Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

  “Pardon, Madame — I mean, Docteur,” she said. She held a clipboard. “Le doyen asked that you fill out these forms, s´il vous plâit.”

  “Surely.” Bishou took the board from her and slid a pen out of her purse. The secretary left, almost superstitiously, and retreated to her desk.

  One of the forms was a plain old job application, but — she smiled as she looked at some of the others — there were insurance forms, pension forms, and so on, the forms of someone who had already been hired.

  The dean had pulled the forms from the file he’d already started on her, and given them to the secretary to pass on. The Journal of Higher Education had been correct when it said this school was new, and the jobs board had said they were desperate for new hires in a few significant areas, including comparative literature. Dr. Rubin already had her résumé. She had sent it with her letter from the States. In compliance with U.S. law, and also with the newest French laws, none of the paperwork had happened to mention that she was a woman. There was probably a lot of retrenching going on in that back office.

  Bishou was copying her passport number onto one of the forms when a shadow fell over it. She looked up to see the Frenchest Frenchman she’d ever seen, spectacles and little goatee and all, frowning down at her. “Dr. Howard?”

  “Oui.” She slipped her passport back in her purse, and stood with the clipboard.

  “I am Dr. Rubin.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur le Doyen,” she said. She put out a hand before he did, and they shook hands.

  “Please, come into my office.”

  He motioned for her to precede him, but she shook her head and motioned to him. After all, he knew the way. And he was the dean. He led the way back to his office, a reasonably sized enclosure with a glass door. He closed the door and slid behind his desk. They sat down simultaneously.

  “Well, Docteur,” he said. “What brings you to our beautiful island?”

  “I just received my doctorate, Monsieur le Doyen, and now I need experience. The climate of Réunion Island is much like Virginia, and you had a job opening in the very area in which I have taught — comparative literature.”

  “I saw that you spent time studying in Paris.” He was re-reading her resume. “But how do you speak French so well?”

  “My family is French-Canadian,” Bishou replied. “My father is now retired, but he was a professor in Massachusetts.” She named the three universities at which Dad had taught. “My mother was a teacher in a college preparatory school.” She named the school, which was also well known. “My brothers and I switch easily between the French and English tongues.”

  They spoke back and forth a while longer. During this time, Bishou “happened to mention” that she taught freshman classes, she taught early hours, she tutored, and she had assisted with fundraising. Dr. Rubin never came out and said it was an all-male, all-French faculty, but she got the gist. He also “happened to mention” that women’s salaries weren’t as high as men’s, and she “happened to mention” that a doctorate was a doctorate. No blood was shed, but the battle lines were drawn.

  “Would you be willing to give a presentation some evening?” he asked.

  “Bien sûr,” she replied. “On what topic? Passion in literature, my dissertation topic? Or do you have a favorite subject of your own?”

  He smiled a stiff smile, and gestured away the topic. “Réunion thrives on different passions.”

  “So I have been told,” she said, and did not smile.

  He gave her a calculating look. “How long will you be here?”

  “I do not know yet. A week, perhaps.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “La Pension Étoile,” she replied.

  “Ah, not a private home,” he said, a leading question if ever there was one.

  “Non, Monsieur le Doyen.”

  “That is expensive, is it not?”

  “Oui, it is.” She said no more, not wanting to give him an opening to delay his decision until after she would be forced to leave. She knew that academic delay tactic, too.

  “I must meet with the college president, and then arrange the presentation,” he said. “I will be in touch with you.”

  “Merci, Monsieur le Doyen,” Bishou said, understanding that the appointment was over.

  She stood as he did. Yes, they did have good timing together — that was a positive sign. She let a smile touch the corner of her mouth, just barely, and thought she saw a twinkle in his eye. It was too early to judge, though.

  He walked her to the front office. “Give your paperwork to Mme. Ellis,” he said, indicating the secretary who had first greeted her. “She will take care of it.” They shook hands, as the secretaries stared at them. “Au revoir, Dr. Howard.”

