Chapter 4

Amanda wondered if she and Tom would recognize each other.

Twenty years was a long time, and she knew she had changed, and Tom probably had too.

She drove to L'Ami Louis on the rue du Vertbois in the 3rd Arrondissement, parked her car, and walked to the restaurant.

When any of her college friends had come to Paris long ago, it was the one place they wanted to have dinner.

It was a small, crowded, noisy restaurant, best known for its chicken, and she hadn't been there since the last of her old school friends had visited, years before.

Tom was waiting for her outside the restaurant, and she smiled as she looked at him.

He hadn't changed at all.

He was still tall, broad-shouldered, and athletic, with dark brown hair.

He was as wholesome and clean-cut as ever, like a poster for the Marines.

One would have recognized him as an American anywhere.

He was wearing khakis, loafers, and a blue button-down shirt, exactly as he had when they dated in college.

She had been the little French girl he was in love with then.

Seeing him didn't rekindle any of her old feelings for him.

He still looked like a boy to her, with the same youthful grin.

He gave her a crushing hug and put an arm around her as they walked into the restaurant, and she asked for the table she had reserved.

He glanced around, pleased by the ambiance of the restaurant he'd suggested, and she smiled, hearing English spoken, with American accents, at every table.

No one French that she knew ever went there, but Tom was happy, and delighted to see her.

He told her about his work as a lawyer In Los Angeles, and how disappointing his marriage had been.

"Cynthia is a ballbuster, and a very successful lawyer.

All she cares about is making money.

The divorce was a relief.

I'm glad we never had kids.

I hope I never have to see her again."

It seemed odd to Amanda not to see or speak to someone he'd been married to for fourteen years, but she knew some couples ended that way, without children.

It seemed sad to her.

"Maybe you'll meet someone here,"

Amanda said to cheer him.

He still had the intensity he'd had at nineteen, so earnest about everything, but she could see sadness in his eyes now.

The only time his face lit up was when he talked about the book he was going to write.

He had started it in L.A.

and wanted to finish it here.

Being with him reminded her of her student days in New York, when she had discovered that she didn't want to live in the States and wanted to come home to France.

Talking to Tom made her realize again how French she felt, and how little she had in common with him.

Their points of view were entirely different, even more so than they had been twenty years before when their romance ended.

"Do you miss New York?"

he asked her over dinner.

"Never.

I'm happy here.

This was always home.

I had to live there while I went to school to understand that.

I go to New York for work a few times a year.

After a few days, all I want to do is get back.

It never felt like home to me, even when I was there with my mother for two years.

I missed Paris."

"I'm sorry about your dad,"

he said respectfully.

Tom had met him once when her father visited.

Armand had been afraid that she would want to stay in the U.S.

and marry Tom.

But Tom's transferring to Stanford had put an easy end to their relationship.

She had been ready to move on by then, although Tom had tried to hang on to her, but he couldn't.

The distance was too great, and they were too young, their lives headed in opposite directions, even though he didn't want to see it.

But finally, he did.

He had written to Amanda when her father died and had sent her an announcement when he married Cynthia while he was in law school.

That was the last time she had heard from him.

She had written to congratulate him, and he hadn't answered.

She didn't expect him to.

"Why didn't you ever marry?"

he asked her when they got to the end of dinner.

He was forty, a year older than she was.

"I was never with the right man,"

she said honestly.

"And I didn't want to.

I'm comfortable the way I am.

It's never been a major goal for me."

"We would have been good together,"

he said wistfully.

"No, we wouldn't."

She had always been honest with him.

"Your life was meant to be in the States.

You'd always have been a foreigner here.

And I wanted to come home.

I would have been unhappy there.

This is where I belong.

I think people end up where they're meant to.

I can't even imagine living in the States again.

I always felt like a stranger."

"You could open a gallery in L.A.,"

he said, as though trying to convince her, and she smiled at him.

"I'm not a little French girl anymore, Tom.

I'm a grown woman.

And I want to grow old here, with my own kind.

I realized how different I was when I went to NYU.

I went there to feel closer to my mother after she was gone.

But it showed me how different we were.

I was always more French than American.

Some people transplant more easily than others.

I don't think I would have."

"I would have moved to France for you,"

he said, with a look of longing.

"You'd have hated it after a few years.

The French are not so easy to live with, and they're not always kind to foreigners."

She had no American friends in Paris, but she didn't say that to him.

She didn't want to be rude.

"What's your book about?"

she asked him, to change the subject, and he smiled as soon as she did.

"Lots of blood and guts, full of surprises.

