up, expecting to see the artist returning because she’d forgotten something, or a tourist looking to browse, but instead, Gabriel stood grinning at her.

And holding something in his hands.

Isabelle’s heart began to drum as she came around her desk. “That’s not what I think it is, is it?”

He grinned wickedly, holding the brown-paper-wrapped canvas out of reach. “Depends on what you’re expecting.”

“I’m expecting the final painting in the collection,” she said warmly. She looked him in the eye, sensing his doubt and feeling a need to put him at ease. They both knew that this show was going to change things for both of them, but especially for Gabriel. There would be press at the event, but there would also be critics. She was sure that all the reviews would be favorable, but try telling that to the artist himself. “And I know that it’s going to be wonderful, just like the rest.”

“Are you sure?”

She hesitated. How could anyone be sure of anything? She’d thought she was sure of Hugh when she married him, and look how that had turned out. Her mother had probably been sure of Papa, and Sophie’s mother had felt the same. She’d signed Gabriel for the gallery after seeing just one of his paintings, and nothing else.

She’d taken a leap of faith. And against all her better judgment, for some reason, she felt very sure that in this case, at least, it would all work out.

And that maybe, somehow, all hope wasn’t lost for everything in life.

“I’m sure,” she said firmly. She held out a hand, and after a moment, he handed over the painting.

Isabelle wanted to unwrap it right then and there, but she sensed that Gabriel would rather not be judged face-to-face, so instead she set it on her desk.

“So, are you playing tour guide with my sister today?” she asked conversationally.

Gabriel looked evasive for a moment as he wandered the gallery, stopping to look closely at a few paintings she knew he’d already seen a dozen times before. “Oh, I just saw her, actually, at a café.”

That didn’t answer her question, and she wondered if something was going on that he wasn’t telling her. But then she thought of Sophie’s boyfriend, and she knew that things were complicated. That life was this way for everyone, not just for her.

“You seemed a little surprised to see me,” Gabriel said, tilting his head. “Did you think I wouldn’t pull through?”

“Oh…” Isabelle started to shake her head and then realized that there was no use denying it. She was a terrible liar, unlike her husband, and she had been nervous. More than she could admit. “A little.”

Gabriel grinned. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

She nodded, knowing that now. Wishing she could have believed it then, like she had blind faith in the quality of his work. “I guess I’m still working on trusting people.”

“I understand,” Gabriel said, the amusement leaving his face. “But I’ve learned that sometimes, when you least expect it, people can surprise you.”

They could.

Even Papa had surprised her. And not in a good way.

But Camille had, she thought. She could have fled back to England, but instead, she’d stayed in Paris, for the dinner, for Isabelle.

For both her sisters.

Isabelle waved Gabriel off and waited a few minutes until she was sure he was truly gone. Then she carefully unwrapped the canvas and stared at the painting, feeling her shoulders relax as the breath she’d been holding left her body.

Yes, people really could surprise you, even when you didn’t think they could. And Gabriel had done just that, not just by delivering this painting when she’d all but given up on him, but by surpassing even her expectations of him.

What he didn’t know was that by creating this, he had surprised himself. He might have spent the past few years painting for the joy of it, but he didn’t truly know how good he was, and in just a few short days, he was about to find out.

And then, his life would change. She could only hope for the better.

That’s all she could hope for any of them.

Isabelle walked over to the window and looked out onto the street, thinking of what Antoine had said, and now Gabriel, about people surprising you. With that in mind, she packed her bag for the day and headed home.

Maybe Camille would surprise her again.

Both of her sisters were home and in the kitchen, making dinner, when Isabelle pushed through the door.

“We thought we’d do something nice for you,” Sophie said brightly, but there was pain in her eyes.

Pain that Isabelle had brought upon her.

“If anyone should be making up for last night, it’s me,” Isabelle said.

“No, it’s our father who should,” Camille said firmly. “And you were the one who made the effort for him.”

She still was, Isabelle thought bitterly.