  “Au revoir, Monsieur le Doyen,” Bishou replied. Then she turned to the secretary. “Madame, I have not finished this paperwork. Do you mind if I return to the corner, to work on it?”

  “Go ahead, Docteur,” said Mme. Ellis politely.

  Bishou finished the paperwork, and returned to the secretary’s desk with the clipboard. She was aware that she would be the most-talked-about event of the secretarial pool for the next three days, at least. “Voici, Madame. And thank you for your help.”

  “De rien, Docteur. Au revoir.”

  Back out in the sunlight, Bishou checked her watch. It was half-past eleven, not yet siesta time in Saint-Denis. She walked to the front gate, trying to decide whether to travel farther or return to the pension for a bath and a nap. The bus was waiting there. She made her decision. She would travel farther.

  She climbed aboard. “Rue Calaincourt,” she told him, as she paid her fare.

  The driver merely nodded, and the bus trundled on its way.

  At the Rue Calaincourt stop, several passengers disembarked. They headed elsewhere, not up the Rue itself. Bishou walked it alone.

  There were two pretty houses along the way, but neither was number 7. A third house on the left — stuccoed, earth-toned, shingle-roofed, clean and neat — struck her as a possibility. She turned up the front path. The windows were open, so surely her footsteps were audible to anyone who might be at home. She smiled at a tiny “7" painted on the exterior, near the front door.

  The door opened before she reached it. A bespectacled woman, hardly much older than Bishou, stood there. “Oh, mes apologies. I thought the children were early. What may I do for you?”

  “Madame Campard?”

  “Oui,” she replied curiously.

  “I am called Bishou Howard.”

  Denise Campard stared. Then she screamed, and threw her arms around Bishou’s neck.

  Bishou smiled, and returned the hug. “Does this mean you recognize my name?”

  “Oh! Oh! Oh! Recognize it?” Her cries had brought the Creole housekeeper running. Denise waved her off with one hand. “Non, non, non, Josie, it’s all right — oh, it’s not all right, it’s wonderful, Josie, make us some coffee, will you? Recognize the name? Oh, come in, come in! Welcome! You, of all people, in our home!” She grabbed Bishou’s hands, and dragged her into the living room. “What are you doing here, Bishou? Have you come to see Louis?”

  “Non. I haven’t seen him yet. I wanted to see you both first — to see how he was, and to see if it was a good idea.”

  “Good idea?” She sounded incredulous.

  “Well, you know, he collapsed at my place.”

  “You’re the only woman he ever mentions, besides his secretary and Carola.” To her credit, Denise Campard did not make a face when she said Carola’s name. “You’ll stay for lunch, won’t you? How did you get here? Where are you staying? Oh, you just dropped out of the sky! Louis said he couldn’t write you anymore at East Virginia University, and then you left New England, your brother wrote to tell him.”

  “What else did my brother say?” she asked curiously.

  “Just that he didn’t know your plans. Louis was disappointed that there was no forwarding address in
your brother’s note. Oh, to think that you should be here!” She hugged Bishou again. “Oh, I must tell Etien. No, I won’t have to. He’ll be home for lunch in a few minutes. He’ll bring the boys. You’ll have lunch with us, then?”

  Bishou was still smiling. “Of course I will. I’ve wanted to meet all of you for so long.”

  “You wanted to meet us? Mon Dieu!” Denise exclaimed. “Oh, wait, wait, I hear the car. Oh, viens, viens.” She almost dragged Bishou bodily to the entryway.

  They heard boys’ voices, laughter, and their father’s replies. Then the front door opened. A thin, bespectacled businessman in a suit, with a schoolboy on either side, stared in surprise at his wife who rested an arm around another woman.

  “Bonjour,” said Etien Campard courteously, looking questions at his wife.

  “Etien,” said Denise, “voici Bishou.”

  Etien Campard dropped his briefcase. Stunned, he stepped forward and hugged her. “Oh, mon Dieu. Bishou.”

  “Bonjour, mon ami,” she said in his ear, returning the hug. “I am so glad to meet you at last.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Meeting you. Making sure Louis is all right. Traveling before I start working at a full-time job.”

