Three Weeks in Paris (30 page)

For a short while they walked along the quay, enjoying
each other, the weather, and the charming views of the Seine. Its rippling waters glittered in the sunlight, and suddenly a faint breeze blew up, rustled through the trees that grew alongside the Seine, made the leaves flutter and dance in the silvery light.

They paused for a moment, looking down, and Alexa smiled at the sight of the colorful
bateaux-mouches
smoothly moving down the river, leaving frothy trails in their wake.

She had always enjoyed the trips she had taken on them, especially those in the evenings with Tom years ago. Paris at night was romantic and magical when seen from the river on a slow-moving boat, the glittering lights of the city illuminating the inky sky. There was nowhere like it in the world.

Almost as though he had read her thoughts, Tom said, “We must take a
bateau-mouche
one night. I must admit I always enjoyed our evenings sailing along the Seine.”

“How funny, Tom, that you would say that. I was just thinking the same thing.”

Hand in hand, they walked on, heading toward the Quai Voltaire. Ahead, reaching into the sky, were the great towers of Nôtre-Dame, hazy now in the soft afternoon light of Paris, a light loved by artists over the centuries and so frequently captured on canvas.

To Alexa, Paris had never looked more beautiful than it did today. It was a city that forever took her by surprise.

She remembered once getting caught in a thunderstorm, and hurrying through the streets drenched, looking for a taxi. And then unexpectedly she had abandoned the idea of finding a cab, suddenly enjoying walking in the pouring rain … and she had been filled with happiness that night, glad to be in this city, the city of her dreams.…

As they reached the Quai Malaquais, Tom said, “Let’s
head down into Saint-Germain-des-Prés and have something to drink before going home. A coffee, whatever.”

Alexa nodded in agreement, and still holding hands, they strolled down the Rue Bonaparte, and into a huddle of quaint old cobbled streets. Here there were chic boutiques, antiques shops, art galleries, and picturesque cafés that gave charm and character to this arrondissement. Several times they stopped to look in the windows of the boutiques, and paid a quick visit to one of Tom’s favorite art galleries, but for the most part they did not linger, moved on at a steady pace.

By the time they reached the Place de l’Odéon, Alexa knew Tom was taking her to the Café Voltaire, once the favorite spot of the eighteenth-century French writer and philosopher of the same name.

They found a table outside and she was glad to sit down, settling into a chair under the awning, relaxing after their long walk. After ordering coffee for them both, Tom loosened his tie and opened the neck of his shirt. “It has become quite warm,” he said, glancing at her. “Do you want to take your sweater off?”

“Yes, I will.” She loosened the cashmere sweater tied around her neck and laid it across her knees. Turning to Tom, she added, “If Anya invites you to her party, will you come?”

“Only if I can be your date.” He hesitated, then raised a brow, asked, “Or is your English friend going to be your escort that night?”

“Of course not!” she exclaimed, looking askance, her voice rising slightly. “Only I was invited, and I’m sure it’s the same with the other women. Nicky told me the guests are mostly favored students from past years, her rather extended Russian, English, and French family, and some of her old friends.” Alexa gave him a hard stare. “Anyway, I
told you last night that I wanted to be with you, and on a permanent basis, married or not. So how could you possibly think I would want to take Jack, even if I’d invited him? I would have to ask him not to come, if that were the case.”

She sounded so angry, he reached out, took her hand in his, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. “Such a dear little hand, I love it so,” he murmured. “Don’t be angry with me, Alexa.”

“I’m not, not really.” She cleared her throat, changed the subject. “Did your father tell you anything else? Were you holding anything back when we were at Anya’s?”

“Not exactly. Dad didn’t have much more information. But he did say that Jean Beauvais-Cresse was known to be something of a recluse, not often seen around the village or at the local church. By the way, Dad did tell me he was married, and that there was a child. But that’s about it. As I said at Anya’s, my parents have not lived in the Loire all that long, and much of what he knows is local gossip anyway.”

“I understand.” Alexa paused, looked off into the distance.

After a moment or two of watching her, Tom said quietly, “Is there something wrong, Alex? You’re looking somewhat pensive.”

