Christmas in Paris (23 page)

Maybe Mathieu was right. All he needed was a few days to make her fall in love with him. Antoine might take her to Tour d'Argent and
Rigoletto,
but he could show her the cheese shops on the Rue Mouffetard and the wine bars along the Canal Saint-Martin and the view of the Boulevard Haussmann from Promenade Plantee.

“This isn't over yet,” Alec murmured. He glanced at the sketch of Gus climbing to the top of a bean stalk and thought Isabel had to fall in love with him. His publisher wouldn't be happy if he kept drawing fairy tales.

*   *   *

“DARLING, IT'S LOVELY
to see you,” his mother said, opening the front door. “Join me in the kitchen, I'm having breakfast.”

Alec followed her into the wide kitchen and thought it was always his favorite room. French doors led to the garden and copper pots hung from the ceiling. A round table filled the breakfast nook and there was a ceramic vase of daisies.

“I'm surprised to see you,” Claudia said, pouring two cups of coffee. “I thought…”

“That because Celine left, I'd stick my head in the oven,” Alec replied.

“I didn't mean that exactly.” She added cream and took a small sip. “You never think the pain will go away, but one day you'll be sitting at Café Verlet across from a print of Renoir's
Luncheon of the Boating Party.
You'll comment to the waiter it's your favorite painting and he'll look at you strangely because you've been coming in for brioche with Échiré butter for six months and it's been there the whole time.” She paused. “Then you'll stroll along Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré and the store windows will be filled with paisley dresses and strapless sandals. You'll laugh that fashion gets further ahead every year, until you see women in scarves and boots and realize it's almost January and you missed a whole season.”

“It's only been a year since he died,” Alec said softly. “It will get better.”

She wiped her eyes and looked at Alec. “I'm hosting a dinner party in a few weeks. One of your father's oldest friends is retiring, and he and his wife are moving to Avignon. Would you like to come, maybe you could bring someone?”

Alec sipped his coffee and thought he couldn't tell her about Isabel. If he hinted he'd met someone, she might get her hopes up she could stay in her home.

The whole way in the metro, he examined his feelings for Isabel. As much as he adored his mother, he couldn't get married to save the house. But if he forgot about Bettina and his mother and 40 Rue de la Passy, he still couldn't stop thinking about Isabel's dark eyes and wide smile.

“I don't think…,” Alec began.

How could he tell his mother that the Louis XIV chairs and Oriental rugs were no longer hers?

“Bettina,” Claudia gasped. “How could I forget? I just thought…”

“That she'd develop compassion and realize this house fits you like a second skin?” he snapped. “That you could as soon move as I could become an international soccer star?”

“You were a fast runner.” Claudia smiled. “You never gave yourself a chance.”

“I had lunch with her yesterday,” Alec continued. “I thought I could talk to her, but I never got a chance. She's like Judas Iscariot picking out the menu for the Last Supper.”

“She never got over her mother leaving,” Claudia mused. “Who could blame her? I had a husband and beautiful home and baby boy with round cheeks and fists.”

“Where will you go?” Alec asked.

“I'll rent a studio apartment near the Jardin des Plantes.” She fiddled with her cup. “Your father wasn't the easiest man. I made him a soft-boiled egg every morning, and the yolk was always too runny or too firm. He spent hours in his study with the door closed and he could smoke a whole cigar after dinner without saying a word.

“But he was always here: his briefcase rested in the foyer and his overcoat hung in the closet and his magazines collected in the library.” Her eyes glistened. “Where will he be if I move?

“Enough about me,” she said suddenly. “Have you heard from Celine?”

“Of course not. I'm sure she's lying on the beach in the swimsuit we bought in Cannes. She wanted to buy the maillot and I convinced her to get the bikini,” he sighed. “I didn't realize I was buying Patrick an early Christmas present.”

“You are good-looking and talented, even if you are my own son,” Claudia said and smiled. “You'll fall in love again and this time it will be right.”

