Realizing that I must look like a schoolgirl waiting outside the headmistress’s office, I immediately returned my hands to my lap. “Quite. I’m just a bit eager to see what you’ve turned up. You weren’t really clear in your message.”
He took a sip of his coffee, the tiny cup looking Lilliputian in his hand. “I’m not sure yet, myself. Someone from the office should be here shortly to bring the papers I requested. It’s a nice day so I figured we’d mix a little business with pleasure.”
He grinned at me, as if the word pleasure held all sorts of meanings. Which it did, of course, but surely not in the way I was thinking.
I looked down at my coffee cooling in its cup, the cream beginning to stick to the sides. I took a brief sip, trying not to make a face. The war years had taught me not to waste anything, which meant if I ordered a coffee, I would drink it.
A waiter approached our table with a teapot, creamer, and a clean cup and saucer. He set it before me and nodded before turning away. I looked at it with surprise.
“I asked for them to make you tea. I’m not sure what kind it is, but at least it’s not coffee, right?” Drew’s boyish grin made me want to kiss him, right there in the middle of a Parisian sidewalk. “I made sure they included cream since I know you like that with your tea.”
“Thank you,” I said, oddly teary. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had considered what I wanted.
I focused on making my tea, recalling something he’d said the day before after I’d told him that I hadn’t exposed my bare skin to him on purpose. But I wouldn’t have minded. I blushed at the memory.
With the fortifying tea bolstering my courage, I looked up at him. “Drew, yesterday when you said that . . .”
“Andrew, there you are!” An extremely long and leggy woman approached us from the sidewalk. She wore an elegant suit of cream camel hair, her long, blond hair pulled back in a high silky ponytail. I wanted to shrug out of the lumpy cardigan I’d thrown over my new yellow sleeveless dress with the low neckline so I wouldn’t feel like this exquisite creature’s mother.
Drew stood and they kissed cheeks before Drew turned to me for introductions. “Barbara Langford, this is Gigi Mercier. She’s the law firm librarian here at our Paris office—she’s an absolute genius at organization and management, and just about everything else.” He winked at Gigi and she smiled back.
I took a long sip from my cup, if only to avoid looking at her.
“But Andrew is the real legend at our office,” Gigi protested. “He’s just too modest.”
They regarded each other for a moment of mutual admiration while I stared stupidly. Finally I held out my hand. “Barbara Langford. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Her grip was surprisingly strong, her face friendly. “So nice to meet you. We’ve been wondering who Andrew has been meeting. He’s been gone from the office so much since he’s arrived, we knew a woman must be involved. Nothing wrong with a little afternoon assignation, oui, Andrew?”
The woman actually winked at Drew, and I wasn’t sure if I was more embarrassed or jealous. Which was ridiculous, really. Drew and I were certainly not having assignations, in the afternoon or otherwise. “We’re not . . . ,” I began.
Drew spoke at the same time. “Oh, Gigi—you wound me. Isn’t it natural for a man to admire two intelligent and beautiful women? Especially one who appears to have a folder for me containing the information Mrs. Langford and I are quite interested in.”
I’m sure Drew had meant the Mrs. part to construe respectability, but instead Gigi raised an already perfectly arched eyebrow as if to imply otherwise. “Anything for you, Andrew. I didn’t mind spending a few extra hours last night scouring those dusty shelves for what you requested. It’s a good thing I love the smell of the ink from the mimeograph machine because I certainly used a lot of it.” She handed Drew the thick folder she’d been carrying.
“Thank you, Gigi. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint. I owe you another drink—or two—for this.”
“Just don’t forget. Although I know I won’t.” She winked again before turning back to me. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Langford. Please make sure our Andrew isn’t all work and no play—as that would make him a very dull boy, non?” Her French accent seemed to add so much insinuation to her words that my ears actually felt scorched.
I took another sip from my tea to avoid answering and just gave a slight nod. “It was nice meeting you,” I said, forcing a smile I hoped didn’t appear too feral.
Drew returned to his seat and opened up the folder, his expression as enthusiastic as a little boy’s on Christmas morning. The heavy smell of the bright purple ink on the pages crinkled my nose before the coffee scents masked it enough to allow me to lean closer. I squinted, trying to decipher the words.
“Here,” Drew said, removing his sunglasses and placing them in his shirt pocket. He stood and grabbed the arm of my chair and pulled it and me along with it around the table as if I weighed nothing. “Much better,” he said, his arm pressed against mine as he slid the folder between us. “Looks like some of these are in English, but the rest are in French so I’ll need you to translate.”
“Yes, of course.” I felt oddly disappointed, which was ridiculous. I carefully slid my cup and saucer in front of me, wondering if it would appear rude if I moved my chair away ever so slightly, but not entirely convinced that I wanted to. “What is all this?” I leaned over his arm, recognizing the header for the newspaper Le Petit Parisien.
“So yesterday, on the way back to Paris, you and I were discussing what we’d learned at the chapel and from Monsieur Le Curé. You said that we needed to focus on my father’s ‘white wolf with a cross,’ that everything else was circumstantial—but not necessarily meaningless. And I think you’re right. As you pointed out, the coat of arms of the de Courcelles with the white wolf and cross might be circumstantial—or might not be. So I asked Gigi to pull up any news article or piece of information she could possibly find regarding the family, going back as far as she could.”
He handed me half of the stack of papers. I pushed my teacup out of the way to make room, the pungent smell of the ink assaulting my nose again. “So that we could determine if there might be a connection between the de Courcelles and whoever had the talisman.”
He grinned that grin again. “Beauty and brains, Babs. Your husband was a very lucky man.” My stomach did funny flipping motions. I squirmed in my seat, hoping I wasn’t getting ill.
The waiter returned with a fresh cup of coffee and another pitcher of cream, along with more croissants for Drew, whose stomach had begun to rumble again. I focused my attention on the pile in front of me, finding quite a few mimeographs from Le Petit Parisien as well as from Le Figaro and Vogue. The largest article, a full page from the New York Times society page, featured a wedding photograph from 1893.
Curious, I pulled that one out to start, taking a fortifying sip of tea first. I studied the photograph of the couple, unable to take my eyes away from the bride. She was small in stature, or perhaps it was because the man standing beside her seemed to dominate the photo. He was tall and at least two decades older than his young bride. He wore a dark military uniform with medals and ribbons decorating the front pockets like a Christmas tree, his face angular and stern. Neither was smiling.