Jewels [calibre 2.37.1]

The wedding party stayed till the end of the afternoon, and then Isabelle and Lorenzo left. They were going to Sardinia for their honeymoon, to a new resort there, to see his friend the Aga Khan, or so he said. But Sarah imagined there were a lot of people whom he said he knew who were going to disappear into thin air over the next few years, if he lasted that long. And she hoped he wouldn’t.

After they left for the airport, in a hired Rolls-Royce with a driver, the family sat gloomily in the garden, thinking of what she’d done, and feeling that they’d lost her forever. Only Phillip seemed not to care too much, as usual. He was chatting quietly with a woman who was a friend of Emanuelle and Sarah. But for the rest of them, it was more like a funeral than a wedding. Sarah felt somehow as though she had failed not only her daughter, but her husband. He would have been devastated if he could have seen Lorenzo.

Sarah heard from her very briefly when they reached Rome, and then not a sound from her until Christmas. Sarah called once or twice and sent several letters, and Isabelle never answered. She was clearly angry at all of them. But Julian spoke to her once or twice, so at least Sarah knew she was all right, but none of them had any idea if she was happy. She didn’t come home at all the following year, and she didn’t want Sarah to go there, so she didn’t. Julian flew to Rome to see her once. He said she looked very serious and very beautiful, and very Italian, and according to their mutual bank, she was spending an absolute fortune. She had bought a small palazzo in Rome, and a villa in Umbria. Lorenzo had bought a yacht, a new Rolls and a Ferrari. And as far as Julian could see, there was no baby on the horizon.

They came back to the château for Christmas after the first year, but grudgingly, and Isabelle said nothing to any of them, but she gave her mother a very pretty Buccellati pearl-and-gold bracelet. She and Lorenzo left on Boxing Day to go skiing in Cortina. It was difficult to fathom what was happening with them, and she didn’t even open up with Julian. But it was Emanuelle who finally ferreted out the truth. She flew to Rome, after a business trip to London to see Nigel and Phillip, and afterwards she told Sarah that she thought Isabelle looked dreadful. She had circles under her eyes, she was rail thin, and she never laughed anymore. And each time she saw her, Lorenzo wasn’t with her.

“I think there’s trouble there, but I’m not sure she’s ready to admit it to you. Just be sure to leave the door open, and eventually she’ll come home. I promise.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sarah said sadly. The loss had weighed on her terribly. For all intents and purposes, in the past two years she had lost her last surviving daughter.

Chapter 27

T was an agonizing three years later, before Isabelle came back to Paris again. They came when Sarah invited them to Whitfield’s thirtieth-anniversary party at the Louvre. They had taken over part of it for a party. It had never been done before, and Emanuelle had had to use her government connections to get permission. The entire area around it was going to be closed, and it was going to take hundreds of museum guards and gendarmes to make it work. But Sarah knew it would. And Lorenzo knew it was an event not to miss. Sarah was stunned when they accepted. Isabelle and Lorenzo had been married for five years by then, and Sarah had almost resigned herself to the distance between them. She concentrated her energies and her affection on Xavier and Julian, and Phillip to some extent, as little as she saw him. He’d been married to Cecily for thirteen years by then, and his affairs were hinted at in the press, but never confirmed, usually, Sarah suspected, out of respect for his position. The Duke of Whitfield, according to some, was allegedly pretty dicey.

The party Sarah gave was the most dazzling Paris had ever seen. The women there were so beautiful it took your breath away, and the men so important, you could have run five governments from her central table. The President of France was there, the Onassises, the Rainiers, the Arabs, the Greeks, every possible important American, arid all the crowned heads of Europe. Everyone who had ever worn jewelry was there, and a lot of young women who hoped to. There were courtesans and queens, the very rich and the very famous. It made the party five years before look paltry in comparison. No expense was spared, and Sarah herself was thrilled when she saw it. She sat back quietly in victory, looking at all of it, as a thousand people dined and danced and drank and cavorted for each other’s benefit and that of the press, and undoubtedly many misbehaved in assorted ways, although no one knew it.

Julian had brought a very pretty girl, an actress Sarah had read about in a recent scandal, which was an interesting change for him. He had recently been going out with a startlingly pretty Brazilian model. He never lacked for girls, but he always behaved well. They loved him when they arrived and when they left. One couldn’t ask for more. Sarah would have liked to see him choose a wife, but at twenty-nine, there seemed to be no sign of it, and she didn’t press him.

Phillip had brought his wife, of course, but he spent most of the evening with a girl who worked for Saint Laurent. He had met her in London the year before, and they seemed to have a lot in common. He always cast an eye on Julian’s girls, and he had noticed the actress, too, but never got around to introducing himself, and then they got lost in the crowd. It took him ages to find Cecily afterwards, chatting happily to the King of Greece about her horses.

Isabelle was one of the most beautiful women there, Sarah was pleased to note. She was wearing a skintight black Valentino dress that revealed her figure dazzlingly, her long black hair cascaded down her back, and she wore a remarkable diamond necklace and bracelet, with matching earrings, that Julian had loaned her. But she didn’t even need the jewels. She was simply so beautiful that people stared at her, and Sarah was pleased that she had come home for the party. She had no delusions about why they’d come. Lorenzo worked the crowd that night, chasing royals, and constantly posing for the papers. Sarah noticed, as did his wife, who eyed him quietly, but Sarah said nothing. She sensed easily that something was wrong there, and she waited for Isabelle to say something, and she never did. She stayed late and danced with old friends, particularly a well-known French prince, who had always liked her. There were so many men who would have loved to pursue Isabelle, she was twenty-three years old, and so beautiful, but she had been gone for five years, married to Lorenzo.

Sarah took them all to lunch the next day at Le Fouquet’s, to thank them all for helping her with the party. Emanuelle was there, of course, and Julian, Phillip and Cecily, Nigel, his designer friend, and Isabelle and Lorenzo. Xavier was already away by then. He had begged for months for Sarah to let him visit old friends of hers in Kenya. She had resisted him at first, but he was so persistent, and she was so busy with their anniversary party plans, that she had finally let him go, and he had thanked her profusely. At fourteen, all he wanted was to see the world, and the farther away the better. He loved being with her, and he loved France, but he had a constant craving for the exotic and the unknown. He had read Thor Heyerdahl’s book four times, and he seemed to know everything about Africa, and the Amazon, and every possible place in the world no one else in his family ever wanted to go to. He was definitely his own man, a bit of William in some ways, a bit of Sarah in others, he had some of Julian’s warmth, and a lot of William’s fun. But he had a sense of adventure, and a passion for the rugged life that no one else in his family shared with him. The rest of them much preferred Paris and London and Antibes, or even Whitfield.