Chapter Seventeen
The girls slept their way through the entire flight, for which I was grateful. But I also knew they would wake up hungry, grumpy, and, in Mimi’s case, complaining about everything. They were not morning people, these two, and even though Paris time was past noon, their morning unpleasantness would not be avoided. I spent the last hour of the flight running over various scenarios as to how I was going to get them some food, wrangle the luggage, make it down to the metro, then out into the vast, loud, confusing train station while trying to find the fast train to Rennes, then probably more food …
When we landed, I felt hopelessly overwhelmed and just wanted to cry.
We trundled off the plane and through endless corridors, past gates and barriers, asking and answering questions, until I finally had them going up the escalator to the luggage claim. One hurdle down, I thought, fifty more to go. And then I saw, leaning against a smooth tiled pillar, arms folded across his chest—
“Bing,” I whispered.
He straightened when he saw us, and he readjusted the long strap of his satchel and began to walk toward us. I had slowed, and felt Cara’s impatient tug on my hand, then she followed my gaze.
“Who is that?” she asked.
He stopped in front of us and squatted down. “I know one of you is Cara, and one of you is Mimi,” he said slowly. “But how in the world can I tell which one of you is which?”
Mimi stepped up to the challenge. “I’m almost an inch taller, and I have pierced ears. Cara didn’t want pierced ears because she was afraid they would hurt.”
“Ah.” Bing said, nodding. “Well, that’s a very easy distinction to make, thank you very much. And did they? Hurt?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No. Well, at first, but not anymore. I’m Mimi.”
He held out a hand, and she shook it. “I’m Bing.”
Cara gasped. “You’re Bing Davis? The writer? Boodily and Flap?”
He held out his hand to her, and she grabbed it tightly. “The same. I hear you two young ladies have read my books?”
Cara gushed, her cranky whine gone. “We have all of them. Well, we did. We had to leave all our books home because they were too heavy, but we love your books.”
He straightened. “Glad to hear it. It’s always a pleasure to meet a fan. And as for books, well, I have extra copies lying around. You can read them whenever you like. How does that sound?”
Mimi glared up at me accusingly. “You told us you knew him,” she said. “You didn’t tell us you were friends.”
I met his eyes. All I could do was nod. He reached into his satchel and handed Cara a brown bag. “I have some very special doughnuts in there for you, just in case you’re hungry. You can sit on that bench right over there while I say hello to your aunt.”
Mimi grabbed the bag, and they scampered off. He watched them as they sat, then he turned to me and opened his arms.
I fell into them as falling into a quiet, safe harbor. My arms went around him and I buried my face into the crook of his shoulder, and he just held me, his hands soft in my hair, his lips against my cheek.
“Thank you,” I managed at last. “Thank you. I have been dreading this, trying to get the luggage and then the metro and the train…” My voice caught, and I gulped. “I was so afraid I’d just lose them in the depths of Paris, and I’d never see them again.”
He brushed a few tears away with a rough thumb. “Nonsense. In fact, the only reason I’m here at all is because I had to be in Paris yesterday and thought I’d meet you, you know, just in case. You’d have figured it all out, Lucia. Don’t you always?”
I fought a smile. “And what has suddenly convinced you I was capable of handling any situation more complicated than making toast?”
He tilted his head at me. “And when have you even considered thanking me for anything other than a decent roll in the hay?”
I laughed out loud then, and the girls looked up from their serious eating to smile at me.
We collected luggage. The girls were fascinated by the metro.
“So clean,” Mimi whispered in awe. At the train station, Bing wrangled more food, this time sandwiches and french fries.
“Better than McDonald’s,” Cara declared. While we waited, Bing reached into his satchel and pulled out a tablet and began showing the girls the new sketches for Marnie and Pug.
“They’re a secret,” he said in a hushed voice. “You must swear never to tell anyone you saw them.”
The girls crossed their heart repeatedly, obviously thrilled to be included in such a vast conspiracy of silence.
They sat together on the train, quieter now, and Bing held my hand while I told him what had happened. He didn’t say anything, just watched me and nodded a few times. And when I was done, he let out a long, slow breath.
“You are a person of courage, Lucia. Their father made the right choice. And so did you. Bringing them here is best for us all. And can I tell you, the entire hotel is waiting for them.”
