"Ah, but you're wrong," he muttered. "Above all else, at heart I am my father's son, and nothing matters more to me than family honor, family pride. Don't ever fool yourself that this is not so."
How could I possibly fool myself? Anne thought irritably, her own eyes darkening. For a moment there, laughing and joking together, she and Carlos had gotten too close. He was warning her to pull back, keep her distance, to remember at all times who he was and who she was. Their agreed-upon pact of friendliness for the day meant only the cessation of active hostilities, not that a groundwork could be laid for a truly warm friendship. I'll keep that in mind and won't trespass again, Anne told herself.
Carlos guided her first to the Place de la Concorde, at the southeastern end of the Champs-Élysées. This was the square, he informed her, where the guillotine stood during the Reign of Terror.
"Glance around now at all the people hurrying through, at the pleasant harmonious aspect here, and there is little to remind you that it was at one time the notorious Place de la Guillotine, splashing with the blood of over one thousand three hundred victims of the Revolution."
"There certainly isn't," Anne agreed, but nonetheless she shivered and felt momentarily cold.
She gazed up in awe at the Obelisk of Luxor, a two-hundred-ton stone needle from Egypt that had been erected in the square in 1836. Carlos led her over to where she could catch a breathtaking view of the Tuileries Garden, framed by the winged horses of Coysevox, down through the little Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel to the Louvre. Then he swung her around and again they faced the broad boulevard of the Champs-Élysées.
"Now we shall begin our two-mile walk along the most enchanting boulevard in Europe to the world-famous Arc de Triomphe, a monument that every tourist in Paris absolutely must visit. You can already see it there at the other end of the boulevard, at the Place Charles de Gaulle, formerly known as the Étoile, or Star. When we arrive there you will understand why it was known as the Étoile, as no fewer than twelve avenues radiate out from it like rays of light from a star. In the center of the Place is the Arc de Triomphe, which is a hundred and sixty-four feet high, more than twice the size of the Arch of Constantine in Rome. Under the Arc burns a perpetual light dedicated to France's Unknown Soldier. When we arrive there, we will take an elevator to the top for a most splendid view of this magnificent city."
As they walked along the boulevard, Carlos held on to her arm and Anne felt caught up in the romance and mystery of this most beloved of cities. During their walk Carlos said little, but when they reached their destination, he asked her how she was faring.
"Your feet are not yet hurting, I hope?"
"You are right, they are not."
"I'm glad," Carlos said. "Before I ever suggested this walk I had noticed, of course, that you are not one of those silly women who put fashion over comfort and wear those ridiculous shoes with heels tall and thin enough to go through concrete."
"Spike heels, you mean?" Anne suggested, laughing.
"Ah, is that what they're called?" Carlos laughed, his black eyes twinkling as he motioned toward the city below. "But is this not an enchanting view of a most enchanting city?"
And most enchanting company too, Anne felt an impulse to say, but she forced herself to refrain, answering simply, "Yes, indeed it is."
After they'd seen the view from the top of the Arc de Triomphe and had spent a few minutes wandering through the exhibition there, they descended to the ground and Carlos said that, to save some time, as well as to conserve their energy, they wouldn't walk back up the avenue to where he'd parked his car. Instead they would catch a cab. They must go to the Louvre next, of course, the largest palace in the world and surely also the world's greatest and most famous art gallery and museum.
Their stay at the Louvre was relatively brief for Carlos was anxious that they have time to go through the Tuileries Garden and visit the Jeu de Paume, a museum housing a fantastic collection of impressionist paintings.
"Ah, the impressionists," Carlos remarked as they entered the Jeu de Paume. "I don't know about your tastes in art, of course, but I have a special love for the impressionists, and Van Gogh is my number-one favorite artist of all time. His colors, his vibrant, vibrant colors! Ah, yes. When I am here in Paris on business, and find myself forced to kill a few hours— that is how you Americans phrase it, yes?—when I am frustrated in what I am trying to accomplish, I come here and stand once again before these paintings and all irritation, all anger, seems to melt away."