With a heavy sigh, she leaned against the counter. The kitchen was so small that the three of them could barely fit inside together, yet somehow they had, day after day, for more than a week.

Isabelle had grown used to having her sisters here, and she realized just how much she would miss them when they were gone.

“It’s hard to believe that you’ll both be leaving this weekend,” she said sadly.

“I know,” Sophie said, blinking quickly as she chopped a carrot.

“I do miss Flora,” Camille replied with a wistful look. She grew quiet for a moment and then smiled broadly at Isabelle. “Are you all ready for the opening?”

Isabelle bit her lip, watching her sisters work in silence to prepare a salad. One of them had been to the boulangerie, because a fresh baguette sat on the counter, waiting to be cut.

“About that…I wanted to check with you both first,” Isabelle said. “But I’d like to invite Papa to the show.”

She was almost afraid to look at either of her sisters for fear that they would tell her what she didn’t want to hear, that they didn’t want their father there. And if they did, she knew that she’d be compelled to honor their wishes. Papa had hurt them. He hadn’t been there when they’d needed him. But he was here now. And he was trying. And Isabelle could only hope that it wasn’t too late for a second chance.

“It’s your gallery,” Sophie said, glancing nervously at Camille. “You should invite whomever you want.”

Isabelle gave her a small smile and then skirted her gaze to Camille, whose expression was unreadable.

“Camille?”

Camille didn’t speak for a moment but then said, “I can’t stop you if you want to invite him. It’s no different than your wedding.”

The mere mention of her wedding day made Isabelle stiffen, and she was grateful when Camille gathered the plates from the cupboard.

“I’ll set the table,” Camille said, beating Isabelle to an excuse to leave the room.

Isabelle didn’t argue. Camille needed space; it was her way. She didn’t show her emotions but instead chose to hide from them.

Isabelle took her time gathering up the food with Sophie before joining Camille at the dining room table. Camille said nothing as they all sat down, but it was clear from the frown she wore that she had much to say.

“I still can’t believe that Papa has been living in Paris all this time and that he never told you,” Camille said, uncorking a bottle of wine. “I thought you two talked.”

“Only occasionally,” Isabelle replied, watching as Camille poured her a glass of wine.

“More than the rest of us,” Sophie said, doing the same.

Isabelle detected the hurt in Sophie’s voice, the longing for something she didn’t have but maybe now could. She looked at her youngest sister, hoping that Papa’s presence wasn’t upsetting her trip to Paris. But she didn’t dare to hope that seeing their father had made this visit better, either.

It was complicated at best. For all of them.

And sitting here, at this table, felt far too familiar to last night.

Isabelle glanced at the chair that Papa had occupied, now empty, as if reminding her of his steady absence.

“Do you want to eat over near the windows instead?” Isabelle suggested. “We could set this up on the coffee table.”

Camille and Sophie wasted no time in grabbing their plates and moving, and everyone seemed more relaxed once they were curled up on the sofa and armchairs, food plates untouched on the coffee table, wineglasses in hand.

“I had no idea Papa was in Paris,” Isabelle finally spoke. “It was a shock. And I won’t deny that it hurts.”

Sophie’s look was one of sympathy. Camille simply glared.

“And you’ve never run into him, in all these months,” she said, sounding almost surprised. “I know that Paris is big, but it’s not that big, not when you have favorite spots and can rule out the touristy areas.”

“I have a routine,” Isabelle commented. One that she hadn’t considered until now was maybe her way of keeping her world contained and safe, much like Camille.

So much for that, she thought.

“But you’re living in Papa’s childhood home,” Sophie pointed out.

“It’s true,” Camille said. “This was Papa’s stomping grounds when he was young. I can’t believe he wouldn’t be drawn back to this neighborhood in all these months.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to be seen until he was ready,” Isabelle replied. She stared at the glass in her hands, not taking a sip. “He wouldn’t be the only one.”

“What does that mean?” Camille asked.

Isabelle took a deep breath. Her chest was so heavy, so filled with confusion and worry and fear of the unknown. And the two people who might love her most in this world were sitting in this room. Maybe they wouldn’t understand.

