Dina opened her mouth to fire another question, but Paul quickly cut her off, afraid he might say something that would give him away.
“… By the way, did you know that when Napoleon Bonaparte came to power, he had the Mona Lisa hung on his bedroom wall? And in 1911, it was stolen from the museum by an Italian criminal who claimed his noble motive was the painting’s repatriation to da Vinci’s homeland? It wasn’t returned for two years. Visitors saw a vacant spot on the wall where the painting had once been. After it was returned, the painting didn’t leave the museum again for 50 years. It was Jackie Kennedy who finally managed to convince French officials to allow the painting to tour museums in New York and Washington, D.C.”
Dina sat back in her chair. “No, I didn’t know any of that.”
Paul hoped he’d distracted her enough to help him regain some of his composure. He was a little jet-lagged, and he was realizing that Dina was much more attractive than he’d remembered, or maybe it was because he was actually sitting across the table from her and not just watching her at Gallagher’s Restaurant. Dina surely attracted him, and he had not been fascinated by a woman in a very long time.
Dina’s hot chocolate arrived and she waved her nose over it, smiling, staring down at the deep, dark, creamy drink. “Oh, wow. This smells like heaven.”
The waiter smiled and spoke to her in a thick French accent. “Did you know, mademoiselle, that in 1643, Princess Maria Theresa of Spain brought a gift of chocolate to France? A royal chocolate maker was hired, and chocolate has been, as they say, the rage in Paris ever since.”
She took a sip. “Yep. It’s definitely heaven. It’s the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had in my life.”
The waiter smiled with proud satisfaction. “Très bien, mademoiselle.”
Paul felt himself smile, an easy smile, a natural smile, and it was the same smile that had awakened him in Colorado.
When the waiter was gone, Dina slid the cup toward him. “Try it. You’ve got to get one.”
Paul sampled the drink. “Yes, this is exceptional.”
“How do they make it?”
“I’m told they use bittersweet chocolate and chop the chocolate into small shavings. I believe they also add heavy cream.”
“So, what’s not to like?” Dina said.
While they were eating, Dina finished the hot chocolate and decided to be bold, offering a hint of flirtation.
“If you’re not here on business, Paul, what do you plan to do with yourself?”
Paul looked up from the salmon tartare, gently shaken. What should he say? Because of fatigue and jet lag, his normally quick mind was sluggish, his thoughts muddy.
“Well…There’s so much to do in Paris. For instance, while flying over the Atlantic, I saw online that you can take an elevator to the first level of the Eiffel Tower, to an ice skating rink, 200 feet above Paris. I thought that would be fun. I haven’t ice-skated since I was a kid. Do you ice skate, Dina?”
Paul watched Dina’s pretty face pass through multiple expressions within seconds: confusion, reluctance, thoughtfulness, and then a slow spreading pleasure.
“Yes, I ice skate. I’ve been skating since I was a girl.” She glanced out the window. “I love the idea of skating above Paris. Now that would be fun.”
As they left the café and hailed a taxi, Paul swallowed away yet another lump of guilt. He vowed that this would be the last time he’d see Dina. After the ice-skating date, he’d leave Paris and maybe fly on to London. He knew people in London. Maybe he could spend Christmas with them.
At all costs, he couldn’t let Dina find him out. That would spoil everything. And if she did learn the truth, what would she think of him? She’d think he was some sleazy rich guy, out to make it with just another waitress from Colorado. Isn’t that what most people would think? Isn’t that the impression he had wanted to avoid when the idea had first come to him? He’d wanted her to think well of her benefactor—of him—and to believe that his motives had been selfless.
No, this little trip to the Eiffel Tower would be the last of it—an hour or so of ice skating—and then he’d disappear from Dina’s life forever. He’d be history, just some guy Dina met on her Christmas adventure to Paris.
CHAPTER 9
Veronique sat up in her chair, concerned. She was in the elegant hotel café, sipping coffee, reading Dina’s second text message. She’d tried phoning Dina several times, but she hadn’t answered. Veronique read Dina’s text for the third time.
