by Nan
“Yeah!” he said grinning. He took an envelope from his pocket. “It’s sensational!” Murphy turned to one of the crew. “Caption the elevator shot with something about the Presidential escort waiting outside to take them to the airport, switching the itinerary to start in Bordeaux and that crap.” He looked back at Lily. “Sweetheart, with all the publicity, I’m riding on a comet. It doesn’t matter what you want to shove up my ass. All you can do is send me up higher!”
“The publicity works for us as well,” Dwight said. “You won’t dare tamper with our recommendations. You’ve got the world looking over your shoulder.”
Lily tightened her grip on Dwight’s arm as she kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, darling, I do feel as though we were the Curies and the Brownings all in one!” She turned to Murphy. “Not even you can spoil it!” She waved Murphy’s crew aside and walked into the lobby. “Pierre, darling,” Lily implored, “can’t you throw this riffraff out?”
Pierre turned to Murphy. “Monsieur—”
“Save your breath,” Murphy said. “I already got what I wanted. Outside, you guys, on the double. We want to be sure and catch Eleanor and Franklin as they get into the limo.” Murphy smiled at Lily. “In case you were wondering, I’ll never settle!” He waved the envelope in front of them. “This is the best present you could have given me. You’re gonna win. And I’m gonna get more coverage than the discovery of America!”
“I am very sorry, Madame,” Pierre apologized.
Lily shook her head and started toward the concierge’s desk. “Where is Claude?” she demanded.
Pierre sighed. “Ah, I have sad news to report. I am afraid Claude is not well. The strain has been too much. I have insisted he take some time to rest.”
“What a dear you are, Pierre. But you musn’t coddle the staff,” Lily said. She approached a very nervous Henri. “Don’t slouch, darling. Oh, I fear I have my work cut out if I’m to break you in properly.”
“Good morning, Madame. You are looking radiant.”
“Well, at least the raw material is there. Now, darling . . .” She opened her purse and took out a batch of papers. “There are a few little things I want you to do while we’re gone.” Lily began tossing papers onto the desk. “By the time we get back, I want the menus from these restaurants. Get me the addresses of these new shops. These people should be called and told about reversing the itinerary. Poor dear, the Baron was expecting us tomorrow; you call and explain. This is a list of books I want you to get for me. And we must have reservations at these places when we return. And before I forget, address and mail this note to the Mayor of Roquefort. You better take the cheese he sent out of the room. You may have it, darling. It’s absolutely untouched. Now,” she said, turning to Pierre, “last, but not least, send this cable to my publisher.” She watched as Pierre stiffened. “It goes to Charles Evron in New York. Charlie, darling, roll them presses. Stop. We’ve allowed a stay of execution for the Louis Q. Stop.” And then she added emphatically, “For this edition. Stop. Love, Lily.”
“Madame! Monsieur! I am so very grateful,” Pierre began.
“Never mind. You deserve it. You run a good inn here.” Dwight smiled as he slapped Pierre on the back. “Durac, I want you to move us into a different suite. We don’t ever want that one again. But be very careful packing our things. Just to keep you on your toes, there’s something we’ve left behind.”
Pierre put a hand to his brow. “Mon Dieu, they are already packing. I must warn them,” he said, picking up the telephone.
Lily put her arm in Dwight’s. Her eyes twinkled. “Did you really? What a clever trick! What did you leave behind?”
Dwight kissed her. He looked lovingly into her eyes. “All our cares and woes!”
CLIFFORD and Emma were not smiling as they came out of the Louis. Murphy’s crew hovered uneasily as he kept urging, “Smile! C’mon, you two. Smile!”
Emma had not seen Claude since the press conference. She had been waiting for some word from him. At the very least, she had expected to see him before they left. Clifford put down his duffel. He reached over for Emma’s.
“C’mon, you guys!” Murphy said. “You got a nice big limo to take you to the choo-choo. Give us a break!”
Clifford stood for a moment scowling at the enormous black car with an American flag on one fender and a French flag on the other. He reached for the door, but the driver opened it first. Emma looked into the lobby for a moment as though she had left something behind. She shrugged her shoulders and got into the car.