Carlos sighed. His hand fell away from Anne's arm but he flashed her a friendly, dismayed little smile. "Businessmen all over the world know about red tape, of course, the complicated, often contradictory regulations that governments issue, the infuriating delay of having to deal with an endless army of bureaucrats, but no other nation can frustrate one as can this glorious Republic of France. Businessmen from all over the world, when forced to deal with the French, admit to that. In America one needs a knife to cut through the red tape, yes? In France a knife would be useless. Instead you must use an armored tank."
Carlos slanted her an amused glance. "It is, to put it very gently and kindly, a most depressingly frustrating experience. So when I find myself ready to steam up and boil over, I force myself to come here, to immerse myself in these magnificent works. And slowly I remind myself that a nation that could produce the impressionists—Manet, Monet, Seurat, Degas, and especially that fantastic genius, the post-impressionist Van Gogh—can't be all bad."
After a slight hesitation, Anne dared say, "But— Van Gogh was Dutch, not French, wasn't he?"
Carlos burst out with a happy laugh, momentarily clasping Anne's hand in his. His black eyes twinkled merrily. "Ah, I wondered if you would catch that, but of course you did. Yes, Van Gogh was Dutch. Nevertheless, he did much of his best work while living in the south of France, he was greatly influenced by the French impressionists, and his brother Theo, who supported him most of his life, lived and worked in Paris. Surely he can be considered at least an adopted son of France, n'est-ce pas?"
"Of course, if you wish," Anne murmured, and as Carlos grinned broadly at her she smiled back, feeling an odd tension suddenly grip her. Carlos, smiling or sober, laughing or scowling, friendly or hostile, was such an incredibly handsome, appealing man, it hurt at moments even to look at him, to have him so physically close yet not close enough. Anne was reminded of pictures she'd seen of poor children with their noses pressed against windows as they eyed fabulous goodies they could not have. In spite of her great efforts at control, there were moments with Carlos when she felt a painful kinship with those hungry children.
When they left the Jeu de Paume, they agreed it was past time for lunch. Carlos asked her with a smile whether she'd prefer an elegant or casual atmosphere. Before she'd had a chance to decide, he suggested with a boyish grin that they try casual for lunch and save elegant for dinner.
"Fine with me," Anne responded, grinning too, her pulse racing to hear that Carlos planned to stay with her at least through dinner. What a fabulous day he was giving her!
They had lunch at the Bar des Theatres across from the Plaza-Athénée, an inexpensive place that Carlos told her excitedly was a favorite of models, actresses and their legions of male admirers. While they were lunching, Carlos cast a number of interested glances at the tall, voluptuous, heavily made-up young women.
Royalty often formed informal alliances with actresses and showgirl types, Anne thought rather sadly to herself; but, then, so did many men who didn't have a drop of royal blood. She could feel herself becoming withdrawn, irrationally resenting Carlos's obvious admiration for the glittery, glamorous young Frenchwomen laughing and chattering gaily on every side. Why should she care what kind of woman Carlos found most attractive? She had known from the first that he was not a man she could ever win for herself. Nor did she want to win him, she hastily reminded herself.
After lunch, they visited the Eiffel Tower, drove past the Luxembourg Gardens, passed the
Sorbonne and wound up at the Notre-Dame cathedral. Wandering through the cathedral, Anne felt all but overwhelmed. Unexpected tears came to her eyes as she stared at the glorious stained-glass windows, especially the rose window, which Carlos whispered to her was seven hundred years old. Carlos asked her, also in a whisper, whether she felt up to climbing to the top of the tower. "It's a pretty stiff climb," he warned her, eyeing her with concern. "If you'd rather not, just say so, and we won't."
"Oh, no. I'm not feeling overly tired and I'd like to, really."
It was already twilight when they reached the tower, and the lights of Paris were beginning to sparkle below. Anne sighed at the magnificent view spread out all around them. Carlos, standing beside her, momentarily put his arm around her waist. "It's almost too beautiful a sight to bear, isn't it?" he suggested, in a softly subdued voice.
