P.S. from Paris(58)

A group of about thirty readers had unfurled a banner that proclaimed: Welcome, Paul Barton.

Mia put on her sunglasses.

“Wow, they really know how to make a guy feel welcome,” Paul hissed to Mia. “I mean, hiring extras . . . just a little over the top . . .”

He scanned the row of faces in search of Kyong’s, then glanced back over his shoulder. Mia had disappeared. He thought he caught a glimpse of her going past the Arrivals barrier and melting into the crowd.

The group rushed toward him, notebooks and pens in hand, begging him to sign autographs. Embarrassed at first, Paul signed with good grace until a man he assumed must be his Korean editor arrived, scattering the crowd of fans and shaking his hand warmly.

“Welcome to Seoul, Mr. Barton. It’s an honor to have you here on Korean soil.”

“The honor is all mine,” Paul replied, continuing to scan the crowd. “Really, you shouldn’t have.”

“Shouldn’t have what?” the editor asked.

“All these people, it’s just a bit . . .”

“We tried to keep them away, but you are very popular here and they knew you were arriving. In fact, they’ve been waiting here for more than three hours.”

“But . . . why?”

“To see you, of course. Follow me, I have a car waiting to take you to your hotel. I imagine you’re quite exhausted after the long voyage.”

Mia joined them outside the terminal.

“This lady is with you?” the editor inquired.

Mia introduced herself.

“Ms. Grinberg. Assistant to Mr. Barton.”

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Grinberg,” the editor replied. “I am afraid Mr. Cristoneli neglected to notify us of your presence.”

“Mr. Barton’s office handled my trip directly,” she explained.

Paul was speechless at the ease with which she donned a new identity. The editor opened the door to the car and ushered the two of them into the backseat. Paul cast one last look back at the empty sidewalk.

The car started up and moved off in the direction of the city center.

Paul stared absently at the suburban landscape rolling past outside the window. Kyong had not come to the airport.

“There will be a small dinner party tonight,” the editor announced. “We will be joined by a few employees from the publishing house, including our marketing director, your press officer, Ms. Bak, as well as the manager of the bookshop where you will be signing books. Don’t worry, we will do our best to keep it short. After all, you must get some rest. The next few days will be hectic. This is your schedule,” he said, passing an envelope to Mia. “Ms. Grinberg, are you staying in the same hotel as Mr. Barton?”

“Absolutely,” Mia replied, looking at Paul.

Paul felt the conversation flow around him like water around a rock. Maybe Kyong’s boss’s presence had prevented her from coming.

Mia patted his knee to bring him back to earth.

“Paul,” she said, “your editor is asking if you had a smooth trip.”

“You could say that. I’m still in one piece, thank goodness!”

His editor gave him a small smile in the rearview mirror. “We have great hopes for the television show you will be appearing on tomorrow. There will also be another important event—the ambassador is organizing a reception in your honor on Monday. There will be a few journalists there, as well as some senior lecturers from the university. I will inform the embassy secretary about the presence of your colleague.”

“Please, don’t worry about that,” said Mia. “Mr. Barton can go without me.”

“Of course not. We would be delighted to have you with us. Isn’t that so, Mr. Barton?”

Paul, his face pressed to the window, did not respond. How would Kyong behave at the dinner party? Should he keep a certain restraint with her to avoid embarrassing her in front of her employer?

Mia elbowed him discreetly in the ribs.

“Sorry. Yes?” Paul asked.

Likely assuming that his author was overcome by fatigue, the editor kept silent until they reached the hotel.

The car pulled up under the awning. A young woman came out to meet them.

“Ms. Bak will help you check in and will accompany you to the restaurant where I will meet you later this evening. In the meantime, I hope you can recharge your batteries. Good-bye, and I will see you later.”

The editor got back in the car and drove off.

Ms. Bak asked Paul and Mia for their passports and invited them to follow her to the reception desk. A porter took Paul’s suitcase.

The receptionist blushed when he saw Paul.

“This is a great honor, Mr. Barton,” he whispered. “I have read all your books.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Paul replied.

“Ms. Grinberg, I cannot find your reservation,” he said apologetically. “Do you have your confirmation number?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” said Mia.

The receptionist began to search on the computer, becoming even more flustered when Ms. Bak reminded him that Mr. Barton was coming off a long trip and that they were wasting valuable time.

Recovering his presence of mind, Paul leaned over the desk.

“You know, there’s probably been a mix-up,” he said. “Don’t worry, it happens. Just give us a different room.”