Christmas in Paris Page 8

  * * *

  “PERSONALLY I THINK a spring wedding is nicer,” Bettina said when they were all eating cream of potato soup. “You can take photos in the Luxembourg Gardens and drive away in a Bentley convertible.”

  “Celine’s father’s sixtieth birthday is New Year’s Eve,” Alec explained, wishing the lump in his throat would disappear so he could enjoy the mushrooms in wine sauce. “We’re going to have a double celebration.”

  “We’ll have to cancel our vacation.” Bettina turned to Celine. “Every year Édouard and I go to Mustique the day after Christmas. Paris can get tedious with the tourists trampling through the Place Vendôme. Mustique has white sand beaches and colorful restaurants. Basil’s Bar is built on stilts and serves a delicious rum punch.”

  “We used to go to Mustique every January,” Celine replied. “My parents have a house overlooking Britannia Bay. It’s not elaborate like Mick’s, but you can see the tortoises and coral reefs.”

  “Mick?” Bettina asked.

  “Mick Jagger. He and my father play checkers.” Celine smiled. “He says he lets Mick win, but my father has always been a terrible loser.”

  “Alec never told me how you met,” Bettina said, suddenly changing the subject.

  “At a gallery opening.” Alec squeezed Celine’s hand. “My publisher sent me to rub elbows with the upscale clientele.”

  He wished he’d made up a secret code with Celine—her cat was ill and they had to go home and give her medicine—so they could leave. A silver coffeepot stood on the sideboard, and Alec thought they’d have to get through dessert and, if they were really unlucky, a glass of his father’s aged cognac.

  “How interesting.” Bettina studied Celine’s long eyelashes. “Are you an artist’s model?”

  Celine’s eyes darkened and Alec wished he could crawl under the table.

  “Celine is a translator for the United Nations. She’s trying to teach me Afrikaans.” Alec drained his wineglass. “But I’ve always been all thumbs when it comes to languages.”

  * * *

  “BETTINA TALKS TO Celine as if she were one of those wedding Barbies you see in the children’s section of Le Bon Marché,” Alec groaned, taking a bowl of whipped cream from the fridge.

  Claudia had asked for help with the apple flan and Alec jumped at the chance. Celine was in the powder room, and Alec was afraid if he was alone with Bettina and Édouard he would do something drastic.

  “It went fine, they even have something in common.” Claudia sprinkled powdered sugar onto white plates. “They both have vacationed on Mustique.”

  “How could she ask if Celine is an artist’s model?” Alec demanded. “Just because Celine has a body Degas would have loved doesn’t mean she spends her days draped in velvet and eating grapes.”

  “You thought she was a model when you met,” Claudia reminded him.

  “I’m a man, we’re born to make mistakes. Bettina has a degree in medieval history from the Sorbonne,” he sighed. “Not that she’s ever used it except to boast about her knowledge of the Crusades.”

  “Bettina thinks it is silly to have a career when they are going to get married and start a family,” Claudia replied.

  “Somebody better inform Édouard,” Alec muttered and his eyes were serious. “I don’t know why you defend her. She treats you like an unwelcome guest in your own home.”

  “She was a child when her mother left.” Claudia shrugged. “And she is right. The house belongs mainly to you and her.”

  “If Celine and I get married by January third, you won’t have to leave,” Alec said slowly. “Alain’s will says that whichever child gets married first has control of the house.”

  “Of course I’ll leave—40 Rue de Passy is the perfect place for a family,” Claudia insisted. “You’ll fill the nursery with Enid Blyton and the Hardy Boys mysteries. On weekends you’ll cook strawberry crepes and the children will bring in daffodils and get mud all over the wood floor.” She paused. “You’ll start to say ‘When will you learn to wipe your feet?’ and then you’ll inhale the scent of baby shampoo and fresh cut flowers and realize you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “You belong here,” Alec insisted. “Celine’s father gave her an apartment on the Rue Saint-Honoré that is steps from the Tuileries Gardens. If we run out of bedrooms we’ll buy a flat on a leafy street in Saint-Germain-des-Prés.”

