Paris: The Novel

world’s been pretty good to me. But I like to try to discover the truth about how things look.”
    She left him to his work and went back to the shade of the veranda. Then she took out her sketch pad. She started a drawing of the puppy. It wasn’t any good, but if anyone asked what she was drawing, she’d have that to show them. Meanwhile, as her father buried himself in his newspaper, she turned to a fresh sheet underneath the drawing of the puppy, and she started to draw Hadley.
    She tried to do exactly as he said, and just look at exactly what she saw. At first it didn’t seem right, but gradually she realized that by concentrating her eye, she had produced exactly the line of his jaw, and his powerful neck, and the way his hair tumbled down in its strong, unruly way. And she found herself smiling as she realized how perfectly she knew him.
    Later she and her mother went into the kitchen, and she helped the cook prepare the evening meal. And she insisted that the strawberry flan, which she knew Hadley loved, should be made entirely by her own hand.

    Just before the end of August, James Fox called in on his return from Burgundy. One could see he’d been out in the open air. He looked fit and well.
    Since the whole family was planning to return to Paris the following day, they suggested he should stay the night so that they could all go back together.
    They had a large lunch that lasted until three in the afternoon. Then, rather than doze on the veranda, the whole family went for a walk to the old château—the two Blanchard parents, Marc and Marie, Fox, Hadley, and the puppy too. They walked about in the park for a while. It was hot. The little puppy was running about excitedly, but in the end even he got tired and sank contentedly into the slow lethargy of the August afternoon.
    As they returned, the dusty streets of Fontainebleau seemed half asleep. The roadway glared in the sun while the houses, some stone gray, some brick, were shuttered against the brightness, getting what coolness they could from the sharp shadows falling from the eaves. As they reached the road that led to the house, they were the only people in the street, apart from a coachman dozing in a trap, drawn by a single horse, that was waiting outside one of the houses for someone to come out.
    “The puppy’s on his last legs,” Marie remarked to Fox. “I’d carry him if we weren’t so close to home.”
    The little spaniel had been dragging his feet for some time. But curiosity had given him the energy to inspect a small bundle lying in the roadway. Marie glanced back and shrugged. The road was quiet.
    It was a second later that they heard the loud bang of a shutter that someone had opened carelessly. Obviously they had opened the window as well, for there was a sudden flash as the glass caught the sun.
    It was nothing. But it was enough to spook the horse in the waiting trap. Throwing its head up, it plunged forward, and before the dozing coachman could gather his wits and fumble for the reins, the trap was surging down the street.
    The puppy did not see the trap coming up behind him. If he heard it, he took no notice. He was interested in the bundle, and its curious smells.
    Marie screamed. Everyone turned to look.
    She would never have believed that Fox, who was a tall man, could move so fast. Racing toward the puppy, he dived, scooped up the tiny dog in one hand, went into a roll and as the trap missed him by inches, emerged lying on the roadway with the puppy held above his head.
    “Mon Dieu,”
gasped Marc. A half second’s error and the Englishman could have been seriously injured.
    “Nice move,” called Hadley admiringly.
    Fox stood up. He was dusty and one of his sleeves was torn.
    “Cricket,” he said. “Fielding practice.”
    “Ah, Monsieur Fox,” cried Marie’s mother gratefully.
    But Marie was ahead of her. She ran up to Fox and kissed him on the cheek.
    For just a moment Jules frowned. Not that he was shocked, but Marie wasn’t supposed to do that.
    Fox saw it.
    “Well,” he said to them all, with great good humor, “if I’d known I was going to get a kiss …” He strode across to Jules and handed him the puppy. “Would you be so kind, monsieur, as to place this puppy in the road, so that I can do it again!”
    Jules laughed, and relaxed. But his wife was looking at Fox’s arm.
    “You are bleeding, my dear Fox,” she said.
    “It’s nothing. I’ll get cleaned up as soon as we’re back.”

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