Christmas in Paris

by Anita Hughes

  When had he ever risked anything? Even proposing to Celine wasn’t a risk because he had been certain she would say no. She had to repeat herself before he realized she was agreeing to marry him.

  But he couldn’t make Gus fly World War I airplanes forever if he wasn’t willing to take a chance. At some point he had to take control of his own life or the children who read about Gus the Cocker Spaniel would realize he was a fraud.

  He wiped his brow and nodded. “I’ll do it.”

  “Now you need a ring.” Mathieu beamed. “Your grandmother’s sapphire-and-diamond ring is perfect. Do you have it, or did you give it back to your mother?”

  Alec rubbed his brow. “I think Celine took it to Australia.”

  “You let your ex-fiancée leave the country with a family heirloom?”

  “You know how careless Celine is about jewelry.” Alec shrugged. “She probably forgot she was wearing it. I’m sure she’ll send it back, Patrick probably gave her a diamond the size of a cricket ball.”

  “My guy at Van Cleef and Arpels is on vacation until January.” Mathieu hesitated. “Run down to Chopard’s and ask the salesgirl to pick out something.”

  “My bank account is almost empty and my credit card couldn’t afford a silver dessertspoon.”

  “The Crillon’s gift shop must have an emerald-cut diamond on a platinum band,” Mathieu suggested. “You can charge it to the suite.”

  “Celine’s father can’t pay for Isabel’s engagement ring!” Alec spluttered.

  “She owes it to you for pain and suffering,” Mathieu insisted. “You can’t propose without a ring. Isabel won’t think you’re serious if you whisper ‘Will you marry me?’ over chocolate soufflé.”

  “I know the perfect ring.” Alec jumped up. “You stay here and make sure Isabel doesn’t leave her suite.”

  “She’s not here, I ran into her in the lobby,” Mathieu said. “We had a nice conversation. She was on her way to Galeries Lafayette to buy a ball gown. She’s attending the Imperial Ball at the Grand Hotel; it’s quite the event. Even Helene couldn’t get an invitation.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Alec demanded. “Antoine must have invited her. I’m sure he’s going to propose.”

  “What are you going to do?” Mathieu asked.

  Alec grabbed his jacket and opened the door. “I’m going to stop her.”

  * * *

  ALEC CROSSED THE Boulevard Haussmann and opened the double glass doors of Galeries Lafayette. Ivory columns reached the ceiling and the counters were littered with gold and silver boxes.

  When he was a child, his mother brought him every year to see the giant upside-down Christmas tree with its jeweled ornaments. It was like a pharaoh’s tomb transported to a Paris department store.

  He remembered riding the escalator to the basement and selecting his favorite Alain Ducasse chocolate. It was impossible to choose between hazelnut nougat and orange marzipan. He thought he was the luckiest boy in the world until his mother asked what flavor Bettina would like and he was reminded of his sister.

  Now he took the escalator to the fourth floor and felt like Clark Kent becoming Superman. He was going to find Isabel and ask her to marry him. He pictured telling his mother she could stay in her house and his heart swelled. That would be the icing on the wedding cake.

  He searched the aisles and his heart raced. What if Isabel had already picked out a gown and was back at the Crillon?

  God, Paris really had the most amazing women. You needed a seven-figure bank account and private island to just talk to any of the shoppers with their blond chignons and diamond teardrop earrings.

  “Alec, what on earth are you doing here?” a female voice asked.

  He turned around and saw Isabel holding a silver silk dress.

  “How nice to see you.” Alec smiled. “Galeries Lafayette is my mother’s favorite department store. I came to buy her a present.”

  “Isn’t it magnificent?” Isabel gazed up at the blue mosaic dome and stained glass windows. “It opened in the late 1800s and was the most luxurious department store in Paris. The grand staircase was modeled after the Palais Garnier and the Duchess of Windsor was a regular customer.”

  “I don’t want to buy anything elaborate,” Alec said, loosening his collar.

  He never shopped at Galeries Lafayette—what if he couldn’t afford a bottle of cologne? He should have waited for Isabel outside and asked her to visit the Christmas markets.

