Chapter Seven
The train slowed as we approached Cabourg.
The town was spread out on a field of green grass like picnickers in the park, but became more crowded the closer we got to the station.
Finally, after what felt like days of travel, we arrived at Gare Dives-Cabourg without further ado.
I was tired and jittery after so much time on the train.
Anxiety about being in an unfamiliar place trembled in my chest. And I was on the verge of a low-grade existential crisis over Benoit Levin.
I could barely look him in the eye after sleeping literally in his arms. His heartbeat was still reverberating through me.
I took a deep breath and pinned my hat on my head.
Then I gathered my bags and didn’t spare a goodbye for our tiny quarters.
We waited in the lumbering line of passengers to disembark, squeezed up against each other in collective anticipation.
The station, a dignified brick building with one line of track passing alongside it, was a fraction of the size of the one we’d left in Paris.
Train passengers—mostly well-dressed families visiting for vacation—flooded the little platform and dispersed.
Benoit and I peaceably hired a carriage to take us to the hotel, which was a quick trip over the Dives River toward the beach. The carriage was a spacious dream compared to our economy cabin.
All I knew about the town was that most of it was relatively new.
Two Parisian financiers put a big hotel on the relatively quiet stretch of beach not far from all the other popular area beaches.
Then other hotels soon followed. The sky was cloudless and scrubbed bright by the sea wind, and the air was dizzyingly clean.
The residential streets were lined with vacation homes built in the timber frame style.
There were wide sun-drenched gardens with hydrangeas and oleanders in full, vibrant bloom.
I had never felt so far from Paris in my life.
I caught a glimpse of the sea just before we passed the palatial Grand H?tel, around which almost the whole town was oriented.
Our hotel, the H?tel de la Plage, was much smaller and less ostentatious than the Grand, and it sat among a cluster of shops and vacation homes.
The carriage dropped us in the front, and as soon as I stepped onto the pavement, I could hear the delicate swish of the ocean.
Inside, the lobby was decorated in pale blue and creamy white; it was simple and comfortable.
The water was on full display through the windows along the back.
The ocean and the sky were a picture that contained every shade of blue.
Seeing it eased some of the tension that had collected in my shoulders all day.
No nightmares unfolded during the check-in process—there had been no mixups, we weren’t forced to share a single room, and I didn’t embarrass myself any further. Our rooms weren’t even right next to each other. Apolline found us as we were finishing at the desk.
“You made it!” She called as she crossed the lobby.
“Finally.”
“I checked the train schedule when I arrived. I never doubted you.” She’d changed out of her linen suit and into a comfortable-looking blue cotton dress with fluttery sleeves. She must have been waiting in the lobby for us to arrive.
“You left without us,” Benoit said placidly. He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her in for an air kiss.
“You didn’t leave me much choice.”
“Did we miss anything?” I asked.
“I was going to ask you two the same thing.” She winked, though I wasn’t sure why.
“We’re reporting from the beach,” I said, blinking rapidly. “Not the train.”
“No. I know that. Never mind. I took a nap and then walked along the promenade. The new casino is about a block from here, right on the water.”
“Did you talk to anyone?”
“No, but I drew a picture of the facade. Quite regal.”
“We’ll all go tomorrow,” Benoit said. “They’re doing a press tour and preview before opening this weekend.”
“I’d like to talk to some local people for a sense of the public opinion about the opening.”
“That sounds like a plan,” he said.
“Should we meet down here for dinner?” I asked as a courtesy, not because I wanted us to all share a meal. The hotel had a dining room off to the side of the lobby.
“Oh, dear, I had something in my room just before coming down to meet you. I believe I’m done for the day. But you two go ahead.”
Benoit looked uncertainly at me, and then he declined as well. “I don’t think I will either. I’m going up to settle in.”
A prickle of disappointment passed over my skin, which was silly.
It was no matter. I didn’t need him. I’d been squeezed up against him all day, and it would be good to be free to think and do my work for the evening.
I wasn’t quite sure what to expect traveling on assignment.
But I needed to make the most of every moment while I was there.
If he was settling in for the night, then I would have a head start.
My room was modest, smaller than what I had at the pension, but more coherently appointed.
Rather than the assorted collection of furnishings, everything matched and coordinated.
There was a blue and white toile armchair and bench with children and dogs in various scenes at the beach.
There was a desk by the window, fully stocked with thick, embossed hotel stationery.
And the full-sized bed was dressed in blue and white stripes.
Through my window, the street and walled gardens of the houses across the way were visible.
There were pots of red geraniums on one of the stoops.
No ocean view, not that I expected the paper to pay for that.
It was still a nice room, and staying there would be fine.
Being alone for the first time in hours loosened every muscle in my body.
The problem of Benoit Levin was only getting stranger, but it was no longer closing in on me.
He was in another room down the hall. Even though I apparently had no trouble curling right up and relaxing next to him on the train.
The problem was not so much that I’d fallen asleep on him, physically in his arms. My feelings on that, though initially revolting because of the embarrassment, had settled into something less familiar.
I kept revisiting that blissful moment upon waking when I was pressed against him, the smooth, soft fabric of his shirt on my face, and the pleasant weight of his arm around me.
It had been the best nap, like that of a child after a long morning.
I had been engulfed in the smell of him—his body and his clothes and all the physical, aromatic elements that made him up.
I wished I thought it was gross or repulsive.
But I didn’t. That nap had been warm and rejuvenating; waking up from it a moment of pure bliss.
Fleeting, but undeniably something. I wanted to hate it, but all I could think was: how could I experience that feeling again?
I shuddered to shake off the memories of it. I did not want to be reveling in it. I did not want to return to it. It should have been unnatural to curl up with that man. No matter that my body seemed to desire it, I knew better.
How ridiculous? Craving the physical presence of my sworn enemy?! It was all very confusing.
After I unpacked and arranged all my things in their new, temporary locations, I cleaned up and dressed to go out.
My work companions may have been tired, but I wasn’t.
Dressing for work as a reporter, I never wanted to stand out.
My clothing and appearance needed to blend in rather than attract attention.
Because I wanted people to talk to me about the story, not about what I was wearing.
I wanted to observe things as they were happening, not intrude with any ostentatious dress.
So I wore my plain gray suits every day.
It was easy, and gray made my blonde hair seem brighter, icier.
But covering cultural events often meant evening attire.
In Paris, one could stand out for being out of fashion or too casual.
And so, I may have dressed plainly, but this didn’t mean I was unfashionable.
I’d built up a small collection of understated, unassuming evening wear.
Nadine gave me a few things, and Catherine and Diane and I went shopping when they first moved in.
The Americans embraced shopping and wardrobe building with unbridled enthusiasm.
Traveling light and packing dresses meant I’d chosen every item in my valise for its versatility.
I removed my blouse and wet a towel from the pitcher of water that came with the room.
I freshened up and then redressed in a gray satin bodice that coordinated with the same skirt I’d been wearing all day.
No one could accuse me of being frumpy or unfashionable in that bodice.
It was a staple of my wardrobe for quick changes exactly like this one.
I tied my hair back in a black velvet ribbon and put a little stain on my lips.
I sharpened a pencil and tucked it into my skirt pocket with one of my small notebooks.
I put a few coins in my other pocket, so I could buy a drink and something to eat if I got hungry.
As I saw to my toilette, there were sounds of music and people moving around the hotel.
When I heard a door open and close somewhere down the hall, I thought about Benoit.
He’d said he was going to his room, but that had been nearly two hours ago.
There was always a chance he’d gone out since then. And I didn’t want to see him.