Chapter 9
The cab stopped just outside the Grand Palais, a splendid antique glass structure she
recognized immediately. She had gone to an exhibit of photographs there with Robert. It
was near the river, and the Petit Palais, where she’d been to art exhibits of the work of
famous artists, was across the street. The waiter who had come with her pointed to the
building. He spoke halting English. She saw that there was a small police station on the
street level of the Grand Palais. There was a line of people waiting outside. It was in a
good neighborhood and the people on line were a respectable-looking group. She heard
a cluster of three women speaking in American English. Halley gestured to the waiter
with her that she wanted to go inside. She walked past the people on line, and into the
single door that led into the station, and there was a group of uniformed police officers
watching as a man was led away in handcuffs. There was a counter with a window
above it, and an officer in charge, speaking to people through the window in rapid-fire
French she couldn’t understand. She understood more if people spoke slowly. A few
minutes later, it was her turn at the little grille the officer was speaking through, and she
approached, feeling overwhelmed. Her French was not good enough to explain what
had happened, which made her feel even more helpless.
“Do you speak English?” she asked him, and the officer looked annoyed and shook
his head. The waiter came forward instantly, and stood next to her to explain the
situation. The officer listened and then pointed to the door and answered the waiter. The
police officer looked bored, and the waiter translated to Halley.
“He says we have to wait outside, for our turn. They’ll take a report and you sign
it.”
“And then what?” she asked, still feeling dazed.
“Nothing much. They try to find your bag, and they notify you if they do,” which they
both knew was never going to happen, but she knew she would need a police report to
file a claim on her insurance, for the value of the bag. She had no idea what it was
worth, since she’d bought it long ago at auction, and she didn’t know the original price.
It had been expensive at auction because it was a custom order, but it was so beautiful
and unusual, she thought it was worth it. She wondered what the thief would sell it for.
It made her sick to think about it.
They went back outside and stood on line, and she realized that they looked like a
motley couple. The waiter in his apron, and Halley old enough to be his mother. He
looked to be about the twins’ age. The three American women were further up the line
by then. She could hear them talking, and gleaned that two of them had had their cell
phones stolen. They were from Chicago.
There was nothing to do while they waited like sheep for it to be their turn, and
everyone had to wait in line. There was no avoiding it. With the waiter keeping her
place for her, she walked down the street a few times, and once to the river. She stood
on the bridge watching the water swirl past, with a serious expression, wondering why
she hadn’t kept the bag closer to her, or set it down right next to her at the restaurant,
instead of under the table where she couldn’t see it. It had never occurred to her it might
get stolen at a fancy restaurant.
They waited two hours on the street, and then finally it was their turn to enter the
police station. A female police officer in a bulletproof vest directed them to one of two
tiny cubicles, which was why it had taken so long for the line to move.
Halley and the waiter sat down on two dirty-looking battered chairs, and waited
another fifteen minutes for an officer to join them. The room was so small, there was
barely enough space for the desk, two chairs, and the file cabinets that were in it, and
there was a computer on the desk. When the officer finally came through the door, he
looked like a football player. He sucked the last remaining air and space out of the
room, went to the desk, sat down, and looked at Halley.
“You’re American?” His senior officer had told him and he spoke passable English
so they had assigned him to take the report. He was a very junior officer.
“Yes,” she said, feeling breathless. She normally felt so in control of every
situation, but not this one. She felt naked and young and frightened, vulnerable and
exposed. A stranger had taken her most basic and essential possessions and all the little
personal things she loved that she carried with her.
“Your passport,” he said, writing something on a form. He spoke very adequate
English.
“That’s why I’m here. It was stolen.” He looked immediately irritated, and put his
pen down.
“You need to go to your embassy to report a stolen passport. Someone will probably
turn it in.” He thought that was the end of it, as he prepared to stand up, and she
corrected him.
“My bag was stolen, and everything in it,” she said, feeling desperate. He stopped
in his tracks and sat down again, and picked up the pen with a sigh.
“What did the bag look like, can you describe it?” She did, and there was a glimmer
of something in his eyes when she said “alligator,” and he looked her over more
carefully. That was different. “Cash in the bag?”
