The Paris Time Capsule (7 page)

“
Honey,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek.

“
I’ll go upstairs and get changed.” She was probably covered in dust.

“
Hold on a minute.”

Cat noticed what he was wearing under his coat. It was a dinner suit, with a small black tie.

“I’ve checked you into a better hotel.”

“
I’m fine here! I like it.”

“
Honey …”

“
Did you look at the room? It’s just fine.”

“
I’ve booked us into something much better for the weekend.”

“
You mean bigger?” Cat asked, but Christian had already left. He was walking towards what looked more like a town car than a taxi. It was parked right in front of the hotel’s entrance.

“
Merci,” Cat said to the girl behind the reception desk. “Thank you.”

“
Merci, Madame,” the girl smiled.

“
I’ll be back on Monday,” Cat said.

The receptionist checked her computer.
“For how long, Madame?”

Cat looked out at Christian. He was watching the driver load up Cat’s luggage.
“You know, I’m not exactly sure.”

Three minutes later, they were in the smart black car, cruising towards the Seine.

“You were in such a rush to get out of there?” Cat asked, squeezing Christian’s hand.

He laughed.
“This will be so much better, honey.”

Cat sat back in the leather seat of the car. She hadn’t even looked to see what it was - a BMW, or a Mercedes Benz perhaps? How easy it was to slip back into being with Christian as if they had never been apart.

“How was your flight?”

“
Caught up with some work. It was fine.”

Christian pulled out his iPad.
“I’m in the middle of something for the bank, honey. A business hasn’t responded the way we thought. It won’t take me a second.”

Ten minutes later, they swept into the curved entrance of the new hotel. Cat had to wake herself from her thoughts about Marthe de Florian. She forced herself to take in the flags at the grand entrance, the unif
ormed porter who opened the car door.

“
Thanks,” Christian said, handing both the porter and the driver a wad of Euros. He swept into the lobby, one hand on the small of Cat’s back. “Booking, under Carter. New York.”

“
Bonsoir,” Cat added, to the receptionist behind the desk. It was important in France, to say hello. She sensed Christian chuckling at her from behind.

“
Bonsoir, Madame, Monsieur,” the receptionist said. He was as smooth as the staff at Cat’s previous hotel had been friendly. Everything was different, a different world to her little hotel near the Opera. The prestigious hotel was of international standards. It probably didn’t matter if she didn’t observe the social niceties that she had come to love about France. The staff were trying to impress her, not the other way around.

“
My personal assistant booked your best suite,” Christian said, leaning forward so that he could see the receptionist’s computer screen.

“
Oui, Monsieur.”

“
Oh, and send a bottle of champagne up to the room. On ice,” he added, taking the room keys and handing one to Cat.

“
Don’t know if they drink champagne cold in this damned country,” Christian said,
sotto voce,
to Cat. “You can never be sure.”

“
Christian,” Cat laughed. “France is the only country that makes champagne you know.”

“
Still.”

They rose up in the gilded lift to the second to top floor.

“Now, honey this’ll be a surprise.”

“
Oh! My goodness!” Cat wandered through the exquisite sitting room, to the window. “The Eiffel tower, the bridges, all lit up. Look at the palaces along the edge of the river!”

Christian came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“See those little boats down there?”

Cat nodded. She gazed at the
riverboats; decorated with lights that seemed to float above them, like miniature cruise ships.

“
Well, I’ve booked one, the whole thing. For a candlelit dinner. Just us.”

“
Just us?” For a mad moment, Cat almost felt like Marthe de Florian. Is this what the men in her life used to do for her? How many cruises down the Seine had she been on in her time? Cat shook the thought away. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He turned her around to look at him, cupped her face in his hands.
“Yes. Yes, I did. Because you are the most special thing in my life, and I need to show that to you, Cat.”

“
Well then.” Cat hugged him. “What can a girl say?”

Everything wonderful that had ever been written about the city was true. There was definitely something about Paris, and a luxury hotel in the first arrondissement? It was hard to beat.

Cat soaked in a warm bubble bath for half an hour, washing layers of dust off her body. The
apartment’s fine grit seemed to have infiltrated through her clothes, which lay in a heap on the floor, now. She would have to get them all dry-cleaned. In fact, as much as she hated modern clothes, a couple more pairs of tough jeans would be just what she needed to finish off the work in the apartment next week.

