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Authors: Danielle Steel
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and he's got the world by the tail … and a wife most men would give their right arm for.”
“What would I do with a right arm?” She smiled at him philosophically, looking very Gallic. “I want his heart, not his arm … or all that expensive jewelry. I always know when something is wrong, he comes home with boxes full of diamonds.”
“I know.” Arthur frowned. He still advised Sam on his business affairs, and for some time now he had been urging Sam to save money. But Sam was still playing, and enjoying the initial impact of his success. He was buying and buying and buying … toys for the girls … furs and jewels for his wife … clothes for himself … and expensive presents for the women he got involved with. There had been several Arthur knew about, and he disapproved of them all, and he always hoped that Solange knew nothing about it. But he sensed that this time was different.This was the first time he'd had the feeling she was really unhappy.
“I don't know what to do, Arthur. I don't know if I should make a scene, tell him I know what's going on, or sit back quietly and wait for it to be over. Because it will be over soon. It always is with Sam … and then he comes home to me.” She smiled a smile that would have brought Arthur to his knees, if he'd been standing, and if it had been meant for him, but it wasn't.
“You're a very sensible woman, Solange. Most Americans aren't. Most women in this country go crazy if they think their husband is having an affair. They hire detectives, sue for divorce, take him for everything he's worth …” She was amazing.
But she only smiled at him again, that wise little smile that said she was a thousand years old, even if she only looked twenty. “I don't want 'things,' Arthur. I only want my husband.” It was obvious that she adored him. And Arthur envied his friend, though not for the first time. He had always wondered what would have happened if he had pursued Solange, if he had spoken to her that day on the rue d'Arcole … what if? … it was something he would foolishly ask himself for a lifetime. And it didn't matter now. Sam was the lucky one. Luckier than he knew. The bastard.
“I suppose he'll quiet down again.” Solange sighed and finished her wine. “With each leading lady now we have a little problem, and then eventually he gets tired of them. It's hard for him, he becomes so involved in the play … the theater is a hard life for him. It's so extremely demanding.” She looked as though she genuinely believed what she said, but Arthur shook his head.
“It's not that demanding. He's spoiled. Spoiled by success, by the women he meets … and by you, Solange. You treat him like a god for heaven's sake.”
“He is … to me … He means everything to me.” Her huge eyes reached out to Arthur as her words cut him to the quick.
“Then sit tight. He'll come home again. He's just playing, Solange. As long as you understand that, perhaps it isn't so important.”
She nodded. It was good advice. And she was always prepared to sit it out. She would rather have died than lose him.
The affair went on for six months finally, and then ended brutally, with the attempted suicide of his leading lady. After which she left the play, for reasons of “ill health,” and Sam's life returned to normal. It was callous of him in some ways, but Solange was relieved to see it. For now, the threat was over. It was 1954 by then, and he stayed with the play for another year and as usual returned to his wife and children. It was the longest run he had ever had in any play, and they were both sad when it was over. He took her and the girls to Europe after that for a summer in Saint-Tropez. It was something he had always talked about. He had been there during the war, though only for a day, and he had always wanted to go back there.
They sent Arthur a postcard from Saint-Tropez and another from Cannes, and then they went on a little pilgrimage to Paris, and Solange
“What would I do with a right arm?” She smiled at him philosophically, looking very Gallic. “I want his heart, not his arm … or all that expensive jewelry. I always know when something is wrong, he comes home with boxes full of diamonds.”
“I know.” Arthur frowned. He still advised Sam on his business affairs, and for some time now he had been urging Sam to save money. But Sam was still playing, and enjoying the initial impact of his success. He was buying and buying and buying … toys for the girls … furs and jewels for his wife … clothes for himself … and expensive presents for the women he got involved with. There had been several Arthur knew about, and he disapproved of them all, and he always hoped that Solange knew nothing about it. But he sensed that this time was different.This was the first time he'd had the feeling she was really unhappy.
“I don't know what to do, Arthur. I don't know if I should make a scene, tell him I know what's going on, or sit back quietly and wait for it to be over. Because it will be over soon. It always is with Sam … and then he comes home to me.” She smiled a smile that would have brought Arthur to his knees, if he'd been standing, and if it had been meant for him, but it wasn't.
“You're a very sensible woman, Solange. Most Americans aren't. Most women in this country go crazy if they think their husband is having an affair. They hire detectives, sue for divorce, take him for everything he's worth …” She was amazing.
But she only smiled at him again, that wise little smile that said she was a thousand years old, even if she only looked twenty. “I don't want 'things,' Arthur. I only want my husband.” It was obvious that she adored him. And Arthur envied his friend, though not for the first time. He had always wondered what would have happened if he had pursued Solange, if he had spoken to her that day on the rue d'Arcole … what if? … it was something he would foolishly ask himself for a lifetime. And it didn't matter now. Sam was the lucky one. Luckier than he knew. The bastard.
“I suppose he'll quiet down again.” Solange sighed and finished her wine. “With each leading lady now we have a little problem, and then eventually he gets tired of them. It's hard for him, he becomes so involved in the play … the theater is a hard life for him. It's so extremely demanding.” She looked as though she genuinely believed what she said, but Arthur shook his head.
“It's not that demanding. He's spoiled. Spoiled by success, by the women he meets … and by you, Solange. You treat him like a god for heaven's sake.”
“He is … to me … He means everything to me.” Her huge eyes reached out to Arthur as her words cut him to the quick.
“Then sit tight. He'll come home again. He's just playing, Solange. As long as you understand that, perhaps it isn't so important.”
She nodded. It was good advice. And she was always prepared to sit it out. She would rather have died than lose him.
The affair went on for six months finally, and then ended brutally, with the attempted suicide of his leading lady. After which she left the play, for reasons of “ill health,” and Sam's life returned to normal. It was callous of him in some ways, but Solange was relieved to see it. For now, the threat was over. It was 1954 by then, and he stayed with the play for another year and as usual returned to his wife and children. It was the longest run he had ever had in any play, and they were both sad when it was over. He took her and the girls to Europe after that for a summer in Saint-Tropez. It was something he had always talked about. He had been there during the war, though only for a day, and he had always wanted to go back there.
They sent Arthur a postcard from Saint-Tropez and another from Cannes, and then they went on a little pilgrimage to Paris, and Solange
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