April Lynn Kihlstrom
This title was previously published by Avalon Books; this version has been reproduced from the Avalon book archive files.
Paris: culture, cafes, romance. Odd that one word can conjure so many images. At the moment, however, Janine was only aware of loud voices, jostling elbows, the roar of jets, and a terrible headache. Now, if I can just find my luggage-intact! Janine thought unhappily. Then there should be a bus to the center of town, and I can take the Metro to Rena’s apartment. She’d better have a good reason for not meeting me!
After several minutes, Janine’s suitcase appeared on the moving belt. Retrieving it from under a heavy backpack, she stumbled toward one of the exits.
“Mademoiselle Halonen? Mademoiselle Halonen?” a voice near her asked.
Abruptly Janine realized he meant her. She turned quickly and found herself looking up at a man who was regarding her anxiously. Automatically Janine noted that his hair needed combing. “Oui?” she said.
He smiled. Or rather his eyes smiled; his mouth was set in a frown.
“What is it?” Janine asked in French.
“Didn’t you hear your name announced? Rena sent me to meet you. Is this all your baggage?”
Pleased that she had understood him the first time, Janine smiled and answered in her best college French. “No, I’m a little tired. Yes, this is all.” She hesitated for a moment. Should she use to as he had or vows? Vous, she decided firmly. “Vous etes…?”
“Monsieur Renaud. Allons y.”
Without waiting for an answer, M.Renaud picked up Janine’s suitcase and strode toward the door. Janine found herself half running to catch up. Outside, M. Renaud was holding open the door of a Citroen fitted with what looked like leopard-skin seat covers. Very French! Janine thought, glancing sharply at him.
“Don’t worry, they do not bite,” M.Renaud said with a slight leer. “I am the only thing dangerous in this car.
As they started toward town, the awe of being in France began to take hold of Janine and her headache slipped away. How long had it been, two years? three? that she had been planning such a trip? Rena’s letters had not diminished the fascination of legendary Paris; rather they had whetted Janine’s imagination. Turning eagerly to M.Renaud, Janine asked, “Will we pass Notre Dame or the Eiffel Tower?”
He replied frostily, “I am not a tour guide. We are taking the shortest route to Rena’s apartment. Frankly, I don’t know or care what we pass!”
At least that’s what Janine thought he said. M. Renaud was speaking French so rapidly that she wasn’t sure. Biting her lower lip, Janine resolved to be silent for the rest of the drive. Even M.Renaud’s rudeness, however, could not dampen her rising happiness at being in Paris. Frenchmen, she thought wryly, are not nearly as romantic as people think. Nor as courteous.
From time to time, M.Renaud grudgingly would point out a building with a word or two of-to Janine-unintelligible explanation. Before Janine was ready, the car was stopping on a narrow street. Leaning across Janine, M.Renaud opened the door on her side. “Here we are. First stairway, fifth floor, on the right. Rena knows I am too busy to come up.”
Janine scrambled out of the car. M.Renaud then handed her her baggage, slammed the door, and drove away without waiting for Janine to say merci. Bewildered, Janine shifted her suitcase to the other hand and turned toward seventeen rue Bonaparte. Obeying the instructions on the door, she pressed the buzzer, then pushed open the door. With dismay she realized there was no elevator. Even worse, Janine had forgotten that in Europe the first floor is the floor above the street. Five flights to climb! Several minutes later, filled with very unsisterly thoughts, Janine was ringing the bell of her sister’s apartment. Before she realized what was happening, the door opened and Janine found Rena’s arms around her neck. In spite of herself, Janine grinned. Bubbling was exactly the word for her sister. Rena grabbed the suitcase and pulled Janine into the apartment. “Are you all right? How was the trip? Did you like Mark? Do you like Paris? How long are you staying? Did you have trouble finding the apartment? Aren’t those stairs terrible? Did you see the concierge? How is Phil? Are you still in love with him? How is your job? Aren’t the students hard to handle? How do you like my apartment? Let me get you a cup of coffee. No, a pot of tea.”
