thirty-one

Oddly, ever since I had reconciled with my father, I had also begun to feel more relaxed about my marriage. Perhaps I was becoming aware of how much, over the years, I had conflated my father’s behavior with that of my husband? How far had my relationship with Sebastien been soured by my fear of being abandoned like my mother? But now that was over and done with. Never again would I allow the past to interfere with the present or affect my relationships.

Of course, I couldn’t stop my husband leaving me for someone else, if that was what fate decided. But now I was much more serene about it: I knew that whatever happened I could count on my inner resources to cope. And that certainty gave me a strength I never thought I had.

So it seemed I had made my peace with the males of the species.

One morning I was enjoying this thought, drinking a nice cup of green tea, when Sebastien came into the kitchen and handed me an envelope.

“Here, there was a letter for you.”

Inside was a brief message:

Rendezvous on Thursday at Espace Mille et Cent Ciels, for a summit meeting! Be on time: exactly half past one. See you Thursday, Claude.

What was he up to now?

Sebastien, who had buttered a slice of bread, was staring at me out of the corner of his eye as he ate it.

“More work?”

“Er . . . yes. Sorry, nothing I can do about it!”

“You never stop.”

I sensed he was worried or ill at ease—I couldn’t exactly tell which—and went over to give him a kiss.

“Don’t fret; it’ll be worth it. And you’ll soon see how wonderful it’s all going to be!”

“I guess so . . .”

On Thursday I abandoned my assistants in the workshop with instructions for the afternoon and rushed to my rendezvous in a glamorous outfit that won me some wolf whistles and compliments in the street. I blushed, but the meeting place was in the smartest area in town, so I had told myself I needed to fit in. And wasn’t it also a perfect occasion to see how I was getting on in the skin of the new Camille? If I was to believe the flattering looks I received, it was going quite well.

As I entered the Espace Mille et Cent Ciels, the sight took my breath away. The lobby itself was like a hymn to the beauty of Asian palaces. Rich fabrics, elegant furniture, subtle fragrances, beguiling colors. I felt as though I had been transported in time and place. It was glorious. And the chandeliers, the antique lamps, the soft, thick carpets, laid on parquet floors or handmade mosaics. I was captivated at once by the seductive semidarkness that threw mysterious shadows onto everyone’s faces.

But the greatest mystery remained: Why had Claude invited me here? That was the question I was asking myself when I went up to the receptionist.

“Where’s the bar, please? I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

“At the end of the corridor, immediately on the left.”

I followed her directions, my heart beating loudly. What was the elaborate setup for this time?

The bar was as magnificently decorated as the lobby. I studied all the people there. None of them looked like Claude. I silently cursed him for being late: I’ve always hated having to hang around in a place like this. Men are quick to misinterpret what a single woman might be doing there. I tried hard to adopt a distant, self-assured look, repeating over and over in my head a mantra that had become a habit in recent weeks: I am Audrey Hepburn, I am Audrey Hepburn . . .

My neighbor at the bar had his back turned to me, offering me a good view of his navy blue suit—which, it has to be said, was very well tailored. Nice pair of shoulders, I said to myself before realizing to my horror that the back was turning toward me.

“What are you doing here?” said the man with a disarming smile.

“But . . . but . . . what’s . . . ?”

“Well, as you see, it’s not only your Claude who can spring surprises!”

Sebastien took my face in his hands as if it were a precious sculpture and gave me a languorous kiss. I was instantly aroused, although slightly embarrassed by how indiscreet and incongruous such a kiss was in a place like this. Luckily, the barman pretended to be looking elsewhere. Sebastien pulled back and stared into my face to judge how I was feeling about his surprise. I had not seen such passion in his eyes for a long time. Too long.

I stammered, “In-incredible! How did you manage to—”

“Shhh. It turns out that your Claude is much cooler than I thought. He was perfectly happy to help me organize this little piece of theater. He wrote that message to make you think it was him you were meeting . . . Fun, wasn’t it?”

“Wait till he hears what I have to say about that!” I said, but I was far too pleased with the result to bear Claude a grudge. “Well then, what do you intend to do with me to make up for tearing me away from several hours of precious work?”

“Mmm . . . Things that will make you glad you came! Besides, a few moments of relaxation will only make you that much more productive, won’t they, my favorite businesswoman?”

He had come up with a tough schedule. Hammam, sauna, pool, a gentle scrub with black eucalyptus soap. We lay side by side and surrendered ourselves to the expert hands of young Balinese masseuses, whose expertise took us somewhere close to seventh heaven. I relaxed completely, all the while holding on to Sebastien’s hand, which only added to the sensuality of the experience. By the time we left the spa, I was floating on air.

The candlelit dinner that followed was the climax of our day together and sent my taste buds straight to nirvana. This place indulged the senses like nowhere else. But what enchanted me most was to discover that Sebastien was gazing at me in the way he used to do: I was his Scheherazade.

And that was more than an objective ticked off. It was a dream come true.