‘What is that, then?’
‘Luncheon! My stomach is horribly a-rumble. I’m dreaming of a lovely steak tartare.’
Chris laughed, the sound rich and alluring, like music or a cup of the darkest chocolate. ‘Your wish is my command. I am your loyal suitor, remember?’
Emily remembered the maze, the ribbon. It hadn’t felt so false then at all. ‘Like a chivalrous knight?’
‘Of course. Slaying dragons; finding the perfect café. Onwards, fair lady!’
He took her arm and led her out of the park, laughingly telling her about his mother’s latest attempt at heiress-hunting.
‘The poor girl was pretty enough, true, but she laughed like a peacock and could only talk about American baseball, which I cannot follow at all. What’s wrong with a good game of cricket, I ask you?’ he scoffed. ‘Now, Em, what kind of life would that be over the breakfast table every day?’
Emily laughed at the image of Chris trying to play baseball. ‘A most tedious one, I am sure. Though I admit, I can’t even follow your beloved cricket, let alone learn some American game involving bats, so I would be a poor match for such a person, as well. We must never marry Americans.’
Chris pressed his hand over his heart as if wounded. ‘Ah, but cricket, my dear Miss Fortescue, is the game of the gods! Anything else is just—uncivilised.’ He pointed out a café across the lane from the park and led her to one of the inviting little marble tables under the shade of the dark red awning.
‘What about you, then, Em?’ he asked, as he perused the chalkboard menu. ‘Any rich, handsome, non-American suitors since we last met?’
‘Oh, dozens,’ she said with an airy wave of her hand. ‘We are running out of space for all the bouquets and chocolates.’ She thought of days at home, when bouquets arrived after balls from various suitors, some of them quite persistent. Like Mr Hertford.
Chris leaned his chin on her hand, studying her with an unreadable glint in his blue eyes. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised.’
Emily shook her head. ‘No one new, of course. Where would a girl find the time these days? Between the business and the League...’
‘And which of those two brings you to Paris?’
Emily studied him carefully, wondering at the rather sharp note in his voice. But he just looked like Chris, impossibly handsome, impossibly—impossible. ‘Work, mainly, as you know. Well, maybe a bit of both. And maybe just a soupçon of fun.’
‘Fun? Fun for you, Em? Are you sure?’
‘Of course!’ He looked rather doubtful and she found herself wounded he didn’t think her at all fun. ‘I am fun, Christopher.’
‘Certainly you are,’ he murmured.
‘I am.’ She studied the café pavement around them, the ladies in their fur stoles with their little dogs, gentlemen in suits muttering about business in low voices, a pair of young lovers in the shadows, their heads bent together as they whispered. She glimpsed a band just inside the smudged plate glass of the windows, tuning their instruments. They launched into a rendition of one of the new, popular musette songs, all swirling accordions, and she had a sudden idea. ‘Come along!’ she cried, jumping up from the table.
‘Come along where?’ Chris said with a protesting laugh. But he let her take his hand and followed her willingly, as he always did when an adventure promised. That was one of the things she liked best about him: his appetite to try things in life.
As the tune grew louder, Emily made Chris slide his hand around her waist and nudged him into the first steps of a waltz. The musicians laughed and played even louder. ‘How can anyone hear this and not dance?’
‘People are watching,’ he muttered, shooting a glance around them.
‘Of course they are and when has attention ever stopped you?’ Emily scoffed. ‘I just want to have some fun, you see. And you are supposed to be courting me.’
He threw back his head and gave a wonderful, full-throated laugh. His arms tightened around her and he twirled her in a wide circle, her blue-striped skirts swirling. She heard answering laughter around them, blending with the music and applause. Another couple joined them as the singer went into the tune, a high, sweet voice that added to the atmosphere of light merriment, of a sudden festival on an ordinary day.
‘What do you think the song is about?’ she whispered as she and Chris spun and dipped, the café blurry around them. Two other couples joined in, the ladies’ perfume a flowery, musky tangle in the air.
