Futile Resistance Ch. 09

Declining to respond to her leading statements about her daughter, Aidan asked, "Do you have any ideas about where French might be?"

"Probably Paris, with her cousin, Marie-Josée. My niece and daughter were as close as sisters growing up and they continue to be. Always when Francoise was upset, Marie-Josée would be the first person she would call."

Aidan knew that to be true and kicked himself for not having thought of it on his own.

"I see. Well. Let me show you the guest room. I'm not sure if there's much in the refrigerator," he said as he led her down the hallway, "but there's a market down the block and plenty of places to eat out or order in. I've got a few errands to run and can't be late. If there's nothing else you need, I'd better go."

"I was hoping we could get to know each other better. Maybe have a meal together," Marcheline pouted, brushing too close to him where he stood in the doorway. She turned, crowding him, and ran a long red fingernail up and down the placket of his shirt, a fake pout on her lovely lips.

Aidan was stunned, but not surprised that she would attempt to seduce him. Seduction was clearly her objective, Aidan read the intent in her eyes. Marcheline thought nothing of betraying her daughter.

"Maybe another time, I really can't be late for my appointment," he politely declined, moving away from her without betraying his distaste. "Make yourself comfortable. Au revoir."

Aidan could hardly contain the excitement he felt over knowing where French was. He walked back to his apartment and immediately reserved a seat on the evening flight to Paris. He packed a small carry-on with a couple of changes of clothes and other travel essentials. He made a couple more phone calls to let his agent and his parents know that he'd be gone for a few days. The final call he made was to Patrick Hurst.

"Paddy, how are you?"

"Fine, son, just fine. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to stop by before I leave town for a few days," Aidan said.

"Oh? Are you off to another assignment in some far-flung place?" he asked, but then didn't allow Aidan a chance to respond. "Come on by, my boy, it's only me at home today, though, Pam's out at some charity thing this afternoon."

"That's fine, it's you I want to see. I'll see you in less than an hour."

*****

The bath had served to make French feel a bit more human. The routine of moisturizing her skin, drying her hair and dressing had provided the normalcy she had needed. She purposefully applied make-up, hoping to disguise the wan, grainy condition of her skin, attempting to affect the effect that she wore no make-up. Marie-Josée would know that something horrible was wrong if she noticed that French was wearing make-up. As close as the two women were, French felt too raw to rehash the recent goings on in any real detail with her cousin. She worked on her face, while at the same time working on her mind, digging deep to find the familiar protective emotional armor.

When Marie-Josée swept through the door, French had regained some of her composure. She was happy to be with her cousin, one of the few people on earth with whom she felt safe, accepted and loved. As girls, the two of them had spent summers and holidays together in Martinique, running barefoot along beaches and freely exploring their environs. Marie-Josée's mother, French's aunt Josephine, was inclined to let the girls do what they would, within reason. She allowed them the run of the beach during the daytime, but always insisted they be home and neatly washed and dressed for meals. She ensured that they were in bed at an appropriate time each night and French had often lain awake in bed, only to feign sleep when Aunt Josephine crept into the room she and Marie-Josée shared to make sure they were tucked safely in bed and to press gentle kisses to their foreheads. Those kisses had been a balm that had gone a long way toward soothing the wounds that were inflicted on her when she was home with her mother.

French had adored her aunt and had thriven in the predictable structure of her household. Back home, French tucked herself into bed at a self-imposed time each night. She had usually fixed her own dinner and eaten it in solitude. It was always hard to leave Aunt Josephine, Marie-Josée and their family. She had asked her aunt one time why she couldn't just stay with them forever. Josephine had looked sad and told her that she would love to keep her, but that Marcheline would never allow it. That answer made no sense to French since her mother never took an interest in anything she said or did. She wouldn't have even noticed if French were gone. She found out many years later that her aunt had indeed asked Marcheline if she could take over the care and raising of French. Her mother had adamantly refused, telling her sister to butt out and that she was fully capable of raising her own daughter. Josephine had known Marcheline had been speaking out of foolish pride and not out of any real desire to personally care for French. She also knew that if she pressed Marcheline further, she would cease to allow French to make any visits at all to the family in Martinique. Josephine knew when to leave well enough alone.