But maybe, just maybe, they would.

“Hugh hasn’t been traveling like I told you,” she blurted. “Or like I thought. It turns out that all this time, he’s been right here in Paris, across the river, living at one of his company’s properties.”

“What?” Camille gasped. “Why didn’t you tell us you were separated?”

“Because I didn’t know we were. I don’t know what we are. Or ever were,” Isabelle said, her voice cracking. “He told me that he was in Tokyo for business. I had calls and texts from him, and all that time, he was right here in Paris.”

“But how do you know?” Sophie asked worriedly.

Isabelle hesitated, if only because recanting the details made it real. “I called his office to get the name of his hotel in Tokyo. They told me he was in the office that day. They even offered to transfer my call!”

“When was this?” Camille asked.

“Two weeks ago,” Isabelle replied. “And before you ask, yes, I’ve spoken to him since, and he’s still pretending to be in Japan.”

“Is it possible that he just popped into town for a few days before heading back?” Sophie asked with such hope in her voice that Isabelle almost felt bad for letting her down.

Sophie was young, but she wasn’t naive. Like her and Camille, she’d understood heartbreak from an early age. That you couldn’t always depend on people who were supposed to love you.

Isabelle had learned that lesson. But somehow she’d chosen to forget it. Or believe that somehow Hugh would be different.

“I mean…it’s possible.” Isabelle wasn’t convinced.

“Wait.” Camille set her wineglass on a coaster. “You’re telling me that you’ve known he’s here in Paris for weeks and you haven’t said anything to him about it?”

“I haven’t known what to say,” Isabelle replied, but saying it made her realize how lame she sounded. “I didn’t want to ruin your visit. I wanted to enjoy it. And then there was this business with Papa and this dinner. And my gallery show. I’ll be in a clearer space in a week.”

“A clearer space!” Camille stared at her. “Isabelle, you don’t know what’s going on with your husband! If he’s here in Paris, then why is he in Paris, and why hasn’t he told you?”

Isabelle looked at Camille frankly. “Do I need to spell it out to you of all people?”

“There is a possible explanation,” Sophie said tentatively.

“What’s that?” Camille asked.

Isabelle sat up straighter, too, holding on to the last thread of hope. She wanted to see the world through Sophie’s eyes, not just Paris. And, she realized, glancing across the room, maybe Camille did, too.

“If there is an explanation, I can only think of one,” Isabelle replied with a sigh. As much as she’d love to deny it, she knew that it was time to face reality. “He must be cheating on me.”

“You don’t know for sure,” Sophie insisted. “You won’t know until you talk to him.”

“She’s right,” Camille said. “You can’t avoid him forever. What have you even said each time you talk on the phone?”

“As little as possible.” Isabelle sighed. “I’ve stopped asking him how the food is in Japan, that’s for sure.”

She managed a brittle laugh but neither of her sisters joined her.

“Besides, who knows what he’d even tell me if I asked him,” Isabelle said. “If he’s been lying about where he is, what’s to stop him from lying again?”

“True.” Sophie let out a heavy breath.

“You know what I think,” Camille said, picking up her wineglass again.

Inwardly, Isabelle groaned. She knew exactly what Camille would think of all this, which was another reason she hadn’t said anything, not that she would admit to it. This was Camille, her kid sister, a woman she loved, even if she had hardened her heart and saw the world as an unsafe place. Assumed the worst in people.

But wasn’t that what Isabelle was doing? Assuming the worst about her own husband? A man she had promised to love and cherish until death did they part?

She didn’t know what to believe. She just knew that somewhere, deep inside her, a tiny bloom of hope still existed, and she wasn’t ready for it to be lost just yet.

“That you always knew Hugh would do this to me and I was a fool to ever marry him much less fall in love with him?” Isabelle ventured.

Camille didn’t bother to look hurt by the assessment. They both knew where she stood when it came to matters of the heart.

“I think you need to scout him out,” Camille said firmly.

