Free The Woman From Paris by Santa Montefiore Page A

weekend? They hadn’t been very friendly. Perhaps she never wanted to see any of them again.
    As she closed the front door behind her, she heard them all talking in the drawing room. Instead of returning to join them, she went upstairs to seek the solitude of her bedroom. She crept inside and leaned back against the door. Roberta’s behavior had severely upset her, but her son’s inability to control his wife worried her more. Margaret’s frequent visits were no consolation. George had held them all together; now he was dead, what was to become of them?
    She sighed and wandered over to the window. The sun streamed through the glass, oblivious to the misery of her small world. How unimportant were the petty struggles of human beings when viewed from the great heights of heaven. She wondered whether George was up there somewhere, basking in the light, free from such cares.
    Galvanized by the sudden, overpowering desire to bring her husband back, she telephoned Julius’s office and asked the secretary for Phaedra’s number. The young girl was keen to please and swiftly found two: a mobile telephone and a landline. Antoinette dialed the mobile and waited. It seemed to ring for an achingly long time. She could almost hear her heart beating as she waited anxiously for the girl to respond. Finally, the gentle voice of her stepdaughter answered. “Hello, Phaedra, it’s Antoinette Frampton—” She was just about to explain who she was when Phaedra cut in.
    “Oh, Lady Frampton. What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you to call.”
    “Well, I wanted to apologize for the other day.”
    “Listen, it’s okay. I understand it must have come as a big shock. Please don’t apologize. It is I who should apologize to you .”
    “Well, that’s very kind of you. I’m sorry you couldn’t make the reading of the will today. I just wanted to let you know that George has—”
    “Please,” Phaedra interrupted swiftly. “I really don’t wish to know. It’s all highly embarrassing.”
    “Don’t you want to know that he’s taken care of you?”
    “I’m trying not to think about him at all. It’s simply too painful.”
    Antoinette heard a sniff down the line, and her heart swelled with compassion. “I know how you feel, my dear. I’m drowning in memories, too, all around me, all the time; I can barely breathe. I would love you to come and stay. Please don’t say no. I know it’s what George would have wanted. You’re a Frampton, after all.” There was a lengthy pause. Antoinette began to chew her thumb where the skin was already raw. “Maybe you need time to consider?”
    “No, I don’t need time,” Phaedra replied softly. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I really can’t. Thank you for calling, Lady Frampton, it means a great deal to me.” And she hung up.
    Antoinette was stunned. She remained on the bed, holding the receiver to her ear, unable to accept that the girl had refused her. If Antoinette had desired to see her before, she now longed with all her heart. It was as if Phaedra was a link to George, that if she could reach her, she’d reclaim a little of her husband. But she couldn’t reach her; the more she stretched out, the further Phaedra pulled away. She replaced the receiver and put her head in her hands. What on earth was she to do now?

5
    R osamunde found Antoinette on the bed, staring dejectedly into space. “She won’t come,” Antoinette exclaimed as soon as she saw her.
    “Who won’t come?”
    “Phaedra. I called her and invited her to stay, but she won’t come.”
    “How unappreciative.” Rosamunde folded her arms across her sturdy bosom.
    “I think we scared her off.”
    “She should be thankful you’re so kind, Antoinette. No one else would be that generous.” Antoinette lifted her eyes, and Rosamunde saw the torment in them. “Oh, Antoinette, this is all so bloody!” She sat beside her sister, her big heart filling with fury. “Ungrateful girl! How dare she come down here, drop a