Laughing, Janine sat down on the couch, which evidently served as a spare bed. As Rena moved about the tiny kitchen, Janine explained, “I love my job and no, the students aren’t hard to handle once they realize I really am their teacher and not another student. The only thing I mind is grading papers; being a junior college, we don’t have teaching assistants so I have to do everything myself.”
As she waited, Janine looked around the living room. It was dominated by a large dining-room table with matching chairs. A set of bookshelves, a large cabinet, and the telephone table clearly came from the same set. A small refrigerator, an armchair, and the couch added to the sense of crowding. The building, like most in the quarter, was an old one, and a decorative border of plaster rosette leaves ran around the ceiling. A large rosette filled the ceiling space over the table. The floor was covered with what looked like a cross between linoleum and a flat carpet. The walls were cream color and had obviously been painted recently. Janine smiled to herself. Rena was not the sort of person to have trouble with landlords.
Janine could see the kitchen from where she sat. It was little more than an alcove fitted with a tiny stove and sink. It had two doors, one opening into the hall and one into the living room.
After a moment, Rena came out of the kitchen. “While the water is boiling, would you like to see the apartment?” she asked.
The bedroom was no larger than the living room. With the exception of an armchair and the bed, the furniture-a bedtable, a large desk, and a long, low cabinet came from the same set as the dining-room table. The floor was covered with the same material as in the living room, and the ceiling was simpler, with no rosettes. The window matched the living-room window and had the same sort of curtains-two layers, the first of sheer white material. Over this was a set of heavy curtains that could be opened to let in light or closed to insure privacy. It seemed to be a typical French arrangement.
“Look here,” Rena said, opening a door to reveal the toilet. “Just like a throne. See, it’s set on a platform a foot or so above the level of the bedroom floor.”
In another small room that opened off the bedroom, Rena showed Janine the rest of the facilities. “It’s really rather modern,” Rena explained. “The landlord put in the full-size tub last year.”
The combined effect of the rooms was homey. This surprised Janine, as nothing could have been further from Rena’s taste. In general she preferred very modern, very simple furnishings. “I know what you’re thinking,” Rena said with a grin, “but apartments in Paris are very hard to find; especially furnished apartments. This one was a bargain and I grabbed it. Oddly enough, I’m beginning to like it.”
“It’s nice,” Janine said. Then, surveying her sister carefully, she demanded, “How have you been?”
“Fantastic!” Rena answered, laughing. “I’m engaged to Mark, the guy who met you at the airport.”
Janine stared at her sister in dismay. “But he’s at least twenty-eight, and you said you hardly know any French. How do you communicate?”
Rena laughed. “Don’t tell me he pretended to be French and you fell for it! He’s as American as you or me. And he’s only twenty-six, so stop worrying. He must have been annoyed at having to meet you at the airport.” She sighed. “But you see, I only found out yesterday that I had gotten this interview, and I couldn’t turn it down since I’ve got to meet a deadline on an article on the French education system for the New York Times. It meant missing your fl
ight, and Mark was the only person I could think of who could pick you up. It was rude of him to play that trick on you.
Janine shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. But why didn’t you write me you were engaged?”
“Well, we haven’t set a date and we’re keeping it sort of quiet. But we do love each other. It’s just that we don’t want our families butting in just yet. Can’t you imagine what Mom would be like?”
Janine nodded. She could indeed imagine what their mother would say. “Well, I’m very happy for you. And you can trust me. I won’t tell Mom.”
“Thanks,” Rena said with relief. “But tell me, how is Phil?”
Janine looked away. “Let’s have that pot of tea first and then I’ll tell you.”
“Sit down. It’ll be ready in a minute.”