“Five thousand euros, and a thousand U.S. dollars. I’m traveling. I’m here for two
weeks. And all my credit cards.” She went down the list of contents, as closely as she
could remember.
“Value of the bag?” he said, and she hesitated. She hated to tell him what she paid
for it, and didn’t know how much it was worth now. Hermès bags multiplied in value as
they got older. And it was embarrassing to tell a normal working person what it had cost
her. She could have rented an apartment for that in a great neighborhood, or paid a
child’s school tuition, but she worked for her money too. Halley had a good sense for
the value of money.
“It was expensive. It’s from a store called Hermès.” He looked vaguely insulted.
“I know Hermès, madame, we have people here all the time whose bags have been
stolen. It happens.”
“My wallet and credit card case were Hermès too.” She thought of Millie’s sweet
gift of the red leather passport case, also gone. “And my iPhone was in the bag.” She
still hadn’t told him how much the bag cost her, and he gave her a pointed look. “I
bought it at an auction in London fifteen years ago, for fifteen thousand dollars, and the
auction charges on top of that, which were close to four thousand dollars. So it cost me
about twenty thousand dollars. It would be worth a lot more today, but I’m not sure how
much. I can check. It was originally a special order, and it’s an unusual, very large size.
I suppose it could be worth twice what I paid for it,” she said apologetically, probably
more than his salary in a year. He nodded, and she gave him her home address in New
York, her phone number, and her address in Paris. “The thief got my keys to the house
here, and I had some papers in my bag with the house address on it.” He looked at her
sternly then.
“That means he can enter your house whenever he wants, until you have the locks
changed. You may find that you’ve been burglarized now when you go back to the house,
or he could show up tonight, tie you up, and rob you, or something much worse. You
must be very careful. Are you living alone?”
She nodded. “But there’s a guardian in a lodge at the front gate.”
“That won’t help you if he climbs in a bedroom window when you’re sleeping.”
The thought of what the thief could do then literally made her hands shake. “If the house
has an alarm, use it. Thieves like this are usually not violent and they don’t want to
confront the owners of what they stole. They are the least prone to violence of all the
criminals we see, but that doesn’t mean it can never happen. You must protect yourself,”
he said severely. “We get lots of reports of burglaries committed with stolen keys when
they know the address.” It was a warning she didn’t like hearing, and made her feel
even worse. For a fraction of a second, she thought of going home to New York, and
then realized she couldn’t. She had no passport with which to return to the United
States. She was stuck here until she got a new passport, and God knew when she’d get
it, here in France. She had to stay now, and face whatever happened next.
It took two hours to get the details down, as he typed them, and then the waiter from
the restaurant handed the young police officer the security tape from the restaurant, and
explained to him in French what it was. The officer turned his computer toward them so
they could see too. He played it, and stopped it several times when the image of the
thief came on. Seeing it again, a little after the crime, she could focus on it better, and
once she knew what had happened, it was shocking to see how smoothly he’d done it,
and he was as well dressed as any other client at the restaurant. He looked to be about
Halley’s age. One would never have suspected him of being a thief. The officer looked
slightly more interested then. He had an idea.
“We have cameras in Paris, surveillance cameras, to detect criminal acts. I think we
have one in that location,” he said to Halley in English. He looked at a list on his
computer, and nodded. “There are two outside the restaurant. We catch people who
steal from luxury stores in that neighborhood.” He entered a code, and a minute later
there were images on the screen. He hit play, and there from two different angles they
saw an even more precise account of the theft, and in one of them, you could see that the
man in the black suit had some kind of large, cumbersome object under the coat over his
arm. “We’ll put his face into the computer and see if he’s wanted for any other crimes.
Some of these guys make a very good living stealing and selling high-priced items like
that. And they know where to sell them. There’s a booming market for stolen goods.
Particularly Hermès. You won’t see that bag again,” he said with utter conviction. She
felt stupid because it was just an object and she had bought it for herself. But she loved
the bag, and all the more because there was only one of them in the world. It made her
really sad that he had taken it. She was overcome with a feeling of loss and sorrow as
she sat there. She felt defeated.
