I'll See You in Paris (39 page)

 

Seventy-one

ÎLE SAINT-LOUIS

PARIS

MARCH 1973

In early March a frost settled upon Paris.

Though it made for slippery sidewalks and drafty homes, at dark, beneath Paris's glittering lights, the city shimmered.

Win and Pru walked home late one night. Both were decked out in coats and scarves but they bunched together tightly, succumbing to a need for closeness that had little to do with keeping warm.

“I'm beginning to wonder,” she said as they crossed the footbridge near the Notre-Dame. “First you took me to Le Sept. Now this play. Do I need to start questioning your sexual preferences? Or does anything go in Paris?”

They'd come from the Th
éâ
tre du Palais-Royal, where they watched a production of the new play
La Cage aux Folles,
a story centered around two gay men. It was the first of its kind.

“You're questioning my sexual proclivities?” Win said with an abrupt halt.

They were at the center of the bridge, the Seine dancing below, the grounds around them still. There were no tourists that time of night or even that time of year. In the summer, people flocked to the square outside Notre-Dame along with the pigeons. Win's island was not the tourist mecca it'd one day become but it had its fair share of guests. Yet in that moment the city felt like theirs alone.

“Yes,” Pru said. “I
am
questioning it. Don't look so glum! I used to live in San Francisco. You'll get no judgment from me.”

“How can you doubt the persuasion of such a strapping man?”

“There's the insistence on gay nightclubs for one,” she said, smiling.

“Hmm. I seem to recall a certain American sweaty and winded from all the fun
she
was having at such places.”

“I wasn't sweaty! Maybe a touch damp.”

“You were a lot damp.”

Pru rolled her eyes.

“What's more,” Pru said. “Tonight you took me to a gay-themed play. Are you trying to tell me something, Lord Winton? Don't be shy. This is the seventies. You no longer have to hide your true feelings. It'd probably make you more interesting to the general population in any case.”

She tried to walk on, but for once Win refused to let a pointed comment go ignored.

“Pru,” he said and grabbed her arm.

He pulled her back around.

“I'm not gay,” he said with more earnest than necessary.

“I'm only kidding—”

“It'd be easier in some respects. My family would hate it but at least they'd be able to more easily pinpoint their dissatisfaction. Alas, men are selfish, hideous, hairy creatures and it'd be terrifying to crawl into bed with such a monster.”

“Hmm, you are a monster, yes,” Pru said. “Honestly, though? I sort of wish you were.”

She tried to smile, though her eyes were too forlorn to pull off the cheer.

“What do you mean?” Win asked, already regretting the question.

“Well, for one, it would explain why you seem to enjoy my company while summarily rejecting my romantic advances.”

“Sounds like you've caught the batshit insanity bug from Lady M.,” he tried.

“I'm struggling to not take this personally,” Pru said as her mouth began to quiver. “I'm putting everything into brushing off what happened, or didn't happen. I don't want to be some tiresome girl boring you to death with my insecurities, but you have to understand…”

“Pru.”

“What?”

“Just … Pru…”

“You can't keep doing this—”

Then suddenly, to his great surprise, and especially to hers, Win leaned forward and kissed her. He felt her gasp as their lips met.

It was a simple kiss, a sweet one, but Win thought that if he never had another in his lifetime, this one would suffice. Pru's kiss was enough to carry him through the next ten thousand tomorrows.

Later, Win would remember this feeling and think maybe he turned it into his very own curse. One kiss. One chance. Perhaps the mere thought cemented their fate, launching Pru out of his grasp completely and forever.

 

Seventy-two

ÎLE SAINT-LOUIS

PARIS

MARCH 1973

When the kiss ended, Win wrapped both arms around Pru's waist, replacing one contact with another, afraid to let go. The press of her body against his was almost too much to bear, even though their coats remained a barrier between them.

Without a word or even much thought, Win grabbed Pru's hand, a tad gruffly, and led her off the bridge.

Control yourself,
Win thought at the time,
no proper woman wants her clothes ripped off in the middle of Paris.

