her sister. They had dinner in the kitchen that night and Nadia missed her mother and sisters.
“When is Papa coming home?” Sylvie asked. She was eager to see him. He had been away so much lately. She missed him.
“I don’t know. You talked to him. What did he say?” Nadia said noncommittally.
“He said he’d be back tomorrow.”
“I have to go to London on Tuesday, so he can stay with you then.” The girls liked the sound of that, though Sylvie had noticed and already commented that they were getting to be like their friends whose divorced parents alternated being with them, and were never there at the same time. Nadia didn’t respond. She knew that the girls would figure something out sooner or later. They couldn’t fool them for much longer. She was working less during the summer, but still trying to keep her clients happy, despite the upheaval in her private life.
Nicolas called them that night before bedtime. Nadia knew that her sisters would be on their flights by then, she was thinking of them. Then Sylvie handed the phone to her mother. Nadia didn’t want to talk to him, but took it anyway, so as not to arouse any more suspicion in her children. She had to play the game for them, as though they were still truly married.
“How was the weekend?” he asked her.
“Really nice. It was lovely being together. How was yours?” she inquired with an edge to her voice.
“Hot. There’s a heat wave in the South, and it was jammed.” She didn’t ask who he’d been staying with and didn’t want to know which of their friends had welcomed the famous movie star with open arms. She knew many had, and she didn’t consider them friends anymore. She told him about her trip to London, to see a new client, and he sounded delighted to have the excuse to stay with the girls. Then Nadia got off the phone. She didn’t want to spoil the warm glow of the weekend by getting upset with him.
Nadia and the girls drove back to Paris the next morning, and when she saw the newspapers, she was angry all over again. There was a brief mention that he and Pascale had rented a house in Ramatuelle, near Saint-Tropez, for the summer, and there was a paparazzi photo of Pascale looking ravishing in a bikini, with her round six-month belly showing, and Nicolas looking blissful beside her. Nadia threw the paper away before the girls saw it.
She dropped the girls off with friends for the day, and went to her office, and when the girls got home that night, Nicolas showed up minutes later. He had a deep tan, which made his fair hair look even blonder, and his green eyes seem even greener. When the girls left them for a few minutes, Nadia spoke to him in an angry undertone.
“We have to say something to the girls soon. Someone else is going to tell them. For God’s sake, you’re having a baby in three months, and you were in the newspaper again.”
“It’s a boy,” he said, trying not to look as elated as he was, but he was happy to see Nadia and his daughters too. His heart seemed to have expanded to include all of them, which was impossible to explain to her. “I agree, we have to tell them something. But after the baby comes, I want to come home and try to put our marriage back together. I love you, Nadia. I’ve been a fool for the past few months, but that hasn’t changed.” He looked serious as he said it, and she wanted to hit him. These days, he brought out the worst in her. Her nerves were stretched to the limit whenever she saw him, or even thought about him. What he wanted was just too unreal.
“How can you say that? You’re living with another woman half the time. You use our home like a hotel, and you expect me to be the innkeeper, and just sit here patiently waiting for you. Why don’t you make a clean break, and at least try and do it right with her?” She was tired of his hanging on to both of them.
“She’s twenty-two years old. She knows she’s too young and immature to be married, and she’s right. She wants me around, at least until the baby, but she’s not looking to the future. This is all about now for her. And it has