Chapter 35
The sun was shining, chasing away the morning chill as Lars and Marit followed behind Cole and Isabelle along the narrow streets of Montmartre. They walked through a picturesque, cobbled square, and Lars slid his arm more securely around Marit’s waist, love for the beautiful woman beside him swelling in his chest. She glanced at him and smiled. Lars responded by dropping a gentle kiss on her cheek. As soon as they were back in Amsterdam, he was going to put a rush job on the diamond ring he hoped to put on her finger.
“I love you,” he whispered.
The look in her eyes softened. “I love you too.”
“This is what spending time in Paris with your girlfriend is supposed to be like, you know.” He glanced around. “Walking arm in arm through historic districts filled with quaint caf é s and flower markets.”
She laughed softly. “We didn’t do it right last week, did we?”
“Not even remotely.”
“Since the police have wrapped up their questioning, all the fashion shows are over, and the Coster diamonds are safely on their way back to Amsterdam, I think today’s going to be much better.”
Lars really hoped Marit was right. “Pretty sure we’re all overdue for ‘much better,’” he said.
“Yeah.” Marit’s gaze shifted to Cole and Isabelle, who were walking hand in hand a couple of meters ahead of them. “We are.”
As if he’d sensed their attention on him, Cole turned. “Are you guys up for going as far as Sacr é C ? ur?”
Lars fingered the camera slung around his neck. He’d already taken some great photos of the Montmartre neighborhoods, but he’d love to take some of the famous basilica. “How far is it?” he asked.
“About half a mile, I think.”
“If Isabelle can manage it with her healing blisters, we can too,” Marit said.
“Especially if we stop at a p a tisserie on the way back,” Lars added.
“Deal,” Cole said. He didn’t appear to need much persuading. They’d passed several p a tisseries already, and it seemed to Lars that Cole’s feet had slowed outside each one.
Isabelle pointed to the right. “The sign on the wall over there says that Sacr é C ? ur is this way.”
“Okay,” Cole said. “Let’s go. I’ve heard about the stained-glass windows inside, but I’ve never actually seen them.”
They turned the corner. The road ahead rose steeply, bending to the left at the base of a steep set of stairs. They kept walking, and the closer they drew to the stairs, the steeper they appeared.
“Where do those go?” Lars asked.
“If the signs are to be believed,” Isabelle said, “they lead to Sacr é C ? ur.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.” Cole confirmed.
Lars didn’t know what it was about stairs. He just knew that he hated them. “It’s too early in the day for that many stairs,” he said.
With a laugh, Marit took his hand. “Come on, we’ve got this.”
Lars sighed. Marit and Isabelle both had enough stairs leading to their respective flats that they were completely unfazed by these. Cole was just crazy enough to take them two at a time.
Even though Cole climbed the stairs slower than usual, he reached the top a couple of steps ahead of Lars. “Uh-oh,” Cole said.
Joining him on the pavement, Lars eyed him warily. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Cole gestured across the street. “You’re not going to like the look of that either.”
Lars swung around. Directly in front of him and across the road was another set of steep staircases. And immediately above that was yet another set. “Are you kidding me?” Lars asked.
Cole raised an eyebrow. “You did want to visit Sacr é C ? ur.”
“Not at the risk of being unable to use my legs for the rest of the day.”
“To be fair, I didn’t know it was stairs the whole way,” Isabelle said. “But I’m pretty sure this means you get to buy more than one item from the p a tisserie afterward.”
“And we’re more prepared than you thought.” Marit swung her new Ralph Molenaar purse around so it was clearly visible. “Isabelle and I have purses to carry the extras in.”
Despite his dread of the hike ahead, Lars grinned. “We should probably make a pact of secrecy right now. No one is to tell Ralph if we put é clairs and mille feuille inside them.”
“Mille feuille might be pushing it a bit,” Isabelle said, a hint of concern in her voice. “They’re not exactly self-contained.”
“Okay, I’ll eat the mille feuille before we leave the p a tisserie,” Lars said.
“I’m taking that as your agreement to tackle the stairs,” Cole said. “Let’s go.”
Eight minutes and four double flights of stairs later, they reached the top. By the time they’d climbed the third set, Lars had decided that breathing normally was better than anything he could buy at the p a tisserie. He’d now reached the point where he was pretty sure he’d have to live out the rest of his life at the top of Montmartre.
“There’s no way every visitor to Sacr é C ? ur climbs those stairs,” he panted. “Where are all the little old ladies and pushchairs?”
“I don’t know,” Marit said. “But I hope they make it up somehow. Just look at that view.”
They rounded the corner. The ancient basilica towered above them, its white marble walls and domed roof gleaming in the sunlight. Below, stretching out as far as the eye could see, was the city of Paris.
“Wow!” His burning muscles temporarily forgotten, Lars raised his camera and adjusted the focus.
Photographs of the panoramic view came first, and then he slowly made his way along the length of the overlook, snapping at least two dozen shots of the basilica from different angles. Finally, he swung around to capture Marit against the magnificent backdrop. She smiled—not the smile she offered the professional photographers she worked with regularly but the one reserved just for him. He lowered the camera, and closing the distance between them, he pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.
“Even with all that’s happened over the last few days,” he said, “I’m really glad we were able to experience Paris together.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”
“I think maybe it’s been good for Cole and Isabelle too.”
Marit looked over his shoulder and smiled. “I think you’re right.”
Moments later, Cole appeared at Lars’s side, his arm firmly around Isabelle.
“Well,” Cole said, “you’ll be pleased to know that Isabelle has figured out how the little old ladies and strollers get up here.”
“How?” Lars asked.
Cole turned, drawing Isabelle with him so that Lars had a direct view of the people lined up on the other side of the road. As he watched, a rectangular object about the size of a lorry cab crested the hill.
“It’s a funicular railway,” Isabelle said. “And from what we can tell, it goes up and down the hill at fairly regular intervals.”
In other words, they could have reached Sacr é C ? ur without climbing a single stair.
Lars glared at Cole. “Did you know about the funicular?”
Cole released Isabelle long enough to raise both hands. “Nope. And I’m as excited as you are to stop at a p a tisserie after we go down.”
“On the funicular,” Lars said firmly.
“Right.” Isabelle offered him an encouraging smile. “No more stairs for us today.”
“Except all the ones that lead into the basilica,” Cole said.
Groaning, Lars reached for Marit’s hand. “It’s official. One way or another, Cole’s going to kill me.”
“Don’t worry,” Marit said. “We’ll recruit Isabelle. Her self-defense skills are top-notch, and she’s a really good teacher.”
Isabelle laughed. “As long as you promise that I can be there when you first take Cole down, I’ll teach you everything I know.”
“You hear that, Cole?” Lars asked. “You’re outnumbered.”
With a grin, Cole led Isabelle toward the basilica’s entrance. “In my line of work, I’m used to it.”