The Suitors - By Cecile David-Weill Page 0,94

drag along. I do as I’m asked. And I watch the other visitors to this palatial hotel, who seem so free, so cheerful. Why? I just don’t understand their happiness. I understand only schedules and obligations.

The hour limps by. Soon I’ll be done.

Sunday, 1:00 p.m.

The Hôtel du Cap seemed completely transformed to us, through the combined efforts of passing time and new management. They take credit cards now but no longer issue free beach passes to a privileged few. Thus Marie and I felt our welcome blow now cold, now hot, between a new protocol, made of rules and prohibitions suited to an impersonal and almost banal establishment, and the familiar charm of a priceless and singular place; between the pool attendant who inquired haughtily if we were guests at the hotel, and Michel, the Eden-Roc doorman who asked for news of the family while kissing us on the cheek.

“What’s the event?” I asked him.

“The grand terrace has been reserved for a conference.”

“Ah, I see! But we can still go there, can’t we?”

“Yes, of course, go right ahead.”

Marie and I toured the gastronomic restaurant, which no longer used the same china as before, and the main dining room, prettily repainted in white. Then we went down to the bar, where the lighting, mixing with that of the swimming pool, kept shifting from blue to green, and from rose to violet.

“It’s really something, that design gadget! It gives the restaurant a fake nightclub atmosphere, don’t you think?” asked Marie.

“Oh, my, that’s quite a problem.”

“But … what is the matter with you?”

And then I told her that there was a buyer for L’Agapanthe, and gave her the gory details of my doings with Alvin, and revealed my sadness at having spoken so little to her that weekend.

“In any case, those suitors? That idea was a farce,” she said dismissively. “God only knows what got into us.”

I remembered what Frédéric had said to me. But when I spoke to her, it was about what might have been the real heart of the matter.

“I think I wanted nothing to change, I wanted to be able to keep the house, to stay together the way we were when we were little, but that’s impossible. Anyway, to stay together, we have to evolve, to become more friends than sisters, and each have a life of our own. Because when we attempt to re-create our childhood, we remain—for life—the children of our parents. Haven’t you ever wondered why we aren’t married?”

“Well, because we haven’t met our husbands yet!”

“No! It’s because we weren’t ready! We could have vetted every single guy on earth and it wouldn’t have worked. First off, because you don’t recruit a lover the way you do an office employee, and all that fancy planning never works, you simply have to fall in love. And second, it was an absurd idea to tie our love life to L’Agapanthe, which is a family home, and therefore our parents’ house.”

“True, and nothing worked in that mix, anyway. None of the suitors liked the house and we didn’t like them in the house.”

“Ah, except for Béno!”

“Oh, thanks a lot!”

“Seriously, how are you with that?”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. I’ve gotten over it, really.”

“And that dog in Rio, are you still upset about that?”

“No, I’m over that, too.”

“So it’s just too bad about L’Agapanthe?”

Marie was about to agree when she looked off suddenly to my left, and I heard a voice I seemed to know, speaking English.

“Laure! You remember me?”

I turned, and there he was, nodding briefly in greeting to Marie.

“Rajiv! What are you doing here?”

“I’m running a conference!”

“Oh?” I said stupidly, unable to say anything more because I was so stunned to see in daylight this man who had such an effect on me.

“It is a discussion on economics as a moral science.”

“And that is …?”

“The idea that economics, unlike physics or chemistry, is not a hard science devoid of ideological bias, but is a discipline that requires ethical scrutiny and a deep understanding of the role political action plays within it.”

“That’s wonderful!” I exclaimed with a joy made real not only by my sincere interest but also by my longing to say something that would please those green eyes set like jewels in lashes as black and silken as velvet.

“You think so?” He was clearly surprised by my enthusiasm.

Embarrassed at having overdone it, I felt myself blush. Just as I was about to stammer something to fill the silence, I saw how moved he was by my emotional