A little sigh escaped her. “I was just thinking about Lucien Girard. If he
is
Jean Beauvais-Cresse and he just decided to go back to his old life one day, he must be a truly cruel man. Imagine doing something like that to Jessica, or any woman. I know Jessica suffered terribly, and Anya told me she’s never married. She’s probably been carrying a torch for Lucien all these years.”

He frowned. “Do you really think so?”

“Yep, I do.” She half laughed, and looked at him pointedly. “Women tend to be like that, you know.” Me included,
she thought, but refrained from saying so. “And there’s something else, Tom. Just think of her grief, believing that something really bad happened to him.” She sighed. “It makes me so mad.”

“I can understand why. Obviously Nicky didn’t know Lucien well, and if my father has no additional information, I think we just have to forget I ever mentioned Jean.”

“Not so easy.” Again Alexa stared ahead, her eyes narrowing slightly, and after a moment or two of thoughtful reflection, she turned to Tom, put her hand on his arm. “I think I have the solution … a way to find the truth.”

“You do?” Tom sounded surprised, and just a little alarmed by the determined look that had flashed onto her face.

The waiter arrived with their cups of coffee, and once he was out of earshot, Alexa said carefully, “Here’s my plan. I think we should go to the Loire and confront this man who so resembles Lucien Girard.”

Tom sat back, obviously flabbergasted by her suggestion. For a moment he did not speak, and then taking a deep breath, he replied, “And I think that’s asking for trouble … perhaps even legal trouble.”

“No, no, I didn’t put it quite right,” Alexa exclaimed. “Let me start all over again. You and I, with Jessica, should drive down to the Loire Valley one day next week, if you can spare the time. Otherwise we have to go on the weekend. Once we arrive at Jean’s house, Jessica and I will remain in the car while you go to the door. If Jean answers the door, you can simply tell him you have a client who wants to shoot a historical movie in the Loire, and is looking for appropriate châteaux in which to film the interior scenes. Once you get him engaged in conversation, Jessica and I will get out of the car and walk over to join you. If he
is
Lucien, you’ll know, Tom, and so will we. He’ll be in shock.”

Tom nodded. “I’m following you. And if he’s not Lucien, he won’t recognize either of you, is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Correct.”

“But, Alex, Lucien was an actor. He
could
fake it, couldn’t he?”

“I don’t think he was that good an actor, Tom. He wasn’t in the running for an Academy Award.”

Tom burst out laughing, shaking his head. “There’s just one thing, though. You will have to tell Jessica, obviously, and that could open up her old wounds.”

“It will. But look, if we solve a seven-year-old mystery and she gets closure
finally
, then that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Immediately, Tom saw the sense in what she was saying, and told her so, adding, “But I’d like to think it through, sleep on it, Alex, before making a final decision. Also, it would be wise to leave Jessica in the dark, for the moment anyway.”

“I agree with you,” she said.

————

“WHERE IS YOUR PARENTS’
house in the Loire?” Alexa asked. She and Tom had left the Café Voltaire and were walking back toward the Faubourg Saint-Germain and Tom’s apartment.

“They’re in that beautiful two-hundred-mile stretch of the Loire that is known as the Valley of the Kings,” Tom answered. “It’s between Orléans and Tours, and the reason it’s called the Valley of Kings is because there are so many magnificent châteaux there.”

“Yes, I learned all about the Valley of Kings in Anya’s French history class,” Alexa informed him. “Almost three hundred châteaux stand there, including some of the
greatest … Chambord, Cheverny, Chinon, Chaumont, Amboise, Azay-le-Rideau, Close-Lucé, and Chenonceau, and I know it’s a very beautiful area.”

“Sublime,” Tom said, glanced down at her, added, “but my parents don’t have a grand château, Alex. Just a charming manor house in rather lovely grounds sitting on a bend in the River Cher, a tributary of the Loire. Basically it’s quite a small estate, and that’s one of the reasons they love it. Also, it’s only about an hour and a half from Paris, so they can easily move back and forth between their apartment here and the Loire.”

“So we could go there and back in one day, couldn’t we?”

“Yes.
If
we decide to go and see Jean,” he answered quietly. “But as I said, I must think about that idea, and I must also mention it to my father. I don’t want to cause any problems for my parents.”