I exhaled slowly. “It’s going to be tough going for a while. I don’t know what the sleeping arrangements are going to be. We’re going to be awfully crowded.”
He chuckled. “Not really. Philippe and Marie Claude decided to take over the extra rooms in the attic. And since that meant the appartement next to yours was empty, Raoul broke through the wall. So now you have—how can I put this? A duplex? The girls have their own space, with a bedroom and bath and sitting room, and you can pull out your kitchen, if you’d like, and put a bit of an office space back there. Marie Claude and Eliot had a very nice kitchen fitted in just last year. We already have two beds, and a long table and some chairs, and a dresser for each of the girls—wait, please, you’re not crying again, are you?”
Georges met us at the station, frowned at all the luggage, and began to grumble, but Cara took one peek inside the Volvo and turned to him with an excited grin.
“Your car is beautiful,” she said.
Georges froze, then a smile crept over his face. “His name,” he told her slowly, “is Marcel.”
Mimi nodded her approval. “That is a great name for a car,” she said. “My daddy’s car was named Leon.”
“That is also a great name,” Georges said. “But not as good as Marcel.”
He drove quickly, not the tourist route, as it was obvious the girls were fading fast, but as we went through Place Sainte-Anne, both girls gasped. “It’s prettier than Disney World,” Cara said. Bing laughed.
We went through the iron gates, the lights in the hotel gleaming, the breeze rustling the leaves, and the fading sunlight casting shadows in every corner of the courtyard. We stumbled into my appart and through the newly hewn archway.
The kitchen in the adjoining flat was indeed a step up from mine. There was a full-size refrigerator, a stove that could fit more than two pots, and lots of built-in cabinets. A long table had been set by the window, with four chairs.
Cara and Mimi went through the next doorway, and I heard the squeals. I glanced at Bing, who was grinning.
“Apparently, Vera also always wanted girls,” he said.
The room was painted the palest of pinks, with twin white iron beds draped in soft pink quilts and piled high with pillows. Ruffled drapes hung from the ceiling over each bed, creating canopies any princess would envy. Two white dressers were adorned with painted roses and ivy. A tall gold-framed mirror worthy of Cinderella herself was propped next to the bathroom door.
Cara dumped her little carry-on with a flourish. “This bed is mine,” she declared. “Do I get a whole dresser to myself?”
I nodded, then cleared my throat. “Well, there are two dressers there, so I guess so.” I noticed that there was an actual closet built in by the window, obviously newly constructed.
I glared at Bing. “Why didn’t I get a real closet?”
He was still grinning, watching the girls with obvious delight. “Because you’re not nine and adorable.”
Georges had dropped all the luggage outside the front door, and Bing and I carried them in.
“Girls, you can unpack tomorrow.” I could feel the lack of sleep creeping in, and I knew it would hit hard soon. “We all need to sleep, and in the morning, you’ll get a breakfast and a tour and meet everyone. How does that sound?”
Mimi crinkled her nose. I knew they were both tired and overwhelmed by the whole trip. I also knew they could dig in their heels and be royal pains, and it looked like Mimi was headed in that direction when I heard a quiet thump of light feet landing on the stone floor.
Napoléon strutted in, tail high, ears perked, looking totally in control. He jumped up on the dresser closest to the door, sat, and observed.
“This is Napoléon Bonaparte,” I said. “He sleeps here, but he’s not my cat. He belongs to everyone. And if you ignore him completely, he may allow you to pet him.”
Mimi’s face changed, and I watched as she fell in love. “Okay, Aunt Lucy,” she whispered. “If we get in bed right now, do you think he’ll sleep with us?”
“Gee.” I sighed. “I don’t know. But let’s give it a shot.”
They were washed and in bed a few minutes later. Napoléon did his part, sitting patiently and watching. As I backed out of their room and turned off the light, he shot me a look, suggesting what a martyr must do for love and country.
Bing had been sitting in my little living room, reading something on his phone. He looked up when I finally sat down across from him.
“Claudine said to wait until the morning,” he said. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”
I shook my head. “No. Well. Yes, I do, but chances are the girls will wake up at least once. Your being here would only add another layer of strangeness.”
