colors carefully coordinated to each other plus a selection of unusual accessories.
As Meredith walked on, her thoughts settled on Patsy, of whom she was extremely fond. It was her New York banker, Henry Raphaelson, who had introduced them in 1984. Henry had known Patsy from her teenage days, since he had been for many years a close friend and business associate of her father’s, until his death a merchant banker in the City.
Patsy and she had taken to each other at once, and, after several constructive meetings, they had decided to go into business together, opening a London office of Havens Incorporated.
In the ensuing years Patsy had been good for the company, a great asset. She was as solid as a rock, hardworking, dependable, devoted, and loyal. While she was not as visionary or as imaginative as Agnes D’Auberville, Patsy more than made up for these minor shortcomings because she was loaded with common sense. Also, her talent for public relations had worked well for Havens. There wasn’t a hotel in England that received as much publicity and press attention as Haddon Fields in the Cotswolds, and all of it was positive. In fact, they had never had a negative write-up in the entire ten years the inn had been open.
When Meredith had expressed an interest in opening a hotel in France, Patsy had taken her to Paris to meet Agnes D’Auberville. The two young women had attended the Sorbonne at the same time, which was when they first met, and they had been good friends since those youthful days in Paris.
Agnes, like Patsy two years earlier, had been looking to invest inherited money in a business she could be involved in on a full-time basis. And so she had jumped at the chance to open a Paris branch of Havens Incorporated, and had plunged enthusiastically into the creation of the inn situated in the Loire Valley.
Meredith and Agnes had found the Château de Cormeron, which stood on the banks of the beautiful Indre River and was in the center of the Loire Valley. After purchasing the château, they had spent almost a year getting it into proper shape and turning it into an inn. Many of the rooms had needed new floors, some new ceilings; they had had to install central heating and air-conditioning; almost all the plumbing had to be replaced, as had the wiring. Once this had been done, they had set about decorating it in the appropriate style, mostly using French country furniture, wonderful old tapestries, luxurious traditional fabrics, and unique accessories culled from local antique shops.
They had put a tremendous amount of energy, effort, talent, and money into its remodeling and redecoration, but the transformation was so stunning, they both knew it had been well worth it.
And much to their gratification, it had proved to be a tremendous success as a small hotel. Château de Cormeron was close to many of the great châteaux of the Loire, such as Chinon, Chenonceaux, Azay-le-Rideau, Loches, and Mont-poupon, all open to the public and especially popular with foreign visitors.
Well-heeled tourists gravitated to their charming little Château de Cormeron, seeking its luxury, comfort, and superlative service, which was becoming renowned, its bucolic surroundings, and its proximity to so many famous châteaux. And the fact that the hotel boasted one of the finest restaurants in the Loire region did it no harm.
Agnes D’Auberville had become as good a friend as Patsy, as well as a most dependable business partner, and all three women enjoyed a good relationship.
Patsy, like Meredith, was divorced with two children, twin boys of ten who were away at boarding school. Agnes, who was thirty-eight, the same age as Patsy, was married to Alain D’Auberville, the well-known stage actor, and they had a small daughter, Chloe, who was six.
I’ve been lucky with them, Meredith thought as she completed her circle around Green Park and went out into Piccadilly. We all balance each other very well, and they’ve both done a great deal to make Havens work in Europe, been instrumental in its success.
Drawing alongside the Ritz Hotel, she stood at the curb, waiting for the lights to change. Once they did, she crossed Piccadilly and headed back to Claridge’s on Brook Street.
Meredith had always liked walking around London, and she was thoroughly enjoying her stroll, feeling invigorated by the brisk air and the exercise. Turning down Hay Hill, she went up into Berkeley Square. But as she traversed it, she couldn’t help thinking that the little park in the center looked a bit bleak today, with its bare trees and patches of dirty snow on the shriveled brown grass.
On the other hand, she took great pleasure in looking at the lovely old buildings in Mayfair, which was the one area of London she knew best. She had been coming here for twenty-one years, ever since her marriage to David Layton in 1974. Twenty-three she had been at the time, and so young in a variety of ways; yet in others she had been rather grown up.
England had made a lasting impression on her. She felt comfortable on its shores, and she enjoyed the British people, their idiosyncracies as well as their good manners and civility, not to mention their great sense of humor.
David Layton had been a transplanted Englishman, living and working in Connecticut when she met him. After their wedding at Silver Lake, he had brought her to London to meet his sister Claire, her husband, and children.
Meredith had liked David, and she had loved him well enough to marry him, and she had felt regretful that their marriage had foundered. Their genuine attempts to make it work had come to nothing, and in the end divorce had seemed to be the best, the only, solution.
The one good thing that had come out of this rather dubious and tenuous union was their son, Jonathan. The sad thing was, David never saw his son these days. He had moved to California in the 1980s and had never made any effort to come east to see Jonathan. Nor had he ever invited Jonathan to visit him on the West Coast.
David’s loss, Meredith muttered under her breath. She couldn’t help wishing that things were somewhat different, for her son’s sake at least, though Jon didn’t seem to care that he was so neglected by David. He never mentioned his father.
Being a single parent all those years had been a strain on her at times, Meredith was the first to admit it. But Jon had turned out well, as had her darling Cat. And so it had been worth it in the end…the hard work, the sacrifices, the endless compromises, the cajoling, the bullying, and the unconditional loving. Being a good mother had taken its toll on her life, but she was proud of the children. And of herself in a funny way.
Those years of bringing up Cat and Jon alone, plus creating and developing her business, had left her little time to meet another man, let alone become involved with him. There had been a few boyfriends over the years, but somehow her children and her work had intruded, got in the way. Deep down, she had never really minded. Her children had been her whole world, still were.
Circumstances had been right when she had met Brandon Leonard four years earlier. But he was a married man. In no time at all, she had come to understand that not only was he not separated, as he claimed, but he had no intention of ever leaving his wife or getting a divorce. Simply put, Brandon wanted his wife. He also wanted a mistress. Since she was not a candidate for the latter role, she had terminated their friendship, and in no uncertain terms.
Then this past September, on a trip to London, Patsy had taken her to the fancy opening of an exhibition of sculpture at the posh Lardner Gallery in Bond Street.
And there, lurking among the Arps and the Brancusis, the Moores, the Hepworths, and the Giacomettis had been Reed Jamison. The owner of the gallery.
Tall, dark, good-looking, charismatic. The most attractive man she had met in a long time. And seemingly very available. “Beware,” Patsy had warned. When she had asked her what she meant, Patsy had said,