French and Marie-Josée chatted animatedly, catching up on family gossip and deciding what they might do for dinner that evening. As her mother knew her sister Marcheline, Marie-Josée knew French well enough to know that trying to pry information out of her was the surest way to make her clam up. French would tell her in her own time why she'd suddenly decided to take a trip to Paris and why she wore all that goop on her face, goop that wasn't hiding how awful she looked.

The women walked down Rue du Faubourg St. Honore, stopping periodically to look at the eye-catching displays in the shop windows. They turned into Place du Marché St. Honore and arrived at their destination: a small, typically Parisian bistro. In contrast to the chill, drizzly evening, the interior of the restaurant was warm and inviting, with wide-plank wood floors, white tablecloths and candles flickering on each table. They checked their coats and sat down at their table. Marie-Josee ordered a bottle of Bordeaux and sat back with a sigh.

"It's so good to see you," she said.

"Ditto," French said, "I love that my favorite cousin lives in one of the greatest cities in the world!"

"Makes me wonder if you're here to see me or if I'm just coincidental."

"Never doubt my affection for you, Marie-Josee," French said, suddenly serious, unable to continue the banter. Tears welled up in her eyes and she willed them not to fall. She did love her cousin. Marie-Josée was a constant in her life, trustworthy, stable and loyal.

"I was kidding," Marie-Josee said, "what's the matter, French? You're so brittle you look as though you're going to shatter. And all that make-up you're wearing is not fooling me one bit, by the way. You look like shit!"

French nearly choked on a sip of wine. Trust her cousin to cut through the bullshit. "I know. It's pretty bad, isn't it?" She took a fortifying breath and said simply, "Man troubles."

"Aidan?"

"Yes. You won't believe what's happened."

French recounted the events of the past several days as dispassionately as she could. That was the only way she could get through the telling. As she talked, the irony of the situation hit home. What were the odds that the guy she loved would, for all intents and purposes, be a member of her biological father's family?

Marie-Josee listened carefully. She expressed shock and outrage that Hurst would try to bribe her. He had acted like the creep she had always imagined him to be. The one thing she did have trouble believing was French's take on Aidan's response. She had met him a few times and had liked him immensely. She had been very happy to see French with someone who loved her and Aidan clearly did. What she knew of Aidan didn't gel with what French was telling her. Knowing French almost as well as she knew herself, she knew that French would have felt that she didn't deserve a man like Aidan in the first place. She would have assumed that Aidan had finally arrived at the same conclusion.

"French, I think you need to give Aidan a chance to explain himself."

"What's to explain? He considers Hurst a member of his family," French replied dejectedly. "If you had seen the way his family was at Christmas, you'd know what I mean. They're so close. It shouldn't come as a shock to me that Aidan chose them over me..." she trailed off wistfully.

She hated feeling this way. Her emotions, normally deeply buried, were simmering right on the surface of her consciousness. She knew they were in danger of boiling over. Yesterday, she had welcomed the novelty of acknowledging her feelings. She had learned what it was like to be possessed of a happy, healthy spirit. It was unlike anything she had experienced before and she had been unable, even unwilling, to contain it. She had been on the verge of telling Aidan how she felt about him, that she was utterly and completely open to him, incapable of further resistance. Instead, she had walked into the kitchen and found Patrick Hurst. Now, twenty-four hours later, she wallowed in the throes of despair, unable to erect the wall that ordinarily would have shielded her from reality. Instead, she was being bombarded with emotion; pain and anguish roiled inside her; she felt hopeless and regarded everything with negativity.

"Oh, stop being so fatalistic! You need to trust Aidan; I'm positive that you've misjudged him. He would never desert you because of who your father is!" Marie-Josée said passionately.

"But he did desert me! Don't you see?!" French was inconsolable.

Marie-Josée sighed and shook her head. She didn't know Aidan well, but she had a feeling that there was more to this story than French knew or was willing to see. She decided to wait a few days before she took any action of her own.

*****

Aidan let himself into the Hurst's large home without knocking, as he had done since he was a boy.

"Paddy," he called out, "it's me!"

"I'm in the study," Hurst responded, "come on back."