“Love is worse than the Paris metro system,” Alec grumbled, finishing his coffee. “It's nothing but bumps and jolts and you always exit with a stomachache.”

“It's all we have.” Claudia shrugged. “We'd be lost without it.”

*   *   *

ALEC CLIMBED THE
steps of the metro into the Place des Abbesses and sighed. Usually he loved the square in the middle of Montmartre with its carousel and outdoor cafés. All of Montmartre was like an antidote to Paris's wide boulevards and grand department stores. The alleys were paved with cobblestones and laundry hung from windows and the air smelled of butter and garlic.

But the Christmas chalets were still set up and Alec was tired of the stalls filled with bright ornaments and oversweet candies. Hadn't people drunk enough cups of mulled wine and eaten plenty of cheeses and sausages? And when would the vendors stop wishing everyone a
joyeux Noël
and happy new year?

In January his mother would be practically homeless and Isabel would go back to America, or even worse, she would marry Antoine. He pictured her inviting him to elegant dinner parties at Antoine's flat off the Rue de Rivoli and his stomach turned.

He glanced at the famous wall covered with “I love yous” and remembered when he and Celine had scribbled their names in the cement. If only someone had told him you could never be happy and in love at the same time—it was like an ostrich expecting to fly.

Hadn't these young people read enough Stendhal to know love ended in despair? His mother loved his father for thirty years, but instead of being allowed to drink café au lait in her own kitchen, she had to move to a studio apartment.

And what hope did he have? Celine trampled his heart, and now he met Isabel and was perched at the edge of the same dizzying rabbit hole. He would give anything to stop himself from sliding inside.

He saw a street vendor arguing with a young woman in a beige sweater and navy slacks. He walked closer and realized it was Isabel.

“What are you doing here?” he said as he approached her.

“Alec! What a wonderful surprise.” She beamed. “I was trying to buy a painting and somehow I offended him.”

Alec spoke to the vendor in rapid French and the vendor waved his hands. Alec reached into his pocket and handed him a wad of euros. He grabbed the painting and took Isabel's elbow.

“One minute we were having a pleasant conversation,” she explained. “The next he acted like I committed a crime.”

“You called him by the familiar ‘
tu
' instead of the formal ‘
vous.
' His girlfriend heard you and thought you had a relationship.”

“That's ridiculous!” Isabel protested. “I never saw him before in my life.”

“Then you should have addressed him correctly,” Alec replied.

“Or the French language shouldn't have so many pronouns,” she retorted. “What did you tell him?”

“I gave him an extra ten euros and told him to buy his girlfriend a bottle of perfume.” Alec grinned.

“It is a lovely painting,” she said and smiled. “It's the entrance to the Place des Abbesses metro station. It's the most famous metro station in Paris and was in the movie
Amélie.
”

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you were preparing for your dinner cruise on the Seine.”

“I already found the perfect dress and read about the French aristocracy at the court of the Sun King. I decided to do some sightseeing.” She paused and her eyes sparkled. “You can join me!”

“Join you?” Alec asked.

“I don't want to lose my way at the Bastille and get left in a dungeon, or say the wrong thing to a shopkeeper and have him call the gendarmes,” she explained. “It would be more fun to explore Paris with a Parisian.”

Alec remembered Mathieu saying the way to win Isabel was to show her Paris.

“I suppose I have some time.” He slipped his hands in his pockets. “We can see the main chapel of the Sacré-Coeur and visit the last three remaining windmills in Paris.”

“That sounds wonderful, but I know what I want to do next,” she replied. “I've been looking forward to it since I arrived in Paris.”

“What?” he asked, hoping she didn't want to browse in the boutiques on the Rue Lepic. His wallet was almost empty and he didn't want to spend the afternoon surrounded by salesgirls with arched eyebrows and pursed lips.

“We're going to explore the Catacombs!”

Alec had only visited the burial grounds under Paris once. He was terrified by the dark tunnels and walls of bones. But Isabel already knew he was afraid of heights; he couldn't admit he was claustrophobic, too.

