Messenger From God (The Last Eulogy Series Book 1)

by Anthony DiVerniero

  “Arnaud, Paolo. Are we all set for tonight?…Excellent, how much will it cost me?… Arnaud, you don’t have to…Forget about yesterday, that’s over with…How much? If you don’t tell me, I won’t show up…Euros or dollars?…Excellent, get me the bank info, and I’ll have Rebecca transfer the money…I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Paolo hung up the phone and called Rebecca. He walked back to the lounge chairs and fell asleep in the cool spring air.

  Paolo awoke to the blare of a car horn from the street below. He had a thunderous headache. He checked his BlackBerry for the time. Four o’clock. He had slept for five hours. In his search for some Advil, he came across a note Sydney left him. He read it and went to the bedroom.

  Sydney lay on the bed sideways in a black baby-doll lace negligee. Paolo undressed and lay beside her. He touched her bare thigh, then gently kissed her cheek. Sydney smiled and snuggled close to him. He kissed her warm mouth. They embraced and made love.

  “I have a surprise for you tonight.”

  “You do? I thought you just gave me a surprise.”

  “Besides that surprise.”

  “What is it?”

  “I arranged—or I should say Arnaud arranged—dinner for us at the Eiffel Tower at Le Jules Verne.” He said this in his best French accent.

  “Oh my God, do you know how hard it is to get reservations?”

  “Yes, Arnaud told me. Nonetheless, we’re going to dine at Le Jules Verne. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  “Me, too. I’m going to take a shower and get ready.”

  “Okay, I’ll use the other bathroom.” Paolo leaned over and gave Sydney a kiss. “You are absolutely beautiful.”

  Sydney pushed him gently. “Thank you. Now get going before we spend our entire vacation in bed.”

  “Oui, Madame.”

  Paolo walked into the dressing area of the bedroom. Sydney sat before the mirror putting on her makeup.

  “Are you almost ready to go? The concierge called, our car is here.”

  “Yeah, I’m just about done.” She put on lip gloss that made her lips shine.

  “I still don’t understand why you use makeup. You’re already beautiful.”

  “You men will never understand.” She stood up and straightened her outfit. “I’m ready.”

  Paolo smiled. “You look stunning tonight.”

  “Thank you.” She kissed his cheek.

  They walked to the private elevator, and traveled the seven stories to the lobby in silence. When the door opened, Jean Paul was there to meet them.

  “Jean Paul, what a pleasant surprise,” Sydney said.

  “Oui, Madame. It is such a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Good evening, Jean Paul.”

  “Good evening, Paolo. Arnaud said I am to be your driver for the evening. Wherever you would like to go, I shall take you.”

  “Excellent, Jean Paul. First stop, the Eiffel Tower. We’re having dinner at Le Jules Verne.”

  “Very nice, monsieur, you have a beautiful night for it, the sky is clear.”

  Paolo turned to Sydney. “The restaurant is four hundred feet in the air. We’ll have a fabulous view of Paris tonight.”

  “I hear the food is superb.”

  “I hope so. If not, we’ll have exceptional food when we get to Sorrento.”

  They walked through the hotel lobby, past a young couple talking to the concierge about dinner reservations. Paolo overheard their disappointment; they couldn’t get a reservation at Le Jules Verne. “Sydney and Jean Paul, I’ll be right back—I want to talk to these people.”

  “Okay, we’ll meet you in the car.”

  “Okay, I won’t be long.”

  Paolo approached the couple. “Excuse me, you need a reservation at Le Jules Verne?”

  The young man, in his late twenties, said, “Yes, they’re booked. Tonight is our last night in Paris, then we head back to the States. We’re here on our honeymoon and when I made the plans, I forgot to make reservations.”

  “It’s okay, honey, it’s not the end of the world,” his young wife said.

  “Hi, my name is Paolo. I might be able to help.”

  The newly hired concierge raised an eyebrow in fascination. His expression said, These Americans, what do they know? If I can’t get them a reservation, nobody can.

  “Let me make a phone call. What are your names?”

  “I’m Mike, and this is my wife Kathy.” Mike offered his hand; Paolo reached out and shook it.