“You mean…follow him?” Isabelle almost laughed until she realized how serious Camille was. Beside her, Sophie nodded with enthusiasm. “No! Absolutely, not!”

“Yes! Sit outside his office, see where he goes for lunch, or after work,” Camille said. “Take a few photos if you need to.”

“This isn’t a detective movie,” Isabelle replied with a firm shake of her head. “This is my life.”

“And that’s all the more reason you need to find out what’s going on with your husband. If he isn’t going to tell you the truth, you need to discover it on your own.” Camille turned to Sophie. “We’ll go with you, won’t we?”

Well, great. Isabelle had finally managed to get her sisters together and now they were teaming up against her.

Sophie looked startled but then nodded forcefully. “Of course. Absolutely. I only met Hugh one time and that was at your wedding. He might not even remember me or what I look like. I could easily follow him, sit beside him at a café even…”

Isabelle thought about this for about half a second before dismissing it. “He might not recognize you, Sophie, but he’d notice you. And he’d notice that you resemble me quite a bit.”

“We’ll keep our distance then,” Camille said. “Let’s just see where he goes.”

And with whom were the unspoken words.

“I don’t have a say in this, do I?” Isabelle asked.

“It’s your life, Isabelle,” Camille said, looking at her frankly. “And you’re not a helpless child anymore. You absolutely have a say in it.”

Isabelle let those words sink in as she quietly sipped her wine. Camille’s idea may be crazy, and they might even get caught, but if they did, then so did Hugh.

“You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?” she said, giving her middle sister a rueful look.

Camille sighed audibly. “That it’s a crazy idea and that you’ll deal with Hugh on your own when you’re ready.”

“It is a crazy idea, and I will deal with Hugh when I’m ready,” Isabelle said, “but that’s not what I was going to say.”

“It wasn’t?” Camille blinked.

Isabelle shook her head. “I was going to say thank you. Just…thank you.”

And she knew from the looks on both of her sisters’ faces that no other words were needed. That despite their differences and physical distance, they had a bond, a shared understanding, and a loyalty that couldn’t be broken.

And that they all knew they were going on that stakeout.

The thing about Camille was that when she said she was going to do something, she followed through, and on Wednesday morning when Isabelle awoke, she knew that even the rumble of thunder wouldn’t keep them from stalking her husband.

“Maybe we should have waited for another day,” Isabelle said, fighting against the knots that were forming in her stomach as she emerged from the metro station and popped open her umbrella.

She looked around the 1st arrondissement nervously. It was her first time on the Right Bank since learning that Hugh was here in Paris, and she felt jittery like she might see him at any moment, even though they were several blocks from his office.

“Nice try,” said Camille with a look of disapproval. She held her umbrella high over her head and her gaze firmly in front of her. She looked like a woman on a mission.

If Isabelle didn’t know better, she’d have thought Camille was stalking her own husband, not Isabelle’s.

“You can take off the sunglasses,” Isabelle said as they joined a group of tourists hoping to blend in (and failing miserably) as they crossed the busy street. What had Isabelle been thinking by wearing her usual trench and favorite scarf? Hugh would spot her from two blocks away!

“And show my face?” Camille tutted.

“It is raining and gloomy,” Sophie pointed out.

It was gloomy, and the mood fit the task. But right now, all Isabelle wanted to do was get back inside her warm and dry apartment and pretend that none of this was happening.

At the very least, she wanted to get on the other side of the river where she suspected Hugh wouldn’t dare cross until he was ready to—what? End their marriage? Or end his affair? Because Isabelle was sure that was what was going on here, and today would only confirm it.

She put a hand to her stomach, feeling suddenly sick. She would turn around, dash into the metro station, go back to the apartment, and deal with this another day.

But her sisters were now ten paces in front of her, and if she turned back, there was no telling what Camille would do. Confront Hugh? March into his office and demand to see him and know what was going on? Camille wasn’t afraid of a fight.

But Isabelle was. Ironic that all this time Camille thought that Isabelle was the strong one when she just masked her fear with denial.

