"I'm sure you're asking too much for this," she said, joining in on the fun of haggling in the Parisian fashion. It was surprising how easy it was to fall in with the verbal stabs.
The little man smirked. "You would not appreciate that piece," he said, faltering over the word "appreciate."
"It takes someone who knows about fine things."
Jacquelyn considered for a moment before she answered. Instinctively she understood how she should reply. "Maybe if you explained its value to me…" Jacquelyn ventured.
The little man looked directly at her. He placed his dusting rag on the counter. He reached for the clock and took it from her hands. Tenderly, he rubbed its surface. His eyes glinted as if from some long-ago memory.
"You really want to know?" he asked.
"Yes, I do," Jacquelyn answered.
"Then sit down," he ordered, pointing to a small straight-backed chair. "You may not be too ignorant to learn a few things. But do not interrupt. Listen. Too many questions, and I end the lesson."
"Of course," Jacquelyn agreed.
And she sat fascinated for an hour, while the shopkeeper pointed to item after item and told her of its history. Jacquelyn had thought herself knowledgeable, but she realized there was more to learn about periods, craftsmanship and the background of antiques than one could possibly absorb in a lifetime.
Jacquelyn left the shop feeling both enlightened and humbled. The shopkeeper had a way of making her feel stupid for not knowing more about the world of antiques. If she had more time to spend in his company, she would acquire a broad knowledge.
While there, Jacquelyn had settled on an Empire acajou Table-Gueridon. Its three legs were connected by a triangular piece that supported the decorative figures standing proudly under the edge of the table. It was in excellent condition, and the price seemed fair in light of the history the shopkeeper had told her about it.
Jacquelyn considered the possibility that the spritely shopkeeper had pulled a fast one on her. But she had examined the table closely, looking for signs of fake wear put there by hands experienced at reproducing old masters. She found none of those. She had checked the underside of the table to determine if the wood had been stained. It had not, which was another sign of authenticity. It sometimes took a sharp eye to detect a fake.
Jacquelyn spent the rest of the morning browsing in other antique shops. She found some fascinating mirrors and a chandelier or two, but nothing she thought truly suitable for Cypress Halls.
As agreed, Jacquelyn met Scott at the café he had designated for lunch. She stood self-consciously on the sidewalk, waiting for him, not sure whether to take a seat at one of the tables under the bright green umbrellas.
Then she saw a shock of unruly brown hair advancing toward her. The sun glinted down on the pair of brown horn-rimmed sunglasses Scott wore. She was surprised at how relieved she felt to see a familiar face—even Scott McCrann's.
When he reached her, he took her elbow. "Hungry?" he asked, smiling down at her, standing so close she could almost hear his heartbeat. From the corner of her eye she saw a couple at one of the tables, holding hands.
"Yes," she answered.
Scott led her to a table and pulled out a cane chair. He popped up the green umbrella to provide some shade and took a seat opposite her.
A waiter with a white cloth thrown over his left arm approached the table.
"What will you have?" Scott asked Jacquelyn.
"I don't know. Everything looks and smells so good." She saw waiters serving plates with small whole fish, fancy-looking pastries and bright, crisp vegetables. Tart, vinegary aromas blended with the heavy smells of cream sauces.
"You decide," Jacquelyn suggested.
Scott turned to the waiter, gave the order in French and then leaned on the small round table with his elbows.
"Did you find anything this morning?" Scott asked.
"Yes," Jacquelyn said. "But it's rather discouraging. I can see how long it's going to take to find what I really want. I could stay here a year and not have an opportunity to see everything I might be interested in."
"Then I have good news for you," Scott said.
"What?" Jacquelyn asked.
Instead of answering, Scott nodded to call her attention to someone behind her. She turned and saw an overweight man with a large red Piermaria accordian strapped to his shoulders. The man's round face had an expectant look. Scott nodded. The musician's fingers danced over the keyboard as he pumped the bellows back and forth. The spritely strains of a popular French tune made Jacquelyn momentarily forget her conversation with Scott.