“I understand, of course. By the way, did you tell your father the whole story? About Jessica and Lucien, I mean? Or did you just ask him about his neighbor?”

“I told him the whole story. You’ve met Dad, you know what he’s like. He wasn’t CEO of a giant American company in Paris for twenty-five years for nothing. He knew what questions to ask, how to get to the root of it all, and I must say he was very understanding, wanted to help in any way he could.”

“I knew he would. I always liked your father, he reminds me of you. Or, rather, you remind me of him in so many ways.”

Tom laughed. “I’m a chip off the old block, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yep. And where is Jean’s house? I suppose it must be nearby?”

“Not too far away, and it’s not a house, Alex. It’s one of those grand châteaux we were just talking about. Very old.

Been in the Beauvais-Cresse family for centuries. I think it was built in the 1600s, or thereabouts. It’s quite magnificent, and basically it’s an agricultural estate, a lot of farming goes on there.”

“At Anya’s you mentioned something about a title.”

“That’s right. Jean is the Marquis de Beauvais-Cresse, to give him his accurate name.”

“I see.” She sighed. “It’s such a peculiar story, isn’t it? The way Lucien just disappeared overnight …”

“There are thousands of cases of missing persons,” Tom told her. “
Hundreds of thousands
, if we consider all the countries in the world. People do disappear, and just like that.” As he spoke, he snapped his thumb and finger together, then continued. “Some are the victims of foul play and their bodies are never found. Others do suffer an injury that results in amnesia. And then there are those who disappear because they want to.”

“I know, that’s the problem.”

Noticing the disconsolate expression on her face, the sudden weariness in her tone, Tom changed the subject, said, “Have you ever been to Chenonceau?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I want to take you there. But that won’t be possible if and when we go with Jessica to the Loire. So perhaps you’d come another weekend. We could stay with my parents and I’d drive you over there, it’s not very far. You see, this is the thing … Chenonceau has a connection to Mary Stuart … the
petite Reinette d’Ecosse
, as she was called in France in those days.”

“What connection?”

“The legendary château was once the home of Henri II, who gifted it to his mistress, Diane de Poitiers, but Henri and his son Francis II, and
his
wife, Mary Queen of Scots, all spent a lot of time there.”

“How interesting. I’d like to see it, and some of the
other châteaux as well. There might be one or two people, owners of châteaux, who would let us film there for a fee.”

“I’ve no doubt.”

They walked on in silence for a while. At one moment Tom stopped, took hold of Alexa’s arm, and turned her to face him. Looking deeply into her eyes, he said, “Quarrel or no quarrel, you really are being a good friend to Jessica. I admire you for that.”

“When Lucien disappeared, her life changed radically,” Alex replied. “Never to be the same again, that I surely know. Because his body was never found, there has been no closure. I’m sure that’s why Jessica hasn’t been able to settle down with another man. In my opinion, that is. And if I have a chance to help her, as I now think I do, why wouldn’t I?”

Tom searched her face, then brought her into the circle of his arms. Against her dark head he said softly, “I see into your heart, my sweet Alex … and you are truly a good person.” She did not answer, and he held her tightly for a moment longer. And then he thought: She fills the empty places in my heart, she makes me whole.

“I’M SO GLAD YOU COULD COME EARLY, DARLING,” ANYA
said, smiling across at Alexa. “I just want to go over a couple of things before the others arrive.”

“And I have something to tell you,” Alexa responded, settling in the chair opposite Anya. The two women were sitting in the small library that opened onto the gardens. It was another beautiful day, and the French doors were wide open to reveal a view of the cobbled courtyard and the cherry tree.

“What is it you wish to tell me?” Anya probed.

Alexa shook her head. “Tell me first why you wanted me to come earlier than the others, and then I’ll explain something to you, an idea I’ve had.”

“All right.” Anya sat up a little straighter in the chair and continued. “I want everything ironed out between the four of you today, Alexa. This feud is beginning to be ridiculous, and I’m looking to
you
to create harmony among you.”

“I’ll do my best, and I agree with you actually. After yesterday’s confrontation with Maria, I don’t like the thought of any more of them. They’re too upsetting. Let’s face it, we’re all around thirty and we should know better by now.”