“Of course.” He reached out a hand, and I grabbed it. “You need to tell me how to do this,” he said carefully. “We had barely figured out the two of us. And now, there are four of us.”
“Yeah. How about that.” I watched his face as I spoke. “I know this is so much more than you ever could have bargained for. So, I will understand if you want to create, ah, a little distance.”
He shook his head. “I admit to being old and overbearing. I’m trying very hard to not be such a pompous know-it-all. I will fail spectacularly, and often, but I will continue to try. If you can put up with that, I can manage a beautiful, strong woman and two little girls.”
“You’re not all that pompous,” I muttered. “And sometimes you’re very on point. I tend to be oversensitive about certain things.”
He raised his eyebrows but managed to keep a straight face. “Really?”
I swallowed hard. “I love you,” I said, very softly.
“Ah,” he said, smiling gently. “How lovely. Because I love you, too. Very much.” He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips, then drew back, eyes dancing. “Such declarations should be followed by opening fine wine and making long and delicious love. Sadly, we are both too tired.”
I felt a giggle ripple out. “True that. One glass of wine and I’d be fast asleep.”
He stood. “We will have to find a quiet afternoon, sometime quite soon, for us to mark this occasion. After all, it isn’t often two people such as us can find something so joyous to celebrate.”
He slipped out, and I peeled off my clothes and crawled into bed. Mimi cried out once in the night, and as I watched her, she thrashed about for a few moments, but didn’t wake. Cara had her faded stuffed monkey clenched in her little fist, and she never let go even as she stretched and turned. I watched them for a few more minutes, then went back to bed, and Napoléon curled at my feet and was there in the morning.
It was cool when I awoke, the kind of cool that whispered that fall was coming. The girls and I crossed the courtyard and went into the hotel. Celestine was behind the desk on the phone, but she waved and smiled as we passed. In the salon, there were a few guests by the window. I steered the girls toward the long table, and they eyed the fruit and pastries.
“Can we have anything?” Cara whispered.
“Yes,” I said. “And this is Claudine. This is her hotel. Claudine, this is Mimi, and this is Cara.”
She had a handful of starched white napkins, which she put down on the table. She smiled down at them. “Welcome to my hotel,” she said in slow English. “I don’t speak English very well, but I’ll try harder, and you will learn French, and soon we’ll be good friends. Okay?”
The girls nodded.
“Just sit, girls,” I told them. “I’ll bring over some fruit. And bread and jam. Give me a minute, okay?”
They found a table in the farthest corner.
To my surprise, Stavros poked his head out of the kitchen. “I can make them an American breakfast,” he said. “To say welcome. Eggs and bacon?”
I felt a rush of gratitude. “That would be so lovely, thank you.”
He nodded. “And waffles and hash browns?”
I fought down a laugh. “No, but thank you. Just eggs and bacon.”
He withdrew to the kitchen with a grin.
Claudine watched the girls. “They are beautiful,” she said. “I have found them a school.”
“Already? I thought, well, I mean—”
“I know what you thought, but you know nothing about schools here in France. You probably have your own ideas about how the girls should be taught, but trust me on this one. It’s a very progressive school with children from all over the world attending. The girls will learn French, of course, but will not be taught in French, so they will never feel left behind.” She shot me a look. “I know the headmaster.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do,” I said wryly. “Is it close?”
“They can walk. Or rather, you can walk them.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll bring you some coffee. Orange juice for the girls?”
I nodded and she hurried back into the kitchen.
I sat.
“She doesn’t speak English very well, does she?” Cara asked.
“She’s getting better every day. She can understand, but English is a very hard language to learn.”
Mimi was not convinced. “But everyone speaks English.”
I shook my head. “Nope. Sorry.”
“Are we going to have to learn French?” Cara asked.
“Yes. You won’t have to wait for middle school, either. Don’t worry. Claudine has found a school that we can walk to every day. You can spend the afternoons right here in the hotel, if you’d like, or back in the appart.”
Claudine set down a tray with café crème and two small glasses of orange juice. Cara looked up and said, very loudly, “Mercy.”
Claudine grinned. “Very good,” she said, then backed off.
“What’s appart?” Mimi asked.
“The apartment. Where we live. Over here, it’s called an appart.”
“That’s our home now?” Mimi looked up. “The appart?”
