“Do you miss New York?” I asked, half dreading the answer although I wasn’t sure why.
He sat back in his chair and drew a deep breath. “Not as much as I thought I might. But I need to get back. I was only supposed to be in Paris for two weeks. I’ve been dragging my feet about buying my plane tickets because we haven’t solved the mystery of La Fleur. I hate to leave behind unfinished business.”
I washed down my bite of scone with tea, and it all tasted like paper. “Unfinished business?”
He leaned forward, his expression earnest. “I wasn’t referring to you, Babs. You are . . .” He stopped, shook his head. “I can’t really describe you. Or the way you make me feel. It’s like trying to describe the pull of the moon, or the light from the sun, I guess. Just seeing your face in the morning makes my day brighter. Hearing your voice, even when you’re speaking in that funny accent when you’re trying to speak French, makes me feel like I’m home.”
I couldn’t speak for a moment, afraid my raw emotions would show up as tears, or in a confession that I felt the same. But I couldn’t make this—whatever this was—more complicated that it already was. We were separated by more than just an ocean, but also by the specter of a stolen letter that floated unseen between us. A piece of paper that would show Drew that I wasn’t who he thought I was.
I swallowed. “But you need to get back to New York.”
“Yes, Babs. I do. I wasn’t sure how to tell you, or when the right time might be, but . . .” He drew a deep breath. “My plane leaves tonight.”
A horrible stabbing pain that felt almost worse than childbirth tore at my insides as the implications of what he had just said settled on me. I took my own deep breath, bringing to mind what it was like to head a WI meeting and to bring up an unpleasant topic. “Well, then,” I said, proud of how calm my voice sounded, “I say we cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now I’m going to suggest we get dressed and leave this room and see if the world outside still exists.”
“If we go early enough, I might still be able to take you to Maxim’s for an early dinner.”
“We just ate, Drew. How can you be thinking of dinner already?”
He gave me a grin that could only be described as wicked. “What can I say? You make me hungry, Babs. But you’re right. We need to bathe and get dressed.”
“Ladies first.” I stood, already untying my robe.
“I’d rather not wait,” he said, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me to him. “I hope you don’t mind sharing.”
Our robes fell together in a pile of peach cashmere. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips against his. “I don’t mind a bit,” I said against his mouth. “Not one bit.”
After much dithering at his hotel room door about who should leave first and how much time should lapse before the second person left, we ended up leaving together. Not that it would have mattered as the hallway was deserted. A maid had brought me clothes and makeup from my room, and I’d blushed only once when she’d shown me the variety of knickers to choose from, none of which the old Babs Langford would have found in her dressing table.
As we exited the lift downstairs, I felt quite sure that everyone was staring at us, knowing what we’d been doing for the last three days in Drew’s hotel suite. It bothered me a bit, but not anywhere near as much as it might have once. And even if it had, I wouldn’t give up those three days for anything.
The clacking of Prunella’s typewriter made us turn in unison in the opposite direction, nearly running into Precious Dubose. I almost didn’t recognize her. Her hair was half loose, falling down one side of her face. Her lips were bare, her makeup nonexistent except for her mascara that had migrated below her eyes. Deep purple crescents showed through the mascara, making her appear more than a decade older. Even her usual immaculate clothing was rumpled, as if she’d slept in them.
“There you are! Where have you been?” Her voice held a note of desperation.
If she hadn’t been so distraught, I would have told her that I had been at an assignation. It would have made her proud. Instead, I immediately felt guilty for asking Drew to call the front desk and tell them that we were indisposed until further notice.
“Did you find something about La Fleur?” Drew asked.
Precious leveled an odd look at him that I couldn’t decipher. “What is it, Precious?” I asked. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Margot. She was taken to the Hôtel-Dieu hospital yesterday. We think . . . we think this might be the end. We’ve wired for the children to come to Paris.”
“Oh no.” I felt Drew’s hand on my shoulder as he pulled me against his side.
“I’ve been with her at the hospital. She’s still conscious. I believe she’s waiting to say goodbye to her children. I’ve only come back to pick up a few things for her that I thought she might need to make her more comfortable.”
“Let us do that,” I said. “You must be exhausted. You can’t take care of a sick friend if you make yourself sick. Stay here and try and sleep for a few hours and when you’re more rested you can join us at the hospital.”
It looked as if she might refuse.
“Precious,” Drew said sternly. “Tell us what you were going to get and we will take care of it and then rush to the hospital. We won’t leave her side until you get there, all right? She won’t be alone.”
She frowned as she swayed on her feet, no doubt from exhaustion. “I promise,” I reassured her.
She appeared to be as grateful as she was relieved as she gave us her list of things to fetch from Margot’s room, remembering as we started back toward the lift to give us Margot’s key.
The room smelled of the daisies that filled every vase in the room, almost completely masking the scent of medicine. “I’ll get the things Precious requested from the bedroom if you’ll look in the closet for some sort of traveling case we can use to transport everything.”
He nodded and while he opened up a closet door, I entered the bedroom. During my visits, I’d always kept to the living room, where Margot sat on the chaise while I read to her. The bedroom had been decorated in the same ivory palate, with a dark antique dressing table with a mirror above it. I hesitated just for a moment before pulling open one of the top drawers, hoping Margot would forgive me for invading her privacy.
Brightly colored and lacy lingerie sat in perfectly organized piles inside, surprising me. I had somehow not expected Margot Lemouron to be the type to own sexy undergarments. Or perhaps she actually wasn’t and Precious had decided to take matters into her own hands.
I took out a small stack of knickers, not counting them on purpose. I didn’t want to put a finite number to the days Margot might need them. I continued to open the drawers, searching for the silk scarves Margot often wore to cover her bald head. I found sweaters and nightgowns—I took a few of both—before opening the last drawer.
I recognized several of the brightly patterned silk scarves and plucked out the ones I’d seen her wear, assuming they must be her favorites. As I was lifting up the small pile, something fell out of one of the scarves, unfurling it as if it had been wrapped carefully. I stared down into the dark recess of the drawer and spotted a gold ring.