Now, she gazed at the slip of a dress Christian had brought across from New York.  It was brand new, of course, and minimalist black
, again. But, tonight, even that didn’t bother Cat. She was in seventh heaven, and she had more than enough vintage in Marthe’s apartment to keep her content for the rest of her life, even though she was going to give it all back to Loic.

Christian said that Morgan and Tasha had helped him choose the new dress for Cat. They were missing her, he said. Cat had laughed this off. She doubted it. But it was so kind of him to say so.

She rested a hand on the marble edge of the bath. If only … well. If only she had told Christian the truth about why she had really come to Paris. In some ways, though, it would be exciting to tell Christian all about it here. She couldn’t wait to share it with him. But how would he react to the fact that she had told him she was coming to Paris for work?

It would hardly do to tell him that she had been embarrassed about her family, and unsure what Monsieur Lapointe’s letter could possibly mean. So, she would have to say that she hadn’t wanted to worry him on his parent
s’ anniversary. Which was partly true.

Cat slipped her head under the bubbles. She would wash her hair with the expensive looking hotel shampoo and over dinner she would tell Christian all about the apartment.

But Christian, it seemed had other plans. He kept up a steady round of chatter in the car on the way to the river, one hand resting across Cat’s shoulders, which were bare in the tiny black dress underneath the coat she had been wearing all day.

“Honey,” he said, after they had set off on the charming little cruiser, and were seated in the middle of the cabin, another bottle of Moet in a silver bucket by their side. “There’s a reason for this.”

“
Oh?” Cat said, her eyes not knowing whether to feast on the divine French architecture either side of her on the river’s edge, or whether she should be admiring the inside of their boat, which was decked out in beautiful pale wood and minimalist furniture.

“
There’s a reason I came all the way to Paris.”

“
There’s something I have to tell you too, Christian, you see …”

But Christian was down on one knee. From out of nowhere, a photographer appeared.

“Madame, Monsieur, as you have requested I will now take your photograph.”

“
Too early, damn it.” Christian batted the poor man away.

“
Christian?” Cat tried to send an apologetic smile to the cameraman.

“
Cat,” he said. “I’m in love with you. Violently. I can’t wait any longer. I want to marry you.”

Applause sounded from the far end of the cabin. The cameraman rushed back in.
“Now, I take photo? Monsieur, Madame?”

Another waiter appeared with two more glasses of champagne.
“Is for the toast,” he insisted. He also placed a bunch of peachy colored roses right in the middle of their table, and a dish of caviar, with tiny water crackers on another plate.

“
You stand up,” the photographer said, to Christian.

“
Hang on,” Cat said.

But Christian beamed at her.
“Honey,” he said again. He shuffled about in his dinner jacket pocket.

“
Ah! The ring!” The photographer squeaked. “We will be going past Eiffel Tower in thirty seconds. We take photo outside. Now.”

“
Shall we?” Christian held out his arm.

The air outside was freezing
. Cat snuggled up next to Christian on the deck of the boat, with the sound of accordions wafting down the Seine from other cruise boats. The photographer moved them expertly from pose to pose. All she could do was gasp when Christian pulled out the most divine diamond ring in the world and all she could do was gasp and nod when he slipped it on the third finger of her left hand.

“
Yes,” she laughed, as he slipped an arm around her back. “Yes! Of course! I thought you’d never ask!” She beamed for the photographer, and he smiled at them both.

“
You make a stunning couple,” he said. “Is too perfect for words!”

Cat didn’t wake until the sun was streaming through the elegant hotel windows and onto the enormous bed. She sat up slowly, gorgeous recollections of the night before still dancing around in her head. She stretched out her finger, looked at the ring. It was beautiful. She was in Paris. She was engaged.

Christian was at the walnut writing desk.
“Morning, honey,” he said, his fingers dancing across the keyboard of his laptop. “Slight problem. One of our businesses. They don’t get the program.”

Cat walked over and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“Breakfast?” she murmured, nuzzling into his neck.

“
You go get ready, honey.”

Cat spent another wonderful half hour in the bathroom. She could get used to this, she knew. But, she must tell Christian about the apartment. The key was in her bag. She would take him up to the Pigalle district this morning.

“What do you want to do today honey?” Christian asked, as they settled down in the elegant hotel restaurant.

“
Have one of these wonderful croissants for a start.”

“
Try on wedding dresses, perhaps?”

“
There’s something else I have to tell you. It’s kind of a surprise, but a little awkward too …”

Chris
tian had his phone out. “I’m going to have to take this call. You enjoy breakfast.”