“The Catacombs,” he repeated and sighed. “What a marvelous idea, why didn't I suggest it?”

*   *   *

“AT THE END
of the eighteenth century the cemeteries were overflowing, so they began transporting bones to the Catacombs.” Isabel stood at the entrance of the tunnel. “Over six million Parisians are buried here, including Robespierre, and during World War II the French resistance used it to hide from the Germans. The entrance is inscribed with the words: ‘Halt: You are in the realm of death!'”

“The Romantics had quite the sense of humor,” Alec muttered.

They had descended the 183 steps in silence. Alec kept his hands in his pockets so Isabel wouldn't see his white knuckles. Then he reminded himself it was pitch-black and they couldn't see five feet in front of them.

“Apparently it has been an attraction for centuries,” she continued. “
Comtes
and duchesses visited the Catacombs for amusement.”

“The French aristocracy hasn't always been known for their common sense. Or their heads wouldn't have ended up in a cart in the Place Vendôme,” he mused. “I'd rather sit in front of a fire with a glass of cognac and a book of Baudelaire's poems.”

“When I was a girl I read all the Nancy Drew books.” Isabel examined the thick walls. “My favorites were where she got locked in the cellar or trapped in an abandoned well. I couldn't wait to see how she got out.”

“We could save ourselves the trouble and leave now.” He wiped his forehead. “Once we walk farther, we can't turn around.”

“And miss seeing the wall of bones or deformed skeletons?” Isabel asked. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

Alec walked beside her and tried to stop his heart from racing. Suddenly the earth shifted and Isabel gasped. She wrapped her arms around Alec's neck and her cheek was warm against his skin. God, he wanted to kiss her!

“Was that an earthquake?” she asked.

Alec peered into the dark and saw something scurry across the dirt. He looked closer and laughed.

“I think it was a mouse.”

*   *   *

THEY FINISHED THE
tour and climbed the steps out of the tunnel. Alec had never been so happy to see blue sky and white clouds.

“I'm sorry, I was sure it was an earthquake,” Isabel apologized. “Did I scare you?”

“Of course not, there was nothing to be afraid of.” He shrugged. “How about if I choose where we go next.”

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

He turned to her and smiled. “Somewhere green.”

They took the metro back to Montmartre, and Alec bought mushroom tartlets and cheddar gougères and hard-boiled eggs. There were fruit tarts and a jar of whipped cream.

“How did you know I'm starving?” she asked when he handed her an egg. “I was so busy learning the dates of the Renaissance I didn't eat breakfast, and then I was so eager to see Paris I forgot to grab a sandwich.”

“We're going to have a picnic.” He took her hand. “And I'm going to show you the most beautiful garden in Paris.

“Renoir's garden is part of the Musée de Montmartre,” he said, entering an iron gate. “He painted
The Swing
and
Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette
under that willow tree. Sometimes I would sneak out of the lycée with my sketchbook.” He paused. “Gus fought his first sword fight while I was sitting on this bench.”

“It's like being in the countryside in the middle of Paris.” Isabel gazed at thick hedges and a pond filled with water lilies. There were rows of lilacs and a stone wall covered in ivy.

If only he could tell her how he felt, he might have a chance. But if he admitted he was a viscount, she'd be furious he hadn't told her sooner, and he'd never know if she was really in love with him. And if he didn't tell her, she would believe the fortune-teller intended her to marry Antoine.

He spread the contents of the paper sack on a bench, and they ate bread and cheese and fruit. Alec couldn't remember being so happy and miserable at the same time. It was like eating the most delicious birthday cake and knowing that tomorrow your birthday would be over, and you wouldn't feel special again.

“I couldn't stop worrying about Neil. I wondered if he remembered where we kept the thick socks and if he knew the milk in the fridge had expired. Finally I called him and he said he was going skiing with friends. I was so relieved, I worried he might be holed up in the condominium watching television and eating leftover tuna salad.” Her eyes flickered. “I did make the right decision. If I was in love with him, I'd wish he was with me in Paris instead of wondering how he was going to keep warm.”