  “I do love this house,” Claudia sighed. “When I sit in the library, I can still hear your father yelling at the politicians on the television. No matter who was elected prime minister, he always wanted someone else…” She hesitated. “I hope your sudden marriage has nothing to do with Bettina and me.”

  “Of course not. Marriage is the most impossible institution,” Alec scoffed. “What chance does love have when every day you are presented with land mines: When are you supposed to take out the garbage? Did she ask you to pick up a jar of mustard or salad dressing? Who would want to spend their life with the person they want to please most?”

  “Then why are you getting married?” Claudia asked.

  Alec pictured the way Celine ate spaghetti without getting sauce on her napkin. When she stepped onto the boulevard, taxis lined up to pick her up. And when he caught sight of her reading a magazine at the newsagent, he wondered who this exquisite creature was until he moved closer and realized she was his.

  Alec clutched the bowl of whipped cream. “Because I can’t do anything else.”

  * * *

  THEY RETURNED TO the dining room and ate apple flan and berries and whipped cream. Bettina and Celine discovered they both got their hair done at Christophe Robin on the Rue de Rivoli and had the same art history professor at the Sorbonne.

  Alec glanced at his watch and thought they could say their good-byes. Édouard looked like he needed a nap and his mother enjoyed watching the BBC on Sunday afternoons.

  “I really don’t understand,” Bettina said, stirring cream into a Limoges demitasse.

  “Don’t understand what?” Alec asked.

  Bettina turned to Celine and her lips were pursed. “What you could possibly see in Alec.”

  * * *

  “HOW DARE SHE say that?” Alec bristled, taking off his blazer.

  It was early evening and they were standing in Celine’s living room. Alec had walked straight to the bar and poured a large sherry.

  “Say what?” Celine slipped off her sandals.

  “That she doesn’t know what you see in me. I may not perform cerebrovascular surgery like Édouard, but Gus influences the lives of children in sixteen countries,” Alec replied. “Yesterday I got a letter from a boy in Guam who wasn’t allowed to have a dog so he named his hamster Gus. He’s teaching him how to play fetch.”

  “A hamster can’t play fetch,” Celine laughed.

  “That’s the point, Gus isn’t just a children’s book. It’s a springboard for their imagination.” His eyes flickered. “They read about Gus fighting bulls in Pamplona or parasailing in the Maldives and realize they can do anything.”

  “I’m going to bed,” Celine announced. “I have to be at work early.”

  “But it’s only seven PM,” Alec protested, watching her take off her diamond earrings.

  He clutched his glass and thought Bettina wasn’t the only one acting like a child. He behaved as if she still had the power to deprive him of the last vanilla custard. It didn’t matter what Bettina said; he and Celine were madly in love.

  He followed her into the bedroom and closed the door. He walked over to her and kissed her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “That dress has a difficult zipper,” he whispered. “I’m going to help you take it off.”

  He unzipped her dress and slipped the other hand around her waist. His fingers explored the warm flesh at the top of her thigh, and suddenly Bettina and 40 Rue de Passy disappeared like a genie’s bottle. God! She was sweet and wet, and when he slid his fingers inside her, her whole body shuddered.
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  He caressed her, pulling her against his chest. Celine cried out and he lifted her up and wrapped her legs around his thighs. She leaned down and kissed him and he thought any minute he would explode.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “You’re the only thing that matters.”

  “I love you too,” she murmured, a small moan escaping her lips.

  He laid her down on the floral bedspread and unbuttoned his shirt. She unsnapped her bra and her breasts were two golden pieces of fruit. Alec slipped off her silk panties and slid inside her and she clung to his back. He slowed his rhythm until Celine whispered his name and then he picked up speed and they came together in one dizzying thrust.

  The sky outside the window was pink and purple, and Alec draped his arm around Celine’s waist. Was there anything as terrible and magical as love? And once you found it, could you ever live without it?

  * * *

  NOW ALEC ATE another handful of pistachio nuts and wondered why he was even thinking about Celine; she was in a different hemisphere. But if he called Bettina, he would have to explain why Celine left. Bettina would purr like a kitten with a warm bowl of milk.

