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Chapter 27
The weekend passed smoothly, almost to the point where I forgot I was spending it with my estranged mother. Annabelle and Christoph happily spent most of the time in the pool, watched over by Marie, the middle-aged French nanny. Janette seemed happy to sketch while she sunbathed on the deck, and Maurice was delighted to find another tennis player in Brandon. I was able to spend the mornings studying in Brandon's office, interrupted only occasionally when he would check on me with a cup of tea. Only one kiss turned into something else that we needed to lock the door for.
When I came out to the yard around lunchtime on Monday, our last day, Brandon and Maurice were finishing their usual morning match. Janette was lounging at the pool while the children dove for rings at the bottom. She peered up at me through a pair of oversized Chanel sunglasses, poised in a sleek black maillot like Bridget Bardot.
"Back from studying. Amazing, a daughter of mine could be such a bookworm."
I pulled off my light gray cover-up and tossed it onto the other lounge next to her. "I didn't know that was a bad thing."
"Well, at least you've kept yourself nice and trim." Janette looked up and down my body with blatant inspection. "Of course, you've got those genes on both sides, haven't you? Danny always was a handsome little thing."
I fought the urge to put back on the cover-up. I had noticed her making remarks about Annabelle's slightly round, eight-year-old physique and meant to say something it about it anyway, but Brandon had suggested that it wasn't the best way to continue rebuilding my relationship with my estranged mother.
"Is that what I'm doing here?" I had asked in bed last night.
He'd shrugged. "What else?"
What else indeed?
"Do you know, I think you would look perfectly marvelous as a blonde," Janette continued. "With our green eyes...it's just a shame you inherited your grandfather's hair. And skin, as it were. Let's hope if you and Brandon ever have children, those genes skip another generation."
I looked down warily at the light speckles that decorated the skin my modest blue-gray bikini didn't cover. Despite the umbrella-sized straw hat I wore in the sun, the last two days of playing on the beach and in the pool had caused an avalanche of freckles to erupt all over my normally olive-toned body. Normally I wasn't too conscious of them, but Janette's frank appraisal made me more aware than usual of my Irish complexion.
"You know, there are procedures that can remove freckles, darling," Janette said, pushing her sunglasses onto her forehead to examine more closely some of the spots on my thighs. "I'm sure we could find a top-notch dermatologist in Boston to take care of them for you. I'd pay, of course."
"Don't you remove a single spot, Janette," Brandon interrupted. "She's perfect as is."
He loped up the deck and scooped me to his side for a sweaty kiss. Janette watched us with keen interest, then slid her glasses back over her porcelain nose.
"Who won?" I asked as I stepped away from Brandon, more just to benefit from the view than because I didn't want to touch him. His white tennis shirt and hairline were both damp from the game, and the shirt stuck to his lean muscles.
"I tried to let Maurice have it in the end, but he forced me to take it. Straight sets." He looked back at Maurice. "You all right back there, Maury?"
I had to stifle a laugh at the familiar nickname, which seemed more appropriate for a used-car salesman than a suave French businessman. Maurice approached, looking considerably worse for wear. His normally immovable gray hair stood up in a few places, and his tanned face was bright red under the sweat that also soaked through his blue shirt.
He grimaced. "It was a good match."
Clearly, Maurice didn't like losing. I didn't blame him, but I could have told him two days ago that Brandon, one of the most competitive people I knew, not to mention a natural athlete, never lost. I had learned that the hard way more than once.
Brandon hopped from foot to foot, swinging his racket toward a phantom ball. "It was a good match," he repeated. "What do you say, Red? You up next?"
I shook my head, holding my hands out as if to block him. "Ohh, no. I learned my lesson yesterday."
"I could teach you to be better. I'm a very effective instructor." Brandon waggled his brows at me prominently in a way that made me giggle.
"Brandon!" Annabelle called from the pool. "Will you come swimming with us now? S'il vous plaît?"
Every afternoon after his tennis match with their dad, Brandon had demonstrated to Annabelle and Christoph his excellent impressions of various sea creatures. This generally led to countless games of Jaws that basically consisted of us chasing the kids around the pool while they giggled uncontrollably. Maurice and Janette often disappeared around this time, Maurice to work in their guestroom, Janette to the expensive Pilates studio in a nearby town. I didn't mind when they left, although I did wonder sometimes what kept them so long to get ready for their daily "errands." Sometimes they hovered upstairs for hours before they left. Brandon guessed they were probably getting it on and teased me for thinking too much about it.
Today would be even better. It was Marie's afternoon off, and I had volunteered to take the kids beachcombing in Chatham before the firework display that night. Unfortunately, Brandon also had to spend the afternoon working. I didn't mind too much, though; I was eager to get some time with the kids by myself.
But first things first.
Brandon pulled off his shirt, his perspiring, cut torso gleaming in the sun. Behind him, Janette snuck a peek over the rims of her glasses. I hid a smile; she was only six or seven years older than him, and I couldn't really blame her for looking. He was quite a sight.
"Papa, vous aussi?" Christoph's small voice piped up behind his sister.
They were both hanging onto a life-sized, alligator-shaped floaty that Brandon had bought for them yesterday in the village. The creature had already been used as a whale, a boat, a spaceship, and a subway train.
