I loved New York because it was frenetic and pulsing with life—all-American zest—but Paris . . . why, there was no finer city on earth, and I told him so. “One can’t turn a corner in Paris without seeing something older than my whole country or discovering some enchanting piece of art, fashion, or cuisine.”
“Speaking of cuisine, in the past week I’ve drunk enough tea with you to swamp a battleship—now I have an appetite. I wonder if you might let me take you to—”
“A chocolatier?” I asked, ducking the invitation to dinner again. “I thought you were a patriot, sir. Chocolate is too important to the war effort to spare; it doesn’t spoil, it’s easy to ship in large quantities, and it’s dense nourishment for the troops!”
Max was good-natured about my taunting. “Well, then, where will you let me take you? I have only Sunday before I return to duty, and I’d like to spend the day together.”
I wanted that too. He wasn’t like any of the men I’d been attracted to before—he had money, but he wasn’t a charismatic star of the stage, not a witty luminary of the social set, or a brooding artist, or a mad adventurer. He spoke of soldiering as a duty, without any relish. His manner was entirely frank, which I found to be a perplexing intoxicant. Perhaps after years of marriage to a complicated man, the straightforward Captain Maxime Furlaud was just the antidote I needed.
Where could we go together? It’d have to be somewhere innocent. “Notre-Dame.”
“I begin to suspect you are a secret Catholic.”
“No, but I am forming a secret passion.”
He eyed me with transparent hope. “A passion for . . .”
“Gargoyles. They’re brilliantly conceived, providing diversion for both water and evil spirits.”
He grinned. “I hope to be equally brilliant in providing diversion for you.”
On Sunday he took me to Mass at Notre-Dame. From there, we went to the Church of Saint-Séverin, not so interesting outside but remarkably beautiful inside. From there we visited the old Greek Church of Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre, and I felt full of grace by evening, having passed nearly all my day in the houses of God. I cannot say the spirit descended on me. I was too pagan for that, but I wished to be touched by sanctity at least! Better to fend off the less than saintly urges I was beginning to entertain about the captain as we strolled the streets discussing literature, history, politics, and more personal subjects.
Max told me how, in his youth, he’d yearned to escape the family vineyards. He said he’d founded a bank as much to live in a modern, more cultured world as to make money. “You see, I’m a provincial at heart, but I admire sophisticated marvels. That is why I find you so appealing, madame.”
I nearly twirled at this compliment. “I thought it was my new hat.”
“That too is a showstopper,” he said, leaning one shoulder in a doorway. “Will you write to me at the front?”
I pretended to hesitate. “I’m told the censors read everything.”
“Do you have such intimate sentiments to express that you worry about prying eyes? If so, I think you should confide all your secrets now.”
I had only one secret I wished to confide. “If you’re trying to charm me, you should know that it’s working. I’m charmed.”
His expression lightened. “Charmed enough to come inside? This is my house. Come up and I’ll make you an omelette.”
I sputtered a laugh at this tempting offer, but when he opened the door and swept his arm in invitation, I stood there like a wide-eyed ingenue. “Madame,” he said with soft reassurance, “my intentions are honorable.”
I wasn’t sure mine were, but I went with him anyway.
Our first kiss was over a plate of eggs, served with bacon and stale trench cake. A tender first kiss, my side of it curious, his nearly reverent. And I realized I’d never been kissed like that before. I’d been kissed roughly by predatory men. I’d been kissed by Willie in heated passion. But I’d never been kissed by anyone in complete adoration.
I lit from within, musing that it was strange to feel a moment of pure joy in the midst of a war.
After that kiss, we couldn’t stop smiling, until Max said, “You’ve rescued me, Beatrice . . .”
Now he looked so serious I had to jest, “From the Huns? Not yet, but I’m trying.”
He remained earnest as his thumb caressed my lower lip. “You’ve rescued me from the despair of this war. You give me hope. I never thought to be caught up in something like this.”