You were right about Paris, V. I’m in a café bathroom. I met a guy at the Louvre, of all places. Handsome, a bit stiff and formal, but nice. We’re off to go ice skating at the Eiffel Tower. Don’t worry. Go meet Guillaume and have fun.
Veronique couldn’t believe it. Dina had not only awakened early and left without calling or knocking on Veronique’s door, she’d already met some man in the Louvre, and was off ice-skating with him. Who was this man? Was Dina so naive? Veronique hadn’t thought so, and she’d been briefed about the girl when she’d taken the job. Veronique had undergone several intense interviews, along with grueling security checks, drug tests, written and oral tests in English, Italian and French. Her stern female interviewer stressed repeatedly that Dina’s safety and security were of the utmost importance. Even though there would be three security officers, each taking an 8-hour shift, positioned out of sight to ensure both the women’s safety, Veronique was told to remain with Dina most, if not all, the time.
Veronique drained her coffee cup, fighting a mounting alarm. She’d taken the job because the pay was good and she’d get to travel, something she loved, and she’d be home by Christmas. Luckily, she was able to take two weeks’ vacation from her regular job as an Administrative Assistant, working for a successful import/export dealer in San Francisco.
Veronique had been told that Dina was a mature girl, rather conservative and not prone to irrationally or impulsiveness, an impression Veronique had endorsed upon their first meeting. So, obviously, Dina had swiftly fallen under the spell of Paris and she was ready for romance. Paris was one of the largest cities in the world, a beautiful, romantic city, yes, but also a city that attracted criminals, con men and slick opportunists.
Veronique shot back a text.
Dina, I am coming to meet you. Don’t leave the ice rink before I get there.
Veronique hurried out of the hotel, piled into a taxi and sat at attention facing ahead, feeling her heart race as the taxi raced through the Paris streets, the Eiffel Tower looming in the distance.
She kept checking her phone, but Dina hadn’t responded. There were four messages from Guillaume. Veronique grimaced. Earlier, she’d pulled his card and stupidly texted him, suggesting that she and Dina meet him for a drink later at one of her favorite bars, La Closerie Des Lilas, near Saint-Germain de Près. That was before she learned of Dina’s abrupt romantic encounter, so Veronique texted Guillaume back to say something had come up, and she’d get back with him. He immediately texted back in French.
We must meet. You are so lovely and sexy. Tell me where and when and I’ll be there. I’m not playing music tonight.
With a little exasperated shake of her head, Veronique lowered her phone and focused on the Eiffel Tower, lit up in gold against the dark gray sky.
Veronique flashed back to the day she’d first seen the Travel Companion Want Ad posted online. She was on her lunch break, casually surfing her phone, pursuing the online want ads, just in case something fun or different caught her eye. When she saw the ad, she perked up, her eyes perusing the screen with growing interest.
She was responsible, spoke fluent English, French and Italian, and she had a Bachelor’s Degree. She’d originally assumed that her “companion” would be an elderly woman, whose family was probably sending her off on a last trip to Europe and New York, and that would have been fine. Veronique had great respect for the elderly, as do most Europeans.
Although Veronique thought the job description was a little unusual, a
fter one particularly hectic and stressful day she decided to apply for it. She hadn’t been to Rome in three years. She’d been to France within the year, to visit her father, but she always loved visiting Paris —and she missed New York, a city that infinitely fascinated her, one she’d only visited twice.
Veronique had been nervous and surprised when she’d received a response to attend an interview. She’d almost decided not to go to the interview, but an old lover kept pestering her to marry him, and she had no intention of doing so, and the thought of an escape for a couple of weeks appealed to her.
Her first interview was scheduled after work, and it took place in a tall and imposing downtown San Francisco building, inside a stylish office on Battery Street, in the Financial District. She wasn’t told any details as to why Dina was traveling to Paris, Rome and New York, with all expenses paid, but she believed it was because some older, wealthy man had fallen head-over heels in love with her. Maybe it was the French in her that caused her to think that way—not that she was judgmental.