  “Glad to meet you, Mike and Kathy, my name is Paolo DeLaurentis. Give me a minute and let me see what I can do?” He turned away and walked a short distance, then called Arnaud.

  Kathy whispered to her new husband, “Do you know who that is? That’s the guy who was on the cover of Time magazine.”

  The concierge interrupted their conversation. Unaware of who Paolo was, he said, “I do not think this Paolo whatever his name is will be able to help. I can get you a reservation here at the hotel restaurant if you let me…”

  Paolo returned to the newlyweds. He heard the concierge and interrupted, “If you don’t mind waiting an hour and a half…”

  “Not at all,” the husband chimed in, “Not at all.” The couple’s faces lit up as they said in unison, “Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  “Should we give you our last name?”

  “All you have to do is just show up in an hour and a half.” Paolo turned to the concierge. “Would you like me to get you a reservation as well?” he said sarcastically. Mike and Kathy giggled to themselves as they walked away.

  Paolo walked out into the evening air. Darkness had descended upon the City of Lights. Jean Paul stood by the car and opened the door for Paolo.

  “Jean Paul, I’ve made reservations for the young couple I was talking with at Le Jules Verne. If you don’t mind, could you come back and pick them up in an hour and a half?”

  “It would be my pleasure. I will come back here in an hour. That way I will not miss them. What are their names?”

  “Mike and Kathy.”

  “I will pick them up as you requested.”

  Paolo leaned over and entered the car. Sydney said, “You’re too good. How did you ever get them a reservation? The restaurant is usually booked months in advance.”

  “I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

  “Ooh, that type of talk turns me on. Now really, how did you do it?”

  “Like I said, I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

  “You Italians,” she said, leaning over to kiss him.

  They held hands for the fifteen-minute drive. The Eiffel Tower glistened in gold light. Its majestic beauty impaled the evening sky. Comprised of seven thousand tons of iron and paint, the tower was built in 1889 as a centennial tribute to the French Revolution. Almost torn down in 1909, the structure had become the iconic symbol of Paris. If you cared to walk to the top, plan to climb over sixteen hundred steps.

  The car came to a stop at the corner of Quai Branly and Pont d’lena. “That is absolutely beautiful,” Paolo said. He looked through the archways at the lights of the Ecole-Militaire on the horizon. Jean Paul opened the door and offered his hand to Sydney. Tourists and Parisians roamed the base of the tower. The night sky with its brilliant stars, the clean spring air, and a slight chill captivated the romantic side of Paolo.

  “Paolo, this is beautiful.” Sydney’s eyes sparkled in the evening light. She squeezed his hand.

  “Yes, it is. I believe the elevator is over there,” he said, pointing to his right.

  “You mean the one that says Jules Verne on the awning?”

  A door attendant approached them. “Mr. DeLaurentis?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your table awaits you, sir, right this way.”

  As the ground below them grew smaller, they watched the cable carry the elevator to the second platform.

  “This is beautiful. We should
bring the girls here. They would love it.”

  “What they’d love is the shopping. It would cost us a fortune if we brought them here,” Paolo chuckled.

  The doors opened. Music played in the background. Claude, the general manager of the restaurant, met them. “Good evening, Madame Hill and Monsieur DeLaurentis. We have been expecting you. Please follow me, I will show you to your table.”

  The diminutive man led the way. Sydney pulled on Paolo’s arm. “Paolo, we’re the only ones here?” Her voice cracked.

  “Yes, just you and me, for at least an hour and fifteen minutes. Claude, when Mike and Kathy arrive, please let me know—I’d like to speak with them. I’m sure you will seat them away from us, so they may have their privacy as well.”

  “Oui, monsieur.”

  “Please call me Paolo, and this is Sydney. I’ll pay for Mike and Kathy’s meal. Whatever they want, please give it to them.”

  “Oui, Paolo. Please feel free to walk around and enjoy the view.”

  “We most certainly will, thank you, Claude.” He turned to Sydney. “Hello, are you there?” Paolo waved his hand in front of her face.

