Lost in Paris by Elizabeth Thompson (ebook smartphone .txt) 📕

says she is pleased to meet you. She is ready to go inside when you are,” Gabriel offers.

“You’re going to stay and translate, then?” Marla says to him.

Gabriel gazes at Anastasia, who is putting her cameras in their cases for the short trip inside. She seems careful, which bodes well for her treatment of the apartment.

“I’m sure you have other things to do,” I say. “My French is limited, but I can speak enough to get by. Plus, I have a translation app. I think we can manage.”

Gabriel waves off the out I’ve given him. “I am happy to stay. As I said, I set aside the morning for you. However, let me call the office.”

He steps away for a moment and makes the call. When he returns, he says something to Anastasia in French. She turns and looks at Marla and me and nods.

We go inside.

It’s a small elevator. Anastasia steps in with her camera equipment. Marla offers to ride with her and unlock the door.

When the empty elevator returns, Gabriel motions for the assistants to enter next, leaving the two of us alone. It would’ve been a tight squeeze, but the four of us could’ve fit. I am happy to wait and talk to Gabriel.

“You really should check out the Musée Rodin before you return to London,” he says. “It is the most wonderful place. One of my favorites in all of Paris. It is a collection of Rodin’s sculptures. There is a lovely garden, which might not boast its full glory in the heart of winter, but it is still full of beauty, a perfect place to sit outside and enjoy Paris.”

“Isn’t the museum housed in a mansion?”

“Yes, it is. It’s called the Hôtel Biron and it was built in the early eighteenth century.”

“Did Rodin live there?”

“He did, but he did not have the place all to himself. At the time it had been subdivided and he rented several rooms on the ground floor. After he died, the place was nearly destroyed to build apartments, but they saved it and turned it into a museum honoring him. It has been the Musée Rodin for more than a century.”

“You know a lot about it.”

“As I said, it is one of my favorite spots in Paris. I hope you will visit.”

“I hope so, too,” I say. “Someday, anyway. I don’t have a lot of free time this visit.”

“How long are you in Paris?”

“I have to be back in London by next Tuesday. For work.”

“And what is it that you do for work?”

“I give tours about Jane Austen throughout the British countryside. I take Austen fans to all the places they’ve read about in her novels.”

“Ah, that is intriguing. I assume your clientele is mostly women?”

“Women and a few husbands who have unwittingly agreed to come along for the ride.”

“I take it you are a reader,” he says.

After seeing him flirt with artsy, gorgeous Anastasia, I’ve never felt like more of a bookworm, but I am who I am.

“I love to read. All kinds of books.”

“I do, too,” he says. “I prefer biographies myself. I love reading about interesting lives and the people who have lived them. Your job is very interesting, no?”

“It has its moments. I love meeting the people on my tours. I have a chance to get to know them because often we are together in relatively close quarters for the better part of a week as we tour the countryside. I’ve learned a lot about human nature.”

He smiles at me and for a moment it feels as if his gaze is caressing me the same way it caressed Anastasia moments ago.

Then the elevator arrives and breaks the spell. We get in and silently make the trip up one floor. Before the doors open, I can hear Marla’s voice.

“You can’t photograph the paintings in the bedroom,” she yells. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

When I get inside, I find her standing in the bedroom waving her arms like a referee.

“No photographs of the pictures on the bedroom wall.” She’s raised her voice again, as if talking loudly will help Anastasia understand her better. But Anastasia shrugs and looks pleadingly at Gabriel, who is standing beside me.

“Is there a problem?” he asks. “Quel est le problème?”

“Quel problem is I don’t want her to photograph the paintings in the bedroom. They’re off-limits.”

“Ah,” Gabriel says. Then he and Anastasia have a short conversation in French, which I don’t understand because they’re speaking fast.

Finally, Gabriel says, “Anastasia thought you didn’t want her to photograph the apartment.”

“That’s not what I said,” Marla hisses.

“I know that and you know that,” I say, “but Anastasia doesn’t understand you, just like you didn’t understand what she was saying to you. Mind your manners.”

Marla snorts and crosses her arms. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this today. I mean, it was thrust on us out of the blue. We haven’t even had time to comb through the inside of the apartment ourselves.”

“Let’s go out here.” I motion for her to follow me out of the apartment and into the hallway so we can speak privately.

On my way out, I say to Gabriel, “I’m sorry. Give us a moment and we’ll be right back.”

I lock eyes with Anastasia, who is regarding us as if we’re a couple of escaped lunatics. Who can blame her? Marla is making me feel a bit deranged at the moment.

Once we’re out of the apartment and in the hallway, I say to her, “If she doesn’t take the photographs today—in fact, right now—the cleaning crew will be here and we won’t get ‘before’ photos.”

“And why is it so bloody important to photograph the mess?” She’s shouting again.

“Because this is kind of a big deal.” I’m talking in a quiet voice to set an example, but Marla isn’t big on nonverbal cues. “And lower your voice, please. We don’t need to make a scene.”

Marla throws up her hands and presses the elevator call button. When the doors open, she steps inside. I do, too. We