  He pulled back enough to look at her. “Louis said you received your doctorate.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And now you are free of your obligations in America?”

  “Oui, I am.”

  A smile lit up his face. “I am glad to hear that.”

  Denise dragged them all to the lunch table. The boys started asking the strange lady questions. They were interested to hear that she had two younger brothers and an older one, in America. Did they have a dog? Had she ever seen an Indian? Did she climb on the Rocky Mountains? Their questions seemed childish — the boys were almost the same ages as her younger brothers. Then she thought, No, my brothers have aged before their time.

  “So Louis does not know you are here,” said Etien.

  “Etien! Let’s surprise him,” said his wife.

  “I’m not sure about that,” Bishou objected. “I don’t want him to faint again.”

  “That was stress and exhaustion,” Denise said. “He’s at home now, having lunch. Why don’t we invite him to come over?”

  “Yes! Let’s surprise Oncle Louis!” said Jean-Luc, the elder son.

  “I don’t know,” said Bishou. “Don’t you think it will upset him too much?”

  “Non!” said the younger boy, Pierrot. “Not Oncle Louis. Besides, we’ll be here to take care of him.”

  “Are you going to marry him?” Jean-Luc asked.

  The parents looked shocked at such a loaded question, but Bishou understood how young boys’ minds worked. “Why, do you think he needs someone to take care of him?”

  “Bien sûr,” Jean-Luc replied. “He’s got Bettina the housekeeper and Madeleine the cook, but they don’t keep a really good eye on him.”

  “He gets sick,” Pierrot contributed, “and Papa and Maman worry about him.”

  “It’s difficult, isn’t it?” she agreed. “My brothers and I have to worry about our parents the same way. They are very sick. My maman is in a wheelchair.”

  “Really? A wheelchair?” Pierrot’s eyes grew as big as saucers. “Do you push her around?”

  “Sometimes. But she knows how to turn the wheels herself, too.”

  “Wow. Is there snow where you live?”

  “Yes, there is. We go hiking and skiing in it.”

  “Wow,” said the boys.

  Etien’s eyes twinkled as he realized that Bishou understood the children’s questions, and was not embarrassed. “Now. What do we do? Do we telephone Oncle Louis?”

  “Yes!”

  “And what do I say? I am not a good liar.”

  “Tell him that we have something for him, and it just arrived on the ferry,” his wife suggested. “That is close enough to the truth. And we did have him over for a little party, two weeks ago, when he turned thirty-six. Let him think it’s a late present.”

  “He’ll look in the window, rather than knock. He always does.”

  “The boys will hide in the bedroom with Bishou. They can sneak up on him once he sits down at the table.”

  “We are sure to give it away.”

  “Well,” said Bishou, “if we do, then we can be sure he won’t faint, yes?”

  Etien grinned. Denise giggled. Etien rose, went to the telephone, and dialed a number.

  After a pause, he said, “Bettina, c’est Etien Campard. May I speak with Monsieur Dessant, please? Allo, Louis? Can you come over? There’s something here at the house, just arrived on the ferry, that I want you to see. I may need some help with it. Non, non, it’s hard to describe. You will see. Come and have coffee with us, too. Bon, ten minutes. Au revoir.” Etien hung up. “Ten minutes.”

  “I heard,” said Bishou.

  The boys led her into their parents’ darkened bedroom, just off the living room. They all squatted down beside the bed.

  “Ssh, ssh!” they whispered, giggling, “or he’ll hear us.”

  The boys gripped her arms tightly when they heard a car arrive, the sound of footsteps, and Louis’s voice. Then Bishou heard Etien Campard opening the front door, and Louis stepping inside.

  “Well, what is this thing, Etien?” Louis Dessant asked his partner.

  “I’ll show you in a bit. Come have some coffee.” Etien led him to the dining area.

  Bishou and the children peeked out the bedroom door to see a man dressed in white, his back to them, seated on a dining room chair.