‘I’m afraid my French is shockingly schoolboy,’ he answered. ‘I can only follow when they speak slowly and carefully, as to a four-year-old. Not sing-speak. But I think it’s about seizing life when it’s upon you. About love.’
Emily laughed. ‘Of course it’s about love. It’s a French song.’
‘Oh, but not just any love. The girl it seems is in love with a—bird?’
‘A bird?’ Emily scoffed.
‘Indeed. I hear the word oiseau and I know that means bird. She watches it soar high above her little farmhouse, its feathers glittering like jewels in the sun, its song alluringly sweet. She wishes it would lead her far away from her normal life, beyond the clouds to something magical. Something where life has the—the...’
‘The what?’ she whispered, fascinated by the strange tale. Fascinated by Chris, by how he looked. As if he was indeed a golden Arthurian knight from another world.
He looked down at her with a crooked smile. ‘The true intensity of feeling, the living of life. I think it must be a firebird.’
‘A firebird.’ Emily sighed. She leaned her cheek for a brief, sweet moment against Chris’s shoulder, feeling the movement of his strong body against hers, breathing deeply of the scent of his citrus soap. ‘When I was a little girl, my father went on a buying trip to St Petersburg once and he brought me back a painting of the firebird. I couldn’t read the Cyrillic letters of the story, of course, but I was mesmerised by the image. The brilliant colours, the way the bird soared high into the night sky, all red and gold above the sleeping, cool blue city. The gold domes and river.’
‘Would you like to see that city, Em?’ he asked quietly.
She raised her head to look into his eyes, the endless blue of them. The beauty that hid so much. ‘Of course. It must be like a fairy tale. But only if I could take all of my furs with me! I could never bear the cold.’ She glanced out over the street, the glitter of sunlight on the windows of the pale buildings, the tip of the Eiffel Tower soaring behind the grey roofs. ‘Can it be as beautiful as this?’
The song swirled to an end and Chris dipped her with a flourish, making the other dancers applaud in delight. Emily laughed as she tried to hold on to her hat.
‘I don’t think anything could be as beautiful as this,’ he said quietly, his hand tight on hers, warm and safe.
He looked very un-Chris-like in that moment, almost sad. As if he, like her, didn’t want this moment to slide away. Startled, she drew away and hurried back to their table. A plate of oysters and chilled glasses of champagne waited, and she gratefully gulped down the cool, bubbly liquid.
‘Come with me to Longchamp on Friday,’ Chris said as he sat down beside her.
‘The races? Why?’ she answered, deeply tempted by the thought of day away, with him. Just themselves and the horses, nothing to distract. Nothing to worry about. And yet it would surely be everything to worry about, alone with him.
‘For the fun, of course. You said you are here in Paris to have fun. To be a courting couple. What could be more so than an afternoon at the races? Who knows, we might even glimpse Prince Bertie there.’
‘I do have work...’ she murmured, tempted. She had promised her father to spend time with Chris after all. And a day at the races sounded alluring.
‘I’m sure it could help with the work. You can see what all the most fashionable ladies are wearing and order in enough hats to make a fort
une before anyone else knows the styles.’
‘That is true.’
‘Just don’t hesitate too long,’ he warned.
Emily laughed. ‘Or you will find another lady to invite?’
‘Or Friday will pass us by.’ He held out an oyster and she opened her lips to let it slide past. The salty sweetness of it, the tinge of lemon, reminded her of his summer-day kisses. The lazy, wonderful feeling that it would always be a warm Friday with him.
But she had learned those moments always flew by much too fast, like the firebird.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said with a smile. ‘In the meantime, do pass another glass of champagne before you drink it all up...’
* * *
Later that night, when the sun was fading like a swathe of lavender-silk scarves over the grey chimneys of Paris, Emily hurried towards her hotel after a meeting with the wine suppliers. It was only a short distance from their office to the hotel and she had thought it would be a quick, easy stroll, but now she wasn’t sure. She had a sudden chill and rubbed her gloved hands over the sleeves of her jacket.