Janine was pensive, wondering exactly what to tell her sister. Rena was so different; younger and livelier. Rena had their mother’s dark hair and lovely eyes. She had early developed the sort of figure that insures male admirers. At twenty, Rena was often mistaken for twentyfour. She was so different from Janine, who looked eighteen but was actually twenty-two. She was used to strangers assuming Rena was the older of the two. Fair, with hazel eyes and quite tall, Janine had developed late and even now had a figure she considered too boyish. Unlike her sister, Janine had never had many boy friends; partly because of looks and partly because of her own prickliness. That’s what made it so hard about Phil. He had seemed so wonderful: showering her with compliments and deferring to her preferences. And always telling her how much he loved her! And yet, how could it have taken her so long to realize something was wrong? How naive of her not to guess he was married! Beth had been the one to tell her finally. Janine was grateful, of course, and yet she somehow found it hard to talk to Beth after that. Janine had told Phil she knew about his wife and he had laughed. Laughed! He had said, “So what? What difference does it make?” And when she said that it mattered to her, Phil had called her provincial and said he wasn’t about to make changes for her. When she said she wouldn’t see him any more, Phil had become abusive. Laughing, he had asked if she really thought there was any other man who would want her. Could Rena really understand what it was like to be so unsure of yourself that you would almost believe Phil? There was so much Janine needed to tell someone about and so little she could bring herself to say.
“Now. Here’s the tea and I’ve got a box of tissues handy, so tell me what happened with Phil,” Rena commanded.
Janine stared at her teacup. What could she say? “We broke up.”
“I gathered that,” Rena said wryly, “but why? He wanted to marry you. Was it another woman?”
Janine laughed bitterly. “You could say that-he already had a wife. And Phil honestly expected me not to care. He expected me to act as if I didn’t know about her. I couldn’t, of course. So we broke up. He was pretty bitter about it.”
Rena bit her lip. “Does Mom know yet?”
Janine shook her head. “No, but she will soon. I mailed her a letter just before I caught my plane. I figured she wouldn’t try to call me here. Rena, I just couldn’t take having her say `I told you so’ or, even worse, trying to comfort me. I .Just couldn’t stand it!”
Rena quickly set both teacups on the table and put her arms around Janine, cradling the blonde head on her shoulder. “Go ahead and cry. I’ve got the tissues handy.”
It was the first time Janine had cried since she learned about Phil’s wife. At the time she had been too shocked to cry. Twenty-two might be a little old to fall in love for the first time and have your dreams crumble, but it doesn’t hurt any less than at sixteen. And at any age it hurts to discover you’ve been a fool.
Several minutes later, Rena gently reminded her sister of the waiting tea. Grateful for her sister’s tact, Janine reached for her cup and held it with a slightly trembling hand. “You can stay here as long as you like,” Rena said gently.
“A couple of months at the most,” Janine replied ruefully, “if I want to keep my job. And I do like teaching.”
Rena smiled. “I can spend a few days showing you around Paris. Then I have to go to Switzerland to work on another article. But you can stay here. I’ll only be gone a couple of weeks. Who knows, maybe I’ll bring back a tall blond yodeler for you!”
“I’m not quite sure I’m ready for another romance just yet,” Janine replied, smiling. “Besides, by then I may have snared some unsuspecting Frenchman. Seriously, it sounds as though your writing is going well. Are you still freelance?”
Rena nodded. “Technically I’m a stringer for the New York Times and one or two magazines, but basically I’m on my own. I usually choose a topic I want to write about and then find an editor who will buy the idea. I make enough to live on, but I’m often broke.”
Janine grinned. No matter how much money Rena had, it would never be enough. She simply could not manage money. It wasn’t that Rena was extravagant. As Janine knew, Rena didn’t own a car or believe in taking taxis or even spend a lot of money on clothes. In fact, Janine never could figure out how Rena managed to spend all her money, but somehow she always did. Even as a little girl, Rena would have spent Friday’s allowance by Monday. During the rest of the week she would try to borrow from Janine. And yet it was Rena who lived in Paris now and Janine who had to scrimp and save to visit. Sometimes Janine wondered if perhaps Rena’s way might not be more fun. Changing the subject, Janine asked, “Have you heard from home lately?”
