He called her as soon as he saw it. He was annoyed, it was the kind of innuendo that bothered him. But Carole was accustomed to it. She had lived with it all of her adult life.

“How stupid of them,” he said, growling.

“No, actually, very smart. They must have had to really dig to find that picture. I remember when it was taken. Arlette was there with you, and you hardly spoke to me all evening. I was already pregnant.” There was an edge to her voice as she said it, of resentment, anger, and sorrow. They'd had a fight afterward, which was the first of many. He had given her a thousand excuses by then, and she was accusing him of stalling. Their life together began to unravel over the next months, particularly after she lost the baby. She had had a rotten evening the night the photograph at Versailles was taken. He remembered it too, and felt guilty about it, which was part of why seeing the photograph in the Herald Tribune had upset him. He hated to be reminded of the grief he'd caused her. And he knew she'd be upset too, unless she had forgotten. She hadn't. “It's not worth getting upset over,” she said finally. “There's nothing we can do about it.”

“Do you want to be more careful?” he asked, sounding cautious.

“Not really,” she said quietly. “It doesn't matter now. We're both free people. And I'll be gone soon.” She was leaving in ten days. “We're not hurting anyone. We're old friends, if anyone wants to know.” Which of course later that morning, they did. People magazine called to ask if they'd ever been involved.

“Of course not,” Stevie answered for Carole, who didn't take the call. She went on to tell them how well Carole was doing, hoping to distract them, and told Carole about it after she hung up.

“Thanks,” Carole said calmly, finishing her breakfast, as Stevie helped herself to a croissant.

“Are you worried about the press figuring it out?” Stevie asked with a look of concern.

“There's nothing to figure out. We really are just friends. We kiss once in a while, but that's about it.” She wouldn't have said that to anyone but Stevie, especially her kids.

“What happens next?” Stevie asked with a look of concern.

“Nothing. We go home,” Carole said, meeting her assistant's eyes. Stevie could see that Carole believed that, but she herself wasn't as convinced. She could see the love in Carole's eyes. Matthieu had brought something magical in her back to life.

“And then what?”

“The book is closed. It's just a gentler epilogue to a story that ended badly a long time ago.” She sounded firm, and as though she were trying to convince herself.

“No sequel to the book?” Stevie asked, and Carole shook her head.

“Okay, if you say so. It doesn't look like that to me though, for what it's worth. He still looks madly in love with you.” And Carole didn't seem indifferent to him by any means, despite what she said to Stevie, and herself.

“Maybe so,” Carole said with a sigh, “but madly is the operative word. We were both crazy then. I think we've grown up and gotten sane. We never had a chance.”

“It's different now,” Stevie pointed out. She had slowly changed her opinion of Matthieu and she saw how much Carole cared for him. He obviously felt just as strongly about her. Stevie liked the way he protected Carole. “Maybe it wasn't the right time.”

“That's for sure. I don't live here anymore. I have a life in L.A. It's too late,” Carole said, looking determined. She knew she loved him but didn't want to step backward in time.

“Maybe he'd be willing to move,” Stevie said hopefully, and Carole laughed.

“Stop it. I'm not going there again. He was the love of my life. That was then. This is now. You can't carry that forward fifteen years.”

“Maybe you can. I don't know. I just hate to see you alone. You deserve to be happy again.” Stevie had felt sorry for her since Sean had died. She had practically been a recluse. And whatever had happened between them before, the time she spent with Matthieu was bringing her back to life.

“I am happy. I'm alive. That's enough. I have my kids and my work. That's all I want.”

“You need more than that,” Stevie said wistfully.

“No, I don't,” Carole said firmly.

“You're too young to fold up the show.”

Carole looked her squarely in the eye. “I've had two husbands and a great love. What more do you want?”

“I want you to have a happy life. You know, ‘Happily ever after’ and all that shit. Maybe the happily ever after took a long time to come in this case.”

“You can say that again. Fifteen years. A very long time. Believe me, it would make a mess. I loved it here then. I don't now. I live in L.A. We have totally different lives.”