She hadn’t realised the streets around her hotel became so quiet in the evening. In the afternoon, there were always business meetings in the lobby, at night, people rushing off for dinner and the theatre. But at that in-between hour, they all seemed to be tucked away inside, behind drawn curtains, getting dressed, sipping new-fangled cocktails. Perhaps getting ready for a rather naughty cinq à sept.
She imagined herself preparing for a lover, maybe Chris with a roguish glint in his beautiful eyes, and she giggled.
Her laughter was interrupted by a sound behind her. A rustle, a footfall.
She glanced over her shoulder, but saw nothing. Yet that unease lingered and she couldn’t help but remember that hard hand that grabbed her on the street before, the cold rush of fear. She spun back around and half-ran towards her hotel.
Once inside the small, golden-lit foyer, hearing the murmur of the receptionist behind the desk, she sucked in a deep breath. Her heart still pounded.
‘Mademoiselle Fortescue,’ the doorman said. ‘And how was your day?’
‘Quite lovely, Pierre, merci,’ she said, still afraid she sounded too breathless.
‘This came for you while you were out.’ He handed her a small nosegay of white roses and a letter attached to the stems with a green-velvet ribbon. Best of all was a striped red and white hatbox.
Surely it was from Chris, asking her to the races again! Emily felt absurdly delighted as she reached for the paper.
She tore open the note, trying to tell herself she wasn’t at all excited, that the whole faux-courtship scheme was an utter nuisance. But she couldn’t quite hide her whole smile. She had to admit that Paris with Chris was indeed amusing, and she was much too curious to see what might happen next.
From your parfit knight.
See you at the races!
Emily opened the box, and found nestled in tissue paper the most chic, elaborate, silly hat she had ever seen, a garden confection of peach tulle and roses, pale green bows and streamers. She plopped it on her head and couldn’t help but laugh and laugh. Life with Chris was always unpredictable indeed. And she had to admit that sometimes, just sometimes, she rather liked it.
Chapter Nine
‘Welcome to Gordston’s, Mademoiselle Fortescue,’ the uniformed doorman said with a tip of his hat, as he opened the store’s frosted glass doors for her.
‘Merci,’ Emily answered happily, glad to be back in the perfumed sanctuary of Gordston’s, the air cool and delicious after the bright day outside. Surely no harm could come to her there. It was too elegant, too serene, too perfect.
Alexandra’s husband had indeed created a luxurious oasis in the middle of the busy city. The main floor was an endless expanse of black and white marble floors, glittering glass cases, feathered hats and floating silk scarves offered by pretty girls in crisp black dresses. Above soared a gallery, lined with granite pillars in a touch of pink, where the curious peered down at the newcomers below. Emily could just glimpse the fashion displays up there. The air smelled of powders and perfumes, all flowers and spice.
There was so much to catch her attention, to lure her in for a closer look, but she just waved at the attendants and made her way to the lifts at the back of the store.
She was whisked to the private top floor, where the store’s offices lay behind discreet closed doors. Secretaries and managers hurried past on their errands, the Aubusson carpets underfoot muffling their quick footsteps, and Emily heard only the pinging bells of the lifts, the click of typewriters, the swish of fabric. She straightened her hat, a brown-velvet toque with topaz-coloured ribbons she had bought in that very store to go with her caramel walking suit, and knocked on the door at the end of the hall.
‘Entrez-vous,’ a soft voice called.
Emily pushed the door open to find Alex sitting behind a gilded antique French desk, a pile of order ledgers in front of her. Despite the fact that she was a duke’s daughter and the wife of a wealthy businessman, her pale blonde hair was piled simply atop her head, and she wore a loose, flowered Liberty cotton morning dress with no jewels at all.
‘Hard at work, Alex darling?’ Emily asked with a fond smile.
Alex looked up, her pretty, heart-shaped face breaking into a radiant laugh. ‘Em! Of course I am, I learned it from you. Who would have ever thought store-ordering figures could be so fascinating?’
She jumped up and ran around the desk to throw her arms around Emily. She was so petite, she had to stand on tiptoe in her kid boots.
Only when Emily hugged her back did she notice that her friend was not quite as tiny and fragile as usual.