  He straightened his bow tie and heard a knock on the door. He opened it and saw an unfamiliar figure in a red satin gown. Her hair was knotted in a chignon and she wore long white gloves.

  “Hello,” he said uncertainly.

  “That’s not a very enthusiastic welcome.” Isabel smiled, entering the room.

  “It’s you,” Alec gasped. “I didn’t recognize you.”

  “Were you expecting another woman to go dancing with?” Isabel glanced at his white dinner jacket and tan slacks.

  “Of course not, I don’t want to go dancing at all.” Alec bristled, studying her slender shoulders. “You just look different, like a movie poster.”

  “Do you think the gloves are too much?” Isabel asked and laughed. “The woman was right. The price tag on this dress was less than the ones in the window, so I thought I was getting a bargain. The gloves are Italian silk and were only an extra fifty euros. I felt like I came out ahead.”

  “What woman?” Alec walked to the desk.

  “I met a strange woman in the couture section of Le Printemps. She said no one buys the designs in the window. They’re overpriced and the styles are outrageous,” Isabel explained. “She showed me the dresses in the back and said this Oscar de la Renta was perfect.”

  “It is lovely,” Alec admitted.

  “She was like a fairy godmother.” Isabel’s brown eyes sparkled. “I looked in the mirror and knew I couldn’t wear anything else.”

  “First you believe in fortune-tellers and now you have a fairy godmother.” Alec frowned. “You’re the most unlikely financial analyst.”

  “Being an analyst is all about hunches and superstitions.” Isabel fiddled with her diamond clip. “I know an analyst who wore a striped tie on the day the stock market crashed, so he refuses to wear a striped tied again.” She paused. “It’s only the numbers that are constant. How they end up on the screen is a combination of magic and voodoo.”

  “I’ll remember that if I ever hire a stockbroker,” Alec laughed.

  “Is this your latest drawing?” Isabel stood at the desk. “Gus looks very pleased with himself.”

  “He just discovered a treasure chest and he’s going to give the jewels to the local children.” Alec picked up the drawing. “Except to the boys who play cricket, they have their pressed white slacks and shiny black balls. They don’t need anything else.”

  “Not all cricket players go around stealing other men’s fiancées,” Isabel laughed.

  “A friend was here and reminded me I haven’t told my sister, Bettina, that the wedding was canceled,” Alec said. “It brought up old memories, like a toothache that won’t go away.”

  “Why don’t you call Bettina?” Isabel asked.

  “She thought I wasn’t good enough for Celine.” Alec poured a glass of scotch. “She didn’t know why she was marrying me.”

  “Why would she say that?” Isabel wondered.

  “Celine does look like the female lead in a James Bond movie, she could stop traffic by stepping out of a taxi.” He rubbed his brow. “But it’s more complicated. A bit like those nighttime American soap operas you see on television with French subtitles.”

  “It sounds fascinating.” Isabel perched on an ivory love seat.

  “Bettina’s mother left my father and ran away with a farmer when she was three years old,” he began. “She never forgave my mother for marrying Alain, she wanted him all to herself.”

  “But she was a child,” Isabel murmured. “Surely your parents made her behave.”

  “My mother was determined for Bettina to feel loved, and my father was more comfortable with his newspapers and boxes of cigars.” He sipped his drink. “When Bettina was four, she marched into my father’s study with her favorite Madeline doll. She said he could have it as long as he sent me back wherever I came from.”

  “Older sisters are often jealous of little brothers.” Isabel grinned. “But that was ages ago, you’re both adults.”

  “Bettina has a memory like an elephant. And it doesn’t help that Celine and I were engaged after three months and she and Édouard have been together for four years,” he sighed. “Édouard seems as eager to propose as Queen Elizabeth is to give up the throne.”

  “You have to tell her,” Isabel insisted. “She won’t be happy if she shows up at an empty cathedral with a set of Villeroy and Boch demitasses.”

  “I’ll call her tomorrow.” He put his glass on the sideboard. “You paid a fortune for these tickets, we don’t want to be late.”

  “We’re going to have a wonderful time.” Isabel rubbed her lips. “I read an article about the ball in Paris Match. It’s attended by ducs and marquises and viscounts.”