Your basic thriller.

If it's any good, I'd like to get it made into a movie.

I need to find an agent.

It's hard to find a good one.

And I have to finish the book first.

That's why I took my sabbatical.

I've been dreaming of writing this since I was in law school.

I just never had the time.

When Cynthia and I got divorced and I turned forty, I decided to do it.

I want to follow my dreams now, before I get any older."

"I kind of feel that way now too,"

she admitted.

"The gallery has been my dream, but I don't know how we got this old so fast.

The years just flew by.

I've been so busy building my business, and suddenly I wake up and I'm nearly forty.

I still can't believe it."

"Yeah, me too,"

he said, as he signaled the waiter for the check.

It had been an easy, relaxed evening for old times' sake.

"Do you run your gallery alone?"

"No, I have a terrific partner.

He's taught me a lot about the business."

Tom's brow furrowed as he listened.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

"No, he's my best friend, which is even better.

If we were romantically involved, it would have hurt the business, and we might not have stayed together.

It's much simpler this way."

He relaxed again when he heard her answer, and she could see that his old jealous streak was still with him, even though they had no romantic ties now.

It was the one thing she hadn't liked about him, and they had argued over it frequently.

She had been ready for their relationship to end when he went back to California.

She was tired of his suspicions and accusations.

He had accused her several times of cheating on him, and she never had.

His worries had been unfounded.

She thanked him for dinner and left him outside the restaurant.

"Good luck with the book!"

She smiled warmly, and he hugged her.

"You haven't changed a bit, Amanda.

You still look the same, and you're still the same sweet person.

I shouldn't have transferred.

We might be married now if I hadn't, and had a houseful of kids."

"No, we wouldn't,"

she said firmly.

It sounded like a nightmare to her, and she chuckled.

"I'm not big on kids, and have never wanted any, so far.

But you're still young.

You've got lots of time to meet the right person and start over again."

"I hope so, but first the book!"

he said with determination.

He stood on the sidewalk watching as she drove away.

She felt sorry for him.

There was something sad about him.

Clearly his life hadn't turned out the way he wanted, or maybe he was just at a low point right now after the divorce.

She hoped that Paris would be good for him, but she wasn't sure it would be.

He was so thoroughly American.

Or maybe he'd get a new outlook when he finished his book.

There was clearly something missing in his life, and he kept talking about his college days as the best years he'd ever had.

She had had fun then, but they were by no means her best years, and they felt like someone else's life now.

He was clinging to the past because he had nothing and no one to hold on to in the present.

She told Pascal about it the next day.

"I have friends like that, who're still hanging on to their student days,"

Pascal said, "because their adult lives never turned out the way they hoped.

It always seems pathetic to me.

I was happy when my student days were over and I could get on with real life."

"Me too.

I wonder if his book will be any good."

Tom was smart, had been a brilliant student, and had had a talent for writing even then.

"Do you think he wants to go out with you while he's here, as more than just an old friend, I mean?"

Pascal asked her, curious about the ex-boyfriend who had reappeared.

"I got that impression at dinner, and I tried to deflate that balloon pretty quickly.

We have nothing in common, and my life is here.

He was fine when we were in college, but we're too different.

We wouldn't even be friends if we met today."

"That's how I feel every time I meet up with an old girlfriend.

When it's over it's done for me."

Amanda nodded agreement, especially about someone she had dated at nineteen, and she turned her mind to other things.

Olivier called and invited her to dinner the next day, and Tom called and invited her to dinner on Saturday, and she told him she was busy.

She didn't want to encourage him, or mislead him.

It wouldn't be fair.

He was at a low point and vulnerable after his divorce obviously, and she had no romantic interest in him.

He was just a souvenir of her youth.

Olivier was much more interesting, and Amanda wanted to spend time with him and get to know him better.

When they had dinner again, she told Olivier about an art fair she was going to in London, and he told her excitedly that he would be there at the same time.

By pure coincidence, he was going to a book fair in London.

"Let's plan to spend some time together while we're there,"

he said enthusiastically.

And she told him about an art opening they were doing at the gallery in Paris before that.

He said he'd be delighted to come.

He wanted to see more of her life and how she lived it.

He had asked around and had been told the gallery had a great reputation, and so did she.

He was impressed by everything she was doing, and she thought his publishing house sounded fascinating.

They felt like a perfect fit in so many ways.

They both loved the businesses they had started and the talented people whose careers they encouraged and watched flourish.

They were both mentors of talented, creative people.

Amanda was sorry she hadn't met Olivier sooner.