The officer had noted the license plate on the cab the thief took, but that wasn’t
enough of a clue to catch him. But he explained that they would call the cab company to
find out where the driver had taken him. They needed to know where he lived, or where
he hung out in order to find him and arrest him. Every minute or so, she remembered
something else that was in the missing bag, and felt a little worse.
The young officer printed the report and had Halley sign it, and then she and the
waiter were free to go. Nothing the officer had said to her gave Halley the faintest hope
that they would find her bag or even try very hard. It was a very banal crime, except for
the value of the bag. He accepted it as a fact that the bag was gone forever, and that
they’d never find it, although he said they would try through resale sources, dealers they
knew of stolen goods, and online. She was sure they wouldn’t find it, though, and the
waiter who had accompanied her confirmed it, when they thanked the officer, picked up
her shopping bags, and went back to the street.
“It happens so much in Paris, and big cities all over Europe, that it’s a common
occurrence to them,” the waiter said softly. He felt sorry for her. She looked devastated.
“Like cell phones. Hundreds get stolen every day. They sell those too.” Halley asked to
borrow his phone then and called the car service. She got the number from information,
and they promised to send a car and driver for her within twenty minutes, so she told the
waiter he could leave her. He hesitated, it didn’t seem right to him. He felt bad for her,
and she looked very pale and sad.
“Don’t worry, François. I’m fine, a car is coming for me now. Thank you for being
such a big help. I would have been lost here without you.” She wanted to give him a big
tip to thank him, but couldn’t even do that. She was planning to go back to the restaurant
as soon as she had some cash again, to pay for her lunch. She wanted to tip the maître d’
too. They had all been very kind. François left her to take the metro back to the
restaurant, and ten minutes later a car showed up for her, with a different driver from the
one who had picked her up at the airport the day before. It felt like a lifetime ago now. It
was hard to believe she had been in Paris for less than two days. It felt more like weeks
or years after the day she’d just had.
When she got in the car, she asked the driver to take her to the nearest store where
she could buy a phone. He said there was one nearby, and she looked profoundly
embarrassed when she asked him if he could buy it with a company credit card, and put
it on her bill, along with a big tip for him.
“I lost all my credit cards and money, and my phone. My purse was stolen today. I
can wait for everything else, but not my phone. My children will try to call me, and
they’ll worry if I don’t answer.” He smiled at her. She looked as though she had been
through the wringer, and she felt as though she had.
“I’ll explain it to the owner,” he said gently, and handed her his gas card that
belonged to the company. She looked like a decent person, and he could see how upset
she was. Her hand was shaking when she took the card.
She disappeared into the phone store and was gone for half an hour. They
deactivated her old phone, listed it as stolen, and activated her new phone, with her
same number. Almost the instant she turned it on, it rang. It was Millie.
“What happened? I got your text. I canceled all your cards and ordered new ones,
and reported your checkbook, driver’s license, and passport stolen. You’ll have to go to
the embassy yourself tomorrow for a new passport. Have you reported it to the police?”
“I’ve been there for hours. I just left. They say the bag will be sold in Europe or
Asia. It’s gone forever.” She felt even sadder as she said it. Telling Millie made it even
more real.
“That’s so awful,” she said sympathetically, “I’m really sorry, Halley.”
“Yeah, me too.” She felt stupid admitting it, and it was just a bag, but she felt so
depressed over it. It didn’t make sense, but she felt as though a scab had been ripped off
an old wound. She felt vulnerable and sad. On the way back to the house in the car, she
remembered an incident at the orphanage that she had long forgotten. A new girl who
had been a runaway on the streets had jimmied her way into Halley’s locker with a
screwdriver. She was only eleven, but she’d had more experience of a bad life than
most adults. She had stolen Halley’s only good sweater, some money she had saved up
from doing extra chores, and a charm bracelet Halley loved with Disney characters on
it. The bracelet wasn’t real gold but Halley had saved for it for months, and had been so
proud of it. They caught the girl red-handed, stealing from someone else, and she went
to juvenile hall, but she must have taken the bracelet with her, or sold it, because they
never found it. Halley had so little of her own then, and the girl had taken her most
treasured possessions, and showed no remorse when they caught her. Halley wondered
if the bag thief was like that, unremorseful and indifferent to the pain he had caused. For
him, it was just business. For Halley, it was deep and personal, leaving her feeling
violated and awakening the ghosts of the past that had been dormant for years. She was
an abuse victim again. You couldn’t kill those ghosts or excise them entirely. You could
only hope they would remain dormant forever. Hers were waking up from the theft of
her bag. It was traumatic for her.