“Really? You two never stop talking when you're together. You look more alive than you've been in years. I haven't seen you like this since Sean.” She didn't want to convince her, but she had to admit she liked the guy, even if he was a little austere, and very French. It was obvious that he still loved her. And his wife was gone now. At least he was eligible this time, and single. So was Carole.

“He's an intelligent, interesting man. Brilliant even. But he's French,” Carole insisted. “He'd be miserable anywhere else, and I don't want to live here anymore. I'm happy in L.A. What about Alan, by the way? What's new with him?” It was obvious that she wanted to change the subject, and as soon as she asked, Stevie looked like she had swallowed the proverbial canary along with the croissant.

“Alan? Why?” She looked guilty and vague.

“What do you mean ‘why’? I just was asking how he was.” And then she smiled at Stevie. “Okay. Cough it up. What's going on?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” She was blushing. “He's fine. Great actually. He said to say hi.”

“You are so full of shit you're turning brown,” Carole said, laughing at her. “Something is going on.” There was a pregnant silence in the room. Stevie could never keep a secret of her own. Only Carole's.

“Okay, okay. I didn't want to tell you till I got home. And I haven't made up my mind. I have to talk to him, and see what the conditions are.”

“What conditions?” Carole looked mystified, as Stevie collapsed into a chair like a deflated balloon, with a sigh.

“He asked me to marry him last night,” Stevie confessed with an embarrassed smile.

“On the phone?”

“He couldn't wait. He even bought a ring. But I haven't said yes.”

“Take a look at the ring first,” Carole teased, and Stevie groaned. “Make sure you like the ring.”

“I don't know if I want to get married. He swears he won't screw up my job. He said it will be just like it is now, only better, with papers and a ring. If I do it, would you be my best man, or whatever you call it?”

“I think it's called a matron of honor, if I remember correctly. I'd be honored. I think you should say yes,” Carole volunteered.

“Why?”

“I think you love him,” Carole said simply.

“So? Why do we have to get married?”

“You don't. But it's a nice commitment to make. I felt the same way you do when I married Sean. Jason had dumped me for a younger woman. Matthieu lied to me and himself, and wouldn't leave his wife or his job, and broke my heart. The last thing I wanted was to get married again, or even fall in love. Sean talked me into it, and I never regretted it for a minute. It was the best thing I ever did. Just make sure Alan is the right guy.”

“I think he is,” Stevie sounded glum as she said it.

“Then see how you feel when you go back. You can have a long engagement.”

“He wants to get married on New Year's Eve in Vegas. How tacky is that?”

“Very. But it might be fun. The kids will be in St. Bart's with Jason. I could fly up,” Carole volunteered, and Stevie came over to hug her.

“Thank you. I'll let you know. I'm scared I'm going to say yes.”

“Maybe you're ready,” Carole said, looking at her with affection, trying to reassure her. “I think you are. You've been talking about it a lot lately.”

“That's because he has. He's obsessed with it.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Carole said warmly.

“You'd better be there to hold my hand if I do it,” Stevie said ominously, but she was smiling and looked happy.

“You bet,” Carole promised. “I wouldn't miss it.”

* * *

Carole had dinner with Matthieu again that night. For the first time, they went out. They went to L'Orangerie on the Ile Saint Louis, in the Seine, and she wore the only skirt she'd brought. Matthieu wore a dark suit and had had a haircut. He looked very proper, and extremely handsome, although he was still furious about the comments in the Herald Tribune. He was righteous indignation itself.

“For heaven's sake,” Carole said, laughing at him. “They're right. It's true. How can you be so outraged?” He was like a whore pretending to be a virgin, although she didn't say that to him.

“But no one knew!” He had been so proud of that, and it always irked her. She had hated being hidden and not sharing his life.

“We were lucky.”

“And careful.” He was right, they had been. They both knew they could have turned into a full-blown scandal at any moment. It was a miracle that they hadn't.

They talked about other things over dinner, and the food was delicious. He waited until dessert to open a delicate subject with her. Their future. He had been awake the night before, thinking about it. And the insinuation in the paper did it for him. It was time. They had been clandestine for too long in the past, and deserved respectability at least now, at their age. He said as much to her as they shared a tarte tatin with caramel ice cream that melted in her mouth.