Even now.

“I’m just saying that the sunglasses make you stand out even more on a day like this,” Isabelle hissed when she caught up to her sisters. “I thought we were supposed to blend in.”

“Fine,” Camille said tersely when they reached the café they’d agreed upon in advance as their stakeout point. She folded her umbrella before dropping onto a seat that faced the road. Isabelle reluctantly did the same, flanked by Sophie at the end.

At least it was Paris, where sitting in a row was even more acceptable than facing each other.

Only today, there would be no pleasant people watching. No kir royales, much as they were needed. No cheese, either. Today, they were on a mission. An unpleasant one.

Rain dropped down from the edge of the café awning, but underneath it was dry and warm from the heaters that hung below the sturdy fabric. The women all ordered a round of café crèmes to ward off the chill, but when the drinks arrived, none of them reached for a sip.

“I don’t know why I feel nervous, but I do,” Sophie admitted, her eyes wide as she glanced at Isabelle.

Even now, when Isabelle felt like she was being twisted into a knot and her heart was going to pound right out of her chest, she felt comforted by Sophie’s presence.

“It will be okay,” she assured Sophie, setting a hand on her arm.

Wishing that she could be so sure herself.

“We should have brought binoculars,” Camille suddenly said. “Grand-mère kept a small pair for the opera. I’m sure you still have them, Isabelle.”

“I do,” Isabelle said. They were tucked away in a box in a bedroom closet, along with some of the other treasures she couldn’t bear to part with just yet—if ever. She’d told herself that she’d have to clear out more of the past to make room for a future baby, but now that future didn’t feel full. As she sat staring at the passersby, waiting for her husband to appear, it felt bleak. “But something tells me that would be more suspicious than dark sunglasses on a rainy day.”

She managed a hint of a smile, which Sophie shared.

“How will we see Hugh if he’s under an umbrella?” Sophie asked after a few minutes of silence and scrutinizing passersby.

“Good point,” Isabelle said, seizing the chance. She reached for her handbag, eager to pay and get away. Just being in this neighborhood made her tense. At any moment, Hugh could spot her. Maybe he already had.

But then she thought of how ridiculous this was, to be hiding from her own husband.

About as ridiculous as the fact that he was also hiding from her.

“The rain is letting up,” Camille said, tipping her head toward the sky. “Look, there’s a bit of sun poking through the clouds.”

Isabelle studied the clouds, wishing she could read some meaning into the turn of the weather. That there was hope for her as well as the afternoon ahead.

“Maybe Hugh won’t come out,” she said after another ten minutes had passed. People had put away their umbrellas, and the early lunch crowd was growing thick. They’d planned their timing for when her husband was most likely to come outside and have a social break in his day, but they hadn’t discussed what they would do when they saw him.

“Maybe he has a working lunch,” Sophie commented.

At this, Camille and Isabelle both exchanged a look and then burst out laughing.

“What?” Sophie asked, staring from one sister to the next.

“Honey, this is France, not New York. Food is a pleasure, meant to be enjoyed,” Isabelle said, once again grateful for her youngest sister’s presence, and the brief moment of distraction it had given her.

“No one is cramming down a turkey sandwich while tapping on the computer here,” Camille agreed. “Hugh will come out. We just have to be patient.”

“And then what?” Isabelle said, her panic rising now that they were here and a confrontation was imminent. “What happens when he does come out? What then?”

“I think you’ll know what you want to do when you see him,” Camille said with confidence.

“If he sees you first, you’ll have to think fast,” Sophie warned her. “Are you a good actress?”

Isabelle blinked at Sophie and then jabbed Camille with her elbow. “Give me your sunglasses.”

“But I thought—” Camille started to protest.

“Hey, the sun’s out,” Isabelle reminded her. And she needed to hide. Fast.

What would she do if Hugh saw her first? And what would he do? Pretend he hadn’t seen her, most likely, even though they’d both know he had. And what if he decided to cross the street, dust off his own acting skills, pretend that he’d just flown into town that morning and had decided to make a quick stop at the office before going home?

