Christmas in Paris (25 page)

It was Isabel's idea to meet under the Eiffel Tower instead of in the Crillon's lobby. She wanted Antoine to catch sight of her standing on the grass bank in her pink tulle dress and silver stilettos.

But she had been waiting for twenty minutes and the damp air settled on her shoulders. She should have worn a sensible coat, but she couldn't bear hiding the luminous fabric under thick wool. And anyway, she wouldn't be cold when they sat at a candlelit table eating tarte flambés and sipping Veuve Clicquot.

She remembered reading in an article that nothing kept you as warm as the way you felt in a gorgeous dress. The writer had never been to Paris in December. Her lips were turning blue, and she couldn't stop shivering.

Now she understood why Parisians disliked tourists; they made the streets so congested. It took thirty minutes to drive from the Crillon to the Champ de Mar. When she paid the taxi driver, he muttered that Americans were lazy and she could have walked there faster.

Isabel slipped the tip she was going to give him back in her purse, and almost blurted out that if all the tourists walked he wouldn't have employment.

Perhaps Antoine had left a message or sent a text that he had been delayed. She opened her purse and realized she'd left her phone in the hotel suite.

She fleetingly wondered if he had decided not to come, but that was impossible. He sent her roses and said he couldn't wait to see her! She had to go back to the Crillon and retrieve her phone; there must be a simple explanation.

But she couldn't navigate the metro in her stilettos and the line at the taxi stand stretched around the Eiffel Tower. She started down the Rue Saint-Dominique and thought she'd give anything for a bowl of hot soup and a baguette.

She peered into a café and saw a familiar-looking man. He wore a red sweater and she realized it was Alec.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, opening the door.

“I've been waiting under the Eiffel Tower for thirty minutes,” she began. “But I must have got it wrong because Antoine didn't show up. I left my phone at the Crillon and I have to go back and get it. It's impossible to get a taxi, so I decided to walk.”

“You're going to walk two kilometers in those shoes?” Alec raised his eyebrow.

“I'll be fine,” Isabel said doubtfully. “I don't have a choice, I can't keep Antoine waiting.”

“He's the one keeping you waiting. And you won't do him any good if you get pneumonia,” Alec replied. “Join me for a bite and we'll go back to the hotel together. I know the owner of the restaurant, he can call a taxi.”

Isabel peered inside and inhaled garlic and oregano.

“I could have a quick bowl of soup.” She hesitated. “I haven't eaten since our picnic.”

“You can't just have a bowl of soup.” Alec steered her to the table. “We're at Les Cocottes, they make the best casseroles in Paris.”

“I didn't realize I was so hungry,” Isabel said when Alec ordered a salad with poached eggs and bacon. There was a casserole of rabbit and chanterelle mushrooms. “But what if I mixed things up entirely and Antoine is waiting at the Crillon?”

“You're the most precise person I know.” Alec dipped a baguette into tomato bisque. “Maybe he came down with the flu or had an emergency. You can't flit around Paris wearing something out of
A Midsummer Night's Dream.
”

“I love this dress, and I'm sure Antoine would have lent me his jacket.” Isabel ate baby peas and carrots. “What are you doing here? I thought you avoided trendy restaurants that charge twenty euros for a bowl of leeks.”

“Les Cocottes is a Paris institution,” Alex explained. “All the main courses come in iron pots and the chocolate torte is delicious. Besides, I needed to clear my head.”

“Are you still having trouble getting inspiration?” Isabel asked.

“Not exactly. I left Gus in a diamond mine in South Africa. The walls caved in and he's trying to save the other miners before they all run out of oxygen.”

“I shouldn't have suggested visiting the Catacombs,” she laughed.

“I enjoyed it and it cured my fear of heights. I realized I'd rather fall from a five-story building than be buried under thirty kilos of dirt.” He looked at Isabel. “Aren't you afraid of anything?”

“What's the point?” She shrugged. “Fear only holds you back, life is about moving forward.”

“It saves you from dying,” Alec pointed out. “God invented it so we wouldn't sail into a typhoon or swim with sharks.”

