“Oh no!” I protested. “That’s completely unnecessary. I’m sure the original room is quite suitable.”
“It isn’t,” Miss Dubose countered. “And this is simply what they do at the Ritz. They make their guests comfortable and happy. Let’s allow them to do their jobs, shall we? I think they get quite upset if they believe we might be unhappy.” She glanced across the desk, where the man stood absolutely still with a smile on his face.
“Of course,” he said. There wasn’t even a flicker in the man’s eyes. He simply gave another single nod before referring to a large ledger on the desk and pulling out another key. Handing it to me, he said, “Enjoy your stay, Madame Langford. And do let us know how else we may serve you.”
I turned to look for my valise but found it had disappeared—hopefully to the correct room. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Langford,” Miss Dubose said. “Your clothes will be unpacked and placed in your closets and drawers by the time you get upstairs. And hopefully they can work their magic on your valise, too, although I do say it’s hopeless.”
I was sure she’d just been insulting, but she was smiling so pleasantly that I wasn’t certain. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Dubose.”
“How long will you be staying?” she asked, her words spoken slowly and with the irritating habit of consonants disappearing from the endings of her words.
“I’m not exactly sure. I’m here because . . .” I tried to find words for my reason to be in Paris, but found that I couldn’t explain it even to myself. “I’m on a business trip,” I said with confidence, imagining that’s what Diana would have said.
“Ah, you’re here for a man.” The woman actually winked at me.
It felt as if someone had just immersed me in a hot bath. “No, no . . .” I flushed even hotter at my stutter.
The concierge chose that moment to interject. “One moment, Madame Langford. You have a message.” He handed me a small envelope with my name written on the front in familiar bold, messy, and decidedly masculine handwriting. I peered up at Miss Dubose and found her smiling knowingly.
“Excuse me,” I said, pulling out a piece of embossed Ritz stationery from the envelope.
Dear Mrs. Langford,
I trust that you have arrived safely from England. Allow me to suggest that you spend your first day acclimating yourself to Paris, and then we can rendezvous at the Bar Hemingway （on the Cambon side） at eight o’clock tomorrow evening.
I look forward to meeting you then.
Yours,
Andrew Bowdoin
I stared at the word rendezvous and my cheeks flamed once more.
Miss Dubose patted my hand. “An assignation? How simply marvelous.”
Assignation? That was even worse than rendezvous. It made my hasty visit to Paris seem so . . . sordid. “No, no . . .” I stammered again in protest. “He merely wants to rend . . . meet tomorrow evening at the Bar Hemingway . . .”
“How delightful. But, darling, you must allow me to take you shopping first.” Her eyes flickered over me, her head turning from side to side as she studied my face and my hair that I’d piled into a functional sort of bun at the back of my head and tucked under my Debenhams hat. “There is so much here to work with and your skin is just lovely when you’re flushing like that.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’m supposing that whatever you have in your valise isn’t suitable to wear, either.”
Her face brightened, her eyes widening, and I suddenly felt like a fox surrounded by barking beagles. “Meet me right here tomorrow morning at ten, and I will take you shopping at Printemps. I’ll have you looking pretty as a picture before you go meet your beau.”
“He’s not my . . .”
Miss Dubose seemed not to have heard me and was waving at someone across the lobby. I followed her gaze toward a pinch-faced and gray-haired woman standing with a cane, wearing clothes that were even more out of fashion than my own. She appeared to be at least ninety years old and in a very loud and shrill American accent was demanding that someone—anyone—find her spectacles （perhaps the same that were currently hanging from her neck） and saying something about surviving the sinking of the Lusitania.
Turning back to me, Miss Dubose said, “I must go see to my friend, Mrs. Schuyler. It’s been a delight meeting you, Mrs. Langford, and I honestly can hardly wait until our shopping trip tomorrow. You will be transformed. Goodbye for now.” With a little wave of her fingertips, she walked away, her high heels clicking across the floor. Turning her head as she walked, she added over her shoulder, “And that’s a lovely scarf—wear it tomorrow.”