She swayed in time to the music. Customers at nearby tables turned to watch the performance.
When the musician had finished, Scott pressed some bills into his hands.
"Merci, monsieur," he said.
"That was delightful," Jacquelyn cried, applauding the man.
He bowed slightly from the waist, "Merci, mam'selle." He stepped back as the waiter placed their plates on the table.
"Oh, that looks good," Jacquelyn exclaimed, her mouth watering. "What is it?"
"It is beef á la ficelle boiled with vegetables. These are scalloped potatoes. And that is liver pate."
The dark meat evoked a rapturous response from Jacquelyn's taste buds. She hadn't realized how hungry she was.
"It's delicious," she said, rolling her eyes in appreciation.
"All food in France is delicious," Scott smiled. "The French take their greatest pride in their cooking. It's rather like New Orleans. It's hard to get a bad meal here."
"You really love this country, don't you?" Jacquelyn asked, touched by the depth with which Scott understood France. She pierced a potato with her fork.
"Yes, I do," Scott said. He paused in his eating. "Paris is the city of romance. It casts a spell over all who visit. Someday I plan to set up a residence here and spend part of my time living the French life. That's why I am here now, to make preliminary plans to open a branch office soon."
"You mean you're going to divide your time between the United States and France?" Jacquelyn asked.
"Something like that," Scott said.
"That sounds marvelous," Jacquelyn said. "I wish I had a chance to do that."
"You could have," Scott murmured, bitterness tingeing his voice. He cast her a meaningful glance.
Jacquelyn's hand, raising a fork to her lips, paused in midair. Suddenly, the sumptuous French lunch had lost its flavor.
"What was the good news you mentioned a while ago?" she asked abruptly, changing the subject. If anyone knew how to rub it in, it was Scott, Jacquelyn thought grimly. Leave it to him to remind her that had she become Mrs. Scott McCrann, she would be here today as his wife rather than as an interior decorator. And she would be looking forward to frequent trips to Paris with him.
Scott's hard expression seemed frozen for an instant. Then his features relaxed. "I think you may have a chance to find quite a few of the decorating items you need without having to spend so much time looking in small shops. I heard today at my business meeting about an estate sale not far from Paris. An old home, formerly owned by an aristocratic family, has fallen into the hands of a Swiss family. They are selling off a lot of the furnishings, all of them French, and plan to redecorate in a different motif. Tomorrow there will be private showings for a small, select group of prospective buyers. Are you interested?"
"Interested?" Jacquelyn exclaimed. "Of course I'm interested. But will I be allowed in?"
"No," Scott said slowly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But I will. And you can come along as my assistant."
Jacquelyn felt a tingle of excitement. She dug into the rest of her lunch with relish. Suddenly the day took on a fresh sparkle. There was nothing like the anticipation of a new antique treasure to give life zest—unless it was the magic of love. But it was too late for that with Scott. She would never again know the closeness of his arms, the warmth of his bare hands on her back as he rubbed suntan lotion on her.
She would never again feel the pleasure of his mouth on hers in a passionate kiss. Even in Paris, the city of lovers, their estrangement was too deep and permanent to salvage even a shred of their former feelings for each other.
They finished their lunch, exchanging small talk about the possible antiques Jacquelyn might find. She rambled on about the table she had located in the first antique shop and asked Scott about having it shipped back home. He assured her she could have anything she thought appropriate sent back to the States and promised to take care of it.
"That is, if I approve of the purchase," Scott added.
"Of course," Jacquelyn said, holding onto her temper with an effort.
They returned to the hotel after lunch to rest. Jacquelyn stretched out on the big bed, closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
When she woke up, Natalie was standing beside the bed.
"Did you enjoy having Scott all to yourself today?" she asked, her dark eyes burning with resentment. She sat on the deep burgundy velvet bedspread of the other bed and ran a long fingernail down the pile.
Jacquelyn pushed herself to a sitting position.
"Oh, Natalie," she said, "you know it was strictly business."
"Was it? What did you and Scott talk about?"
