“What a beautiful grand room and huge tree!” she exclaimed.
“Le grand sapin.” Luca’s face glowed.
She repeated the phrase. “It must be fifteen feet high.”
“Five meters. Very close guess.” Gilbert grinned.
“Onc and I cut the tree down in the forest up in the mountains and dragged it to the car.”
“How did you get the ornaments on those high branches and the angel on top?” she asked.
“We put the angel on first and then put up the tree. I sat on Onc’s shoulders and used a long pole to hang ornaments at the top.”
“Glass of wine?” Gilbert asked. He took a corkscrew off the bar and began opening a bottle of red. His muscular arms made quick work of the task. Marti would agree, he was too, too handsome.
“That would be heavenly.” She sat on the comfy, worn sofa before an antique hand-carved pine coffee table. She was as comfortable here as she was at home, more so, since she’d been lonely at home.
Luca took what Claire thought was a cookie from a jar on a side table. Remy knew better and plopped down before Luca who held his hand out to the dog. “Donne la patte, Remy.”
The dog pawed Luca’s open palm, and Luca gave him the treat. Luca gave her a bone. “Now your turn.”
“Remy, come.” The dog trotted over, sat in front of her, and rested his slobbering chin on her lap, his huge brown eyes begging for sustenance. Claire laughed. “Donne… hmmm…donne la…” she shook her head. That phrase was too cumbersome. Remy would have to become bilingual. She held out the treat. “Shake.” The dog gave her his paw, she shook it and bestowed his prize. She was not only falling in love with Luca, but she was beginning to genuinely like his dog.
Gilbert placed a glass of wine on the table before her. “Would you please turn on the lamp next to you?”
She reached and pulled a chain. Warm light drenched the room and lit up silver-framed photos along the table. One of Luca as an infant, another of Gilbert and Luca wearing matching berets, and another: David and Sophie, holding a grinning Luca between them.
Nausea waved through her. David and Sophie should be here, sharing this joy with their son. But here she was, celebrating Christmas, only to leave them, just like David did. They still missed David, and she’d be doing the same thing by leaving them in a week.
A crackling noise startled her. Gilbert added kindling to the fire, the muscles of his back straining against his shirt as he grabbed a log and set it on the grate.
Where was her loyalty to David, thinking Gilbert handsome, feeling attracted to him? How could she consider falling in love with Gilbert if she still loved David? But she wanted more in a relationship than she’d had with David. Good grief. She should have stayed with Sister Georgette at the convent.
Gilbert slapped wood dust from his hands. “Time for bed, Luca.”
“But Onc, you haven’t made dinner.”
“You had a hamburger. Are you still hungry?”
“Dinner for Madame Claire.”
“I’m not hungry, and I’m so exhausted. I would like to rest.” Claire stood, upsetting the glass, spilling red wine across the coffee table. “Oh, I am so very sorry.” She looked about and, finding nothing to wipe up the spill before it dripped onto the antique carpet, she ripped off her scarf and mopped up the wine.
Gilbert’s hand stopped hers. “It’s all right Claire. Salt will absorb the stain. Do not worry.” He dumped a saltcellar onto the wine dripping onto the carpet, making the spill look like a mound of pink snow. “We keep these dishes of salt on nearly every table all around the house, which is more than two-hundred and fifty years old and has seen just as many spills, if not more, just like that carpet.”
Her heartbeat galloped. She had to leave, get out, now. She picked up the soaked scarf and held her hand to catch the drips. “I’ll clean the rug in the morning.” She turned and headed for the stairs. “My room is where?”
Gilbert was next to her in an instant. He took the scarf. “The last door on the right. First, I will put this to soak. Then, I’ll bring your bag up in a minute.” He moved to touch her hand, but she backed away, ran to the stairs, and started to climb.
“Good night, Luca.” She raced up the stairs to the end of the hall and shut the door behind her.
Chapter 26
Shelockedthedoor,leaned against it, and sighed. A sense of tranquility fell over her. The room was out of a decorating magazine, furnished in antique white pine and French linen drapes and bed hangings. She hoped the framed Monets on the wall were prints. Gilbert had done all this. His choice of plaid and complementing print fabrics was brave and elegant. Marti would be impressed. A lovely prison she’d sentenced herself to.
She had promised Marti and herself she’d have the courage to ask Gilbert to help her. But she’d used every drop of courage she possessed to remain calm after looking at that photograph of Sophie, Luca, and David—the happy family that she didn’t belong to. It was too early in Seattle to call Marti, even if she’d told her to call anytime, this was not an emergency. Claire could handle these emotions herself…maybe.
Her face burned as she searched to identify what she was feeling—like a sense of having been slapped. She was jealous. Jealous of something she’d known nothing about for at least seven years of her marriage. Beneath her jealousy lay a swamp of betrayal.