‘Alex!’ she cried, stepping back to study Alexandra in astonishment. Beneath her loosely tied sash, there was a distinct bump. ‘Are you...?’
Alex laughed, and gave a happy twirl. ‘Yes, but not very much yet. We aren’t telling anyone until next month, just in case—well...’
Emily nodded, remembering that Diana had had two miscarriages since she was married and they all worried for her. But Alex looked in the full, pink bloom of health. ‘I am sure all will go very well with you. You look utterly luscious, like a pink-iced cake!’
‘I do feel very well. I’ve been eating so many candied figs from the food hall, though, that I’m sure I will turn into one at any moment.’ She twirled over and sat down on a brocade sofa near the window, with a glorious view of the bustling Champs-Élysées below, drawing Emily with her. ‘Do sit down and tell me all about you, Em. I’m so excited you’re back in Paris! Have you come to work?’
Emily decided not to tell her quite yet about the League and definitely not about the mission to have fun. And definitely not about the false courtship with Chris. Better to keep things simple. ‘Of course. What else could it be? And I want to examine our lovely café here at Gordston’s.’
‘It’s all going perfectly, as you know, the most profitable area in the whole store. Everyone wants to rest for a cup of tea with their friends before they shop some more!’ Alex tucked a shining strand of hair behind her ear and she looked so very happy and relaxed, so unlike her old shy self. Emily thought Paris, and marriage, must be like magic for her. ‘And you’ve come at just the right time. Di and Will are visiting from Vienna and even Chris is here. It will be quite like home.’
Emily thought of her dance with Chris at the café and she looked down to carefully smooth her skirt. ‘Oh, yes, I did see Christopher. At the Champ de Mars.’
Alex looked surprised. ‘Did you? How did he look? My aunt has been rather worried about him, as always. She thinks he will never settle down.’
Emily laughed when she remembered the baseball-playing heiress. ‘Oh, he looked just like Chris. Handsome, full of himself. I think your aunt might be right.’
Alex sighed. ‘I hope she is proved
wrong soon. Chris is such a darling, he deserves to be happy, to have all his potential fulfilled. Maybe he is in Paris for a reason?’
A reason, such as a lady? Emily hadn’t thought of that. Her hand tightened on her skirt. ‘He said something about the races.’
Alex laughed. ‘That’s not exactly the sort of fulfilment I was thinking of! I must find out where he is staying and send him an invitation for dinner. I’m quite aching to show off my new house to all of you.’ The small enamelled clock on her desk chimed. ‘Oh, dear, is that the time? Come along, Di will be meeting us for lunch in the café.’
‘Diana is at the store?’ Emily cried, overjoyed to think about seeing both her best friends at the same time.
‘It’s meant to be a surprise, so don’t tell her I told you.’ Alex reached for a lace jacket she draped over her shoulders and patted her hair into place. ‘I am so happy we three are together again! It’s just as life should be.’
* * *
‘I’m so glad the café is doing so well,’ Emily said, taking off her gloves. A large, domed skylight set with stained glass bathed all the ladies and their stylish hats in blue and green light, and their laughter blended in a soft music with the clink of silver on fine china. It was all most elegant, but also relaxing and fun.
‘It’s all thanks to you, so Malcolm says,’ Alex answered. They saw Diana already at a corner table and she waved at them exuberantly. Emily ran over to kiss her cheek and exclaim over her chic new Paris suit.
Alex lowered herself slowly into her velvet-cushioned chair, as though even at that early stage she wasn’t yet comfortable with her changing figure, and gestured to one of the black-suited waiters for coffee. ‘You have done wonders with the decor; all the shoppers love to linger here. And the menu suggestions for afternoon tea have gone over wonderfully.’
‘Well, everyone needs a project,’ Emily said with a laugh. ‘I must keep myself busy somehow.’
‘You’ve always done far more than that, Em,’ Diana said, adjusting the tilt of her hat on her upswept red curls. ‘Extending your father’s business, doing volunteer work, dancing at every ball...’
Miss Fortescue's Protector in Paris Page 10