  “The first anniversary of my father’s death is coming up,” he explained. “My mother has had a difficult time and I wanted to give her something special.”

  “It should be something that reminds her of her husband but doesn’t make her miss him,” she suggested. “Sort of like when you watch Titanic so many times, you don’t cry at the sad parts.”

  “Every Sunday my mother served brunch with French onion soup and veal sweetbreads and legumes from the garden. My father was gone all morning and she was always afraid he’d be late. But every week he appeared with a dessert from the bakery at Galeries Lafayette: a tarte tatin or crepes or chocolate religieuse.”

  “That’s what you should get her,” Isabel exclaimed. “It’s impossible to be unhappy when you are eating meringue and chestnut cream.”

  “There are so many pastries to choose from.” Alec rubbed his brow. “Maybe you can help me.”

  “You want me to help?” she asked.

  “The central heating in the suite made my sinuses act up and I can’t taste a thing,” he implored. “I don’t want to buy crème brûlée if it’s too rich or a lemon tart if it’s bitter.”

  “I suppose I have a little time. I didn’t tell you what happened,” she said and her eyes sparkled. “When I woke up this morning, there were two dozen yellow roses and a note from Antoine. He took a client to Provins and there was a spillage and the road was blocked for hours. His phone ran out of battery and he didn’t get home until midnight.”

  “Surely he could have used the phone at a gas station,” Alec said and stopped. He wasn’t going to try to win Isabel by belittling Antoine, like a politician running a smear campaign.

  “He didn’t know my number,” Isabel laughed. “These days we plug a phone number into our phone and don’t memorize it.” She paused. “But he called and said he was terribly sorry. He’s taking me to the Imperial Ball at the Grand Hotel, I have to find the perfect ball gown.”

  “The dress you’re holding is exquisite,” Alec suggested. “Ask the salesgirl to wrap it up and we’ll take the escalator to the bakery. The scent of fresh baked bread and chocolate is intoxicating.”

  “I could use a café au lait and croissant,” Isabel sighed. “I’ve been shopping for hours.”

  “About last night—” he began.

  “You don’t need to say anything,” she interrupted. “It’s Paris at Christmas, it’s impossible not to talk about love.” She looked at Alec. “I know you’re going to be happy for me when I marry Antoine, and we’ll always be good friends.”

  Alec opened his mouth, but he was hardly going to propose surrounded by salesgirls in shiny jumpsuits and red lipstick. He would wait until they strolled down a cobblestone alley or sat at an outdoor café.

  “I’ll wait here.” Alec smiled. “And don’t let the salesgirl overcharge you.”

  * * *

  THEY TOOK THE escalator to the basement and entered the bakery. Alec glanced at the trays of pistachio macarons and raspberry clafoutis and was suddenly nostalgic.

  Christmas was a wonderful time when you were a child. All you had to worry about was whether the train set was under the tree and how to eat multiple cream puffs without getting a stomachache.

  “I don’t know how Frenchwomen stay so slim,” Isabel mused. “Everything looks delicious: the French butter cookies and gâteau Basque and cherry bûche de Noël.”

  “Frenchwomen don’t have a heart, they probably don’t have a stomach either,” Alec mumbled.

  “I thought you were o
ver Celine.” Isabel raised her eyebrow.

  Alec wanted to say he was thinking about his sister. But this wasn’t the time to tell Isabel that Bettina would only be happy when his mother was sleeping in a dining alcove and sharing walls with boisterous students.

  “People say the British aren’t demonstrative, but the French can be worse,” Alec said, changing the subject. “My father spent so much time in his study, I thought he forgot he had a family. But he would return from a business trip with a new dress for my mother and a doll for Bettina and the book I wanted.” Alec paused and his eyes were moist. “He died on his sixty-fifth birthday parasailing in Majorca.”

  “My parents have been married for thirty years and they still spend hours discussing books and music,” Isabel said. “Every Sunday night my father cooks dinner and they always travel together.”

  “The problem with marriage is there are no happy endings,” Alec said. “My mother was twenty when they met, and now she lost the only man she loved.”

  “Think of everything she has,” Isabel replied, sampling a cognac truffle. “A son and a house full of wonderful memories.”

