Every night, she composed a letter to Archie and then tore it up. It wasn’t the kind of thing that one could reveal in a letter; she had to tell Archie in person.
After Maurice completed their purchases, they drove Suzanne’s little car to Cap Ferrat. Maurice was a terrible driver. Pandora clutched the dashboard and prayed they wouldn’t run into a farmer’s truck on the narrow road or slam into a flock of sheep and be sent off the cliff.
When they arrived, Pandora saw that the harrowing drive had been worth it. Villa Ephrussi resembled a Venetian palazzo, with a view more glorious than any of the estates on the Hudson. The hills behind the villa were dotted with fruit trees and covered with pine forests so tall they touched the sky. From the front, the Mediterranean looked a deeper blue than any precious jewel, filled with sailboats and fishing boats and jaunty yachts.
“What are we doing here?” Pandora asked when the car pulled inside the gate.
“We’re having a picnic.” Maurice opened Pandora’s door.
“But it’s private property,” Pandora said uncomfortably.
She noticed a group of gardeners carrying buckets. They were dressed strangely in striped shirts, with berets and red pom-poms.
“Baroness Rothschild is a friend of Suzanne’s.” Maurice gathered the picnic basket. “The baroness isn’t home today, but she offered the use of her grounds,” he said with a mischievous smile. “There are four separate gardens. I’m sure we can find a pleasant spot for our picnic.”
Baroness Rothschild was part of the Rothschild banking family, the wealthiest family in France. She had married at the age of nineteen, but her husband was a drunk and a gambler. Eventually she divorced him, and instead of going into hiding and living quietly, she bought a seventeen-acre plot on the most glorious spot in Cap Ferrat.
They set up their picnic under the horseshoe-shaped staircase in the Florentine garden. At the top of the staircase a marble angel overlooked the philodendrons and water hyacinths.
“What are you thinking about?” Maurice asked when he had opened a bottle of wine and laid out the bread and tomatoes and cheese.
“That we haven’t known each other long, but you seem to know me so well,” Pandora mused, sipping her wine. Maurice had been right; a good wine was one of life’s pleasures. There was no reason to always wait until evening to drink it. “I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.”
“You remind me of Baroness Rothschild,” Maurice reflected. “You could have hidden yourself away after your husband died. Instead, you found your way to the most beautiful place in the world. Now you’re designing sportswear; someday you’ll be very successful.”
Pandora’s eyes welled up with tears. Sometimes she worried that Maurice only saw her as another rich American tourist, an interesting distraction. But he really understood her.
She recalled when she met Lillian at the Winthrops’ Fourth of July party. Lillian boasted about traveling to France and Italy. Pandora had been embarrassed; she’d never been farther than New York. Here she was now, sitting in a garden whose design inspired the estates of the Astors and Vanderbilts.
Perhaps when Esme married, Esme would continue living at Summerhill, and Pandora would build her own villa. It wouldn’t be the size or scope of the baroness’s villa, but it would have the same beauty and attention to detail.
Maurice took the glass out of her hand. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close.
“For now, let’s not talk about Baroness Rothschild and concentrate on more important things,” he said, kissing her. “There is nothing more valuable than exploring the physical senses.”
The next day, Pandora sat across from Sally and Esme at the Hôtel Métropole, thinking about the picnic. It was only the presence of the gardeners that had stopped their kisses from progressing further. She was confident that she and Maurice would make love soon.
“I’ve never seen a child love pâté,” Sally said, interrupting her thoughts. She watched Esme lick pâté from her chin. “Esme is becoming so French. When we go back to America, she’ll want crepes for lunch instead of peanut butter sandwiches.”
Pandora knew what Sally was getting at. In the last few weeks, Sally had begun making small comments about when they would go home. She had a beau named Tommy waiting for her. Pandora knew they had to return to Hyde Park sometime. She missed Summerhill, but she worried that the inspiration for her sportswear designs might disappear if she returned to New York. The French Riviera had provided a safe cocoon for the past four months, and she wasn’t ready to leave.
“I’ll stop by the shipping office this afternoon. We could book a passage for August or September. We’ll be home to see the leaves change color,” Pandora suggested.
That would give her time to complete her sketches. When they arrived home, she’d start looking for spaces for her boutique. Everyone would have forgotten the scandal. It was time to move forward.
Sally was about to answer when a couple approached their table.
“Pandora!” the woman exclaimed, taking off her hat. “Mabel mentioned you were in Beaulieu-sur-Mer. How nice to run into you.”
It was Lillian and Owen. Lillian’s light brown hair was cut short to her chin, and Pandora could see that her stomach was rounded underneath her chiffon dress.
“Do you mind if we join you?” Lillian asked. “I forgot how hot it gets on the Riviera.” She patted her stomach. “Especially in my condition. I’m six months along.”
“Of course.” Pandora motioned to the chairs. “This is my nanny, Sally.”
Lillian nodded dismissively at Sally. “I had my hair cut in Paris,” she chirped. “Owen thinks I look incredibly French.”
“I haven’t been to Paris,” Pandora commented. “We’ve only seen the Riviera.”
“It is pretty here,” Lillian agreed, turning her gaze to the harbor. “We almost didn’t come to Europe this summer. Owen’s been working so hard, I insisted.” She looked at Pandora archly. “I can’t imagine traveling by myself with only the nanny and the children. It would be half as much fun; one may as well stay at home.”
Owen adjusted his panama hat. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Pandora didn’t know how to answer. She wasn’t going to give Lillian the satisfaction of bringing up Harley.
“I’m so sorry about Harley,” Lillian said as if she could read Pandora’s mind. “When Owen and I heard the news, neither of us could believe it. We sent a huge flower arrangement to Blythdale. You must be devastated. You were clever to get away. It was still in the newspapers when we left.”
Pandora gripped the edge of the table. She picked up a knife and cut a slice of Camembert. She didn’t want to talk about the scandal or about how she still missed Harley. It was better to change the subject. She remembered how much Lillian admired Suzanne.
“Harley and I had planned on coming to the French Riviera anyway,” Pandora replied. “I didn’t want to disappoint Suzanne.”
“I heard that Suzanne is favored to win Wimbledon next month.” Lillian ran her fingers over her water glass. “Owen and I would love to meet her. We’re staying at Grand-Hôtel du Cap-Ferrat. You and Suzanne should come for dinner tonight.”