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

“Not everyone’s motives are pure,” Marla murmurs. “That’s for sure.”

I give her a look that says, Knock it off. There’s no sense in rehashing what happened the other night.

“Who is this professor you’re recommending?” I ask. “Is he not honest?”

Gabriel shrugs in that way I found endearing when I first met him, but now it seems affected.

“One would hope. Still, you must be careful, Hannah. Your manuscript could easily get lost and poof.” He snaps his fingers like a magician who has made the woman in the box disappear. “There goes your precious find. And you have little recourse.”

He suggests I copy each page of the manuscript. He offers to hire someone to do it for us, and this time there is no mention of it being on the house. It’s better that way, because I don’t want Levesque, Racine, and Cerny to have any claim to the book should it prove to be authentic.

I know I’m being extra cautious, but my gut is telling me this stack of typed pages might turn out to be something.

Still, Marla and I can’t afford to shell out for fancy photocopies and we don’t know how someone else will handle the fragile pages, so Gabriel and I establish that it’s documentation enough—at least for now—for me to take clear photos of every page with my iPhone. I get to work.

GABRIEL CALLS HIS SORBONNE contact first thing Monday morning. Professeur Louis Descartes is available to meet this afternoon; I invite Marla to join us, but she declines. She’s in the middle of sorting through Ivy’s dresser drawers and doesn’t want to stop.

“I mean, if you need me, of course I’ll go, but you keep making a point of saying you can handle yourself. Frankly, I’d rather not see the French skunk again, even if he is pretending to be helpful.” Her gaze sweeps over the pile of underwear and stockings and garter belts she’s deposited on one of the air mattresses. “You’ll be in a public place. It’s not as if he’s going to try something in the middle of the Sorbonne.”

She’s right. We’ll be in public, I’m a big girl, and everything will be fine. Still, I can’t help but feel like Marla is bailing on me again.

Why am I surprised?

Gabriel offers to pick me up. While it would be nice to have a chauffeur carry me door-to-door to and from the Sorbonne, I tell him I’ll meet him there.

He’s at the university when I arrive, waiting in the reception area outside of Professeur Descartes’s office. His eyes light up when he sees me, and he stands. After saying something in French to the receptionist, he makes small talk with me, mostly about the manuscript and the impending meeting with the professor. It’s as if nothing happened the other night.

I’m glad. There’s nothing to talk about.

However, I do wonder what happened between him and his wife after I left.

Did Veronique storm out, or did the two of them enjoy the coq au vin that Gabriel had prepared for me?

Was it some sort of kinky role-play act to keep their marriage exciting? You know how sometimes couples will go to a bar separately and pretend to pick each other up? Maybe Gabriel and Veronique arrange for him to invite another woman over for dinner, and she walks in on them. They pretend to fight and then…

Never mind. I don’t really care what they do. As long as it doesn’t involve me.

When Professeur Descartes is ready for us, his assistant shows us into the office.

Gabriel serves as our translator.

Descartes acts unimpressed as he dons the extra pair of white gloves I picked up before the meeting. The manuscript is now housed in an acid-free box.

Descartes says something to Gabriel in a tone that doesn’t seem to bode well.

“What did he say?” I ask.

“He says he does not want to speculate. It could take some time. He must read the work and figure out if it is a draft of one of Armand’s previously published works. If not, he will compare it to those works and see if the styles are similar. For now, he has everything he needs and will be in touch when he has an answer.”

Gabriel has him sign a receipt that he received the manuscript and would take all necessary precautions to protect it. I ask Gabriel to give him my cell number and contact me directly when he is finished.

With that, Descartes stands and unceremoniously walks to his office door and opens it, the universal sign for end of meeting. No time for questions or discussion.

Once we’re outside, I realize we didn’t discuss fees or expenses. “How much is this going to cost?” I ask. “I meant to ask him before we left, but my head is spinning with so many questions, and of course, there’s the language barrier.”

Gabriel’s car is waiting for him.

“No worries,” says Gabriel, edging toward the vehicle. “He will contact you should any potential expenses arise. He will do what he can through the Sorbonne. However, should he need to seek outside council, there might be fees.”

I smile through the painful thought of additional financial outlay.

I have no idea where we will find the money, but we will. Or I will. Somehow. It’s for a good cause. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Even though I don’t want to ask Gabriel for favors, I realize I’ll need someone to step in if I’m not in Paris when Professeur Descartes finishes because I’d rather not have Marla toting a potentially valuable manuscript around the city.

“I’m going home tomorrow,” I say. “I’ll be available by phone, but I’ll need some notice if Professeur Descartes makes any discoveries and wants to meet in person, or needs me to pick up the manuscript.”

“If he finishes before you can get away, I will send someone from the office to pick it up tout de suite,” Gabriel says.

At least we seem to be