Chapter 2. Saturday morning
Carol did not recognize the number that appeared in the screen of her phone. After wiping her wet hands on the legs of her black trousers she took the call.
"Yes ?"
"Mrs. Aird ?" A woman's voice. New York accent. The photographer.
"Yes." Carol reached for the tap, turning it off. She was in the kitchen where she had just put the breakfast clutter in the dishwasher. It was Saturday and the maid had a day off.
"Uhm… This is Therese Belivet. I have just arrived at the airport and I was told I could call you …" Slightly put off by Mrs. Aird's curt tone Therese hesitated.
"That's correct." Carol smiled to herself, noticing that the photographer felt intimidated by her business-like response. She waited for her to speak again.
"Well, I was wondering if you could pick me up, that is … " Once again Therese faltered.
"Which terminal ?" Carol had no intention to make it easier for the photographer who would make her life miserable for the next few days.
Therese gave her the number.
"I'll be there in half an hour." Carol hung up before Therese could say goodbye.
Therese took her luggage to the exit of the terminal, hoping she would recognize Mrs. Aird. Having no point of reference other than the picture of the beautiful woman in the soft pink evening gown that she had admired together with Dannie, she wondered what her hostess would look like on an ordinary Saturday morning. Knowing she had to sleep on the plane, she herself had chosen for a casual outfit of loose fitting, black jeans and a green sweater that, at least according to Genevieve, matched the colour of her eyes. She wore her black parka over her arm, as the sun was already warm.
Their eyes met at the same instant, Therese glancing up from her watch after nervously checking it for what must have been the hundredth time, and Carol as she removed her sunglasses to look at the young woman that, given the fact that she was guarding a big camera bag, had to be the photographer. Therese could not look away from the tall, blond woman who, dressed in a casual black suit with a white, open collared shirt underneath, elicited a timeless, understated elegance. Carol carefully hid her surprise after she registered the beautiful, delicate features of the dark haired woman who was staring at her.
"Miss Belivet ?" Now standing face to face, Carol's formality was once again intimidating.
"Therese," Therese offered. "You're Mrs. Aird?"
Carol nodded, ignoring the handshake Therese wanted to initiate.
"Is this all your luggage ?" She reached for a small trolley, assuming Therese would want to carry her camera bag herself. "My car is just outside." Therese followed her, barely keeping up with her long strides. Carol took out her keys to unlock an ancient, dark blue Volvo station wagon. She put the trolley on the backseat and motioned Therese to do the same with her camera bag and rucksack.
When Therese slid into the passenger seat next to her, Carol was already wearing her sunglasses, hiding the clear blue of her eyes that Therese had only caught a glimpse of when their eyes met in the terminal. With her left hand Therese reached behind her right shoulder, trying to find the seatbelt. Somehow it was stuck and she tried to force it out.
"Here, let me." Carol reached over her, with a quick movement setting the belt free. Their bodies nearly touching, Therese became acutely aware of Carol's perfume. A light, citruslike fragrance that reminded her of summer. Their hands touched when Therese took the belt from Carol. She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks, but Carol pretended to be unaware of her passengers discomfort. Amused, she started the engine.
"Let's go."
They did not talk during the ride that would take them to the house in the Foothill district where Carol and Harge had settled after their marriage, ten years ago. Therese sat quietly, her eyes attentively taking in the unknown scenery of the city and the surrounding mountains. Looking at her from the corner of her eye, Carol was surprised by Therese's calm. This quiet, shy girl certainly was not what she had expected, when Harge told her that one of Fred's best news photographers was coming. If this meant that she could easily determine when and where Therese would be present to take her photo's, this week could turn out to be less of an ordeal than she feared. And there was another thought that tried to wriggle itself into her consciousness, but she didn't want to acknowledge. But her body betrayed her by making her feel what she did not want to think: Therese Belivet was attractive, very attractive.