Chapter Two #2
“Merci bien, mademoiselle.” He touched his cap and eased the Citroen away from the kerb.
The cool of the vestibule settled over Elizabeth the moment she stepped inside, a welcome relief after the warmth of the street and a long day of travelling.
Black-and-white tiles stretched away beneath her feet in a checkerboard pattern, and a wrought-iron staircase curved upward along one wall, its rail worn smooth at the turns.
To the right stood the lift – an ornate iron cage painted glossy black, its brass controls polished to a shine.
Clemmi pressed the call button, and somewhere high above them, machinery clanked and groaned into life. Elizabeth tipped her head back, following the cage through the open metalwork as it crept down the shaft, passing one floor, then the next.
“The lift’s a little temperamental, I’m afraid, and has been known to stop between floors.” Clemmi kept her eyes on its progress.
The lift arrived with a shudder and a metallic clang. Georges set the trunk down and hauled the gate back – it folded with a screech that set Elizabeth’s teeth on edge – then stood aside for them to enter, the worn wooden floor creaking as the cage rocked beneath their weight.
“If that happens, you just need to press this button here to summon Georges.” Clemmi tapped a small button beside the lever.
Georges followed with the trunk, drew the gate closed behind him, and turned the lever, the mechanism rattling and wheezing overhead as the cage began its slow, laborious ascent.
The cage settled at the third-floor with a final shudder, and Georges hauled the gate back with a clang and stood aside for them to pass. Elizabeth stepped out onto pale stone flags, cream walls rising on either side, a red-and-navy runner underfoot, and a potted fern set on a small side table.
Clemmi led the way along the landing to the dark green door at the end and slipped the key into the lock before turning it. “Here we are.” She pushed the door open and stood back for Elizabeth to enter first.
Elizabeth stepped into a small entrance hall, the scent of roses meeting her at the door – a crystal vase of white blooms on the console beside a candlestick telephone, a trumeau mirror above them.
“Madame, vous voilà!” A maid hurried into the hall, slight and dark-haired beneath her white cap.
“Sylvie, this is Lady Elizabeth, come all the way from England to keep me company.” Clemmi removed her hat and gloves and set them on the console table. “Would you bring tea through to the salon? We are quite desperate.”
“Oui, madame.” Sylvie bobbed to Elizabeth, hands extended. “Your coat, milady?”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth slipped off her coat and cloche and handed them to Sylvie.
Clemmi led her down a short passageway, past closed doors on either side, and pushed open the one at the end. “I hope you’ll be comfortable.”
“I’m sure I shall.” Elizabeth stepped inside, taking in the pale-yellow walls, the brass bed, and the walnut dressing table with its triptych mirror. A bergère in powder-blue velvet sat near the window, and an ormolu clock stood on the marble chimneypiece between a pair of white porcelain vases.
“Vos malles, milady.” Georges set the last of the trunks down at the foot of the bed.
“Merci, Georges.”
“Milady.” He inclined his head and withdrew.
Clemmi lingered in the doorway, one hand on the frame. “The bathroom is just across the hall – there are fresh towels in the cupboard, and Sylvie will draw you a bath if you’d like one before dinner.”
“Will Oliver be joining us?” Elizabeth set her valise on the dressing table stool, meeting Clemmi’s eyes in the triptych mirror.
“He said he’d try, but…” Clemmi lowered her gaze. “Elizabeth … about Oliver …”
“He doesn’t know I’m here, does he?”
“Not exactly … but I’m sure he’ll be just as delighted to see you as I am.”
brRRING! brRRING!
“That’ll be Oliver now.” Clemmi drew herself up and turned towards the passageway. “I’ll let you settle in. Come through to the salon when you’re ready.”
She was gone before Elizabeth could reply, the door clicking shut behind her.
Elizabeth crossed to the door and eased it open a crack.
“Yes. Yes, I’m quite all right.” Clemmi’s voice drifted down the passage from the entrance hall. “How was your day?”
“Tonight? But you said–” A pause. “Oliver, you promised. You said you’d be home.”
The silence stretched, long enough that Elizabeth wondered whether the line had gone dead.
“Can’t someone else see to it?” Another pause, longer than the last. “Yes, I know how busy you are with the American delegation, but there must be somebody…”
“Very well, I suppose I’ll see you when you get home.” Clemmi’s voice had flattened out to almost nothing.
The receiver clicked back into its cradle, and Clemmi’s footsteps retreated down the hallway towards the salon.
Elizabeth eased the door closed, her mind already turning.
To the world outside, Clemmi Sterling had everything – a handsome husband, an apartment off the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, a child on the way, and all of it in the most romantic city on earth.
Yet nothing she’d seen since her arrival bore any of it out.
Her thoughts returned to Clemmi’s letter, and how she’d practically begged her to visit.
But why hadn’t she mentioned it to her husband?
It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t notice she was there, even if he spent most of his time at work.
Theirs had been a whirlwind romance – an engagement almost before anyone knew there had been a courtship, a wedding brought forward to suit Oliver’s Paris posting, and Clemmi on a boat to France before the confetti had been swept from the church steps.
But now, she couldn’t help but wonder just how well Clemmi really knew the man she’d married.