Christmas in Paris (19 page)

“It will be my treat,” Bettina said and smiled. “I never gave you a Christmas present.”

*   *   *

THEY SAT AT
a round table in the main dining room, and Alec gazed at the crystal wineglasses and pewter breadbaskets. The domed ceiling was made of blue mosaic tile, and red velvet drapes were tied with silver sashes. A grand piano stood in the corner and there was a signed Degas above the marble fireplace.

He tore open a baguette and wondered why anyone needed a gold-plated butter knife and how could they charge forty euros for a poached egg with hollandaise sauce. Maybe he should move to the countryside and keep a cow and a few chickens. Restaurant prices in Paris were outrageous.

“You said you were hungry,” Bettina said when Alec ordered a bowl of pumpkin soup and frisée salad.

“I can never eat when the thermostat is too high. Hotel dining rooms are too stuffy.” He wiped his brow. “It gives me indigestion.”

“You should be grateful that you are staying in a suite at the Crillon.” Bettina raised her eyebrow. “After all, you're not paying for it.”

“The hazelnut truffles and lavender bubble bath have been delightful.” He nodded. “But I'm ready to go home.”

“What does Isabel think?” she asked. “Is she prepared to live in a fifth-floor walk-up in the Marais, or does she have her sights set on 40 Rue de Passy?”

“Isabel?” he spluttered. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“The young American I met at the Red Cross charity ball,” she continued. “Celine was the love of your life, but you moved on so quickly. When we were children, you took hours to pick out a library book, and I couldn't stand going with you to the patisserie because you couldn't decide between a chocolate éclair and vanilla custard.” She pursed her lips. “Are you planning on marrying Isabel on New Year's Eve and moving into 40 Rue de Passy?”

“I rescued Isabel from the balcony when she locked herself out,” he snorted. “All that talk about romantic dinners and walks along the Seine was just an American admiring Paris. And I would never move into 40 Rue de Passy; it belongs to my mother.”

Alec gasped and wished he could take back his words. He should never have said Claudia deserved to stay in his father's house; it would only infuriate Bettina. He wiped his forehead and thought he really had to ask the maître d' to turn down the thermostat.

“I know you asked Celine to marry you so Claudia wouldn't have to leave.” Bettina sipped her wine. “Though I still don't understand why she agreed. Her father could buy her any mansion in Paris. And an intelligent, beautiful woman should marry someone important. It looks bad if all French politicians date actresses and models.”

“I proposed to Celine because I was madly in love with her, and she said yes because she felt the same,” he retorted. “Édouard is like a tortoise. Most of us aren't willing to be in a relationship that moves slower than rush hour traffic on the Boulevard Saint-Germain.”

“Édouard and I want to get it right, rather than calling off the ceremony two days before the wedding,” Bettina replied, skewering a lamb cutlet.

“I've given up on women and marriage.” He tore apart a baguette. “I'm going to be a doting godfather who spoils his godchildren with gold coins on Christmas morning. When I'm old, I'll get a dog and people will comment we have the same facial expressions.”

Alec had considered getting a dog, but it seemed disloyal to Gus. But maybe when he had arthritis and couldn't draw anymore, he would get a Saint Bernard that slept on a rug in front of the fireplace.

“I don't believe you,” Bettina insisted. “I saw the way you and Isabel looked at each other at the ball.”

“Then you need glasses,” Alec snapped. He drizzled a sherry vinaigrette on endive leaves and sighed. “Isabel is seeing a French
comte.
”

“A
comte
?” She raised her eyebrow. “I thought she was here on vacation.”

“She said they're falling in love.” He fiddled with his collar. “Last night they went to the Musée Rodin and L'Arpège.”

“Maybe I was wrong.” She ate pureed squash. “I'm sure they are a lovely pair.”

“You've never even met him—how do you know he's right for Isabel?” he demanded. “Just because he's a
comte
doesn't mean he wears Armani suits and Gucci loafers like Louis Jourdan in
Gigi.
”

“You need to look after yourself, you're over thirty.” Bettina studied his frayed sweater and corduroy slacks. “You'll never find someone to marry if you get a soft belly and lose your hair.”