Cat sat bac
k in her chair. Well. Of course he had to take calls from New York, he couldn’t just stop because they were engaged now, could he? Life went on. Always.

Cat got out her own phone. There was a new message. She sighed, and lifted it up to her ear.
Loic. He was sorry for leaving so abruptly on Friday. He would be there on Monday. It was best they just get on with it. He hung up.

Cat shut her phone. She stood up, and wandered to the gorgeous buffet. Everything look
ed so delectable and she was starving. She had not eaten much last night with all the excitement.

S
he put some slices of orange and apple on her plate along with her croissant, and then walked back to her table.

Christian was still at his computer when Cat went up to the suite. She got her coat on and pulled on her gloves.

“Have to get this done honey.”

“
I’ll go out for a while, let you finish it off.”

Three hours later, Cat wandered back to the hotel. She had to tell Christian about the apartment, and the sooner, the better. The next time she went in to the building in Rue Blanche, she wanted to go with her fiancé.

Christian had finished his work. He was lying on the bed, flicking the remote at the television when Cat entered the suite.

“
Can we talk?”

Christian rested his arms behind his head and smiled at her.
“Did you do some shopping, honey, find anything nice?”

“
I took some photos of the Moulin Rouge actually. Then went up to Montmartre and took some more shots up there.”

There was a pause.

“Christian, I want to show you something.”

“
Sure, honey. We can do whatever you feel like today. I’m all yours.”

“
Come with me,” Cat said, and she took his hand.

The trip to the apartment seemed to go very fast. Cat kept up a steady flow of talk all the way there in the taxi. It was easier to keep to the subject of New York. She was absurdly excited but at the same time nervous as anything.  She and Anouk had been wiping away dust as they worked but the apartment still looked a real sight. Christian would probably think it was full of old tat, suggest that she sell it straight away. The very thought was impossible to bear now and she wanted to talk to Christian about Loic. How was she going to convince him to take what was his?

That was what she really had to discuss with Christian. It might take quite something to convince him that she would have to stay in Paris until she had sorted the apartment out, not to mention finding out where the mistake with the will really came from. 

When the taxi pulled up outside the building in Rue Blanche, she took a quick glance at Christian. He seemed nonplussed. Surprisingly, he was not asking any questions about where they were going or what she was proposing they did. He probably assumed they were going shopping, or to a gallery, perhaps. Christian wasn’t particularly interested in art. If Cat wanted to go to the Met, or to any other exhibition at home, she always went with a friend. She had given up asking Christian long ago. But, how would he react to a whole apartment full of old things? Cat’s insides fluttered while he paid for the taxi.

His reaction was so unexpected that Cat was entranced. He wandered, enchanted, through each of the rooms, stopping to pick up objects, and asking her to repeat the extraordinary story several times. When he wholeheartedly approved her decision to stay and sort things out, Cat hugged him.

The rest of the weekend whisked by in a flurry
of shopping trips and plans, as well as many phone calls back home. Just as he was about to leave, Christian landed a kiss on the top of Cat’s head.

“
I take it I have your permission to tell everyone about this?” He lifted her ring finger and kissed that too.

“
Bring it on!”

“
They all love you, you know.”

Cat wound her arms around his neck.
“It’s important to me.”

He picked up his carry on luggage.
“I know it is. I love that about you.” He hugged her one more time, and then he was gone.

Cat had half an hour to check out of the hotel, move her luggage back to her old hotel near the Opera, and get to the apartment to let Anouk in by nine.

But it was not Anouk who stood outside the apartment door when Cat bustled up the staircase. It was Loic.

He was wearing a black overcoat and scarf, and he held two cups of takeaway coffee in his hands. He held one of these out to Cat.

“Peace offering?” she asked.

“
I heard you Americans like this sort of thing.”

Cat took a sip of the coffee.
“French cardboard coffee makes all the difference,” she laughed. Cat unlocked the apartment door with her free hand.

To her surprise,
Loic took her arm and turned her to face him. “Sorry I stormed out.”

“
Have you … rethought things?”

“
I can’t take what isn’t mine.”

“
We both know it’s yours.”

“
There is one thing.”

“
Yes?”

He was silent for a moment.
“It’s my mother.”

“
She wants to claim her inheritance?”

“
She won’t do that.”

Cat felt an annoyed chuckle rising in her throat.
“Look, Loic, wouldn’t that be her decision?”

Loic
shook his head. “I know her.”

