Paris: The Novel

Stepping forward to do so, he paused a moment longer than he need have.
    “Are you trying to make love to me, monsieur?” she quietly demanded.
    Taken aback, he hesitated.
    “Why do you ask?”
    “I have had that impression for some time.”
    “I am sure it would be interesting,” he said.
    “Perhaps. There is only one way to find out.”
    “Assuredly.”
    It was a week later, coming to see his friend, that Hadley had found her at the studio wearing only a sheet she had hastily draped over herself. He had beat a hasty retreat, but later Marc had confessed to him: “It’s quite amazing. I just can’t get enough of her.” He’d nodded thoughtfully. “Or she of me.”
    “And she seemed so cold. Is this her first adventure?”
    “No. Her first was a long time ago. In Monte Carlo. She’s very careful. Has adventures when she’s away.” He grinned. “I am the first in Paris.”
    “Congratulations.”

    As Fox looked at the party going to Malmaison, he knew he was lucky. But he was nervous as well.
    He was lucky because he’d gotten exactly whom he’d wanted. Marie and her brother, of course, and Marc’s friend Hadley. He was glad to have the American there, both because he was a nice fellow, and also because he provided cover. But luckiest of all, he’d gotten both Marie’s parents as well. And in its way, this was even more to his purpose than having Marie herself.
    Part of the reason both Jules and his wife came, he supposed, was his choice of venue. When he’d told Jules, the older man had been most intrigued. “No one’s been there for years. I didn’t know one could even get in.”
    “I just wrote and asked,” said Fox blandly. He did not say that his letter had also mentioned the fact that he’d like to show the place to the family of the owner of the Joséphine department store.
    De Cygne had not been able to come, so there were six of them altogether in the big landau Fox had hired.
    They were joined by one, tiny additional passenger. For a week ago, Jules Blanchard had given his wife a charming present: a brown-and-white King Charles spaniel, to which she was already devoted, and who came with them on the trip.
    It was a jolly party. If Jules Blanchard was barely on speaking terms with Marc, one would never have known it. The puppy, a tiny, fluffy ball of life, kept them all amused as they rolled pleasantly along.
    But James Fox was nervous, and with good reason. The more he had thought about his strategy, the more correct it had seemed. But even withoutde Cygne—who could reappear any day—his chances were not good. Any attempt to court Marie, to declare his interest openly, and he could be quite certain that her family would make it impossible for him to see her again. They might like him, but he was a Protestant. His only hope, therefore, was to become so much a part of their family that they would make an exception for him. He must become like a brother to her.
    Could he manage to conceal that he was in love with her? His English manners helped. With perfect self-control, he could become her best friend without giving himself away. But he still needed to see her regularly.
    How to accomplish this? He could see her father on business more often. That was a start. But it didn’t get him into Marie’s company. And he certainly couldn’t invent an expedition like this every week.
    Today gave him the chance to work on both her parents. He must watch for opportunities somehow. He had to find a way into their house on a regular basis.
    So he wasted no time in pleasing Madame Blanchard.
    “As an Englishman, madame, your choice of puppy gives me particular pleasure,” he pointed out. “This breed originated in England a couple of centuries ago. Although,” he smiled, “there are certain perfidious persons who say that they were brought to England by the French princess who married our King Charles.”
    “They’re becoming very popular,” said Marie.
    “Yes. But let me tell you something. People have been breeding these little spaniels with pugs, thinking this will make them even neater looking. And the results are not entirely successful. Whereas I can see that the dog you have comes from the pure old breed, which I think is better.”
    “He’s quite right, you know,” said Jules. “That’s exactly what the breeder told me.”
    As for his wife, she gave Fox a smile that told him that he’d scored a point.
    “There’s a dog exactly like that in an early painting by