Good thing it was so damned cold.

After crossing the bridge, they hurried along the quay, Pru too bewildered to speak. Win checked his watch. It was just after midnight. Would Jamie be awake? Fifty-fifty odds.

As for the duchess, she was probably gallivanting throughout the city. They'd already contemplated whether Mrs. Spencer might've chucked the biography idea altogether to instead reel out her days re-creating her former Parisian salons. The notion, it wasn't half bad. Win was close to chucking the story, too.

When Win and Pru arrived in front of his building, they looked up together, searching for lights in windows, evidence of life. Win allowed himself to look at her then. With Pru's eyes lifted heavenward and the moon illuminating her cheeks, Win found he couldn't hold back a heartbeat longer. He grabbed Pru's chin and turned her face toward his.

Then he kissed her. Harder this time, and Pru kissed back, no hesitation on her lips.

Still soundless, they made their way inside the building and up the marble staircase. Their legs felt shaky, anemic. The top floor seemed miles away.

Inside the apartment, all was calm, the only light from the hallway, the only sound the hum-tick of the old refrigerator. Win laughed in relief.

“Thank God,” Pru said, knowing his thoughts exactly.

Thank God.
They were the first words spoken since their kiss.

In a flurry, they ditched their coats, their gloves, their scarves, and stumbled toward the back of the flat. Though they were still fully clothed, they felt almost naked, their top layers having been shed.

On that night Pru wore a long dress. It was semisheer and dotted with pinpoint flowers, the whole getup cinched around the waist with a belt of string she called “macram
é
.” The outfit was not appropriate for winter or, really, for any season in Paris. She was Win's misplaced California girl and he loved her all the more for it.

“Stop,” he said as she removed her belt. “Stop.” His voice softened. “I want to see you like that.”

“Like this?” Pru laughed. “You realize I'm still dressed, right? Oh Lord, maybe you
are
gay.”

Still smiling, she undid the top two buttons of the dress, and then the third and fourth. Win tried to appear undaunted by the full, round tops of her breasts, breasts much fuller than he'd expect for someone of her tiny frame.

Eyes fixed on Pru, Win labored to extricate himself from his own clothes. His pants caught on his knees and he had to brace himself against a dresser to stay upright.

“You are outstandingly uncoordinated, aren't you?” Pru said as she threw her dress overhead, revealing gauzy pink underpants beneath. As it turned out, she wore no bra.

Win was in his undergarments but it hardly mattered, so obvious was his,
ahem,
reaction to the display. Poor bastard, acting like a bloody rookie.

Within seconds they were both stripped to nothing and on the bed. Her skin, it was so damned warm. And soft. It almost tasted that way too. How she felt beneath him, and him atop her, it was as if they'd practiced, studied, and hired private tutors to get it so astoundingly right.

And then.

“Win!” said a voice, followed by a thud on the door. “Win! Open up!”

The couple froze. A piece of Win's hair dropped down and tickled Pru's forehead. She wiggled out from under him. He lifted up onto an elbow but kept one hand protectively on the soft, low part of her belly.

“Is that your brother?” she whispered.

“Jamie, now is not a good time,” Win barked. Then added: “The worst possible time, actually.”

“It's important. Might I come in?”

He was already walking through the door as Win said, “Absolutely not.”

“Sorry, mate,” Jamie said. “You can get back to the shagging in a jiff.”

Pru groaned and threw both arms over her eyes.

“Someone had better be dying,” Win said.

“A very urgent-sounding fellow rang about an hour ago. Called himself Tom.”

“Tom?” Pru removed the arms from her face. She turned toward the tall, mop-haired figure in the doorway. “Tom? Mrs. Spencer's handyman?”

“That's the chap,” Jamie said. “He was calling from Banbury. And wouldn't you know it, the old bird is there too.”

“Mrs. Spencer is in Banbury!” Pru gasped.

She looked at Win.

