“My dear Madame Villon,” he said. “Come right inside. I believe I’ve found you the perfect book.”
Chapter Ten
Babs
The H?tel Ritz
Paris, France
April 1964
I awoke the following morning to someone banging a book against my head. Or that’s what it felt like at any rate. At least the pain in my head softened the ache in my heart. I’d been dreaming of Kit. We were in his library at Langford Hall, searching for a particular book, both of us becoming more frantic as we kept pulling the wrong volumes from the shelves, tossing them on the floor.
My eyes popped open, realizing two things at once—I’d left Kit’s copy of The Scarlet Pimpernel at the bar the night before, and someone was knocking on the door. I looked around at my strange and opulent surroundings, suddenly remembering where I was. And why.
I lifted my head from the pillow, immediately wishing I hadn’t. The banging on my head was actually coming from inside my skull, and in a horrendous flash of memory I recalled how much I’d had to drink the night before. And with whom. A particular recollection filled my mind in bright, violent colors. I clenched my eyes as if I could block out the memory, but it was there, too—right behind my eyelids. Good heavens. Had I really said rumpy—pumpy?
The knocking on my door continued and I stared at it in horror. What if it was him? What if he’d returned to take me up on my offer? Surely not. Mr. Bowdoin—Drew—was a gentleman. Although he had admitted he found me attractive. Hadn’t he? I was finding it very hard to sort through my memories because of the competing pounding from both my head and the door.
“Barbara? Are you awake? It’s Precious Dubose.”
An enormous sense of relief coursed through me at the sound of Precious’s voice. And a little bit of disappointment if I were to be completely honest with myself. “Coming!” I shouted, the word thumping about in my head like a cricket ball run amok and ricocheting against the stumps.
I slid from the bed in the darkened room, my foot getting caught in the rumpled bedclothes, propelling me forward onto the thankfully soft carpet. I crawled for a few paces before pulling myself up on the desk chair and making my way to the door. My eyes took a moment to focus as I made several attempts to unlatch the door and pull it open.
Precious Dubose, immaculately dressed, stood on the other side of the door. She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “Are you alone?”
It took me a moment to comprehend her meaning. As indignantly as I could, I said, “Of course I’m alone.”
She looked disappointed. “May I come in?”
I stepped aside and watched as she removed a Do Not Disturb sign from the door that Drew must have placed on his way out. Precious held it up for me to see. “When I saw this, I had great hopes that your rendezvous had been a successful one.”
“It wasn’t a rendezvous,” I insisted again, even though she was busily ignoring me by opening my drapes to let in the bright morning sunlight. Although I wasn’t exactly sure it was still morning. I blinked at the mantel clock and saw that it was nearly noon.
“I brought you a cold Co-Cola and some aspirin. Nothing is better when a girl has overindulged.” She set a little basket on the dressing table and with her back to me pulled out two green bottles and a bottle opener.
My mouth felt as if I’d slept with a wool sock thrust inside it and I was desperate for any form of liquid, as long as it didn’t contain alcohol. “Thank you,” I said as I padded toward her on the carpet and she popped off the caps with the opener.
She faced me, her eyes widening as I approached, a look of what could only be described as horror crossing her fine features. She placed the bottles on the desk with a small thump as if she no longer had the strength to hold them, then pressed her hands against her heart. “What in heaven’s name are you wearing? And please tell me your gentleman didn’t see you in it.”
I looked down at my clothing, remembering getting up at some time in the night and pulling off my stained dress then stumbling to the dresser to retrieve something to sleep in. I wore a one-piece sleeper, something usually found in children’s wear, but in a larger size for adults. It was pink flannel with a print of tiny little woolly lambs all over it and a fat wool ball toggle on the zipper. My darling children had pooled their pocket money and bought it for me at John Lewis for the first Mothering Sunday after Kit had died. They said they wanted me to wear it to keep me warm at night in their father’s absence.