The driver took Halley home after she got her phone, and with some trepidation, she
rang the guardian’s doorbell, to ask him for a spare set of keys. He took forever to
answer, and she could hear him rustling around inside and banging things. He finally
came to the door, yanked it open, and glared at her, his evil-looking dog at his side.
“What do you want?” he asked her, instantly surly. She felt like a naughty child,
having to tell him she had lost the keys, though through no fault of her own. She was a
grown woman and suddenly felt like a bad child, just as she had always been told she
was. It was familiar to her.
“Sorry, Henri,” she said politely, “my bag was stolen, I need another set of keys,
and the police said we have to change the locks.” She was apologetic and polite,
intimidated by him, and trying not to be. She had to remind herself that he was not her
parent. And she was not a child. She was an adult, and he was an employee.
“How could you be so careless? You’ve been here for two days, and you’re already
causing trouble. Do you have any idea how expensive it is to change the locks? And no
one will come to change them now until after the New Year. It will serve you right if the
thief comes and ties you up like a sausage and steals everything you brought in all those
suitcases. I told the owners that renters would be a headache!” He left her standing in
the doorway then, and went to get another set of keys. He was back with them a minute
later, and handed them to her with utter disgust. She made an effort not to react to what
he said and ignore it.
“Will you keep an ear out at night, in case someone does show up? That wouldn’t be
fun for either of us.” She gave him a pointed look.
“Just keep the door locked and the alarm on,” he said. The locked door would make
no difference since the bag thief had the keys, but the alarm would.
“I will, thank you,” she said, still jangled by everything that had happened, and he
added to it.
“I’ll call the locksmith tomorrow,” he growled, and slammed the door, and she
could hear him banging pots and slamming things even more loudly inside his apartment,
as she walked to the front door of the house. She had that same uneasy feeling in the pit
of her stomach she’d had as a child, when she knew she was in trouble and going to be
punished, and she hadn’t done anything wrong, but she got beaten anyway. It was a
terrible feeling, and she didn’t know why she felt that way. She had been the victim of a
crime, not committed one. It didn’t compute in her head, but awoke feelings in her she
hadn’t felt in years.
She was nervous entering the house, but all was quiet and in order. Henri had not
volunteered to check it out with her, and she didn’t ask him. She had a cup of tea after
she looked around. She double-locked all the doors from inside and turned on the alarm.
She knew she would be safe that way, but the idea that someone might try to get in was
terrifying. She checked all the windows to be sure they were secure, and they were.
She was just starting to unwind when the girls called her, and Olivia picked up on
something immediately.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” she asked. “You sound stressed.” Olivia always picked it
up, it was uncanny.
“Do I? No, I’m fine. Great, actually, I went shopping today on the Avenue
Montaigne. I missed you.” She wasn’t going to tell them about the stolen bag, they’d
worry about her, especially if they knew the thief had the keys. Olivia had heard it in her
voice, though. She told them about the things she saw shopping, and after they hung up,
Olivia looked at her twin.
“Something’s wrong with Mom,” she said, frowning.
“Oh, stop it. She’s fine, she sounded great. She’s not a child, and she’s having fun.
She went shopping.”
“She had that catch in her voice she gets when she’s really worried about something,
or scared.”
“How many times have you seen our mother scared in our lifetime? She’s not afraid
of anything. She’s the calmest person I know. And that’s how she sounded.”
“She’s faking it, Val, I’m telling you, she was upset about something.”
