The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [166]
The clerk seemed perplexed, said, “Are you attending, sir? I was not aware.”
Franklin was perplexed himself, and Temple leaned forward, said in a low voice to the clerk, “May we know who the reception is for, sir?”
The clerk smiled now, a show of pride.
“We are honored tonight to receive a most famous Englishman, sir, Mr. Edward Gibbon.” The clerk lowered his voice, said to Franklin, “You know, sir, I am told he writes books!”
Franklin looked at Temple, saw feigned disinterest. Well, no, he is not so much like me after all. He had the wisdom not to assume that I am the center of every universe. The clerk was out from behind his desk, hoisted their two small bags, said, “If you will follow me, sir. Your room is this way.”
“Doctor! Dr. Franklin!”
The woman’s voice was familiar, and he saw the flutter of silk, a bright yellow flower moving toward him.
“My word, Madame Brillon! How very . . . surprising to see you.”
She moved close, took his arm, and Franklin was suddenly self-conscious, overwhelmed by a wave of her perfume, the stiff tower of her hair soaring high above them both. Temple began to back away slowly, and Franklin said, “Temple, you recall my friend, Madame Anne-Louise Brillon. What, my dear madame, has brought you away from Passy?”
“Really, Doctor, do I require an excuse? My husband is scarcely aware if I am home or not.” She laughed now, a girlish giggle, and he felt her grip tighten.
“You exaggerate, madame,” then thought, Well, no, she does not. Her husband was an assistant to a government minister, connected to the dreary operations of the king’s treasury, a much older man than the energetic woman who still held tightly to Franklin’s arm. Franklin had assumed her to be in her thirties, and from their first meeting in Passy, she had placed a strong grip on both his arm and his daydreams. He knew that Temple’s daydreams had run rampant as well, and more than once Franklin had to insist to his grandson that Madame Brillon was much more of a daughter to him than anything scandalous. If he did have scandalous thoughts, he was not about to reveal them to his grandson.
“Do come, Doctor! Mr. Gibbon is a most fascinating man! I had thought him to be much older, but he is far closer to my own age than . . . I mean, such insight into history . . .”
Franklin would not let her be embarrassed, interrupted, “Yes, that explains the costumes at the door. Roman. A salute to his work.”
She gripped him hard again, said, “Oh, Doctor. You know how much I am drawn to men of experience.”
He glanced at Temple, felt a rising heat on his face, said, “I should enjoy meeting Mr. Gibbon. However, it is not acceptable for me to invite myself. There might be some Englishmen present who would find my company to be objectionable.”
“Nonsense, Doctor!” She released him now, said to the clerk, “Excuse me, young sir, I would like to carry a note from Dr. Franklin to Mr. Gibbon.”
The young man dropped the bags, an unceremonious thump beside Franklin, returned to his desk, tore through papers, scrambled to find something suitable, then produced a pen, said, “Madame, please proceed. I will write.”
Franklin could see a blush on the clerk’s face as well, thought, Yes, young man, she has that effect. She took Franklin’s arm again, her softness melting him, and she dictated to the clerk, “Doctor Benjamin Franklin requests the honor and the pleasure of a meeting with Mr. Gibbon.”
IT HAD BEEN NEARLY AN HOUR, AND TEMPLE HAD RETIRED TO THEIR room, the young man’s endurance not what Franklin had hoped. He sat alone in the lobby, thought, Historians, even English ones have some value, surely. I should instruct my grandson to show respect. One day he might regret his impatience.
Madame Brillon had returned angrily to the reception. Her patience had become exhausted as well, more insulted than Franklin himself for his being made to wait just to enjoy the