As she glanced around to agree, Anne thought, But, no. I can bear the sight of beautiful, romantic Paris, as lovely as it is; it's having you so near and knowing you will always be out of reach that is unbearable. Her eyes stung with a hot mist as she nervously moved away, and Carlos dropped his arm, as though rebuffed.
After they climbed down from the tower and left the cathedral, they strolled for an hour along the banks of the Seine. "No tourist who comes to Paris, even if only for a day, should miss this," Carlos said. They passed numerous young people sitting on the banks of the river; some were earnestly conversing, while others were embracing and kissing. Here and there were artists planted before their easels, attempting to catch the last faint glimmers of twilight before giving up and going home. The river, flowing smoothly along, glittered with reflected light and Anne wondered whether this wasn't the most beautiful sight she had seen all day.
"Shall we take a cruise along the river?" Carlos suggested with sudden inspiration. "I've taken it during the day but never at night. What do you say?"
"Sounds wonderful. I'd love to."
The cruise was marvelous. It was fully dark by the time they climbed board the launch at the Pont d'Iena for the three-mile journey to the lie de la Cite. Paris sparkled before them. As Anne stood leaning over the upper rail, Carlos beside her, she allowed herself to drift into a fantasy that the incredibly handsome, charming man at her side was her husband, and this was their honeymoon. Had she not known Carlos for what he really was—an arrogantly self-righteous and unscrupulous man hiding behind a well-mannered facade—she could so easily have fallen in love with him. Even more, she would have found it impossible not to fall in love with him.
By the time they disembarked from the launch, in the shadows of the great Notre-Dame de Paris, it was twenty-five after nine.
"A fashionably late hour for dinner, and to tell the truth I'm starved," Carlos said with a smile, and Anne immediately agreed that she was hungry too.
"For lunch we sampled the casual. Tonight we shall indulge in the elegant," Carlos announced, black eyes twinkling.
Anne feared that the light blue blouse and simple tailored suit she wore wouldn't do for an elegant restaurant and suggested they return to her pension first.
"Nonsense," Carlos replied. "You look just fine. Certainly you are every bit as elegantly dressed as I am. The restaurant I have in mind is one I often go to and everyone knows me. They'll greet us with open arms and give us excellent service, believe me."
The Chez Denis, on the Avenue Gustave Flaubert, surprised Anne with its unpretentious exterior and completely unspectacular interior. When Carlos caught the look of surprise on her face, he leaned over to whisper into her ear, "Don't be fooled by the appearance, Anne. The cuisine is delicious, the service first rate, and the prices astronomically high, but worth it. You'll see."
At a few minutes after eleven Anne sipped the last of her after-dinner cordial and happily admitted to Carlos that she was full to bursting with the best dinner she had ever had.
"Anne, I hate to rush you," Carlos murmured politely in response, smiling, "but there is something else I wish to show you and I'm afraid it's getting late. If we rush we will just make it."
After a terrifyingly quick ride in a cab, the quickest way to where they were going, Carlos said, they drew up in front of a magnificent building which Carlos informed Anne was the Opera, the largest theatrical building in the world. When Carlos sought admittance, he was told that it was far too late, the evening's performance was all but over.
"Ah, but we just wish to go within to see the building itself," Carlos explained, and after a few banknotes had changed hands, he and Anne were admitted.
As they stood in the main foyer, Anne felt overwhelmed by the grand staircase they faced.
"Magnificent, is it not?" Carlos whispered into her ear, and Anne nodded in awed agreement.
Before long, they caught a cab back to where Carlos had earlier parked his little rented car, and Anne felt sure that their delightful day of sightseeing was now over. Carlos would surely return her to her undistinguished little room in the pension, where tomorrow she would receive Michael's call. But Carlos, flashing her a conspiratorial smile, assured her that he had other plans.
"The night is still young, ma chère." Reaching for Anne's hand, he gave it a squeeze. Anne felt her heart instantly race at both the endearment and the way Carlos's hand momentarily clasped hers. If only he weren't who he was, the rich, noble, dreadful man she knew him to be!