“Maybe she has jet lag,” Valerie said blithely. “Go have a margarita and relax.
Where’s Peter?”
“He’s talking to his daughters on the phone.” Valerie had noticed that Olivia and
Peter were together a lot, which could have been purely coincidental on the boat, but
she didn’t think so, and the forgotten thong on deck hadn’t slipped her mind. She
wondered if they were having a fling, but if so, they were being very discreet, and
Olivia looked totally blasé whenever she was with him with everyone around. Maybe
even a little too much so. But Valerie didn’t want to say anything and scare Olivia off.
She knew how skittish she was about relationships, and how private about her life.
Valerie had thought they were perfect for each other from the moment she met him, and it
had taken three years to trap them in ideal circumstances for them to get to know each
other. She noticed them swimming together off the boat, all the way to nearby beaches
sometimes. And they’d gone out on the dinghy together alone the day before. Peter said
they went fishing, which sounded even more unlikely to Valerie.
Olivia had teased him one more time the previous night about switching with her
twin. But it was when they were playing cards, and Valerie had gone along with it. They
had confused him for the entire game, and Seth laughed at his younger brother.
“You have to watch out for those two,” he warned him, “they’ve done it to me a
hundred times. Too bad we’re not twins so we could get even.”
“So who would we both look like?” Peter asked, musing about it. “You’re taller, but
I’m more handsome…on the other hand, you have more hair.”
“They love being twins,” Seth said.
“I can see that,” Peter said. “It must be fun.”
“Or weird. So what’s going on with you two?” Seth asked, trying to sound casual in
a brief moment alone.
“When I have something to tell you, I will. Nothing earth-shattering to report for the
moment,” Peter said coolly. So far, no one on the boat thought they were involved,
which was a major victory. He and Olivia liked sharing a secret. It brought them closer
together.
—
The night Halley’s bag was stolen, she had a bath and tried to relax. She lit candles
and put on music, and then turned it off. She wanted to be sure that she could hear an
intruder if one arrived. She checked the windows again, and all were locked, and the
alarm was on. She was wide-awake at midnight, and turned on the TV, but all she could
get was CNN in English, and French TV. But there hadn’t been a sound anywhere in the
house. She was beginning to think she was perfectly safe and worried for nothing, when
she thought she heard the back door being rattled, and she said loudly in French, “Oh, go
away!” And the noise stopped. Her heart pounded for half an hour.
She left the lights on in her bedroom that night, and felt better that way. If something
did happen during the night, she wanted to be wide awake and able to see what she was
doing, not stumbling around in the dark in an unfamiliar house. She finally fell asleep
sitting up in bed at three A.M., and woke up at ten in the morning, when her cellphone
rang.
She was surprised to hear an unfamiliar male voice on her new cellphone. It was
Bart Warner, the man she’d met on the plane.
“Did I wake you?” he asked apologetically.
“Not at all, I was just having a lazy morning,” she said politely.
“How did the house turn out? Is it a good one?” he asked pleasantly.
“It’s lovely,” she said, smiling. It was nice to hear from him, although she was
exhausted by the day before.
“I just thought I’d check on you, and make sure that you’re okay on your big
adventure. You’re brave to be here all alone. It’s different staying with my son, and
having family here. I’m not sure I’d have the guts to just go to a city on my own during
the holidays. I admire you for that. Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to have
lunch. I’m sorry to be so rude, and call you on such short notice. Are you free for lunch
today?” he asked hopefully. She was startled by the invitation. He had really surprised
her, but she wasn’t busy, and he made it sound relaxed and appealing. It was nice
hearing from him, especially after the trauma of the day before.
“Yes, I’d love that,” she said. She wanted to go to the embassy for her new passport,
but other than that, she had nothing to do, and she had no money until her new credit
cards arrived. She’d been thinking about going to some galleries, all in walking
distance of the house. She was calmer than the night before, after the bag theft, the
police station for many hours, and worrying about intruders all night who might have the
keys and succeed in entering, despite the alarm.
“That’s wonderful.” He sounded delighted. “Shall I pick you up?”