How would she react then?

A phone rang, causing her to jump and nearly spill her coffee.

She pulled her phone from her pocket, half expecting it to be Hugh saying he was looking down at her from his office window, but it was Sophie who was staring at her phone with a frown.

“It’s just my mother,” she said tersely. “I’ll call back.”

They resumed their watch, until another phone rang, this time Camille’s. Isabelle was acutely aware that hers was the only device that wasn’t chiming, and that both of her sisters had a life waiting for them when this week was over—people waiting for them. And what did she have left for her when they were gone?

“Is that Flora?” Isabelle asked, seeing an opportunity to shut down this stakeout—at least until she’d worked out how she wanted to handle things with Hugh. “You should probably take it.”

“It’s not Flora, and I don’t need to take it,” Camille replied tersely. She swiped the phone screen, ignoring the call, but not before Isabelle had a chance to see the name of the caller.

“Aren’t you worried that Rupert might have something to say about Flora?” Isabelle pressed.

Camille eyed her sternly. “Aren’t you always telling me I worry too much? Besides, if it’s an emergency, he would text or try calling again. And that’s not happening.”

“I just thought since he called, it must be important,” Isabelle hedged.

“He’s just returning my call from the other day,” Camille said, staring straight across the street. Her focus was on spotting Hugh, and it was clear that nothing—and no one—could pull her from it.

“Should we order food?” Sophie asked when the waiter looked over at their table.

Isabelle hadn’t eaten yet today, but she was too anxious to be hungry. Camille narrowed her eyes at the street and then shook her head.

“Eating will only distract us,” she said. “We can eat after.”

After. Meaning after they had seen Hugh. Because it was clear from the lift of Camille’s chin and the set of her jaw that they weren’t going to be leaving this table until they did.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Isabelle said as a heave of nausea hit her full force. “I don’t know what to say, or—what I want.”

Except that wasn’t true. She did know what she wanted. She wanted the life she thought she had just a couple of weeks ago.

A beautiful apartment here in Paris. A daily walk to a little gallery that she was proud to own. A husband who she loved. And a baby.

It wasn’t asking for much, was it? But right now, it felt like the impossible.

“That’s why we’re here,” Camille reminded her, pulling her gaze from the sidewalk to stare at her. “You need to see him, Isabelle. Only then will you know how you feel.”

“You mean…if I still love him?” Isabelle was angry with her husband, but she hadn’t stopped to consider the root of the reason why. Was it because he lied? Or because he’d hurt her? Or both?

Or was the person she was really angry at herself? For trusting him? For wanting more than he’d told her he could offer? For believing that in time they could want the same things?

For daring to think that anything was possible?

“Look! A bunch of people are coming out of his building,” Sophie said in an excited whisper.

Camille and Isabelle both whipped their heads toward the building on the corner, curiosity winning out over Isabelle’s fear of being seen.

Sure enough, a small crowd of men and women in business attire pushed through the doors onto the sidewalk. A few balding businessmen, women who walked quickly, laughing at what their friends were saying, and a man with his shirtsleeves rolled up, his nut-brown hair flopping over his forehead, looking intensely at a tall, thin blonde while she talked.

It was Hugh. With another woman. And before Isabelle could try to convince herself that it was just a professional acquaintance, Camille tutted and turned to her.

“He’s holding her hand,” she said, pinching her lips in anger. “What are they…twelve?”

Isabelle stared, no longer caring if she was seen. Wishing, for once, that she might be. That he’d notice her. Remember her. Consider what he’d done to her.

She stood, feeling her sisters’ shocked stares as she did, but her eyes were locked on Hugh. Hugh, who had stopped at the crosswalk to kiss another woman, right there on the open street of Paris. Her Paris. The city she loved. The city she’d asked him to live in, with her.

“They’re not twelve,” she finally said. “They’re…in love.”

Something she’d experienced once. Until it was lost.

Like so many other things.