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whom had been her father's friends as well. The parties she was invited to were infinitely dressier and more elaborate than those she went to in New York, or did when Arthur was alive. And here the invitations were harder to turn down, since many of the people who invited her had bought important pieces of work from her. She felt obliged to go. She complained about it to Xavier, and he insisted it would do her good. But even at her age, she was often by far the youngest person in the room, and more often than not, she was bored. For business reasons, if no other, she went anyway. And was always happy to go home.
In mid-December, working in her office on yet another gray foggy day, her secretary told her that a client had come to see her. She had met him at a dinner party the night before. He was interested in buying an important piece of Flemish work, and she was pleased that he had followed up on their conversation. She left her office to see him, and showed him several paintings that he seemed to like.
It was obvious to everyone except Sasha, in the course of his two-and-a-half-hour visit, that he liked the gallery owner as well. He invited her to dinner at Alain Ducasse the next day to discuss his eventual purchase with her. It was one of the finest restaurants in Paris, and she knew it would be a three- or four-hour meal, which she found boring and tedious. But she saw it as an opportunity to close a million-dollar sale. All she thought about now was work, except when she called Tatianna or Xavier.
“Maybe he's interested in more than just the painting, Mom,” Xavier teased her when she told him about the dinner she had accepted for the next day.
“Don't be silly, my father went to dinners like that with clients all the time. And believe me, no one was pursuing him.” Although she knew a few women had after her mother died. But she never saw her father show romantic interest in anyone. Like her, he had been faithful to his wife's memory till the end. Or at least, it was the impression he had given her. She had never discussed it with him. If there were women in his life over the years, he had been extremely discreet, but she doubted that there were.
“You never know,” Xavier said hopefully. Neither he nor his sister wanted her to wind up alone. “You're a beautiful woman, and you're still young.”
“No, I'm not. I'm forty-eight years old.”
“Sounds young to me. One of my friends is going out with a woman older than you.”
“That's disgusting. That's child molestation,” she said, laughing at him. The idea of a younger man seemed ridiculous to her.
“You wouldn't say that if it were a man your age going out with a young woman.”
“That's different,” she said emphatically, and this time Xavier laughed at her.
“No, it's not. You're just used to seeing that. It makes just as much sense if the woman is older, going out with a younger man.”
“Are you telling me that your latest paramour is twice your age? If you are, I don't want to know about it.” And at least, Sasha knew if that was the case, the woman would be gone within a week. With Xavier, they always were, whatever their age. Where women were concerned, he had the attention span of a flea.
“No, I haven't tried that yet, but I would if I met an older woman I liked and wanted to go out with. Don't be so stuffy, Mom.” She wasn't usually, in fact he loved how open-minded she always was about him. She was very French about those things, and never got upset about his active love life. She had been far more liberal than other people's mothers when he had gone to school in New York and had American friends. She had made a habit of buying condoms for him and all his friends, and leaving them in a giant mason jar in his room. She asked no questions, but kept the jar filled regularly. She preferred to be realistic about such things. In that sense, she was very French.
“I warn you, if you marry a woman twice your age, I'm not coming to the wedding, particularly if it's to one of my friends.”
“You never know. I just think you should keep an open mind for yourself.” He knew