“I can meet you, I might be out doing errands before lunch,” like the embassy, or she
could go after lunch.
“Great. Meet me at the Ritz, at the Bar Vendôme. We can have lunch in the garden
under the glass dome.” It sounded very elegant and fun. She hadn’t expected to meet a
man and have a date in Paris. She felt a little rusty. She hadn’t had a date since she met
Robert, and not since he’d died either. She saw friends socially, but hadn’t felt ready for
more than that. She wasn’t sure if she was now, but lunch sounded just perfect, and very
appealing. Bart Warner was a pleasant, upbeat person. And the normalcy of it was a
relief after the traumatic day before.
They agreed on one o’clock, and she got ready and called the car service. She didn’t
have money or credit cards to pay for anything, and was lucky the driver had let her use
the limo service’s credit card to buy her phone. Beyond that, she couldn’t have paid for
a cup of coffee or an ice cream if she’d wanted one. She pulled out a handbag to go with
what she was wearing and realized she had nothing to put in it. All she would normally
have carried was gone with the thief. And when she was about to brush her hair, she
realized that her only hairbrush was gone too, along with her favorite lipstick, her
compact, and a photograph of her girls that she always carried in her bag. Everything
practical or sentimental was gone, as well as the little leather address book she had
carried for years, with all the phone numbers in it, and all those numbers in her phone.
Gone. She threw a handkerchief and a brand-new spare lipstick into the purse she was
going to wear and felt ridiculous. She changed to a little clutch bag she tucked under her
arm when she left the house. She set the alarm and locked the door carefully. The car
was waiting for her outside at twenty to one, and she saw Henri Laurent peeking at her
from behind his curtains. He watched her comings and goings carefully, which made no
sense. She assumed he was just nosey as well as disagreeable. She told the driver,
another new one, that she was going to the Ritz and sat back against the seat. And she
explained to him that she needed to put the charge on her ongoing bill, as she had the
day before, and he agreed. She was wearing a very chic casual black-and-white tweed
coat she’d brought as a spare, with a black Chanel suit jacket, a black denim skirt, and
high heels, and the little alligator clutch under her arm. Her shining dark hair was pulled
back in a sleek bun. She was ready for Bart Warner, at what felt like a very grownup
lunch.
He saw her get out of the car in front of the hotel, and was waiting for her at the top
of the front steps with a red carpet coming down the marble steps. He smiled as soon as
he saw her, and she hurried her pace to meet him.
“You look beautiful, Halley,” he said, admiring her, and he followed her through the
revolving door and into the sumptuous lobby, with five-foot-tall flower arrangements on
every table which enhanced the atmosphere of luxury. She tried to resist the memories
of staying there with Robert, and focused on Bart. The maître d’ greeted them solemnly
in the Bar Vendôme and led them to a table outside, with the protective glass roof
overhead. It was a beautiful day of winter sun. The black Chanel jacket was perfect for
the Ritz, as were the diamond studs in her ears. Every inch of her was impeccable and
elegant. Bart ordered champagne, and they took their time with the menu. Once they’d
ordered a salad for Halley, and filet mignon for Bart, they smiled at each other. He was
even more handsome than she remembered from the plane. He had an aura of power
about him. It was easy to guess that he was someone important—he had a relaxed air of
command about him. He asked Halley about her books over lunch.
She told him about how she had started to make notes for her first book while she
was pregnant, and had started writing after the twins were born.
“What did your husband do?” he asked, curious. She hesitated for a fraction of a
second, and smiled at him. She decided to be honest.
“Their father is Locke Logan, the photographer,” she said simply. Almost everyone
in the world knew him. “We never married. I was very young, and had no family, so it
wasn’t as scandalous as it might have been otherwise. The twins filled my life. They
were a blessing and still are. They’re identical twins, which is fun.”
“It must be,” he said, admiring her in the winter sunlight. It gave her face a gentle
glow. Bart had a perfect haircut, and bright blue eyes which took in every detail around
him. He was attentive and focused on her.
“Their father wasn’t very involved, but he showed up for them when it mattered. My
daughter Valerie got married in October, and he was there. I did double duty as mother
and father while they were growing up.”