  Alec thought of 40 Rue de Passy and grabbed a raspberry charlotte wrapped in clear cellophane.

  “This is perfect, the pastry is light and the raspberry cream is delicious.”

  * * *

  THEY WALKED ONTO the Boulevard Haussmann and Isabel looked up at the sky.

  “It’s such a beautiful day, I’m going to feed the ducks in the Bois de Boulogne.”

  “Come with me to my mother’s house on the Rue de Passy,” Alec suggested. “You must see the sixteenth arrondissement, it’s one of the most beautiful sections of the city.”

  Suddenly he couldn’t think of anything more important than Isabel meeting his mother.

  “The guidebook says it’s full of leafy streets and private driveways.” Isabel smiled. “The architecture is stunning, and Gwen Stefani and Bono have homes there.”

  “I can’t promise you’ll see them.” Alec took her arm. “But the gardens and parks are breathtaking.”

  They walked up the gravel drive of 40 Rue de Passy and Alec wondered what he was thinking. He should never have invited Isabel to visit his mother.

  What if Claudia mentioned that Bettina was going to evict her or Isabel discovered he was a viscount? But his mother would never discuss family matters with a stranger, and she was as likely to mention their title as swim the English Channel.

  “Oh, what a gorgeous garden,” Isabel said as they approached the porch. “It’s like a Cézanne painting.”

  “The house is a little tired, but the grounds are beautiful.” Alec felt a warmth spread through his chest. “Bettina and I used to play hide-and-seek for hours, until I realized she had no interest in finding me.”

  “Alec!” Claudia opened the front door. “What a lovely surprise, I was about to visit my cabbages.”

  “This is Isabel,” Alec introduced them. “We brought you a present.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Claudia took the cellophane package and smiled. “I’ll inspect the vegetables later, let’s all eat cake.”

  “How did you meet?” Claudia asked when they sat in the grand salon. The coffee table was set with a silver coffeepot and porcelain demitasses.

  The sun streamed through the French doors, and Alec thought how much he loved the Oriental rugs and faded velvet wallpaper. How dare Bettina think she could refinish floors and knock out walls and replace the furniture!

  “I was locked out of my suite and threw my shoe at Alec’s window. If he hadn’t rescued me, I would have spent my first night in Paris on the balcony. I was supposed to be here on my honeymoon, but the wedding was canceled.” She sipped her coffee. “It’s a bit of an epidemic, I wonder how many engaged couples never make it to the altar.”

  “Isabel is a financial analyst,” Alec told his mother. “She works for one of the biggest banks in America.”

  “In my day, not all women were so accomplished. Alain thought my job was to have his martini waiting and hang up his overcoat.” Claudia paused. “I loved being a wife and mother, but now I wish I had a career.”

  “When I was a child I’d rather practice my multiplication tables than read bedtime stories,” Isabel began. “And there’s nothing more exciting than analyzing spreadsheets and feeling like you discovered a map to buried treasure.

  “But you can’t hang a photo of a stock trade over the fireplace or sit down to Sunday brunch with clients from Hong Kong.” She looked at Claudia. “What could be better than being married to the man you love and having a beautiful home and two children?”

  “You’re right,” Claudia said and sipped her coffee. “I was very happy.”

  * * *

  “ISABEL IS CHARMING, I approve,” Claudia said, rinsing cups in the sink.

  Isabel had gone to explore the vegetable garden, and Alec offered to help his mother in the kitchen. He remembered sitting next to Isabel on the brocade sofa and something shifted inside him. God, she was lovely! Her hair was glossy and her eyes sparkled and she smelled of expensive lotions.

  When he was with her, he felt confident and alive. He pictured Gus in a blue cape, flying over the Eiffel Tower. A girl was stranded on the ledge and Gus swooped down and saved her. He set her down in the Place Vendôme and the crowd cheered.

  “Approve of what?” Alec pulled his mind away from Gus. Even though he’d wanted his mother to meet Isabel, he couldn’t admit he was in love with her. If Isabel turned down his proposal, his mother would be devastated.

  “You’re madly in love with each other,” Claudia explained. “It was as clear as the revolving glass doors at Le Bon Marché.”