I nodded. “Yes. It’s not very big, I know, but you two are used to sharing a room, and we have a nice kitchen where I can cook dinner and we can sit together every night.” As the words fell out of my mouth, I tried not to cringe. Dinner? Every night? As in, me cooking it? But then I remembered. “Or Bing can cook for us. He’s a much better cook than I.”
Cara narrowed her eyes at me. “Is he your boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
She made a face. “Are you in love?”
“Yes,” I said again.
Mimi looked completely at a loss. “But you said that boys were stupid.”
“Yes, they are. But men aren’t. Not some men, anyway.”
At that moment, Stavros hurried to the table, a plate in each hand, and he set them down with a flourish.
“Welcome, ladies. I have made this very special breakfast to say hello. Enjoy.” He bowed and smiled, then vanished.
The girls looked at their plates.
“Bacon and eggs are special?” Mimi asked, carefully picking up a piece of bacon.
“Here, yes. Stavros went out of his way.”
Mimi sighed. “Grown-ups are weird,” she muttered.
“Yes, Mimi, we are. Now. Try that juice. It’s the best orange juice you will ever taste.”
We finished breakfast, and I carried our dishes back into the kitchen, stopping to speak to Simone and asking she thank her father for us. When I went back out to the salon, the girls were out in the patio, holding hands, looking around. I walked through the doors. Cara was smiling faintly, and Mimi nodded at something.
“Girls?” I called.
They dropped hands and skipped over.
“Did you see her?” Mimi asked.
I opened my mouth to say, “See who?” then changed my mind. “No. I never have. But you did?”
Cara nodded. “Yes. She’s very pretty. She smiled at us.”
“Well, then, that’s a very good sign. If she likes you, then I think you’ll fit right in.”
They hurried inside. As ever, the patio was completely still. No wind ruffled the leaves piled in the corners, no sound of traffic.
“Thank you,” I whispered and went inside.
Two days later, they walked to school. They loved the uniforms. They loved the new backpacks. They were fearless as we walked up the wide stone steps, and why wouldn’t they be? They had agreed to a brand-new life, and I knew how determined they could be. They had already survived the worst. They and I knew only better days were coming.
I climbed the stairs to Bing’s studio, and he put down his paints and played a little Bach while we drank cool white wine and spent the afternoon exploring each other. We both remembered patience and the value of slow kisses, light fingertips on skin, whispered words, and quiet sighs. Then he walked with me back to the school and met Cara and Mimi, and we talked about their first day as we walked beneath leaves changing green to gold, Bing with his hands behind his back, asking questions and nodding wisely.
“You have them wrapped around your little finger,” I told him later.
He just shook his head. “No. Actually, it’s the other way around.”
I helped Marie Claude and Philippe with their new rooms. I watched her carefully as she said to me, “You did such a wonderful job; would you mind helping us? Eliot was, well, he was a minimalist. We had nothing of warmth or color. And Philippe, well, he wants everything all at once, all the books and all the paintings … It’s too much for me.”
“This is a big step, Marie Claude,” I said cautiously. “I so appreciate your giving up your appart, but are you sure?”
She looked down at her hands, then up at me. “I have told him that the hotel is my home and that I cannot be with him if it is not his home also. He says he is done with wandering and that he is ready to build a life with me. He even thinks he might learn the hotel business.” She glanced up. “But even if he doesn’t, I know enough. Our children will someday own this place, and I will be able to teach them.”
“Okay, then,” I said. “Whatever furniture was left was trundled up to the attic, so at least we won’t have to worry about moving it too far. And I know Claudine stashed a few treasures in that little room behind her study.”
Their rooms were on the other side of the attic, away from Bing’s studio, up another narrow stairway tucked in yet another forgotten corner. There were no wide windows, so Philippe decided to continue to work with Bing, but the three small rooms quickly became overstuffed with plush chairs and layered rugs, lamps draped in red silk scarves, piles of books and small framed artwork leaning against every surface. The one bathroom had been for the servants, of course, narrow, windowless, and cold. Marie Claude just lifted an eyebrow at Philippe.
“I refuse,” she said mildly, “to have sex in that shower.”
Philippe looked stricken, threw me a wicked grin, and got down on both knees in front of her. “I promise, you’ll have a beautiful new shower with no ugly black grout,” he said.