“And you never wanted to marry him?” He was intrigued by her. On the one hand,
he could guess that she was a strong woman, but there was a gentleness to her, a
vulnerability that touched him. She was very feminine and had enormous charm. There
was nothing hard or tough about her.
“I didn’t marry him because he already was married,” she said quietly, “and by the
time he divorced, ten years later, I was happy with my girls, and he and I were no
longer involved. I suppose it was a rather unconventional life, but as a writer, it was
never an issue whether I was married or not. My parents got married because of me and
it didn’t turn out well, so I was hesitant to do the same thing, and repeat history, even
once we could. Their father and I are much better as friends. It was never a major love
affair, the twins were an accident,” she said. “A fortuitous one, as it turned out.”
“I was in the same position,” Bart said, feeling unusually open with her. “I dated a
girl in college, but it wasn’t the right fit for either of us. Classic story. She discovered
she was pregnant after we broke up. We debated. I was twenty-two, she was twentyone.
Our parents had a fit, so we got married. It was over in two years, and it was pretty
unpleasant for both of us. It never worked and was never right. She was as unhappy as I
was, we were both children ourselves. We got divorced when I went to business
school. She has a big career now too. She’s the president of a bank. And the nice thing
is that we’re both crazy about our son. He works at the Paris office of an international
law firm. He married a French girl, and they’re very happy. They’re moving to New
York in a year. It will be nice to have him home. He’s been here for four years. He loves
it. Who wouldn’t?”
“One of my daughters is an attorney too, entertainment law. Both my daughters just
moved to L.A. They’re in St. Bart’s for Christmas, so here I am. It’s been my first
Christmas alone since they were born,” she said ruefully. “So I came to Paris as a treat
for me. You never remarried?” she asked him.
“No,” he said, looking a little sheepish. “My first attempt cured me. I’ve been in
several long relationships, but marriage never felt like the right option.” They had both
had their children at the same age, twenty-two. But Bart was older than Halley. He was
fifty-six, and a very attractive man. “What does your other daughter do?”
“She’s an artist. They’re very different, although they look identical.”
“It must be fun to have twins.” He smiled at her. “Double trouble.”
“Definitely. We’ve had a great time together. I’m going out to visit them in March.
The artist is having her first show in L.A. I promised to go. I wouldn’t miss it.” She
seemed happy when she spoke of her girls, and he noticed it. He felt the same way about
his only son.
He liked how open and honest she was, how comfortable and at peace with herself.
She didn’t seem to be looking for anything, and wasn’t manipulative. She was just a
very nice person. She wasn’t angry or bitter, didn’t have an ex-husband she hated, or
have an agenda. A lot of the women he met did. He avoided them whenever possible,
but Halley had an aura of peace around her that drew him nearer, and made him feel
comfortable with her. She was very appealing.
“So what have you been doing in the three days you’ve been here? I love walking in
this city,” he said.
“Art galleries, shopping, and I spent yesterday at the police station.” He looked
surprised.
“You got arrested?” he teased her.
“Not yet. I treated myself to lunch at a very nice restaurant, and my handbag got
stolen,” she said seriously. “It was kind of an epic event, that’s never happened to me
before. Everything I need was in it, and I loved the bag. It was a very nice one I’ve had
for a long time. I was very upset.” She shrugged with a small smile, not wanting to make
too much of it. “The police said I’ll never see my bag again. It’s on its way to Asia or
Liechtenstein or somewhere by now. There are big markets for stolen high-end bags.”
“Was it the big black alligator one you were carrying on the plane?” She nodded. “I
picked it up to put it on the luggage cart for you. I thought you had a bowling ball in it.”
He smiled at her.
“I did. My favorite one. Not to mention my hairbrush, favorite lipstick, passport,
and credit cards. It was a clean sweep. Apparently the thief was a professional. The
police have it on video, and so did the restaurant. They’re looking for him. But they say
they won’t find the bag.”
“I’m so sorry.” He looked sympathetic and then thought of something. “Did you have
money in your bag?”