At one o'clock in the morning, they began a fast whirl through the Left Bank nightclubs. "We met in a nightclub in Morocco," Carlos reminded Anne with a grin. "Now we will see what this most enchanting of cities has to offer for entertainment. After all, no tourist can claim he has seen the real Paris until he has been to les boites. Are you game?"
Anne hesitated momentarily, but felt herself being carried away by Carlos's wide challenging grin and the excited gleam of his deep black eyes. "Well, yes, I guess so, if you like."
"Good enough."
They crowded into dark little nightclubs where cigar and cigarette smoke hung so thickly in the air it was hard to breathe, pushed their way onto tiny floors so packed with people it was all but impossible to dance; the best they could do was move their feet and sway their bodies in rhythm to the loud, insistent beat. They danced until they were so exhausted they had to sit, and then they watched the exotically dressed people who swarmed around them.
It was dawn as they left one club and began walking wearily arm in arm down the street. The sun was not yet visible in the sky, but the air was clear and crisp.
"Carlos, surely we have now had enough," Anne suggested, glancing around at him and feeling very bleary eyed.
Carlos's eyes met hers, and he burst out laughing. Putting an arm around her waist, he gave her a little squeeze. "Oui, ma chère, even I have had enough. Time to go home."
As Carlos drove them slowly through the nearly deserted streets, Anne rested her head back and almost fell asleep. What a fantastic twenty or so hours this had been! Anne knew that she had accumulated memories that would grow even richer over the years, but for the moment all she wanted was to crawl into bed and fall asleep.
When they reached the pension where she was staying, Carlos parked his car and walked her into the little entry hall. There he reached for one hand and held it as he gazed down at her.
"Well, dear Anne, it was worth it, was it not? Putting aside our hostility for one day to enjoy the city? I promised you a day you would never forget. Have I made good on my promise?"
In spite of her exhaustion, Anne felt a wave of affection and excitement wash through her. How charming Carlos could be when he chose!
She leaned forward to press a soft kiss on Carlos's cheek. "Yes, you more than made good on your promise. You gave me a day such as I have never experienced before and quite likely never will again, for which I thank you."
"And I thank you," Carlos responded softly. He reached out, put his arms around her and drew her close. Anne felt so tired she instinctively rested her head on Carlos's shoulder as he held her. How warm and comforting his nearnes
s was! They stood unmoving for several seconds, then as Anne lifted her head to pull away, Carlos drew her even closer. His sensuous mouth pressed down on hers. Anne felt her pulse speed up. She lifted her arms and slipped them around Carlos's neck. Their kiss slowly deepened, Carlos moving his lips against hers to urge them open. As he tasted the soft sweetness within she gave a little moan, tangling her fingers in the luxuriant dark hair at his nape. His answering groan caused Anne to shiver and tremble with excitement. Of her own accord she pressed even harder against him, to where she could feel his hard masculine strength moving, breathing against her. As their kiss ended at last, as Carlos slowly, erotically withdrew from her, Anne thought this seemed the perfect way to end their day.
Finally each drew back, as though in accord, and stood a moment gazing steadily at the other.
"Thank you again, Anne. I had a truly wonderful time." Carlos spoke softly in his full, deep voice.
Anne felt happy and tired and bewildered and excited all at the same time. "I'm the one who thanks you," she murmured in response.
A door opened onto the entryway and the tiny white-haired woman who ran the pension peered out, bright old eyes appraising them. Anne drew back, murmured one final, "Thank you," and turned to begin ascending the stairs. She heard Carlos address her landlady, but as he spoke in French she would not have understood his words even had she lingered to listen, which she didn't. All she wanted now was to make it up the stairs to her second-floor room.
She had just finished undressing and turning down her bed when there was a rap on the door and Carlos's voice called out, "Anne? Anne, you aren't asleep yet, are you?"
Startled, momentarily frightened, Anne walked over to the door without opening it. "Carlos, what do you want? Why are you here?" Her pulse raced with both excitement and unreasonable fear.
"Open the door, please, Anne. I want to tell you something, that's all. I know how tired you are but it's quite important, really. If it weren't, I wouldn't be bothering you."
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