Murphy stood in the open doorway. “Listen, you two, the Simons are suing NAA for two million in damages. “I’m telling you this as a friend. I think they have a damn good chance of winning. Don’t be dumb. Get yourself a lawyer and slap a suit on us!” They stared at him blankly. “Think about it,” he said, closing the door and holding up two fingers. “Two million!”
The Simons and the Benjamins had agreed to reverse the itinerary so that they would start in Bordeaux and finish up in Champagne. This meant inverting the transportation arrangements to arrive in Bordeaux by plane and train. Cancelling the tour had been suggested, but all NAA would allow was a postponement. The decision was made to get it over with as quickly as possible.
Clifford and Emma did not speak all the way to the Gare de Lyon. They barely managed a pleasant smile when greeted by photographers. Like most European railway stations, it was an enormous steel-and-glass structure under which spilled the constant ebb and flow of departures and arrivals. As they made their way through the crowd, Clifford walked next to Emma. He carried his duffel on one shoulder while she dragged hers along the ground. They walked slowly down the platform toward the Second Class cars.
Clifford turned to her. “Emma . . .”
She shook her head. “Don’t.” She put her fingers to his lips.
“I love you, Em.”
“Cliffy, don’t.”
The conductor called, “En voiture! En voiture, s’il vous plaît!” People began waving goodbye.
“Em, are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“En voiture! En voiture!”
Clifford picked up his bag. “You’ll be all right?” She nodded Yes. “Emma,” he began helplessly, “I don’t know what to say.”
She looked up and touched his cheek for a moment. Forcing a smile, she leaned up to kiss him. “As they say in Argentina, Cliffy—Auf Wiedersehen!”
The engine began to hiss and chug. Emma turned quickly and walked back up the platform. Tears streamed down her face as she passed between shouts of “Au revoir,” “Bon voyage,” “Je t’aime” and “Adieu!”
Emma handed her duffel to the man in the checkroom. When he asked her how long, she shrugged. He muttered, made her pay in advance for two days and gave her a claim check. She stopped in the middle of the station. Emma was pushed and jostled as though standing in the center of a whirlpool. She stared at the check. Very slowly, she tore it up and watched the pieces fall.
“Come with me.”
The man looked just like Claude. The same blue eyes. The same thick black hair. He took her arm as Claude would have. He even smiled the same way. She followed him to the rear of the station and up the ornate staircase. Neither said a word. When they reached the entrance to the restaurant, she put her arms around him and leaned her head on his chest. They held tight to each other, and then they kissed.
They sat quietly at a table in front of the two-story window that overlooked the entire station. Le Train Bleu, a Belle Epoque restaurant with carved wooden paneling, brass fittings and fifteen-foot-high maroon draperies, had just opened for the day. Through the window they heard the blurred voice of the stationmaster. They sat listening to the departures and arrivals as though synchronizing their lives. They held hands gently. Finally, they smiled.
“You missed your train” he said.
“I looked for you at the hotel. I wanted to say goodbye.”
“And now you must say hello.”
“Hello.”
“Hello, Emma.”
They looked up, startled, as the maître put a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne on the table. “Avec mes compliments, Claude,” he said softly. They began to laugh. Claude took the maître’s elbow to reassure him he did not mean to insult a friend. Their laughter subsided once they were alone with the champagne.
It was a long time before Emma reached for her glass. She stared into it. “It’s just grape juice and sugar.”
“I have heard it makes people feel good.”
Emma smiled. “Then maybe I’ll try it. I’d like to feel good.”
Claude turned to look at the label. There was to be no mercy for them. It was Pommel et Bonnard. He stared into the glass, watching the bubbles rise to the top.
A tear fell down Emma’s cheek. “I don’t think you’re supposed to cry when you drink champagne.”
“Emma,” he said softly, “I love you.”
She began to laugh and cry. “As soon as I understood about the watch, I knew I was all right. I knew I would be safe.”
“I was honest with you, Emma.”
