I packed up my meager belongings and stowed them carefully in my valise. It had taken me a while to find it, tucked very far back in the large closet, itself hidden behind door panels that blended with the wall, as if the staff had hoped to hide it forever.
I dressed in the same tweed traveling suit I’d worn the day before and stood facing the mirror for a full five minutes debating on whether or not to wear Diana’s scarf. In the end I knotted it at my chin, then left the room carrying my valise, pausing at the door briefly for one last glance at the tall ceilings, marble fireplace, and carved frescoes over the doors. Maybe if Kit had been with me, I would have seen it through the rose-tinted eyes of a woman in love. But now it looked only like a beautiful yet cold and sterile place to sleep.
The door shut softly behind me as I made my way to the mirror-paneled lift, the two sealed envelopes in my hand. When the lift opened into the lobby, I found myself tiptoeing toward the main desk as if I were escaping. Which, I realized, I was. From what or whom, I wasn’t quite sure.
I’d almost reached the desk when I heard a familiar voice behind me. My brogues spun in an ungainly way as I twisted around to find Miss Dubose perched elegantly on one of the armchairs neatly arranged in the long-windowed hallway. Once again, she was dressed impeccably in a silk coat dress in that lovely sunset color she’d worn the previous day. Her slim ankles were crossed and her little finger extended as she took a sip from what certainly looked like a Coca-Cola bottle. I’d never tasted it, preferring Bovril and tea.
When she caught me staring, she raised the bottle a little higher. “I can’t start my day without one of these, even in Paris. And they put in the salted peanuts just like I asked. Which goes to show you that you really can get anything you want at the Ritz.”
I nodded dumbly, wondering if I should hand her the note I’d written for her, or simply leave it at the front desk as I’d intended.
She took notice of my traveling attire. “Not everyone can get away with wearing all that tweed, bless your heart,” she said, her gaze once again taking in every inch of me as if she were Michelangelo and I a block of marble. Or a lump of clay. “At least you have on that lovely scarf. A gift, I’m thinking.”
It wasn’t a question. Nor was I quite sure of the meaning of her blessing, only that it didn’t quite sound like she was blessing me.
“Yes, well, good morning, Miss Dubose. It was a pleasure to see you again.” I took a step backward, deciding to leave her note at the front desk. “Have a lovely day.” Clutching my disreputable valise, I began my retreat.
“Were the bath towels not to your liking? They’re the most luxurious towels I’ve ever used, and they’re peach because the Ritz has declared that hue to be the most flattering on a woman’s skin.”
I paused. “I found them quite lovely, thank you. Why do you ask?”
She looked perplexed. “Because I can’t understand why you’re leaving after just one night. César Ritz is turning over in his grave at the very thought of a guest choosing to leave early.”
“It’s just . . . ,” I stammered, watching as she unfolded her lean form from the deep chair and stood to face me.
“I’m surprised you actually stayed the night. I had you pegged for a middle-of-the-night bolter. But I thought to come down here this morning just in case I’d misjudged.” She smiled. “I’m very good at judging people and predicting what they’re going to do next. It’s a very useful talent.”
I straightened my shoulders. “Well, you were wrong this time. Perhaps you’re not as good at judging as you might think.”
Her smile didn’t falter. “Or perhaps you’re not as convinced that you should leave as you might think.”
Half of my mouth lifted of its own accord. “Touché.”
She waved at a passing uniformed valet and a gray-mustached man approached. “Please take Mrs. Langford’s valise back to her room.”
With the certainty that I had no choice, I relinquished the grasp on my bag. The valet began his retreat, but Miss Dubose called him back. “And please take her hat, too. But find another place to put it besides her room.” She reached up and unpinned my hat, considerably the worse for wear after yesterday’s events on the streets of Paris.
“And where should I put it, madame?”
“Anywhere. Absolutely anywhere else besides her head or her room.”
He bowed and walked away, not even looking back once.
“That was a good hat, I’ll have you know,” I said, less perturbed than I should have been.
“For an aged and blind fishmonger, maybe. We’ll find you a new one today on our shopping expedition.” She slipped her hand into the crook of my elbow. “But first we must eat. There’s a lovely café very close by that has the most delightful hot chocolate. And there’s nothing like a croissant or pain au chocolat to give us the energy we will need.” Her gaze flickered over my outfit again and frowned. “Thankfully there are plenty of cafés in Paris. I think we’re going to need at least two.”
“Really, Miss Dubose. This is entirely unnecessary. I brought two perfectly good dresses with me.”
“Call me Precious. It’s what I’ve been called since five minutes after my birth when my grandmama took one look at me and called me precious. As for your perfectly good dresses, like I said, I’m a pretty good judge of people. And if I weren’t a lady, I’d bet that those two dresses are at least ten years old and have been worn and mended dozens of times. In other words, they’re not fit for any kind of rendezvous unless it’s with a rag bag. If I’m wrong, tell me now and I won’t force you to come out shopping with me today. But if I’m right, let’s go to breakfast.”
At the word rendezvous my cheeks reddened. “Fine,” I said. And to avoid further discussion, I began walking briskly toward the entrance, pulling her along with me, the heavy trod of my brogues out of sync completely with the tap tap of her dainty heels and the gilded elegance surrounding us.
Nine exhausting hours later, I found myself in front of the dressing table mirror in my room at the Ritz, on my second glass of champagne—the bottle ordered by Precious, who’d declared it a necessity for a lady dressing for the evening—while she fluttered about like a hungry butterfly in a bed of daisies. What I’d thought would be an expedition to find two new dresses had merely been the edge of the rabbit hole into which I’d been pushed.
The poor valet had actually staggered as he’d gathered my shopping bags from the taxi—dresses, blouses, skirts, trousers, and shoes by the dozens filled the bags. But it hadn’t just been my outer garments that Precious thought needed replacing. She had actually let out a cry of distress when she’d seen my underpinnings—alarming enough that the salesclerk had run to the fitting room.
“But they’re sturdy and serviceable,” I protested.
“So are ovens, but they’re not meant to be worn.”
After I had been measured at every dimension and juncture and touched in places I was quite sure—even after three children—I’d never been touched before, Precious then brought in little slips of lace, satin, and silk that looked more like tea cozies than something I should actually wear on my person.