As we exited the lift downstairs we heard the unmistakable sound of a typewriter as Prunella Schuyler typed away at her memoirs. She’d taken my suggestion to heart and even though we were now subjected to the constant clacking whenever we were entering or exiting the hotel, at least she wasn’t accosting us and shouting out the story of how she’d survived the sinking of the Lusitania. If I didn’t think she’d corner me for an entire day, I might have mentioned that my husband’s parents had both been survivors, too, and that they hadn’t felt the need to talk about it every waking moment.
I spotted Drew before he saw me, and I felt a momentary surprise at the interruption of my breathing as I watched him leaning against a wall with his hands stuffed into his pockets, his feet casually crossed at the ankles. His hair was damp, sending improper thoughts about him showering, and I couldn’t help but admire his broad shoulders under a knit long-sleeved shirt in a lovely shade of green that I knew matched his eyes. Assuming I remembered the color of his eyes. Which I did.
“That man is fine,” Precious whispered in my ear. “Now you two go on and have fun. I’ll go see what Prunella is up to.” With a kiss on each cheek and a wave in Drew’s direction she was off.
“Good morning,” Drew said as he approached, an appreciative smile on his face. “I’ve already put the picnic basket in the car, so I’m ready if you are.”
“Yes, of course. Let’s go play detective, shall we?” I sounded so much like a schoolmarm that I hoped that Precious hadn’t heard me. I followed him out of the hotel and into the beautifully sunny spring day.
A dark green sporty-looking coupe—borrowed from a friend at the office—sat at the curb, a valet holding open the passenger side door. As Drew slid into his seat next to me, he said, “I’ll keep the windows up if you don’t want to mess up your hair.”
I was prepared with my automatic response, which would have been yes, but stopped myself. Why shouldn’t I be driven through the French countryside on a beautiful day with a handsome man with the sun on my face and the wind in my hair? A formidable woman certainly would, and she wouldn’t worry about her hair, either. “Absolutely not. Please keep them down. Just allow me to put on my jumper because I’m sure the wind will feel chilly.” I should have put the scarf over my head, but the bow had been so beautiful that I didn’t want to undo it, knowing I couldn’t recreate it later.
I wiggled forward in my seat, trying to fit my long arms into the sleeves of the jumper, only realizing that my top was baring my midriff when my hands were no longer free to pull it down.
“May I help?” Drew asked, his face looking as stricken as I felt.
“No thank you. I’m quite all right.” It was only after failing to wiggle my arms free that I felt Drew gently tugging on the shoulders of the jumper and pulling them over my arms.
“There,” he said, patting me gently as if I were a dog.
I pulled down my top and nodded without looking at him. “Ready.”
Drew was a careful driver, expertly maneuvering the car through Paris traffic and then north toward the motorway, following signs to Amiens. The wind made conversation difficult, and I was happy to sit back and enjoy the scenery, reminding myself more than once that the driver wasn’t part of it and I should stop staring.
“Have you been to Picardy before?” Drew asked, his voice loud enough to be heard over the wind.
“No, I haven’t.” I shook my head to emphasize my words. “I’ve never been to the French countryside—only Paris with my mother and sister. But that was a very long time ago. All I know is that it’s where the great Battle of the Somme was fought.” I didn’t add that I only knew that because of my dear brother Charles, who had loved to play with his toy soldiers as a boy and reenact battles. He loved the strategizing and the organization of armies, the bright uniforms and shiny cannons, and I suppose it should have consoled me to know that he’d died doing something he loved.
“I hope we have time to drive around a bit, then. It’s not one of the big tourist spots but it should be. It’s the birthplace of Gothic architecture and has six of the world’s greatest examples of Gothic cathedrals, which span the entire history of Gothic architecture. Imagine that! Amiens Cathedral is the largest cathedral in Europe and two Notre-Dames could fit inside. Hard to believe, isn’t it? If you climb up in the cathedral you get amazing views of the city and the river Somme.”