Aidan shut the door behind him and crossed the parquet-floored foyer and went down the hall to the study.Paddy sat behind his large wooden desk, peering over the tops of his glasses at the computer that sat in front of him. When Aidan walked through the door of the study, Paddy's eyes brightened. Taking off his glasses, he stood,

"Aidan, come in. What a pleasant surprise," he exclaimed, extending his hand to Aidan. He pulled Aidan into a half-hug and a handshake.

"The damned computer is giving me fits again," he complained. "But computers are like women, can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em," he finished roguishly.

"They're not so bad if you know how to treat them," Aidan replied blandly. Whether he was referring to computers or women, Hurst would have to decide for himself.

They moved to a conversation grouping situated in front of the fireplace at the far end of the study. A leather couch and two chairs were arranged just so, with cushions and throw pillows, courtesy of Hurst's wife, added to soften the austere environment. Pam often read in the study in the evenings while Patrick worked; she had concluded that she had little choice if she ever wanted to see her husband. An utterly sweet and feminine woman, she had never been fond of the dark decor in Hurst's study. The pastel pillows and throws were incongruous, but Pam had needed them in order to feel welcome and comfortable in her husbands domain.

"Where are you off to today, Aidan?"

"Paris. But my assignment is of a slightly different nature this time around," Aidan replied casually.

"Really? Tell me," Hurst said eagerly. He found Aidan's job fascinating. Though well-traveled, he had never ventured to the types of places to which Aidan typically traveled. He was rather unadventurous when it came to traveling; he preferred five and six star hotels and villas, chauffeured limousines and cosmopolitan city life to rough and tumble or primitive locales. Nonetheless, he delighted in Aidan's work, always infinitely curious -- in the way one is morbidly curious at the scene of a car accident, and a bit horrified by the circumstances of less fortunate citizens of the world.

"I'm going to Paris to bring French back home where she belongs."

Hurst's mouth opened and closed; clearly he had been caught off guard. Aidan watched him closely, tried to discern what might be going through the man's head.God help me, he thought,if Hurst dares to show the slightest bit of relief that she's gone.

"What's she doing there?"

"We had a pretty explosive argument after you left yesterday morning."

"Nothing I said, I hope?" Hurst asked with a sincerity that Aidan saw right through.

"Actually, that's why I'm here," Aidan paused.

"How can I help?"

"For starters, stay away from French, stay out of my love life."

"I don't know what you mean," Hurst sputtered.

"I think you do. How dare you insult me by interfering in my personal life? And the bribe you offered her to get her out of my life? You're way out of line, Paddy. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Aidan, don't get yourself all wound up. Look," he said in a reasonable tone, "She's not who you think she is. She took the money, didn't she? Hied off to Paris as soon as she could," he said with such satisfaction that Aidan wanted to wrap his fingers around Hurst's neck and squeeze until his eyes popped out.

"I know exactly who Francoise Delauney is," Aidan said baldly, pausing for effect. "I know her better than I ever knew you."

Hurst swallowed nervously, but pretended to misunderstand Aidan. "You're young, Aidan. You're idealistic and altogether too trusting of people. I know what women like her are after. They want money. And they'll lie, cheat and steal to get it," he finished on an emphatically sanctimonious note.

"You amaze me. Stop with the bullshit, Hurst," Aidan said Hurst's name as though it were an epithet. "I know that you are the bastard who fathered French. She told me everything."

Hurst at least had the decency to look cowed. But only momentarily. His jaw hardened as he stood and walked over to the wet bar on the far wall of the study. He poured a hefty dram of scotch into a heavy crystal tumbler. Turning to Aidan, he proffered the glass. When his offer was declined, he took a heavy swallow of the potent liquor. Contemplatively, he paced back to the fireplace and stopped before it, rested his arm on the mantle.

"I don't owe you any explanations for my past. But, I will say this about the money I offered her: I was trying to protect you, son. If you knew what her mother was like -- you'd run like hell in the opposite direction from the daughter," Hurst had the gall to say.

"Don't call me son. And I do know what her mother is like. I met her this morning. She is every bit as selfish and blind as you are," Aidan replied acidly, furious at the thought that Hurst would try to 'protect' him, when all French had ever wanted, or needed most, was someone to look after her best interests.

Hurst's features slackened. "You met Marcheline... You mean she's here?"