"Antiques, of course!" Jacquelyn shot back. "What else?" She was in no mood to cope with Natalie's jealousy.
"I don't believe you," Natalie said.
Jacquelyn swung her legs off the bed. She ran her stocking feet back and forth across the plush carpet. The sensation helped soothe her so she could stay in control of her emotions. "Scott spent most of the morning at a business meeting."
Natalie's eyes reflected her disbelief. Then she said, "Austin wants you to go with him tonight. Scott is taking me to Maxim's for dinner. Just the two of us."
The intent of her words was quite clear and the barrier between Jacquelyn and Natalie grew wider.
Jacquelyn knew she contributed in part to the reserve she felt around her childhood friend. But she was tired of being put on the defensive about Scott.
She decided the best offensive tactic was to quit apologizing to Natalie. The girl was bound to think the worst, anyway.
Impulsively, Jacquelyn reached out and took Natalie's hand in hers. "Natalie, this jealousy is so silly. There is nothing between Scott and me."
"I know," Natalie said firmly, extracting her hand from Jacquelyn's grasp. "But that doesn't stop Scott from wanting to have you just the same, only to satisfy his male pride. And it doesn't prevent you from falling victim to his charms again. I know how disarming he can be when he tries. He could turn any woman's head, even yours. Watch yourself, Jacquelyn. This trip is not just a shopping expedition."
"What do you mean by that?" Jacquelyn asked.
"I know Scott better than you think. I know what he has on his mind. I ought to hate him for what he's trying to do. But I can't. I just feel sorry for you."
Jacquelyn frowned. "Well, you needn't," she replied sharply. "I can take care of myself."
It was irritating that everyone seemed to think her so helpless. First Scott acted as if the devil himself might carry her off when he let her out on rue Bonaparte to go shopping. Now Natalie seemed to think Jacquelyn incapable of seeing through Scott's suave ruse. She was perfectly capable of looking out for her own interests.
That night, after Natalie and Scott had left on their date, Austin stopped by the hotel room to pick up Jacquelyn. She was in a reckless, defiant mood. She had pulled out her most glamorous dress. It was a white wraparound silk fabric that clung to her curves and gave her a voluptuous appearance. Its thin spaghetti straps ran over smooth, well-shaped shoulders and down a slender back to a low-cut scoop that showed off Jacquelyn's supple skin to advantage.
She piled her hair high on her head, knotting it into a sophisticated bun with little wisps of hair dangling seductively in front of each ear. She lined her eyes with eyebrow pencil, making them look even larger, and last, she flicked mascara on the ends ; her lashes.
She'd show Natalie, she thought. No more playing the demure mouse around either Scott or Austin. She was in Paris, the city of romance and love, and she was determined to enjoy herself.
Austin took one look at Jacquelyn and his eyes widened.
"Jacquelyn, you look beautiful," he gasped. His gaze trailed from her head down to her shoes. "All this, for me?" he asked.
"Sure," Jacquelyn said, laughing. "Why not?" In truth, she thought, it was actually for herself.
Austin was captivated by Jacquelyn's appearance. He took her hand and led her down the corridor of the hotel. When they emerged onto the street he kept his eyes on her.
A gentle breeze tossed Jacquelyn's tendrils of hair around her face, giving her a carefree, abandoned quality. The night lights of the city sparkled. Jacquelyn felt more daring and alive than she ever had in her life. She eyed lovers huddled in corners, kissing in the dim light, and let Austin squeeze her hand tighter.
As they strolled down the sidewalk, they came upon a small woman selling tulips from a brightly colored cart. On a platform built into the cart she had spread out a dinner of bread and cheese. She uncorked a bottle of wine, carefully poured herself a drink and sipped the liquid slowly, obviously savoring its flavor.
Austin stopped at the stand, motioned to an assortment of red flowers and paid the woman. He handed the bouquet to Jacquelyn and slipped his arm around her waist.
She did not pull back. In fact, she leaned in closer to him. Why shouldn't she enjoy his closeness? she thought. She had spent so much of her life restraining her emotions.