“I did, all my money for the trip.”
“How have you managed since yesterday, with no credit cards and no cash?”
She grinned, feeling a little foolish. “The drivers from the car service lent me a
company card to buy a new phone. And they let me charge the ride home yesterday and
to here today. Other than that, I’m penniless.” She tried to make light of it, but it had
been a deeply upsetting experience. She didn’t want to share how upset she was. “And I
have to get the locks changed, since the keys and the address of the house were in the
bag, which was stupid of me.”
“Oh, Halley, that’s awful, I’m so sorry.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket then,
and put five hundred-euro bills on the table, and a credit card. “Keep the card as long as
you need it,” he said generously. He was deeply sympathetic to her.
“I have new cards on the way,” she assured him. “I’m fine. Really.” She was
embarrassed to take money from him, and a credit card. He barely knew her, and she
was touched by the kind gesture.
“You can’t go around with no money,” he said, “that’s not safe. We can square
accounts later. Your having my credit card gives me an excuse to see you again.” He
looked pleased to have an excuse. He had thoroughly enjoyed having lunch with her.
“Speaking of which,” he said, feeling a little shy for an instant, “my son and daughterin-law
are staying home on New Year’s Eve. We’re going to have dinner together, very
informally at their apartment. It’s the day after tomorrow, would you like to join us? I
don’t like going out on that night, everyone tries too hard. It’s nicer to be at home.”
“That’s so nice of you, thank you, I’d like that very much.” It was providential the
way something to do had just materialized. It sounded like a perfect evening, and she
liked him. He seemed to be a kind, straightforward person. They’d both had a good time
at lunch.
When they got up to leave, his credit card and the five-hundred-euro bills were still
on the table. She felt awkward taking them.
“Bart, I can’t…really…” She felt shy for a minute.
“You can and you will. I’ll worry about you if you’re running around Paris with no
money.” He folded the bills around the card and slipped them into the pocket of her
coat.
“I promise I’ll give it back,” she said earnestly, and he smiled at her.
“I am terribly worried about it. I won’t be able to sleep at night until you do, with
interest,” he teased her, and they walked out of the hotel together.
There were welldressed people strolling into the lobby, and a few tourists. Halley noticed the vitrines
full of beautiful jewels, and they went back through the revolving door and down the
red-carpeted steps to her car, waiting in the Place Vendôme. They had both had a
wonderful time. As first dates went, it was remarkable, elegant, and fun, and they were
so comfortable with each other. “I’ll come and pick you up on New Year’s Eve,” he
said as they stood next to her car. “It’s not a good night to be out alone. Try to stay out of
any police stations in the meantime.” She smiled.
“I’m going to the embassy now to get a new passport.”
“That doesn’t sound like fun. Go shopping afterward, use the credit card. It will do
you good. Are you safe at the house if the thief has the keys, and your address?” He
looked serious as he asked. That worried him more than the money and credit cards.
“I put the alarm on last night, and there’s a guardian. He’s kind of a creep, but at
least he’s there. He has an apartment at the front gate.”
“Call me if you need me. I’m not far from you. I’m serious, Halley.” He looked into
her eyes. “If you’re scared or anything else happens, just call me. Or if you need more
money.”
“You’re the first man who ever said that to me,” she said, and he laughed. “I’ll take
good care of the credit card, I promise. Mine should be here in a few days.”
“I’m very worried about it,” he teased her again, and then grew more serious. “Take
care of yourself. See you Saturday.” It was only two days away.
She got in the car, and he waved as she was driven away, and then he walked across
the Place Vendôme. He had really enjoyed spending time with her. He’d been debating
about calling her. He didn’t want her to think he went around picking up strangers
everywhere. He had said something to his son, Ryan, and he had encouraged his father
to call her. He hadn’t had a serious girlfriend for a while, and Ryan felt sorry for him.
He was so successful, but so alone, and Ryan wanted his father to be happy. He had
reminded him that one had to seize the moments and the opportunities when they
happened. And as Bart walked down the rue de Castiglione to the Tuileries Garden,
thinking of her, he was glad he had.
