“All right,” I said, accepting the dress. “Under one condition. That you stop trying to play matchmaker. I have found that having a man in my life isn’t necessarily a requirement. I’ve become quite self-sufficient.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Precious said, nodding emphatically. “Although having a man can certainly make life a lot more fun.” She actually winked at me as she grabbed my hand and led me to the dressing table.
An hour later I was dressed and coifed according to Precious’s standards, wearing a pair of low-heeled strappy sandals and, as promised, a yellow ribbon in my hair that matched the admittedly adorable dress. I thought the lipstick too bright, preferring more of a beige tone, but Precious insisted that beige wasn’t a color, and if it was, it didn’t belong on the lips.
On the way out, I picked up my wool jumper from the back of the desk chair.
“What is it with you and sheep?” Precious asked. “You’ll look like you have a lamb draped over your shoulders if you put that on. And it’ll hide your gorgeous dress.”
“What if I get chilly?”
“It’s April in Paris. It’s warm and heavenly.” She yanked the jumper out of my hands and ungraciously threw it back on the chair. “If you get cold, Drew can loan you his jacket. Or put his arm around your shoulders.”
“Precious,” I said in warning, but she’d already left the room and was headed toward the lift, her voice drifting back to me.
“I’m so hungry I could eat a mule.”
“Excuse me?”
She didn’t slow her pace as she answered. “Let’s go get something to eat. Maybe your Drew can join us. Unless you two already made plans?”
“Er, no, we didn’t,” I said, hurrying to catch up. “I, um, when he left I wasn’t really thinking about the next day.”
She turned to me with a raised eyebrow. “Well, I’m quite sure he’s waiting to hear from you. Unless you finished your business last night?”
I shook my head and then stopped, not really sure. “I don’t actually remember. Although I do recall that I left something on our table. I need to go to the bar and check.”
The lift opened and we stepped inside. “We’ll do that after we eat. Come on. They always have a table waiting for me.”
“Really? So you live here at the Ritz?” I asked once we were downstairs. I followed Precious through the window-lined corridor to the restaurant, aware of heads turning in our direction. Precious walked like the model she said she’d been, her head held high, her posture straight. I felt more like a new foal in her wake, awkward and gangly.
“Off and on, but mostly on. Not like my friend Coco, who has had her own suite here since 1937. When I modeled for her, she’d let me stay in her suite. I suppose I got used to the Ritz. It’s hard to live anywhere else after you’ve experienced the best.”
“Coco?” I asked, the name vaguely familiar.
“Coco Chanel. The designer. I’d be happy to introduce you, if you like.”
“Perhaps,” I said, not at all eager to be under the scrutiny of the famous designer. Precious was challenging enough.
A ma?tre d’ approached us and after a rapid exchange in French, we were quickly escorted to a table for four by a window overlooking the famed gardens.
Just as we were being seated, Precious waved at someone at the entrance to the restaurant, and I turned to see if it might be Drew, swallowing my unreasonable disappointment when I saw it wasn’t him. Instead I spotted a slender and petite woman wearing a brilliantly colored scarf over her head and who, although not much past five feet tall, had a commanding presence that made one think of a general or a queen.
When she caught sight of Precious, the woman smiled, then began to walk toward us. She walked slowly and deliberately, as if she were an old woman, but as she got closer I could see she was about Precious’s age and not yet past fifty. No hair was visible beneath the scarf, and her skin, though nearly without wrinkles, appeared ashen. Her eyebrows had been drawn in with pencil, and her lips appeared almost bloodless, yet her face, with dark, penetrating eyes, drew one’s attention. She wasn’t beautiful in the way that Precious Dubose was, yet I found myself unable to look away. There was something about her that made one want to stare.
“Margot!” Precious stood and the two women kissed cheeks in the French way before the ma?tre d’ appeared again and held out a chair for the newcomer. Again there was a quick exchange in French and then the word Anglais that made the woman’s penetrating eyes turn toward me.