Why this anonymous man was not traveling with Dina, or why he would never be revealed to her or Veronique, was the true mystery.
The setup intrigued Veronique, and a few days later, she learned she had been chosen. She’d signed a contract, stating she wouldn’t disclose any personal information about her life or work—nor any information about the original online ad, the interviewing process, who had interviewed her, or where the interview had taken place. Everything would be held in the strictest confidence. In other words, Veronique was a traveling companion, and only a traveling companion, prohibited from discussing anything with Dina other than what pertained to her generally, and the vacation in particular. Nothing more.
Anyway, in this day and age, with so many real bizarre stories flying around the media, this one wasn’t so strange or farfetched. Veronique even thought it would make a fantastic reality show.
When the vacation was over, Veronique would simply disappear. She was never to contact Dina again. Yes, it was an unusual job, but that had been its initial allure—escape, money, travel and mystery. Who could pass that up? Veronique would have had a spectacular vacation and be a few thousand dollars richer.
But of course, Veronique’s imagination continued to play, spin and speculate. What would this person—this man—want from Dina in the end? Well, it was none of Veronique’s business, was it?
Once again, her current conclusion was that this guy must be an old eccentric millionaire or billionaire, who simply gets his kicks out of setting up elaborate and clandestine adventures for young, attractive women. Fine, so be it. It seemed harmless enough.
Although Dina wasn’t a typical beauty, she had a good figure, striking blue eyes, lush blonde hair and a killer smile. And Veronique had liked her from the start. Dina was modest, pleasant and well-mannered.
But now, Dina was off on a romantic Paris adventure. Veronique had to get to Dina before she got herself into trouble.
Veronique’s taxi stopped abruptly near the Eiffel Tower. Veronique paid the driver and left the cab, picking her way through tourists to the base of the Tower. On impulse, she stopped, turned and looked toward the Trocadero Gardens, across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower. During her last trip to Paris, she and her father had walked through the Trocadero Gardens and then stopped at the elaborate double-decker carousel so Veronique could ride one of its white horses. She’d waved wildly at her father as the carousel circled, and he’d waved back at her, his eyes merry and his grin broad.
Just as she got in line to board the Eiffel Tower elevator, Veronique noticed a new text from Dina. At the Carousel. Veronique hurried across the bridge leading to the Trocadero Gardens and approached the ornate carousel just as a bell rang out, announcing the start of another cycle. The carousel’s circular platform began rotating slowly to the sound of accordion cabaret music. Suddenly, to her shock, Veronique saw Dina come into view, mounted on a horse, rising and falling, one hand clasped around the central pole. She was grinning like a kid, waving at someone.
Veronique’s eyes traveled to that someone. It was a man—a tall, dark and masculine looking man in his 30s, wearing a stylish, unbuttoned overcoat, over a suit and tie. He waved back at Dina with a small, guarded smile, and he seemed uncomfortable and stiff.
Veronique stepped closer and, with a calculating gaze, she worked to size up the situation. Did Dina know this man from the States? On reflex, Veronique scanned the area for someone who might be one of the security guards hired to protect her and Dina. Standing near the souvenir stalls, Veronique spotted a lone man, broad and serious, his eyes fixed on the carousel. Was he one?
Veronique decided to make her move. Edging through the tourists, she positioned herself so that Dina would see her as she circled back around. Veronique waved. When Dina saw Veronique, her features brightened and she waved back.
“Hello, Veronique! Get a ticket! It’s so much fun!”
Veronique smiled, tentatively, with a shake of her head. She felt Dina’s friend’s eyes on her and she turned boldly, deciding to introduce herself.
Just at that moment, a little girl approached the man and threw her little arms around his legs. Then she peered up at him with a wide, girlish grin. She must have been five years old.
Veronique stopped. Startled, the man stared down at the rosy-cheeked little girl, who was dressed in a blue parka, white mittens and a matching white cap.