He was doing in publishing what she was doing in art.

They went for a long walk in the Bois de Boulogne on Sunday.

They held hands as they walked, he stopped her under a tree and kissed her, and he held her for a long moment afterward, savoring the feeling of her next to him in his arms.

"Where have you been all my life, Amanda?"

he asked wistfully, and then smiled and kissed her again.

"You have so much energy, so much passion in you.

You're bursting with life."

"Pascal says it's very annoying, especially when he's hungover and I won't stop talking.

I always have new ideas to make the gallery more accessible and interesting, especially for young collectors."

Olivier already knew that about her, just from talking to her.

They sat down on a bench after that, and he kissed her again.

They watched the dogs running, the children playing, couples kissing.

It was a perfect scene for a Sunday afternoon.

It made her realize how much she'd been missing by being alone, and made her want to change things now and spend more time with him, although they were both busy, she with the gallery and he with publishing.

It was fun educating each other about the challenges in their work lives.

He dropped by the gallery one evening before they closed.

She introduced him to Pascal, and he admitted to her afterward that Olivier was very impressive.

"But you still don't know if he's married,"

he reminded her.

Pascal was more obsessed with asking Olivier the question than she was.

"Don't be ridiculous.

He takes me to all the most popular restaurants in Paris openly.

He introduces me to whoever we run into.

He walks in the park with me and kisses me.

Do you think he'd do any of that if he were married? If I asked him that question now, it would be insulting.

I'd feel stupid and sound as though I don't trust him.

And I do.

He would have told me by now.

Stop obsessing about it."

"You'll be a lot more insulted if his wife shows up.

Some couples make strange agreements.

Maybe they have an open marriage, or she's away a lot."

"Or maybe she doesn't exist except in your head.

There is no way he would do any of this with me if he were married.

I would bet my life on it.

You're being paranoid."

"Okay, if you say so.

If I were in your shoes, I'd ask him, even if the question seems redundant."

"Well, I'm not going to.

I trust him."

"I can see why you would.

He's a cool guy.

For your sake, I'd just like to be sure he's a cool single guy.

What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid.

I just don't think the question is necessary or appropriate."

She and Olivier hadn't slept with each other yet, but he had mentioned going away for a weekend with her.

To Venice or Rome or Lake Como, somewhere romantic.

It seemed like a nice beginning to her.

And they were looking forward to being in London together before that, even though they'd both be working.

They had a whole future to look forward to.

—

Amanda and Pascal worked hard on the opening of the show they were about to hang.

It was an important show for a well-known artist they had recently signed to represent, and some of their bigger clients were going to be there.

She reminded Olivier, and he said he wouldn't miss it.

Tom Quinlan called her two days before the show and invited her to dinner again, and she said she didn't have time.

He sounded so forlorn that she invited him to the opening too, and told him there would be lots of pretty women there.

He was touched to be asked and said he'd come.

He had just spent a whole day at the Louvre, and another at the Pompidou Centre.

He said his book was off to a slow start and he was enjoying being in Paris.

He promised to see her at the show, and then she forgot about him.

She had a million details to attend to for the opening.

The night of the show, she and Pascal had everything set up perfectly.

Their assistants were there to greet the guests, she had hired one of the best caterers in Paris to serve champagne and hors d'oeuvres, and almost everyone they'd invited showed up.

Their new artist was pleased with the turnout, and two important art critics came to review the show.

The evening was a success almost as soon as they opened their doors.

Tom Quinlan came too.

Amanda introduced him to Pascal, and they spent a few minutes chatting, and then Pascal had to go and greet one of their clients and Tom circulated in the crowd, meeting people.

He was pleasant and personable, and mingled well.

Amanda had barely had time to say hello to him, but he chatted with several artists, including the one having the show.

He seemed surprisingly at ease among strangers, despite his minimal French.

Olivier came late and was vastly impressed by the guest list, and the show itself.

Pascal introduced him to the artist, and Amanda joined them a few minutes later.

The four of them stood talking and laughing.

When she noticed Tom leaving, she went to say goodbye to him and thank him for coming.

"I'm sorry I was so busy,"

she apologized.

"Don't be silly, I know you're working.

Is that your boyfriend?"

he asked, pointing to the three men she had been talking to before she came to say goodbye.

"That's my business partner and a friend, and you met the artist."

She couldn't call Olivier her boyfriend yet, they had just started dating.

And it was none of Tom's business.

She didn't want to feed his curiosity about her personal life.

"I just wondered.

I like your partner.

He's a smart guy.