  “It sounds like a chapter from The Three Musketeers.” Alec grimaced, walking to the door. “I’ll be happy with a glass of Dom Pérignon and a plate of veal sweetbreads.”

  “Wait,” Isabel called.

  Isabel walked toward him and put her hands around his neck. He inhaled her scent of jasmine perfume and felt slightly dizzy.

  “Your tie was crooked.” She stepped back and her face lit up in a smile. “Now it’s perfect.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and realized he had been holding his breath. “I’ve always been hopeless at tying my own tie.”

  * * *

  THEY CROSSED THE Place de la Concorde and Alec felt a rush of pride. Paris in the winter could be damp and bitter, but the Christmas tree glittered like an elaborate charm bracelet, and the obelisk was a shimmering beacon, and the stone facade of the Petit Palais took his breath away.

  “It’s magnificent.” Isabel gazed up at the wide columns and gold inlaid doors. “It’s like a scene from The Arabian Nights.”

  “The Petit Palais was built for the world’s fair in 1900,” Alec explained. “It was designed in the Beaux Arts style and takes up a city block. The columns are pink Vosges granite and the mosaic floors were imported from Italy.”

  The interior courtyard had a domed cupola and sweeping murals and a glass bar lined with crystal bottles. There was an ice sculpture and platters of black-truffle brioche and smoked eel and pork rillettes.

  “I thought the Red Cross was all about thick bandages and those little white hats.” Alec whistled. “This looks like a scene from the Decameron.”

  “Parisian women are so sophisticated.” Isabel glanced at women wearing sapphire pendants and shimmering cocktail dresses. “How am I supposed to compete with baronesses wearing emerald brooches inherited from the Duchess of Montpensier?”

  “You’re an American, it’s the most competitive race on earth.” Alec took a champagne flute from a passing waiter. “Is that the way you behave before a client presentation?”

  “That’s different. When I walk into a conference room, it’s like one of those sand puzzles that you shake and it falls into place,” Isabel
said. “No matter how nervous I am, I relax.”

  “Getting a viscount to ask you to dance is easier than predicting the consumption of chia seeds in Japan,” Alec insisted.

  “Picking the right husband isn’t easy at all…” Isabel’s voice wavered. “I thought Neil and I were in love. He looked handsome in a tuxedo and we enjoyed doing the fox-trot and the waltz.” Her eyes were huge. “Until a month before the wedding, when he decided to quit his job and insisted we move to his grandparents’ farm so he could spend his days in cowboy boots.” She smoothed her skirt. “I didn’t expect to attend black-tie galas every week, but it is nice to get dressed up and feel young and pretty.”

  “You’re going to do fine.” He pointed to the circular foyer. “All you need to do is hold a glass of champagne and stand over there.”

  “Why should I do that?”

  Alec studied her brown eyes and dark eyelashes and slender neck.

  “Because you’ll be the first thing a man sees when he hands his wool overcoat to the coat-check girl.” He paused. “And he won’t look anywhere else.”

  * * *

  ISABEL SIPPED CHAMPAGNE under a framed Pissarro, and Alec’s shoulders relaxed. She really was striking in the red satin gown, like a ballerina on one of Bettina’s music boxes. He really had to stop thinking about his sister; she was like Maleficent at Aurora’s christening.

  The sideboard was filled with silver platters of caviar dumplings and baked sea bass and onions au gratin. He looked up and saw Isabel talking to a blond man in a silk tuxedo. She caught Alec’s eye and a smile lit up her face. He grabbed a plate and noticed a familiar figure wearing a black tuxedo and gold watch.

  “What are you doing here?” Mathieu approached him. “You usually avoid any occasion that requires shirt studs and cuff links.”

  “I’m doing a favor for a friend,” Alec explained. “No wonder your rates have gone up if you’re hobnobbing with barons and comtes at a two-hundred-euro-a-plate ball.”

  “Helene’s boss gave her the tickets for Christmas.” Mathieu sipped his champagne. “She wanted to wear her Pucci gown while she could still do up the zipper.”