  Louis exchanged greetings with Denise, who poured coffee, made sure he had cream, all the little things one does for a guest.

  Bishou whispered to the boys, “You must go out and say hello, and distract him. Make sure he does not look behind him, and I will sneak across.”

  The boys, grinning, ran out. “Boujour, Oncle Louis!”

  “Bonjour, mes enfants!” he greeted them cheerfully. “What is this surprise, do you know?” He was nonplussed when both boys giggled.

  “Jean-Luc, Pierrot, you come and sit down over here, beside me,” their mother interposed.

  “Oh, Maman, I will stay here — ”

  “Come,” she said firmly, while Etien wiped a grin from his face and sat down beside his partner. Jean-Luc continued standing behind Louis’s left shoulder, trying hard not to giggle.

  “Jean-Luc, you are up to something,” Louis said, suspicious.

  Etien poured cream into Louis’s coffee and appeared calm — although he couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eye. The atmosphere in the room seemed almost electric.

  Bishou made an exaggerated business out of sneaking up behind Louis. Denise tried hard not to look, and failed. One boy was giggling, the other was clenching his jaw. Louis could tell that something was happening behind his back. When he started to turn around, Jean-Luc put his hands over Louis’s eyes.

  “Oh, non, Oncle Louis, don’t turn your head!”

  “You’ll spoil the surprise,” Etien concurred. Etien’s assurance made Louis stop and sigh.

  “You monkeys are up to something,” he said.

  “Oui, they are,” Etien agreed, “but I think it’s a surprise you will like.”

  “I don’t like surprises. At all. Ever,” said Louis flatly.

  She was close enough, now, to nod to Jean-Luc. He slid his hands away from Louis’s eyes, and she slid hers into place.

  “All right,” said Etien, in that same reasonable voice. “Guess the surprise.”

  Louis touched the hands over his eyes, felt a woman’s fingernails. He felt her left wrist, and the lady’s watch she wore. He touched the college ring on her right hand.

  “Une bague — ” He stood up like a shot, and spun around, staring at her. At last, he spoke. “Bishou?”

  “Oui, Louis.”

  “Bishou.” Louis pushed the chair aside. He reached out and drew her closely. He closed his eyes, and pre
ssed his face into her hair. “Bishou.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oui.”

  His voice was soft and disbelieving. “How can this be? You are in America. You are half a world away.”

  “Non, I am right here.”

  “Ah, non,” he said, pressing his face into her shoulder, “I am hallucinating again.”

  “Aussi,” she said. Me, too.

  Smiling, Etien asked Louis, “Well. Was it worth the trip over here?”

  • • •

  They sat on the couch while Louis tried to recover himself. When he could form sentences again, he asked, “But why are you here?”

  They still held hands. “I came to see how you were doing,” she told him.

  “But Etien could have told you that,” he gently protested.

  “Etien only says what he wants me to hear.”

  “Well, that is true,” Louis agreed in amusement, watching the indignant look on Etien’s face. “But it is all for the best, you know. That is what he would tell us.” An anxious look appeared. “Your degree, it is all right, is it not?”

  “Of course it is. Do you want to see it? It’s in my luggage in the hotel room.”

  “Hotel room? Friends on this island, and you stay in a hotel room? Etien?”

  Apparently, Etien had the same thought. “Stay here, Bishou.”

  “Non. It wouldn’t be right to stay with either of you. The hotel it is.”

  “If you say so,” Louis said grudgingly. “I would not waste my time and energy arguing with you. I know better.” He released her hand. “Now, tell me how you came here.”

  Bishou drank some of Denise’s coffee. “Well. After the World Tobacco Conference ended, I finished my dissertation. In June, I defended it against the examining panel, and waited at home with my family to see if I would need to prepare a responsion.”

  “Responsion?”

  “Response to objections to my thesis. But no, it went through without too much difficulty, grâce à Dieu. Dr. Roth telephoned even before I got the official letter.”

  “Congratulations!” Etien said heartily.

  Louis still watched her carefully. “But then something happened,” he prompted.