“My stomach is like a board!” he fumed. “And I didn't come to lunch to get dating tips. If you'll excuse me, I have to go.”

“You can't leave yet.” She patted her mouth with a napkin. “I asked the chef to make chocolate
bûche de Noël,
it is Christmas.”

Alec grudgingly stayed and shared their childhood dessert. He waited for Bettina to return from the powder room and stabbed a sugar cube with his dessertspoon. Having lunch with his sister was like attending a dinner party with Attila the Hun. He pictured Gus wearing a fur coat and earmuffs and eating venison with a Norwegian holding a spear.

Now wasn't the time to ask Bettina to let his mother stay in the house. She was like the croupier at the casino in Monte Carlo. She couldn't wait to sweep his chips off the roulette wheel and leave him penniless.

Bettina returned from the powder room, and he ate a large bite of chocolate and nougat. If he kept his mouth full, he couldn't say anything wrong.

“Next week 40 Rue de Passy will be ours,” she said, pulling out her chair. “We'll update the kitchen of course, it's a fire hazard. And I plan on breaking the wall between the conservatory and library. Wouldn't it be lovely to have one large room with views of the garden?”

“The house is perfect the way it is,” he grumbled. “I don't want anything to do with renovations.”

“You don't have to.” Bettina smiled and poured cream into her demitasse. “I'll just send you half the bill.”

*   *   *

THEY STOOD AT
the hotel entrance while the valet called a taxi. Alec glanced at bellboys in gold uniforms and guests wearing cashmere jackets and thought everyone looked so happy.

It was Christmas at the Crillon; he should be enjoying the free hot cocoa and gingerbread. Instead he felt like he had been to the principal's office and narrowly missed getting detention.

“Thank you for lunch,” he said and reached into his jacket pocket. “I bought you a Christmas present.”

“It's the least I could do now that you don't have someone to cook for you.” Bettina put the package in her purse and stepped off the curb. “You didn't have to get me anything. Celine gave me the best gift I could imagine.”

“If I hear from her, I'll let her know,” he muttered.

“I am your big sister and I do care about you.” She turned around. “Next time you fall in love, try harder to hold on to her.”

*   *   *

ALEC SAT ON
a leather stool in the Crillon bar and fiddled with his scotch glass. He shouldn't drink hard liquor when he felt feverish, but this was an exception. Bettina was like the female villain in a James Bond movie. She looked innocent until she opened her mouth and started spewing threats in Russian.

He ate a handful of cashew nuts and suddenly choked. What if Bettina didn't believe him and asked Isabel? He pictured her slinking through the lobby like Mata Hari.

There might not be anything going on between him and Isabel, but he still didn't want her to know about his family. And what if he was falling in love with her? Bettina would ruin his chances.

He threw a ten-euro note on the table and hurried to the elevator. The only way to stop Bettina was to get to Isabel first. He pressed the button and hoped he wasn't too late.

*   *   *

“ALEC!” ISABEL SAID
when he knocked on the door. She wore a ribbed sweater and tan slacks. She held a leather-bound book and had a yellow highlighter stuck behind her ear.

“Come in. I'm studying the plot of
Rigoletto.
” She paused. “Antoine asked me to the opera at the Palais Garnier, so I'm learning the story line. It can be so embarrassing to cry when the female lead is actually happy her husband drank a vial of poison.” Her brown eyes sparkled. “We are going to Café de la Paix after the performance to have oysters and French champagne.”

“That's wonderful, but I need your help.” Antoine sat opposite her.

“Are you ill?” She looked at him. “Your cheeks are flushed and you are holding your neck strangely.”

“It's nothing, I have a crick in my neck.” He flinched. “I'm going to Versailles and I was hoping you'd join me.”

“Why are you going to Versailles?” she asked.

“I'm drawing a series of sketches of Gus trying to save his estate from being overrun by a murderous crowd.” He fiddled with the cushion. “The French Republic may not have been fond of their queen, but Versailles was Marie Antoinette's home. It wasn't polite of the mob to pound on the gate as if they belonged there.”