She had never let Scott know how deeply hurt she was at the way he had treated her brother, Gerrard. She had never told Austin how truly fond of him she was, in spite of the fact that she could never love him in a romantic way. She had never explained to Uncle Luther how crushed she had been when her relationship with Scott had ended. She had tried to smoothe over the kissing incident in the garden with Scott to spare Natalie's feelings.
But now she was tired of worrying about other people. She was alive and well in the city of lovers— Paris, France—and the mood of the country was penetrating her shield. She wanted to feel the thrill of romance, to experience the gaiety all around her. What harm was there in that? she thought. Austin knew she didn't love him, so why shouldn't she let him hold her hand and put his arm around her? It was friendship, nothing more, and they both knew it. That's all they could ever feel for each other.
For the moment, Jacquelyn was in love with love, and the partner in her escape into fantasy was less important than the emotion carrying her on its cascading rush of excitement.
Why shouldn't she give herself over to the magic of Paris just for now? she thought. She would probably never come here again, and no one who stepped on Parisian soil should be denied the ecstasy of this city's kiss.
Austin and Jacquelyn strolled slowly by the shop fronts. A street vendor near a sidewalk café offered them pastries. Jacquelyn nodded, held the thin-shelled morsel to her mouth and bit in. The succulent, sugary center melted and oozed across her tongue, making her taste buds prickle with delight. A delightful sensation rippled through her. Never had anything tasted so delicious.
Somewhere in the distance, a cat meowed. A horse pulling a wagon clopped by. A man selling red, white and blue balloons on the corner sang out for customers to buy his wares.
It was a night of enchantment, and Jacquelyn wanted it to last forever.
She and Austin took a night ride in a boat on the Seine. As they cruised along, Jacquelyn's eyes sparkled in the dim light. She and Austin talked softly about the sights. At one point, the green vegetation trailing down the wall of the bank almost covered the brick barrier. It was beautiful.
Later, they found themselves at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, holding hands as the golden water sprayed forth from the ground-level fountains. They stood near enough to catch the soft, cool spray of fine mist blowing in the breeze.
"Jacquelyn," s
aid Austin huskily. "I've never seen you like this."
"I've never felt like this," she said. She was on a different plain of consciousness from any she had ever experienced before. She had been transported to a realm beyond the reality of the moment, to a neverland of anticipation and delight a thousand miles away from the everyday mundane world.
"I know what it is," Austin said softly, his mouth close to her ear.
"Yes. I do, too," Jacquelyn agreed.
"It's love, Jacquelyn," Austin said, his voice thick with emotion.
"Then you feel it, too?" Jacquelyn asked. She didn't know whether a man could be carried away by the splendor and rapture of Paris. A separate part of her was vaguely aware of the direction the conversation was heading, but she was too elated to care.
"Yes, I feel it, too," Austin said, pulling Jacquelyn close to him. "Jacquelyn, this is the perfect place to ask you. You know how I feel about you. It's taken you a long time to return those feelings, but I sense something different in you tonight. Is the time right? Have you fallen in love with me?"
Jacquelyn heard the question, but she couldn't answer. She was someone new tonight, a caterpillar who had just emerged from its cocoon, and she wasn't sure of her old self. Had she really cared more for Austin than she had thought? Was that why she had been swept along on the tide of a new rush of feelings? Or was it the intrigue of Paris that had her under its spell?
"I—I don't know, Austin," Jacquelyn confessed. "I feel so different. I don't know what it is. I don't seem to be myself at all."
"Maybe this is the real you," Austin said. "You've hidden behind such a wall of reserve. Perhaps it took coming to Paris for you to find yourself."
"Perhaps," Jacquelyn said vaguely. "I just don't know."
"Jacquelyn," Austin said seriously, "will you marry me?"
"Marry you?" Jacquelyn asked. She heard the question, but it made no impact on her. She looked at Austin, at his dark hair and eyes, at his good looks. But she felt nothing. Everything else seemed so right. The city was perfect, the time was ripe, the atmosphere was romantic. The ambience suggested love everywhere they looked. But something was missing. What was it?
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