  “We barely know each other and I’m still paying off Celine’s wedding ring,” Alec spluttered. “I’m hardly looking for love.”

  “I came to Paris to sit in smoky cafés and dance in discotheques and kiss cute boys under thousand-year-old arches. Instead I fell in love with a cantankerous Frenchman who was ten years my senior.”

  “That was different,” Alec insisted. “Isabel has a good job and family in Philadelphia. Just because she admired your Renoir and enjoyed the raspberry charlotte doesn’t mean she’s ready to move to Paris.”

  “When I met your father, my favorite food was Yorkshire pudding and I thought French was an impossible language.” Claudia stacked silverware on the counter.

  “If you think I can marry Isabel and save the house, I don’t—” Alec began.

  “This has nothing to do with me,” Claudia interrupted. “You’re the only thing I have left, and I want you to be happy. Love can be difficult and painful, but really nothing else matters.”

  “I had enough pain with Celine to last decades,” Alec said, suddenly flustered.

  Why did he think things would work out with Isabel? He should go back to his flat in the Marais and be content with Gus and the tomato plant in the window box. But he pictured Isabel’s wide smile and knew he had to try. He didn’t want to live without her.

  “Let’s go out to the garden, I was just picking snow peas.” Claudia took Alec’s arm. “And thank you for bringing Isabel, it’s wonderful to meet my future daughter-in-law.”

  * * *

  “WHAT A SPECTACULAR boulevard,” Isabel said. “It’s like Fifth Avenue but with even bigger houses and so much history.”

  Isabel wanted to stroll down Avenue Foch and Alec agreed. It really was beautiful with its chestnut trees and creamy stone mansions and elegant boutiques. The Arc de Triomphe stood on one end and the Porte Dauphine was on the other, and Alec felt a sense of pride.

  “Your mother’s story is so romantic.” Isabel stopped in front of a window filled with bonbons. “She was a young au pair living in a foreign country. She fell in love with an older man whose wife deserted him and left him with their three-year-old daughter,” she continued. “It couldn’t have been easy, children that age think their parents were created just for them. It’s like something out
of a Jane Austen novel.”

  “More like a Stephen King novel,” Alec mumbled.

  Now was the time to tell Isabel about his family. But what if Isabel thought he wanted to marry her to stop Bettina from evicting his mother? Being in love was like the Phantom Manor at Disneyland Paris. Everywhere you turned there were trapdoors and quicksand.

  “But true love conquers everything,” Isabel mused. “Antoine sends a dozen roses every day! It won’t be easy being away from my family, but you can’t expect to find love next door.” Her eyes were bright. “If your mother stayed in England, you would never have been born.”

  “My mother is quite Parisian. She might still have a British accent and like her tea with lemon and honey, but she adores French fashion and macarons.” He paused. “And she loves 40 Rue de Passy. It’s like living in the country in the middle of Paris.”

  “It reminds me of my parents’ home in Ardmore.” Isabel nodded. “I had no idea that you—”

  “Grew up in a large house?” Alec cut in. “You thought because I live in a fifth-floor walk-up and illustrate children’s books, I was raised in a three-room flat in the twentieth arrondissement.”

  “Not exactly.” Isabel flushed.

  “My father was successful, but I have to live on my own salary,” Alec explained. “My sister might be content living on the allowance my father provided her and having Édouard take her to dinner at Le Meurice. But I couldn’t look myself in the mirror if I didn’t pay rent and buy my own groceries.”

  “That’s what I said to Rory!” Isabel exclaimed. “His family has piles of money, so he just wanted to have fun. But none of this would have been built if the great architects were satisfied with what already existed.” She waved at the elegant mansions and tall apartment buildings. “And what if Thomas Edison thought gaslight was perfectly adequate or Henry Ford was happy riding horses? We all have to make a contribution, there’s nothing more important.”

  Alec looked at Isabel and wanted to kiss her. She was so enchanting, like a young girl collecting shells at the beach. But she might get cold feet and he’d miss his chance.

  “I have to go back to the Crillon and get ready for tonight.” Isabel glanced at her watch. “Antoine is meeting me in the hotel lobby at seven thirty.”