  “I, I…” Sydney stuttered, “I’m speechless. I can’t believe you did this all for me?”

  “Yes, I did, because I love you and I want to make you happy.”

  “Wow, thank you so much. What a view,” she exclaimed. “Look, the Ferris wheel at the end of the Jardin des Tuileries.”

  “Look over here.” Paolo pointed to the north, “The Arc de Triomphe.”

  “Absolutely breathtaking.”

  The Champs-Élysées glowed as they peered through the glass. The tower’s steel girder legs swept past them. Down below and over the horizon was the most spectacular view of Paris. The city’s lights dotted the horizon. Paolo and Sydney wandered the restaurant. A waiter offered them glasses of white wine. The air was filled with romantic French music as three musicians serenaded them.

  “Would you care to dance?” Paolo asked.

  “I’d love to.”

  They held each other tightly, swaying to the rhythm of the music. They went back to their table hand in hand, past the kitchen located at the center of the restaurant. Paolo pulled Sydney’s chair out for her.

  “What a gentleman.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sydney sat down. Paolo leaned over and pulled back her hair. He kissed her neck.

  “The chairs are comfortable and the tableware…” She paused and picked up a fork. “Look at this, Paolo.”

  “Yes, quite interesting.”

  The tableware was made specifically for the restaurant. It had a unique, contemporary flair and mimicked the inside of a Jules Verne airship.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the privilege of ordering for us.”

  “Not at all. What did you order?”

  “I ordered you beef tournedos with foie gras and vegetables. For me, roasted veal. And for dessert, a chocolate soufflé and dark chocolate, praline, and hazelnut ice cream.”

  “That sounds better than sex,” Sydney quipped.

  “Well, I don’t know about that.”

  “This was excellent. I can’t wait for dessert.”

  “Yep, it was great. The veal was very tender.”

  The waiter cleared the table and the musicians played “La vie en rose.”

  “I love that song; I wish I understood French,” Sydney said.

  Paolo took hold of her hand and said, “Hold me close and hold me fast, the magic spell you cast, this is la vie en rose. When you kiss me, heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes, I see la vie en rose. When you press me to your heart, I am in a world apart, a world where roses bloom and when you speak, angels sing from above. Everyday words seem to turn into love songs. Give your heart and soul to me and life will always be la vie en rose.”

  “Are those actually the words?” Sydney asked, incredulous.

  “Yes, they are,” he continued. “Everyday words seem to turn into love songs. Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be la vie en rose.” Paolo reached into his blazer and pulled out a Harry Winston box. He opened it and said, “Sydney, will you marry me?”

  Sydney stared at the two-carat pear-shaped diamond ring. Stunned, she picked it up and held it to her chest. A tear trickled down her face. “I can’t.” She reached for Paolo’s hand, “I don’t know if I love you.” She placed the ring on the table, stood, and left. Paolo sat stunned, his heart broken in two, ravaged by the words she’d spoken.

  Claude approached. “Monsieur, Mike and Kathy have arrived.”

  “Thank you, Claude. When Sydney returns, tell her I’ll be right back.”

  Claude said apprehensively, “Paolo, Sydney got on the elevator when your friends arrived.”

  Paolo looked past his reflection in the window and gazed out into the darkness. Unable to look at Claude, he bowed his head into his right hand. “Oh, okay,” he said. Claude walked silently away.

  Paolo stared out the window. The cold, stark iron pillars lay placid in the blackness of the night. His soul was drenched in sorrow. Tears flowed down his face into his hand. He grabbed a white linen napkin and wiped his face. He composed himself in his hurt and heart-wrenching agony and stood to meet the newlyweds. A nearby waiter saw the ring on the table.

  “Monsieur, you left this.” He held the two-carat diamond ring in his hand.

  “It’s okay, I don’t need it anymore. You can keep it.” Paolo was visibly upset.

  “Monsieur, I cannot accept this. Maybe you should sit down. I will get you a drink.”

  “No, no, I’m fine, thank you.” Far from fine, his face ashen, Paolo said with a stern voice, “I’ll be insulted if you refuse my gift.”

  “Oui, Monsieur, thank you.”

