The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [137]
Claire hid a smile. She had met him eight months ago, the day of the liberation, when he and Odette had found Jacques in the hospital. Since then, Gerard had sprouted.
“Good day, Miss Badeau,” he said, in English, carefully enunciating the words she knew he had practiced with his father all the way down the block.
“Good day, Gerard.”
Gerard plopped his package down on the counter; a large blue cloth rolled tightly and secured with twine. Proudly, with great show, he unrolled the fabric across the entire counter. In fine script, it read La Vie en Fleurs. Below was an exquisitely painted pale pink rose, so real it seemed to have its own fragrance.
Claire shut her eyes, her head bowed. The shop was hers. The full weight of the gift that was this simple shop made her heart stir in her chest. Now Jacques, who had become so dear to her, had scrounged a bolt of heavy canvas and created a new sign with the men and ink at his liberated presses.
Gerard watched her, concern written in the wrinkles on his forehead. This was not the reaction he was looking for. “Is something not correct?”
“I love it, Gerard.” She swallowed the emotion and regained the poise Madame Palain would have expected. She smiled at him fully. “It is beautiful. Magnifique.” She looked up to Jacques, tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes.
He nodded, hands in pockets. He indicated the bare framework outside the door with the tilt of his head. “I will come back with helpers tomorrow. Odette too. We will hang it, if you approve.”
“I approve. I wholeheartedly approve. Merci, Jacques.” She kissed Gerard then Jacques on both cheeks. “You are good men.”
Gerard beamed.
Jacques shrugged. “Good.” He reached for Gerard’s shoulder. Side by side, father and son stepped from the shop and disappeared down the street.
Claire turned back toward the sign. She ran her fingers over the fabric, memorizing the feel of the rough texture of these threads, burning the image in her mind. Proof that Madame’s elegance and beauty lived. And someday, somehow, Marta and Anna would be welcomed back to Claire’s arms by this symbol.
The door creaked again behind her. A husky male voice said, “Have you any lilies today, Madame?”
Claire froze, breath stranded in her chest. Strength left her; she clenched the countertop. Her elbow glanced off a pail of flowers that clattered to the floor. She held perfectly still, afraid any movement would break the spell and end this dream she’d woken from so often.
“Claire, look at me.”
Reaching for a rose, she cupped the blossom under her nose. She spoke toward the photo in front of her. “There was a marble statue of a woman in that garden. The roses there smelled of honeyed tea and sunshine. And their color was—”
“Like the pearl of a shell,” he said.
The air was freed from her chest and she breathed deeply.
“Did they please you?” he said.
Claire snapped the cane from the rose and tucked it behind an ear. A smile played at her lips. “The garden pleased me very much.” She turned.
Thomas Grey sagged against the doorway. His heavy beard covered a face made sharp by hunger. His clothes hung in tatters; a dirty bandage covered a knee.
Claire held the smile on her face. She moved to the door and faced him. “You’re late,” she said.
“The road was long.” His slate eyes penetrated her soul. He pulled her against him. “But I’m here now.”
She exhaled his name as she softened into the warmth of his embrace. This dream was real. Her damn Englishman must have walked all the way from a liberated German prison. She gazed into his face, ran her fingers over his cheek. “The first thing you’re going to do, Grey, is shave that beard.”
He smiled. “No. That is the second thing.” With two fingers, he tilted her chin up.
With both hands, she grabbed the man she loved and pressed her lips against his.
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The Last Time I Saw Paris
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. Claire’s most prized possession when she left Manhattan was her Cartier jewelry. How did the importance