The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [29]
“I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“You are a beautiful woman. You are in Paris and the only people you speak to on many days are Georges and I. And you are too thin. Don’t be foolish. You will go to dinner, laugh, flirt and eat until you can’t swallow another bite. There is a use, at times, for that kind of man.”
“But, Madame, you’re coming too, right?”
“Ah, Claire, I am not going. Monsieur invited you, not me.”
“He invited us both. And you accepted. For. Us. Both.”
Madame shook her head and sighed. Her hands dropped to her sides as if she didn’t have the will to hold on anymore. “You must pay better attention, Claire. There was what was said and what was meant. You will never learn to be Parisian if you insist on conversing like an unschooled American. You are impossible.” She left Claire alone in front of the mirror.
Soft yellow light glimmered from candles clustered in a silver tray in Claire’s dim bedroom. Staring into the full-length mirror, she smoothed the grey wool dress over her hips and twisted her body to view her silhouette. The bulky fabric helped hide her thinness and almost gave Claire her figure back. She’d been so active trying to help Madame make ends meet in the flower shop, her skin, though pale, exhibited a healthy glow. A touch of crimson red lipstick was all it took. Not bad, but something was missing.
She laughed. Of course, how could she have forgotten? She tugged the top drawer forward until its face rested on her bent knee and groped around behind the drawer’s backing until her fingers touched a hard bundle wedged against the wood. Her jewelry roll. Sitting on the bed, she untied the ribbon and unrolled the silk fabric.
In spite of herself, her pulse quickened. Diamonds. The necklace’s weight pressed into her palm, stones sparkling in the faint light. She hadn’t even thought of it since she put it away the day she arrived. She ran her hands over the sharp, cold edges. So ridiculously big! The pendant extended past the curves of her palm. Madame would pronounce it gauche. It was still ravishing. Claire slipped it on and let the pendant slip down toward the vee in her dress.
The touch of cold stones against her skin sent her mind back to the last evening she wore the jewels. Her final night at her brownstone in the city. Distance had faded the memory to a blur of men in tuxedos, women in diamonds and fur, and the orchestra playing Glenn Miller. Something out of a picture show, but the cold weight squeezing against her chest wouldn’t let her forget how it ended.
Claire dropped the necklace back into the cloth, rolled it into a ball and tucked it back into its hiding place. She was smarter now. She’d learned. She wouldn’t trade her life now, hungry and cold as she remained, to have that New York–socialite role back. Not for anything in the world. Including diamonds. Staring at the bare space the necklace left behind, she pulled a midnight blue scarf from the drawer and knotted it around her neck as Madame had taught her. Tonight she would be restrained. She would have impeccable poise. She would do and say as Madame would. She was Parisian now.
It was just a few blocks from the flower shop to Laurent’s apartment on rue d’Artois, but the cold and memories of Claire’s last trip down this street jarred her with each step. The blackout was in effect and the darkness of the city compounded her mood.
Claire arrived at Laurent’s doorway at the moment she determined she would turn around and go home. Better to face Madame’s chiding in the morning than walk in there again. Undoubtedly the sullen Englishman would be in attendance. It was clear in what regard he held Claire from their unfortunate meeting today. And she was confident she thought even less of him.
“Excusez-moi.”
Claire whipped around, bumping into the door. “Oh. It’s you.” She inspected Grey’s dark bundled