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

The plan is this: Emma will come along with me on the tour, Tallulah will help Aiden set up dinner, and Marla will stay back at the office, answering the phone and fending off any reporters who come sniffing around for the scoop on the manuscript.

“Bonjour et bienvenu!” I say to the twenty-one people crowded onto the sidewalk in front of the Heart to Heart Tours office.

“Hello and welcome to the inaugural run of the brand-new Les Années Folles tour. I am so honored that you have decided to join us on this adventure. There is one slight change to the schedule. I have a surprise for you that we didn’t advertise. Since you’re our very first group, Heart to Heart and the Les Années Folles tour is treating you to dinner tonight on the Champ de Mars, near the Eiffel Tower. We’re calling the dinner our moveable feast. You are in for a real treat.”

Sounds of delight ripple through the crowd.

After we ask about food allergies, I get into character and reintroduce myself as Ivy. We set out on foot for our first destination: Gertrude Stein’s home at 27 rue de Fleurus.

I’m curious to meet Venus D. Milo. As we walk, I have everyone introduce themselves.

Before Ms. Milo takes her turn, I get an urgent text from Marla.

SOS! SOS! I think Venus D. Milo might be the reporter who called this morning. I was processing the credit cards and found out her real name is Desirae Montpellier.

I quickly type a text to Emma, asking her if she can handle Desirae. I can’t carry on knowing someone in my group is snooping on me, but I don’t want to embarrass Desirae by calling her out, especially if she’s a potential press contact.

After Desirae introduces herself as Venus Milo, Emma quietly takes her aside and speaks with her. While they’re talking, I’m nervous that Desirae might make a scene or start asking questions about the manuscript in front of the other guests. But when they return, they’re both smiling.

A moment later, I get a text from Emma.

No problem. I made a deal with her. If she writes a positive article about the inaugural Les Années Folles tour, you’ll give her the exclusive on the Andres Armand manuscript when you’re ready. She agreed. I hope that was okay.

Of course!

I know that the story about the apartment and the manuscript will have to come out sometime. Better that we have a chance to develop a relationship with the reporter—and control Ivy and Andres’s narrative—before the story goes live.

We head south toward the boulevard Saint-Germain, then walk to 37 rue de la Bûcherie and stop in front of the green-and-gold storefront that is the Shakespeare and Company bookshop.

I explain that this is not the original location of Sylvia Beach’s shop and give a brief history of how American George Whitman originally called the shop Le Mistral and renamed it Shakespeare and Company in 1964 after Beach bequeathed the name to him.

“Sylvia Beach opened her celebrated bookstore on the rue de l’Odéon in 1921. It was a gathering place for expat writers. Hemingway and Gertrude Stein first met here. Sylvia Beach was the one who published James Joyce’s Ulysses in 1922, back when it was considered too scandalous for the mainstream. In 1925, she published Andres Armand’s Un Homme de Parole, which translates to A Man of His Word.”

I catch and hold Desirae’s gaze. She offers an almost imperceptible nod, but that simple gesture tells me everything I need to know. She is agreeing to play nice.

Later, after we’ve eaten lunch at the brasserie Les Deux Magots and made our way over to the rue de Rivoli, where the group is busy shopping, Desirae and I have a chance to speak.

“I appreciate your interest,” I say. “Would you mind telling me who tipped you off?”

Desirae is a petite woman with curly brown hair and soft amber eyes. She’s American. She barely looks old enough to be out of high school, much less working for a paper like The Guardian. But more power to her. I never underestimate the capability of a smart woman, no matter her age.

She smiles sweetly. “I wish I could, but a good reporter never reveals her sources.”

“I can respect that. This discovery is still new to us, but if you will give us time to get our affairs in order, I will happily give you the exclusive. And I can promise you a bonus story that will make it worth the wait. It shouldn’t be much more than a few weeks.”

Her eyes are large. “Sounds intriguing. Will you give me a hint?”

“A good source never reveals her story until it’s time. I hope you understand.”

“Touché,” she says. “I look forward to learning more.”

“And I look forward to reading your review of the tour.”

Later that evening when we arrive at the Champ de Mars, Marla flags us down and leads us to the picnic that she, Aiden, and Tallulah have waiting for us.

The sight takes my breath away: They’ve set up white blankets decked out with sprigs of lavender and dozens of white candles in short jars. Boards of foie gras, fruit, nuts, and bread are set about for the first course. Aiden stands at the ready in his chef’s coat, prepared to ladle out the French onion soup from a large insulated pot.

The group laughs when I explain that alcohol is not allowed in the park and I don’t want to lose my license on the first day. Instead, Marla and T distribute mugs of hot cider.

I call the group to attention and raise my glass. “I’d like to quote the great Ernest Hemingway, who said, ‘If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris… wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.’ Even if you’re visiting, I hope you’ll take a piece of Paris home in your heart.”

My charges raise their glasses to