“I got a letter from Mom last week. Everything seems about the same as usual. Mom warned me not to date just one man, then asked if Mark and I had any wedding plans yet!” Rena concluded, shaking her head.
Janine smiled; the words were familiar. Their mother was anxious to see her daughters married, but somehow their boy friends were never satisfactory. It had become a habit with Janine and Rena to tell their mother as little as possible about their romantic experiences. “And Dad?” Janine asked.
“Same as always, working ten hours a day. He sends his love and says they plan to go camping next week. He even bought a new fishing pole. I wonder how Mom stands these trips-I never could!”
“Unless you happened to meet a handsome young forest ranger, of course,” Janine pointed out.
Rena grinned. “I wonder whatever became of Pete? He used to stop by our campsite every evening and help Mom and me build a fire before you and Dad got back from fishing or hiking.”
“I wondered how you suddenly became so proficient at building fires,” Janine admitted. “Good thing that was the last camping trip you went on or we’d have found you out quickly enough. And Dad would have been so disappointed. He thought his teaching was finally having some effect!”
For a moment both girls were silent, thinking about the yearly vacations. Janine took after her father: a tall, blond engineer who loved the woods. At an early age she had learned how to pitch a tent, bait a hook, row a boat, and build a fire. She also shared her father’s love for animals. Rena, like her mother, preferred soft beds to cots or sleeping bags; a stove to a camp fire; driving to hiking; in short, civilization to the outdoors. But their mother loved her husband and understood his needs. Therefore, every summer the family spent a few weeks camping. At times she almost seemed to enjoy it. The Halonens were happy, carefree, frivolous people when they first met, and it was strange to see them, over the years, settle into a pattern of quiet respectability. Their daughters found it hard to imagine them eloping after a three-week courtship and would have been even more amazed to learn they had almost been divorced a year later. Love had prevailed, however, and by the time Janine was born they had learned how to live with one another, growing closer over the years.
Suddenly Janine remembered Rena’s last few letters. “Whatever happened to Pierre?” she asked.
“Pierre?”
“You only mentioned him in one letter, and that was a couple of months ago, but at the time you seemed to think he was pretty important.”
Rena laughed. �
�I remember now. He was just after Eric and just before Juan. Pierre was very nice and I began to think it was serious, but his family wanted him to marry a Frenchwoman. So that was that, and he stopped dating me. Now I suppose you want to know aboutJuan?”
“You’re darn right I do. I don’t think you even mentioned him to me in your letters,” Janine retorted.
“Well, Juan was a Spanish teacher at Berlitz. Very romantic; he used to come to see me every night and often bring me flowers. But after about three weeks he had to go back to Spain. Oddly enough, he reminded me a little of Alex,” Rena explained.
“Have you ever heard from Alex?” Janine asked.
Rena shook her head. “Never. I often wonder what happened. I know we quarreled, but not badly enough to make him leave town. And certainly not badly enough to make him leave college.”
Janine bit her lip. She hadn’t realized Rena still felt so strongly about it. Alex had been a freshman at Ohio State when he met Rena. They had immediately liked one another, though their relationship tended to be a bit stormy. Tall, fair-haired, and intelligent, Alex did not meet with approval from their mother. Then, right after final exams the first year-and a quarrel with Rena-Alex had left town without saying good-bye or even leaving a note for Rena. The next year he had not returned to Ohio State and there had never been any letters from him. Three years later, Rena’s pride was still hurt. Not all the intervening boy friends could completely erase Alex from her mind. Janine, now aware of her blunder, quickly asked, “And Mark? Tell me all about him. How did you meet?”
“In a cafe,” Rena answered. “I was with Helene. This guy started talking to me and before I knew what was happening, he offered to take us home. Helene didn’t want that, but he was so nice I couldn’t refuse. Helene insisted on staying, so I left with him-Mark, I mean.”
“How could you?” Janine asked, shocked.
“Well, she had her car there and insisted she didn’t mind me leaving with Mark,” Rena protested.
Paris Summer Page 1