“I know. I know you didn’t hate me. You hated Emma Benjamin. I understand.”
Claude sat back. He pushed away the untouched champagne and stared down at the trains. “I have left my job,” he said.
“Me, too.”
“What will happen now?”
“Cliffy can handle it without me. Murphy’s had too much free publicity to make a fuss. I’ve got plenty of money.” She smiled and leaned toward him. “Do you know that I am really very, very rich?”
“I am too. I sold everything to a dealer.”
“Your room?” she gasped. “You sold the room?” He nodded Yes. “The paintings? Even the books?”
“Everything.”
“Oh, Claude.”
“No, no. It is all right. The dealer was a friend. I got a very good price.”
“But that room . . .”
“It was a room filled with the past.” He paused a moment and then leaned toward her. “I was sure he had killed you.”
Emma caressed his hand and quickly changed the subject. “What will you do now?”
“I don’t know. I have made my last reservation.” He smiled joylessly. “Perhaps I will buy a copy of your book and travel.” He turned to look out at the station. “What about your husband?”
“I still love him. He still loves me. But we will have to fall out of love with each other.”
“And while you are waiting?”
“I don’t know.” She smiled and patted her bag. “Everything I have is here. In my bankbook.”
Claude took an envelope from his pocket and smiled. “This is what I have left of France.”
“The only clothes I have are those I’m wearing.”
He put his thumbs under his lapels and shrugged. “My wardrobe.”
“I don’t even have a place to sleep tonight.”
“Nor I.”
Emma reached across the table to grab his arm. “Please don’t buy my book!”
“There is only one alternative.”
Emma smiled. “I know.”
“Are you sure, Emma?”
“No.” She pushed his glass in front of him and took hers. “Not yet. There is still one ghost to go.”
“But Emma—”
“I want to drink champagne as we stand on a terrace overlooking the Bosporus.”
“Is that where you want to go?”
“I want to drink champagne as we watch the sun set on the Taj Mahal.”
He smiled. “Is that where you want to go?”
“No.” She leaned across the table. “You know where I really want to go?”
“Where?”
She whispered, “Mecca!”
Claude laughed. “It is impossible to get into Mecca!”
“I know.”
“Mecca!” he said. The name reverberated in his mind. “Mecca! It is impossible!”
Emma held up her glass. She waited for him. He hesitated and then clinked glasses with her. They drank. Now there was no turning back.
Emma stared out the window. “There is only one man who can help us” she said.
“Who?”
“I have heard of someone called Le Dom.”
Claude sat back. “There is no such person.”
Emma leaned across the table. “Le Dom could get us to Mecca.”
“Emma, it is impossible! We cannot get into Mecca!”
“I know.” She leaned over to kiss him. “That’s why I want to go.”
Claude smiled and poured more champagne. “It could take weeks. We would have to go by land.”
“I have all the time in the world.”
“There are arrangements that would have to be made. In Tehran. Or Istanbul. I would have to find . . .” He looked at Emma, finally understanding. “You would go through all of this to save Le Dom?”
“I want him back. I want you back just as you were.”
“I love you, Emma.”
“Then take me to Mecca.”
Claude narrowed his eyes. He looked out the window at the clock and then down at the trains. He pulled Emma out of her seat. “We must hurry!” They ran from the restaurant.
Emma shouted after him as they nearly flew down the stairs. “Where are we going?”
“To Track Seven.”
“But why?”
“Because that is where the train leaves for Geneva.”
“How do you know that?”
“I used to be a concierge!”
Claude ran down the platform, dragging Emma behind him. She was laughing. They kept bumping into people. Emma blew kisses to everyone. Steam was rising from the engine as they pushed their way through the crowd. He lifted her onto the last car as it was pulling out of the station.
They were breathing heavily as they watched the Gare de Lyon fade from the horizon. Emma looked up at Claude as Paris began to drift away. “Is it really impossible?”
“Impossible.” He kissed her gently and smiled. “The moment we arrive in Geneva, I will call Omar. He can tell me where to find Hassan. And then . . .”
THE END