“I thought Gus was a male dog.” Isabel frowned.

“It's not based on Marie Antoinette. I certainly don't approve of her actions.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Though I do think the guillotine was barbaric—a permanent stay in the Bastille would have been sufficient. I'm going to set it in a castle in Scotland, but I want to visit Versailles for inspiration.”

“Why do you need me?” she asked.

“I want to see it through someone else's eyes, so I don't miss the little things…” He paused. “Like a squirrel collecting nuts in a tapestry or hand-painted doves on a teacup.”

“I was going to buy a dress at Le Bon Marché for this evening.” Isabel hesitated. “I can't wear the same gown I wore to the ball.”

“We have plenty of time,” Alec assured her. “We'll visit the L'Orangerie and Queen's hamlet and Petites Écuries.” He waved at a pile of books on the coffee table. “You'll learn more about the French aristocracy than from reading history books.”

“They do all say the same thing. Marie Antoinette should never have siphoned off millions of francs from the treasury to send to her brother in Austria, and if Louis XVI had more of a backbone, the French Revolution wouldn't have happened.” She stood up and grabbed her jacket. “I can't wait to see Versailles at Christmas. It will be like one of those winter scenes in a snow globe.”

*   *   *

“EVERYTHING IS SO
large,” Isabel said, looking up at the domed ceiling.

They had toured the gardens with their marble fountains and stone statues and chestnut trees. Alec led her through the Queen's Hamlet and showed her the vegetable patches filled with broccoli and cabbage and asparagus.

Now they stood in the Hall of Mirrors and Alec caught his breath. No matter how many times he visited Versailles, he couldn't quite believe it was real. It was like a child's fantasy of an Arabian palace. Gold statues lined the walls and crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling and the parquet floor had jeweled flecks.

“Versailles was originally built as a hunting lodge for King Louis XIII,” Alec said. “Later three wings were added and Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette each had their own apartments.”

“I do envy Marie Antoinette,” Isabel mused, gazing at the intricate tapestries.

“I'm not surprised,” Alec murmured. “Most women would like a jewelry box overflowing with emerald and ruby pendants and a closet filled with couture gowns.”

“I don't envy her because of her clothes or jewels.” Isabel shrugged. “Though a pretty dress can make you happy when you are feeling down, and they say diamonds are a girl's best friend for a reason.

“I envy her because she was in love. The royal family planned to escape, but Louis XVI refused to leave.” She paused. “Marie Antoinette could have been carried safely over the border, but she chose to stay with her husband.”

“She ended up being dragged through Paris in an open cart,” he grumbled. “She probably regretted her decision when the citizens threw apples at her shorn head.”

“Don't you see, there's nothing more important than love. She could have started a new life in Austria. But she would rather die in the worst possible way than be without the man she loved.”

“You've seen too many romantic movies.” Alec grinned.

“I thought I was in love with Rory. But when he moved to California, I barely missed him,” she began. “Neil and I were perfect for each other. We took the same business school courses and read the same economic journals. But you can't build a future with someone because you own the same brand of briefcase.

“It doesn't matter now because I met Antoine. Oh, I didn't get a chance to tell you about our evening. We saw Rodin's
The Thinker,
and the passion fruit soufflé at L'Arpège was delicious.” She paused. “After dinner we strolled along the boulevard and it started snowing. He kissed me and I wanted it to last forever.”

“That's the best way to get pneumonia,” Alec said. “I hope you both came home and took a hot bath.”

“I didn't ask him up to my suite.” Isabel hesitated. “Somehow I didn't think it was right.”

“You want Antoine to propose but you didn't want to have an nightcap?” Alec demanded. “Maybe you shouldn't listen to the fortune-teller.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“If you're in love, you don't want to be apart,” he insisted.

If he could make her see the fortune-teller was wrong and she didn't really have feelings for Antoine, they could start from the beginning. He could ask her on a date and see if they were interested in each other.