A Paris Affair by Adelaide Cole Page B

Valérie’s constitution seemed to require. He worked hard in his position, and at home felt put upon.
    Philippe and Valérie had experienced a joyful bond as a childless couple, but found it difficult to make the transition to their new life with children. Their love and caring did not wane, but some of their happiness together did. Valérie often felt isolated, and those feelings only multiplied when Mathieu began showing odd behaviour as a toddler.
    At the same time, Philippe was offered a desk position back in Paris. It was not a job he particularly wanted, and it paid less than the international posts did; but it was strategically important in the schema of his career. It was a stepping-stone position, so it was impossible to refuse. They left their life in green and airy Vancouver, and settled back into crowded Paris and its cramped apartment existence…this time with two young children, one of whom was showing developmental problems.
    In this new life, Valérie shouldered the burden of the children’s care. While their international positions had afforded a nanny and housekeeper, this Paris assignment didn’t come with those luxuries. She was on her own. Philippe wasn’t any help on the domestic scene, since his days were spent in a Machiavellian cauldron of colleagues jockeying for position. The couple missed the days of their foreign postings. CONSUL license-plated SUVs conferred special status, and cocktail parties were filled with easy, empty diplomatic conversation and the champagne that advertised France’s good life to the world.
    Valérie missed those parties and dinners. And she missed the stylish distinction of being a Frenchwoman abroad. Being French attracted an automatic cachet she had enjoyed. “Oh, Valérie,” she would hear from a new friend in a foreign country, “I couldn’t pull off that look with that scarf. Only a Frenchwoman can do that. You always look so elegant.” And felt so lighthearted.
    But the breezy confidence that foreigners gave her turned into yet another casualty of their move back to Paris. Now she was now just another forty-something wife and mom among a million stunning French girls. She tried to maintain her standards, but the demands of two children didn’t leave her with the same motivation or time that she’d had before, when a nanny helped with child care and a housekeeper with the mundane tasks that were now hers alone.
    The children’s needs, plus her husband’s new job, also took a toll on their romantic life. They were never alone together in the tiny apartment, and sex became perfunctory, if they weren’t already too tired to bother. Their love and commitment was intact, but sexual heat had dissipated, at least in these days of grocery shopping, child rearing and career challenges.
    “I’ll get the kids dinner,” Valérie said, pushing herself up from the table. She took her glass with her.
    “I’ll help. I’ll make a salad,” Philippe said, getting up as well.

    She boiled pasta for the children and recounted what had been accomplished that day along the lengthy progression of Mathieu’s diagnosis and treatment. Life abroad had been deceptively easy, and they had taken it for granted. If they’d been less self-deluded in their former post, they would have noticed signs that their son wasn’t developing normally, but the easy international scene had seduced them into thinking that their entire life was a carefree ride. Had they noticed, they would have sought help earlier and avoided the degree of difficulty they now faced.
    The discovery that Mathieu sat somewhere on the ever-widening autism continuum brought with it despondency as they fought to regain their equilibrium as a couple, as parents and as a family. Valérie and Philippe both struggled to relegate Manon to last-in-line for care and attention as they tried not to grieve over the loss of a dream of having two perfect children. Life weighed heavily back here in Paris.
    “One piece of