“I've never gone skydiving and I don't like thunder and lightning.” Her eyes clouded over. “But the only thing I'm afraid of is not falling in love and being alone forever.”

“Isabel…,” Alec began.

“I don't know why I said that,” she interrupted. “Of course I'm not going to be alone, I'm going to marry Antoine. I visited the fortune-teller this afternoon; I needed a tune-up. She knew everything I've been doing in Paris. She said I bought new clothes and dined at wonderful restaurants.”

“Every tourist leaves Paris with a suitcase of new clothes and you can't walk half a block without discovering a café,” Alec spluttered.

“I searched the Place de la Concorde and couldn't find her. I was quite upset, and then I met a little girl and it turned out to be her daughter,” Isabel explained. “Magical things keep happening and it's because of the fortune-teller. She said I'd have a wonderful life as long as I follow her instructions.”

“The only magical thing that happened is she convinced you to pay her twenty more euros,” Alec grumbled.

“She didn't ask for money, I wanted to give it her,” Isabel corrected. “Aren't you afraid you won't find someone? I know Celine broke your heart and you have your illustrations, but Gus can't be good at conversation. Don't you want someone to share baby photos and first dances and high school graduations with?”

“No one looks at photo albums, they click through images on their phones.” Alec shrugged. “And if I had a son or daughter, I'd tell them to skip school dances. Being in an overheated room makes your skin break out and the fruit punch gives you diabetes.”

“But don't you see, it's not enough to spend all day in an office and travel once a year to Morocco or Crete. You have to have someone to share it with or you're like a hamster on a treadmill. You're not building anything, you're just running in circles.”

“I don't mind being alone. I can spend hours drawing and there's nothing I enjoy more than sitting on my fire escape with a brandy and watching the sun set over the rooftops.” He put down his fork. “What's worse is finding the person you can't live without and discovering they belong to someone else.”

“But you have to try again,” Isabel said and looked at Alec. “If you don't have love, you don't have anything at all.”

*   *   *

ALEC SUGGESTED SHARING
a chocolate torte for dessert, but Isabel said she had to get back to the Crillon. They sat cramped in the backseat of the taxi and she felt slightly off. Like when you step off an airplane after an international flight and the ground still feels shaky.

They took the elevator to the fifth floor and Isabel fumbled with her key.

“Thank you for seeing me home.” She turned around. “I'm sure Antoine left a message on my phone. Maybe he decided it's too cold and made a restaurant reservation at the George Cinq.” Her face lit up in a smile. “That's the wonderful thing about Paris, everywhere you go is romantic. He could propose at the Grand Palais or Les Invalides. Wherever it happens, I'll never forget it.”

“Isabel.” He touched her shoulder. “What I said at the restaurant, I wasn't talking about Celine.”

“Of course you were,” she replied. “It must have been dreadful when Celine ran off with another man less than two weeks before the wedding. Neil and I didn't agree on anything, but he didn't cancel the wedding. Though when I called him, he didn't sound too upset.” She paused. “If I hadn't decided to stay at the Hôtel de Crillon, I wouldn't have met Antoine. Now I'm going to be a
comtesse
with a château and three beautiful children!”

He ran his hands through his hair. “I was talking about you.”

Isabel dropped her purse and bent down to pick it up. She smoothed her skirt and looked at Alec. “I don't understand.”

“When Celine left, I swore I'd never fall in love again,” he began. “I couldn't stand the pain, it was like sticking needles in my back. But then you threw a shoe on my balcony and everything changed. You're beautiful and smart and your optimism makes the world a better place.” He stopped and looked at her. “I think I'm falling in love with you.”

“That's impossible, you don't believe in love at first sight.” She shook her head. “You're probably still getting over a fever. Once I had the flu and thought I wanted to become an astronaut.” She paused. “You mustn't fall in love with me. I'm in love with Antoine.”

“How do you know you're in love with Antoine?” he asked.