She looked unimpressed as she took a small pile of folded towels from me. “Maybe.”
He grabbed the towels from her hands. “A claw-foot tub?” he teased.
She pulled the towels back. “Maybe.”
“With a chandelier?”
She looked very serious, then nodded. “Yes. With lots of tiny crystals. But you must promise me that I will never have to clean it. I am responsible for the chandelier in the lobby, and that is as much of a burden as I can bear.”
Philippe stood and grabbed her, bending her backward, towels and all, and gave her a long kiss. When she finally returned upright, she seemed unruffled.
“Yes, well. But still no sex in that shower until it is fixed. Understood?” Finally, a crack of a smile.
He beamed back. “But we can have sex everywhere else?”
“Of course,” she said lightly, and I laughed with them, because of course they were in love, of course they were perfect for each other.
Of course. This had been worth the long and lonely time away.
It felt odd that Thanksgiving was not celebrated in France, but when the day came, I made a turkey and Bing did the rest—stuffing and roasted carrots, creamed onions and fresh cranberries cooked down with orange and sugar and a splash of wine. Philippe and Marie Claude brought stuffed mushrooms, and Vera made an apple tart. Karl had a box of perfect little chocolates. Claudine had arrived with long baguettes and a crock of honey. Colin brought the hard cider and played music for us, the girls listening as if to a pop star.
It was a lovely holiday. We FaceTimed Mom and Dad, and even my niece Heather got in a call, promising her cousins that she would visit next year.
“Can I visit, Aunt Lucy?” she asked. “I know Mom and Dad will throw a fit, but I have money saved.”
“Of course you can,” I told her.
It was the following week that another phone call came from Agent Whitman, this time telling me that the money that Tony Fielding had stolen had been placed in an escrow account, and he would be sending me the paperwork necessary to have it returned to me. I gripped the phone as he told me.
“Did you hear what I just said, Miss Gianetti?” he asked after a very long pause in the conversation.
“Yes. Yes, I heard. That’s … that is amazing news. Thank you for telling me.”
“Everyone else got a nice, formal registered letter, but I wanted to break the news to you myself,” he said.
“I appreciate that,” I said, and I meant it.
I had been in the appartement, of course, but after I hung up, I walked out and looked across the courtyard, swept clean of all the leaves that had fallen and looking quite empty.
The stable block across from me was the same length as the appartement block, so I knew what the interior space looked like. We could put bathrooms across the back, and individual heating units. I squinted. Maybe we could build a pergola across the front, create small individual patios with iron chairs and potted palms. We could replace the heavy wooden doors with portes-fenêtres, lightly draped with soft linen, the inside rooms painted soft cream with dark, stained floors and thick-hewn beams. Ten more rooms. We could fit two double beds in each unit, bringing our occupancy numbers up to over fifty guests. The magic number. We would be able to accommodate tour groups.
If we began now, the rooms would be ready by the start of the season. Maybe sooner.
As I walked back into the hotel, my mind started doing the math. With more rooms, we’d need more help, someone else in housekeeping for sure. Maybe we could hire someone to help Karl and act as a bellman, toting luggage up the grand staircase. But the additional income … We could charge more for the outside units, of course.… What would we call them? Not suites, exactly. Carriage house rooms? Guesthouse rooms?
Claudine and Philippe were together in the office as I went back in.
She looked up, a broad smile on her face. “We are starting to get reservations for the Christmas markets. They’re very popular here in Rennes. People come from all over. We’ll fill up fast. And Philippe would like to learn more about them.”
I stopped, delighted. “And does this mean we may have some extra help back here?”
He rolled his eyes. “Between Marie Claude and my mother, it would appear that I am doomed to take up the reins here sooner or later. I have decided to stop trying to turn the tide.”
“That’s great. Really. And I’m glad you’re both here, because I need to ask you both—is there a word in French for the rooms we can make out there in the stables? Once we renovate them, I mean. I was thinking carriage house, but that’s not quite right.”
Claudine raised an eyebrow. “I thought we didn’t have any money to do that. I believe you told me that?”
I sat. “Well, here’s the thing, Claudine. I think I have found you a new investor.”
She sat down across from me, folded her hands, and leaned in.
“Tell me,” she said.
So I did.