Chapter Eighteen
The next day, I was outside with my head in the neighbor’s box bushes looking for the cat, when a fancy carriage pulled up and stopped in front of seventy-seven.
It was lacquered and polished and emblazoned with a crest. I had no idea who could be inside until a familiar well-dressed gentleman alighted.
It was Antoine de Larminet; I would recognize that aristocratic air anywhere. He turned and helped Charlotte down.
In the shuffle of pulling down luggage and getting inside, they didn’t see me.
But I started back toward home. The cat was probably gone, anyway.
It had been over two weeks, since before I’d even come back from Cabourg.
And I just had to get used to the idea that I would never know what happened to her.
I did hesitate for a moment, though, before going inside. Charlotte and I had written and made peace in our letters. But this was the first time really facing her. And standing in front of a person you’d wronged wasn’t easy. Not ever. Vulnerability never was.
When I went in, everyone had gathered in the foyer to welcome Charlotte home.
She looked bright and happy in an eye-catching blue plaid dress.
She embraced Madame. Antoine de Larminet was smiling and dressed in a light wool suit.
They were like a first breath of fall, obviously happy and in love, like the world was theirs.
It was in a way. And I was happy for them.
“We meet again,” I said to Monsieur de Larminet.
“Ah, Mademoiselle Marnet. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“You as well. Have you both come from Vernon?”
“No, just Charlotte. I picked her up at the train station.” Nadine, Madame, and Diane were peppering Charlotte with questions.
No one was paying attention to Monsieur de Larminet or me, so after acknowledging this with an awkward nod, he continued, “Thank you again for directing me back to Charlotte.”
“It’s not a problem. I’m glad you found her. And it was the least I could do, really. I’m sure she told you it was my story in the paper. The gossip column.”
“She did.”
Charlotte was next to him now, smiling. I kissed her on each cheek. “It’s good to see you, Charlotte.”
“It’s good to see you, too. And I told Antoine everything. But all that’s behind us now. I’m so tired of thinking about it.”
“And everything has worked out for the best, hasn’t it?” Monsieur de Larminet said to Charlotte, smiling like he wanted to eat her for lunch. Seeing them so tender and sweet to each other melted something inside me. And fine, yes, it was romantic.
We shuffled into the drawing room and they told us everything that had happened to bring them together and their plans for the future.
I had seen other housemates leave to marry, but I never cared as much as I did now.
Charlotte and Antoine were unlikely to start with and had overcome so much that it was remarkable.
Seeing them happy together was also profound because this was the first time I ever imagined that such happiness might happen to me too.
That night, I dressed in a blue silk gown, accessorized with a colorful feathery hat that Charlotte let me borrow.
Nadine curled my hair and pinned it elaborately to my head.
With input from everyone in the house, we planned the evening for romance.
I had to defer to Nadine’s and Diane’s opinions on this, but I did see the value in creating an experience that allowed for the expression of feelings.
Benoit did make me feel like a good dinner, like a stunning view.
And so making the plans was funner than I expected.
We even discussed—and argued about—who would answer the door when he knocked.
They said it heightened anticipation if I made a delayed entrance.
Nadine and Diane insisted it might be more romantic for me to wait upstairs.
But if Benoit Levin was going to knock on the door, there was no way I was going to let someone else be the first to see him standing there.
In the end, I won. And so we were all ready and waiting in the drawing room for him to arrive.
When the knock came, I smiled at Madame, and went down to answer it.
His familiar shadow darkened the window.
I smoothed my skirt one last time, and then pulled the door open.
There was Benoit, handsome as ever. But it was the most remarkable thing: he had the cat tucked under his arm the way one might carry a sack of potatoes or a bundle of sticks. His hand was buried in her furry belly, and her green gaze was judgmental and unbothered.
“Bonjour, darling. Is this your cat?”
I clutched my chest and nearly screamed. “Oui. Wherever did you find her?”
“She was right outside here, on your doorstep. I didn’t want her to get away, so I snagged her up in case.”
“She never lets anyone hold her like that.”
He looked down at the cat, still peaceably gripped in his arm. “No. She’s a docile girl.”
“Bring her in. She must be near dead if she’s letting you hold her.”