“He's good-looking and charming and his family dates back to the fourteenth century,” she continued. “He might not work with numbers, but someone has to entertain the clients, or they'll take their money somewhere else.” She fiddled with her bracelet. “The fortune-teller said I was going to marry him, and she's been right about everything.”

Alec leaned forward and kissed her. His mouth was warm and for a moment she kissed him back.

“I have to go,” she gasped, pulling away. “The casserole was delicious and you saved me from getting frostbite.” She opened the door. “I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow.”

*   *   *

ISABEL PACED AROUND
the hotel suite and caught her breath. Antoine hadn't left a message and his phone went straight to voice mail. She remembered when the dry cleaner lost her phone number and Antoine called every five-star hotel in Paris. He'd call any minute and it would all be straightened out.

She walked to the balcony and thought about Alec. He'd rush over in the morning and apologize. It had been the red wine and casserole and the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. Of course he wasn't in love with her; that was ridiculous.

The fortune-teller said there would be obstacles; she didn't mean to kiss him. It was like when you ate a bite of nougat and couldn't help wanting to finish the whole piece.

For the first time since she'd arrived in Paris, tears spilled down her cheeks. She closed the silk curtains and walked to the closet. All she had to do was follow the fortune-teller's instructions and everything would be perfect.

 

chapter fifteen

Alec pulled back the curtains and gazed at the blue sky and high white clouds. It was midmorning and the Place de la Concorde was filled with men and women wearing bright scarves and patterned sweaters.

He couldn't believe he'd followed Isabel to the Eiffel Tower last night without telling her. He was like Gus unable to resist a juicy T-bone steak. But he was glad he did. The casserole at Les Cocottes was delicious and the taxi ride back to the Crillon was magical. Isabel had sat so close that he could inhale the scent of her floral perfume.

But now he wished it was pouring rain or even snowing so he could curl up on the brocade sofa with a stack of magazines. He only had two more nights at the Crillon; he was entitled to enjoy the heated marble floors and Egyptian cotton sheets.

But in three weeks Bettina would evict his mother from 40 Rue de Passy. He pictured the grand salon with his father's ivory cigar box and bottles of cognac and knew he had to find a way to stop her.

He picked up a sketch of Gus perched on a flying carpet. Gus wore a purple velvet hat over his floppy ears and clutched a genie's bottle. If only he could stuff the fortune-teller into the bottle. Or maybe Gus could cast a spell so Isabel never met her.

He poured a cup of café au lait and thought he really had to stop drinking coffee. It was putting him on edge, and that wouldn't solve anything. He added sugar and pictured Isabel in her pink tulle gown. God, she was beautiful, like an angel on top of the Christmas tree.

Kissing her had been even better than he had imagined. And she kissed him back! For one moment he allowed himself to be happy. Then she hurried into her suite and something hard pressed against his chest.

This is why he was promising himself to never fall in love again; it was as uncomfortable as sitting in a public sauna. He was sure Isabel had feelings for him, but she was determined to listen to the fortune-teller. She was as likely to change course as he was to fly on a magic carpet.

He was tempted to go down to the Christmas markets and talk to the fortune-teller himself. How could she make Isabel believe she was going to marry a French aristocrat and live in a château?

But that was what was wonderful about Isabel. She had a childlike trust that made him want to wrap his arms around her. He pictured her dark eyes and never had wanted anyone more.

There was a knock at the door and he answered it.

“You look worse than I do, and I got up at five
AM
to find Helene seaweed mustard.” Mathieu entered the suite. “I found lemon mustard and horseradish mustard, but not a single boulangerie carries seaweed mustard.”

“You might try Japan,” Alec mumbled. “This is why love is impossible. You are a successful attorney who can afford a wardrobe of Paul Smith suits, and you look like you slept in your clothes. We should save ourselves the trouble and join a monastery.”

“Isabel?” Mathieu asked, surveying the empty coffee cup.

“She was supposed to meet Antoine under the Eiffel Tower, but he didn't show up. I was sitting in Les Cocottes and she walked by wearing a tulle gown and diamond necklace. We ate tomato bisque and cassoulet and it was the best meal of my life.”