When was the last time they'd seen her? Neither could remember exactly. It could've been that morning, or last Tuesday. Pru was embarrassed by how myopic she'd been, traipsing around the city with Win. She was an employee of the Grange and there she was, in Paris, drawing a salary to flirt and dance.

“Did she take her luggage?” Win asked. “Her minks?”

“I checked her room and there's not a personal effect in sight. But, here's the kicker, the bloody place is socked in by wooden crates. A damned storage unit, right here in our home.”

“Christ,” Win said. “Do you know how long she's been away?”

“Several days, apparently. All that and she's had herself some visitors.”

“The Marlboroughs,” Win guessed.

“Righto. There's also an American looking for you.”

He pointed at Pru.

“Shit!” she said.

Edith Junior. Come to take her home. Now Pru could never make a case that she was vital to Mrs. Spencer and had to stay on given that caregiver and charge were in two entirely different countries and Pru hadn't even known.

“Goddamn it,” Pru said, inching up into a seated position. She pulled the sheet taut over her breasts. “She tricked us. Mrs. Spencer tricked us! I don't know how or why, but she did!”

“Luv, it's okay,” Win said and ran his hand along her leg. “I'm sure she had her reasons. Jamie, thanks for the information. Now feel free to take your leave.”

“Have fun, you two. But keep it down, would ya? I have an early morning.”

As Jamie slunk away, Pru turned toward Win.

“This is not good,” she said.

Pru was worried, and not only about her employment prospects or immigration status.

“Those people in Banbury,” she said. “Something's not right. What if Mrs. Spencer gets taken advantage of? Or injured in some way?”

“You were the one who said she was being histrionic.”

“Well, they showed up, didn't they? Just as she said. And she was also right about Edith and the Marlboroughs being in cahoots.”

“We don't know that,” he said.

“They'll take her away!”

“Why are you so up in arms? Having kittens over a few uninvited guests? No one wants to take her away. Even if they did, she's probably better off under the care of a doctor. She broke a leg three years ago and never got it fixed!”

“Don't you get it, Seton?” Pru said. “If she goes, so do I. She's the only reason I'm even here.”

Win jolted, as if slapped. He'd never considered a situation in which Pru would be gone.

“Have you and Gads worked things out?” Pru said, her voice climbing. “This mysterious plot you're cooking? Because it'd be most helpful if Gads could tell us what's going on. I'm afraid I'll … I'm just afraid.”

“Er … I'll ring him in the morning.”

Pru threw off the covers and stood.

“We have to go back!” she said. “To Banbury!”

“Pru…” Win reached for her arm.

“We can't leave Mrs. Spencer alone there.”

“Please. Let's forget about Mrs. Spencer and the Marlboroughs for tonight.” We'll deal with this catastrophe tomorrow.

“Win, she's alone!”

“Tom is there, remember? He's scarier than we are anyhow. I wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley, or even a lit one.”

Pru sighed and slumped down onto the bed.

“I guess you're right,” she said.

“Of course I'm right.” As Win glided his hand up her side, she shivered. “We'll engage that mob of nutters tomorrow. For now.” He skimmed his fingers across her left breast. “For now. Just us.”

Pru smiled, at once filled to the neck with a foreign, indescribable sensation. Perhaps, when you got right down to it, the feeling was exactly that, one of fullness, the emptiness finally gone.

“You're right,” Pru said again and moved her body flush against Win's. “We'll handle it in the morning.”

And with that, Win and Pru took up from where they left off.

 

Seventy-three

ÎLE SAINT-LOUIS

PARIS

NOVEMBER 2001

“
To leave a message for the guest in room five, please speak at the tone.”

“Hi, Mom? It's me. You might be wondering where I am. Don't freak out, but I'm in Paris. I hopped on a train right after you did.

“You might've heard me mention my friend from Banbury named Gus. Well, I just found out his full name is Jerome Casper Augustine Seton. He calls himself the Earl of Winton, mostly as a joke but it is also the truth. I am at his apartment now, with his brother Jamie. I think you know the place and the people I'm talking about.