  CHAPTER 64

  The memory of your voice, the memory of your touch

  Will put me at ease, so lonely I will be.

  My longing for you will seem like an eternity

  So long, I must say to you today

  Goodbye, I cannot say

  How I would love it if you would stay

  PAOLO SPOKE WITH Mike and Kathy. Their exuberant faces acknowledged the gratitude they had for this man they didn’t know.

  “Thank you so much,” Kathy said.

  “Yes, this is unbelievable. I can’t believe we’re the only ones here. Would you care to join us?” Mike offered to get a chair.

  “No, thank you, I must get going.”

  “My wife thinks you were on the cover of Time magazine.”

  “Mike,” Kathy said, stretching out his name.

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Mr. DeLaurentis, please excuse my husband.” Kathy gazed into Paolo’s eyes. “You are a very kind and generous man, thank you.”

  “No problem. I hope you enjoy the evening.” Paolo started to walk away. He turned back and said, “If we should never meet again, have a wonderful life filled with love for one another.”

  The couple didn’t know what to say, other than “Thank you.”

  Paolo was met at the elevator door. “Monsieur Paolo, Jean Paul is waiting for you downstairs.”

  “Thank you, Claude. Your staff is outstanding.” Paolo was silent for a moment and then said, “If we should never meet again, Claude, may your life be filled with joy and love.” The elevator door opened and Paolo stepped inside. Paolo saw the sadness in Claude’s eyes; he knew the man would revisit the story of how two lovers’ hearts were broken in the Jules Verne. The waiter would donate the ring to an orphanage.

  Jean Paul met Paolo by the elevator. “Did you take Sydney to the hotel?” Paolo’s voice was sullen.

  “Oui.”

  “Was she alright?”

  “She was crying. She said nothing except thank you when we got to the hotel.”

  “Oh.”

  Jean Paul held the car door open. “Back to the hotel, Paolo?”

  “Not yet. Take me for a drive…toward the Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs-Élysées.�
�� Paolo hoped the drive would be long enough that when he got back to the hotel, Sydney would be asleep.

  Jean Paul drove toward the Arc. “Paolo, do you wish to stop someplace?”

  “No, I’ll be fine, Jean Paul.” After a pause, he went on, “I don’t understand women, I guess…the mixed signals, the hormones…the sad part, Jean Paul, is…she loves me.”

  Jean Paul listened.

  “I had everything planned. I’d ask Sydney to marry me, the lights of Paris below us. She would say yes, a long embrace, a passionate kiss in the city of love. I would whisk her off to Sorrento to the hotel with the balcony overlooking the bay. Two lovers standing on the terrace, we would watch the sunset. A warm evening breeze would blow the curtains into our suite. I’d hold her in my arms, kissing her in the way that made her body tingle. We would make love. Our lives together would be as one.” Paolo sighed deeply. Tears trickled down his cheeks. “I guess that plan didn’t work,” he said with a whispered chuckle.

  As the car sped past the Grand Palais, Paolo’s cell phone rang. He answered with the hope it was Sydney.

  “Hello.”

  “My friend, are you alright?” Arnaud said.

  “I will be in time, I suppose.” Not wanting to talk, Paolo added, “We’ll probably check out tomorrow. Thank you for the suite, Arnaud, I appreciate what you did.”

  “Paolo, you can stay as long as you want. I will stay at my villa in the country.”

  “Thank you, but no, life goes on.”

  “Goodbye, my friend.”

  “Goodbye, Arnaud.”

  Sydney Hill walked out of Le Meurice, still crying, with her suitcase in hand. Black mascara ran down her face. The attendant opened the car door for her. “The car will take you to the airport, Madame.” She bent over to enter the Mercedes limo, then looked up and stopped.

  “Excuse me, I thought this car was for me?”

  “It is, Miss Hill. Would you care to join me? My name is Dr. Colin Payne.”

  At that same time, the doorman pushed her into the back seat. He ran to the driver’s side, jumped in, and sped off down the Rue di Rivoli.

  “Duman, to the chateau.”

  “Yes, Dr. Payne.”