Veronique was close enough to hear the conversation.
“Hello,” the little girl said, in English.
Veronique searched for the mother or father. She saw no one.
“Hello,” the man said. “What’s your name?”
“Ruby.”
“That’s a nice name,” the man said, glancing about. “Is your mother around?”
“Yes,” the girl said, still clinging to the man’s legs.
“And your father? Is he with you?”
“My daddy? No.”
“Should we go find your mother? She might be looking for you.”
“Okay,” Ruby said, without resistance. She lowered her arms and reached for his hand. “Let’s go find Mommy.”
Paul took the little girl’s hand, and he led her toward the souvenir stalls.
Veronique stood frozen, confused by what she was seeing. Who was this guy? She swung her questioning gaze toward Dina, who was still on the horse and had twisted around curiously, as she watched Paul take the little girl’s hand.
Veronique shrugged. Dina shrugged.
Veronique followed Paul through the wandering crowds toward the stalls. At that moment, an alarmed 20s something brunette burst from the little shop, eyes wide, searching about frantically. When she saw Paul and Ruby, her face filled with relief. She rushed over.
Ruby didn’t release Paul’s hand as the mother drew up to them, her relief swiftly turning to anxiety and mild anger.
“Ruby! Why did you run away? I told you to stay with me.”
“This man is nice,” Ruby said. “I like him.”
Paul nodded to the thin, young woman. “I’m sorry…she just came up to me. We were trying to find you.”
“I’m so sorry,” the mother said, humbly, reaching for Ruby’s other hand. “She never does this. She always stays with me.”
Ruby held fast to Paul’s hand, while taking her mother’s. “Can he come with us, Mommy?” Ruby asked.
“No, Ruby. We have to go now. Grandmother is waiting for us back at the hotel.”
Ruby tilted her head back, squinting Paul a look. “Do you have any friends?”
Paul crouched down on his haunches to face his new little friend. “I hope you’re my friend, Ruby. Are you my friend?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” he said, shaking her little hands. “We’ll always be friends, Ruby. Good friends. You should go with your mother now.”
“Do you have a little girl?” Ruby asked.
Ruby’s mother tried gently to tug her daughter away. “We need to
go now, Ruby.”
Paul shook his head. “No, Ruby, but I’d love to have a little girl like you. Maybe someday I will. I hope so.”
“My daddy’s gone.”
Now the woman was embarrassed, and Paul noticed the sadness in the woman’s eyes.
“Ruby, we have to go now,” she said, her hand on her daughter’s back, nudging her around.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “So sorry.”
“I’m just glad we found you,” Paul said, standing up.
When Dina arrived, Paul was waving goodbye to Ruby, who tottered away, looking back over her shoulder, waving and grinning.
Veronique and Dina stood watching, touched by the scene.
Dina looked at Paul. “Do kids often come up to you like that?” she asked.
Paul shook his head, still waving at Ruby. “Actually, no. It’s never happened before.”
Dina stepped forward, indicating toward Veronique. “Paul, this is my friend, Veronique. Veronique, meet Paul.”
Paul’s eyes flickered about nervously as he shook Veronique’s hand.
“I am Veronique Bonnard.”
She’d couldn’t help but eye him suspiciously, as her intuition awakened to something she couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“Nice to meet you, Veronique.”
“Are you from the States, Mr….?” Veronique asked, wanting his last name so she could Google it.
“Yes. I live in New York.”
“Paul and I were going to skate at the Eiffel Tower but it’s too crowded and the lines are so long. So, I dragged him over here.”
Veronique managed a tight smile. “Thanks for texting me.”
Paul shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing about awkwardly. “Well, I should go.”
Dina’s face fell in disappointment. “The day is still young. Maybe we could all go skating somewhere else. I’m sure Paris has other ice-skating rinks.”
Veronique stayed quiet.
Paul hunched his shoulders. “I should get back to the hotel. I haven’t even been there yet. I just had my bags dropped off.”
The Date Before Christmas: A Novel Page 9