He brought the cat inside and, upon Madame’s insistence, carried her straight down to the kitchen. When Benoit set her down, it was clear she’d lost weight. But her legs held. Her tail flicked back and forth a few times, and she sniffed the air.
“She was just standing there by the door, then?” Cook, as shocked as I was to see the cat after all this time, scrambled to find scraps to feed her.
“Like she was waiting to be let in,” Benoit said. “Has she been missing long?”
“Since we were in Cabourg.”
“Wow. And here she is.”
“Here she is.” I bent down next to the cat, and she lovingly rubbed against my extended hand.
I scratched her shoulders, which were more prominent now, though not terribly so.
She purred loudly and seemed thrilled to see me.
Her hair was still fluffy and tempting, and so I took the chance to scoop her into my arms. But she immediately stiffened, wailed, and reared back to swat at me.
“No,” I cried, dodging the strike and setting her right back down. “My goodness. She still won’t let me pick her up.”
Benoit shrugged. He was wearing a black dinner jacket and white tie, smiling as if he’d won the day. “I’m told I have a way with prickly women.”
“Oh, you do not.”
Back upstairs, Madame poured him a glass of whiskey. And when we all sat down together in the drawing room, Madame adopted an air of seriousness.
“So, Monsieur Levin, tell me about yourself and your family.”
I’d never had a gentleman caller, but I had witnessed this same line of questioning. Madame likely had a similar talk with Antoine de Larminet earlier. But she was quite thorough and decisive in her questioning. She could have been a journalist. Benoit, face flushed, answered all her questions.
After taking her last swallow of whiskey, Madame pursed her lips for a thoughtful moment of analysis and said, “Well, I’ll be honest with you, monsieur. Your home life would be a large responsibility for Vanessa or any woman to step into as a wife. If that’s where your intentions lie.”
“You’re not wrong, Madame Tremblay. In fact, I have the same concerns.
” His eyes skipped to me then. The drawn look of his handsome face confirmed this had truly been weighing on his mind.
He’d mentioned the same concern when I’d gone to his apartment.
But it didn’t matter, did it? We hadn’t quite reached that point.
That could all come later. We had to see what happened.
“They don’t have to figure that out right now, Madame.” Nadine chimed in. She and all the housemates were there because everyone liked to see a nervous suitor.
“Well, yes, but still worth mentioning in this circumstance. Something to consider. However, I won’t keep you any longer.” Madame rose, and so did we. “Have fun.”
After all the goodbyes, we were out on the street. It was early evening; daylight was fading in earnest.
“So, mademoiselle, what’s the plan?”
“If it sounds all right to you, I thought we might walk to the park. Then there’s this lovely little restaurant not far from there. And if we are up for it, take a cab to the Tower and go to the top.”
“The top of the Tower? Have you been?”
“Not at night. My housemate Nadine went. She said it was breathtaking and the most romantic place in the world. As long as you’re not afraid of heights.”
“Well, I am not. And I’m sure mademoiselle won’t steer us wrong.”
I took his arm, and we walked up Rue de Fortuny and down Avenue de Villiers toward Parc Monceau.
The carriage traffic was still heavy with people beginning their evening outings.
Music played on phonographs carried down from apartments above us.
The breeze whispered breathily through the trees.
The whole city was in the mood for love.
And it really was the first time we’d walked together like that.
All the other times had been as coworkers with professional boundaries fully in place.
Now we were walking simply as two people who enjoyed each other’s company.
Two people who were falling in love. Letting themselves fall in love.
Fall being the operative word, though with his firm, broad arm under my hand, I was quite sure it was worth it.
As we approached the park gate, I squeezed his arm and gazed up at him. When he looked down at me, I smiled. But there was some hesitation in his eyes as well, something that was bothering him.
“There’s some truth to what Madame Tremblay was saying, you know. I have a lot of responsibilities that tie me down and could potentially weigh down a wife as well.”
I put my free hand to my chest. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“No. But I’m not taking it off the table unless you tell me to. And even then maybe not.” He narrowed his eyes playfully. “You can be so indecisive.”
“I suppose I can be. But let’s not talk of marriage just yet. Maybe let’s work up to that.”
“I agree that’s the best approach.”