“
Are you sure?” Cat regretted the words as soon as they had come out. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Loic
chuckled. “Have you ever been to the south of France, Cat?”

“
I’ve only been out of the US once before!”

Loic
raised a brow.

“
What are you saying?”

There was the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Anouk.

Loic took a step closer. “Come to Provence and meet Sylvie. My mother.” He looked at her. “It’ll be important for her to meet you. It’ll make her feel far better.”

“
Yes, but -”

Anouk was on the landing. Cat glanced at the closed door.

Something tightened in Loic’s cheek. “At least, meet her, Cat.”

“
Loic …”

A knock sounded on the door, efficient.

“Wait.” Loic took Cat’s hand as she reached for the door. “Maman needs to see that you’re not, to be frank, a gold digger. I don’t want any of it, not if she didn’t leave it to us, but I want to make things as easy as possible under the circumstances, for Maman.”

“
I want to give your family their inheritance.”

“
Please.”

“
Hopefully, your mother will just take what’s hers.” Cat walked towards the door to let Anouk in. But then, she turned again. “I find it incredible that she left all of this. I am … stunned, to be honest. But, you should just take it all back. And … I need to get home.”

Loic
held her gaze. “It’s my mother who’ll you have to convince.”

Two hours later, they were in a steady routine. Anouk appeared to have recovered from the shock of finding the apartment on Friday, and was in professional mode. She worked quickly, and seemed immersed in making detailed lists on her laptop while simultaneously cross-checking every last piece, using her knowledge and online resources.

Cat and
Loic had been in the bedroom reading love letters from Marthe de Florian’s admirers for the entire morning. Loic read them aloud, translating effortlessly in his clear, confident English. So far all they had found were the most exquisite letters Cat had ever heard.

“
Oh, Mon Dieu,” Loic said, pulling a letter out of an envelope. “I am seeing things, I think.”

“
What is it?” Cat leaned in closer to him. They sat at a little side table by the window. Shafts of clear sun warmed the room, and Cat had made a neat pile of letters already read. “A famous actor? Aristocracy?”

“
She must have been incredibly beautiful,” Cat went on. “And smart. And talented.”

“
So it seems. But look at this, Cat.” He held out a letter.

Cat read the signature on the bottom.
“I’ve heard that name…”

Loic
chuckled. “Have you, just? Ring any bells, Americaine?”

Cat folded her arms.

“Georges Clemenceau was one of our Prime Ministers.”

“
Oh.”

“
Yes.”

“
So …” Cat felt mischief in her bones. “You know what that means.”

“
Highly unlikely, Cat.” But he was grinning.

“
But, you could be.”

Loic
put that letter by itself.

Cat smiled to herself.
“I’m hungry.” She stood up, called out to Anouk to let her know she was going out for food, but, just as she put her hand on the front door, Loic stood up.

“
Cat.”

“
Want to get some lunch with me?”

Loic
shook his head. “Don’t go.”

“
What?”

He was frowning over another letter.

Cat waited.

He looked up at her over the faded paper.
“You can’t go now.”

Cat moved to read over his shoulder. It was all there. Boldini. Attached to the thin paper, its once bold type faded now, there was a calling card. Giovanni Boldini. And in the letter, which
Loic read fast, translating it into English with the speed of a whippet, Boldini poured out all of his passion for the enchanting young Marthe de Florian.

Anouk was efficient. As soon as Loic handed her the letter, she was on her phone, straight to the Musee d’Orsay, speaking in rapid French. Then, she hung up and spoke, fast to Loic.

“
They are still reading his wife’s journals.”

“
I still can’t believe he did all that and had a wife,” Cat said.

“
Bien sur,” Loic grinned, his head on one side. “Of course.”

“
Typical.”

Anouk went back to her work.

“Not so, Cat,” Loic said. “Apparently Boldini didn’t marry until 1929. He was eighty-six. He painted Marthe in 1898. Anything else you’d like explained?”

Cat shrugged.

“He had no reason not to paint her,” Loic said, his voice gentle.

There was a silence for a moment.

“Did you make up your mind, Cat?”

“
What about?” Cat felt light headed.

“
You know.”

“
Loic, surely you can just convince your mother to take it all? I really can’t come to the south of France right now.”

“
It involves your past too, Cat.”

“
Oh, Virginia,” Cat sighed.

“
Okay, then, you just take it all and go back to New York.”

“
You play a hard game.”

“
Yes.”