The skin at the corners of Aidan's eyes tightened when he saw Hurst's reaction to the mention of Marcheline. He wore the expression of a besotted idiot, slavering over a treat that dangled just out of reach.He still wants her, Aidan thought incredulously. And come to think of it, the fact that Hurst was surprised that Marcheline was here meant that he knew she had at one timenot been here. Interesting, since the two had supposedly not had direct contact with one another since before French was born.

"Yes, she's comfortably ensconced in French's apartment, never mind the fact that, as far as she knows, her daughter ismissing."

"How is she?" Hurst asked tentatively, his voice strangely soft.

"As vacuous, selfish and bitchy as she always was, I'd imagine."

"There's no need for that kind of talk, boy!" Hurst admonished.

Aidan drew back in surprise. "Are you defending her? You've got to be kidding me!"

"I'll not stand by and have you insult a lady. You were raised with better manners than that."

"Alady? Now I know you're kidding," he laughed shortly and looked more closely at Hurst, who had lost a little of his color and refused to meet his eye. Understanding dawned. "You're still fucking her," Aidan said incredulously.

"That's enough! I will not discuss my personal life with you."

"Your personal life? What about Pam and your kids?"

"One has nothing to do with the other, Aidan. Marcheline's willingness to spread her legs has come in handy more than a few times over the years. You'll understand when you're older and have experienced more things."

"Don't patronize me, Hurst! What does age have to do with the fact that you've been cheating on your wife for the last thirty years? That you have a daughter who is only a couple months younger than your oldest child?"

"Aidan, that baby never should have been born. I told Marcheline to get rid of it -- I offered her the money to pay for it," Hurst said, determined to make Aidan understand the incomprehensible.

"The 'it' you're referring to turned out to be a beautiful, talented, grievously wounded woman. In spite of the man and woman who parented her, she grew up to be a truly amazing person," Aidan finished with a sneer.

Hurst scoffed, "You may think that now, Aidan... But, blood will out. She'll show herself for what she is eventually. Don't trust her with anything that's important to you. Marcheline tried to use the pregnancy to entrap me. I couldn't let that happen! Don't you get it? It would have ruined me! The - shall we say 'attraction'? - I feel for her mother doesn't obscure my knowledge of what she is. A ruthless gold-digger. Mark my words, though, that girl is her mother all over again, it's written all over her."

"She has your blood, too, you asshole. Think about that before you disparage her lineage. And for the record, the 'attraction' you feel for Marcheline is pure, animal lust," Aidan retorted. Hurst was displaying himself in an increasingly poor light. Instead of owning up to and showing remorse for having abandoned a child, he continued to denigrate French and her mother. He had apparently carried on an affair with Marcheline for decades, but had never bothered to see French. His hypocrisy was astounding. Aidan was becoming more angry by the second. Mostly on French's behalf, but also because he felt utterly betrayed by Hurst. This man had been a fixture in his family's life since long before Aidan had been born.How could they all have been so fooled by him? he wondered.

Realizing that Aidan wasn't the slightest bit sympathetic to him, Hurst changed tacks.

"I saw to it that she was taken care of; I sent a living allowance every month and even gave Marcheline the house they were living in. That girl wanted for nothing."

"That's where you're wrong," Aidan shot back. "That girl didn't have anyone to take care of her, no one to protect her. The responsibilities of fatherhood entail more than providing for a child's material needs, Paddy."

"She had more than just her material needs met, Aidan," Hurst said defensively. "I sent more than enough money and they lived in a very nice area in Brookline. She had access to good schools and plenty of money to do anything she wanted."

"She was a child, Hurst! She wasn't the person in charge of the money. Don't forget who her mother is," Aidan threw Hurst's words back at him. "Marcheline did not pass your largesse along to her daughter. French had the necessities, but that's about it. Besides, the money is not at issue here. You have plenty of money, so it was no hardship for you to provide for her financially. What we're talking about is the fact that you abandoned your daughter! You raised her brothers and sisters in the bosom of an intact family. You provided the best for them, looked out for them, taught them right from wrong. Which I have to admit is quite an irony," Aidan snorted. "You teaching people right and wrong when you'd done the worst thing a human being could ever do. That's rich."