He's lucky that he gets to work with you,"

he said enviously.

"I'm not sure he'd say that,"

she said, laughing, as she kissed Tom on the cheek and left him as he walked through the door.

She went back to the others, still milling around the gallery, drinking and talking.

Olivier put an arm around her and pulled her close to him, and he stayed until the end of the party.

The evening had gone beautifully, and she and Pascal were both proud of the show.

It was a long evening and a resounding success.

Olivier told her again how impressed he was when he left.

She and Pascal talked about it the next day when they came to work.

The reviews were excellent.

The artist was thrilled, and so were they.

"I like both of your men by the way,"

Pascal said with a smile, and she frowned at him.

"What men?"

"The charming boyish American, and handsome, dazzling Olivier.

I talked to both of them.

They're both good guys.

You have my approval for either one, if you want it."

"I don't.

Tom is ancient history and you know it.

And Olivier is just beginning."

She beamed when she said his name, and it was obvious who she was interested in, but they were proceeding slowly.

"He's not ‘my man' yet,"

although she liked that idea very much, more so every day.

He was being very attentive and fun to be with.

"I'm not so sure Tom considers himself ancient history,"

Pascal said.

"He talks about your time together at NYU as though it was yesterday."

"He's probably lonely here and trying to hang on to his youth.

I've made it very clear to him that I'm not interested in reviving the past."

"He looks like he's still in love with you.

He didn't take his eyes off you all night."

"Well, he'd better get over it.

I'm not going to exhume the past with him.

We were just kids.

It's twenty years later and we've grown up.

I won't have lunch or dinner with him again if he doesn't understand that.

I think he's just lonely after the divorce."

"He's actually a nice guy.

I talked to him for a while.

He's very bright.

But I have to admit, I can't see you with him, even at nineteen.

He'll figure it out eventually.

But you could have done worse.

He's intelligent, successful, in great shape, and seems like a decent person.

And he's crazy about you.

They both are.

It's nice to have choices in life,"

he reminded her.

"I don't want a choice.

Tom is not an option.

I like Olivier a lot.

He's the only man I'm interested in.

What about you? I saw you with that young artist we don't represent.

She's very pretty."

"She wants nothing to do with me so I'm madly in love with her,"

Pascal said ironically, and Amanda laughed at him.

She hoped Tom Quinlan wasn't going to be a problem.

She didn't like awkward situations and didn't want him to become one.

"Why don't you just enjoy it?"

Pascal said to her.

"You haven't had two guys chasing you in all the years I've known you.

It's flattering.

They're not about to fight a duel and bleed all over the front steps.

They're both intelligent, civilized, successful men, and finally you've got two men who appreciate you.

That's not all bad.

Have some fun with it."

"It makes me nervous,"

she said, as they sat in her office.

"Tom is twenty years past our expiration date.

The only reason he's interested in me is because he just got divorced.

He needs to meet a new woman, not hang on to an old one.

And Olivier and I need time to get to know each other."

But things were going beautifully between them.

And now she couldn't wait for their trip to London.

It would be fun to be in another city with him, and who knew what would happen while they were there.

Hopefully, by the time they got back Tom would have met someone and would have a woman to spend time with.

Amanda was never going to be that person in his life again, no matter how suitable Pascal thought he was.

Tom's day had come and gone.

She barely remembered the time they had spent together.

All that she could recall now was that she was no longer in love with him when he left.

And she certainly wasn't now.

The man of the hour was Olivier, and Pascal had finally admitted that he no longer thought he was married and had stopped nagging her about it.

Olivier would never have behaved the way he did with her if he were married, without warning her of that fact.

He was an honorable man, it was written all over him.

Pascal hoped that things would work out for them.

It certainly looked that way for now.

Amanda could hardly wait for the trip to London.

Anything could happen.

Pascal was going to babysit Lulu in Paris.

He loved it when he did, which only occurred when Amanda had to go to London, because of British regulations about dogs.

So she left her in Paris with Pascal.

The British no longer required a six-month quarantine for dogs entering the country, as they had years before.

But they did require foreign dogs to take a medication for tapeworms.

And her vet said that Lulu was too small to take it, so she had to leave her in Paris.

Pascal was delighted to dog-sit for her.

The tiny dog was a magnet for beautiful women who couldn't wait to talk to him and fuss over "his"

dog.

He wondered if the artist he was pursuing liked dogs.

Maybe that would do the trick.

And if not, there was always another woman around the next corner.

He hadn't met her yet, but eventually he always did.

And Lulu would assist him with the search.