The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(53)

His views were challenged yet again. It was as if everything he thought he knew, or even thought, was being rewritten. Paris was beautiful.

He stood at the side of the street and took in a picture-postcard scene. A skinny black cat slinked across the pavement in front of him. The white dome of the Sacré Coeur shone like an iced cake in the sunshine. The sound of a violin drifted from the louvered windows of an apartment over a coffee shop.

A man on a bicycle rode past whistling something melodic and beautiful. He could smell freshly baked bread from the patisserie, and his mouth began to water as he saw the flamingo-pink macaroons and meringues piled high on a cake stand.

Blossoms drifted from the trees as Arthur crossed the road to the boutique. Lucy didn’t want to come into the little Parisian wedding dress shop fearing it would bring back bad memories of her wedding to Anthony. “I’ll get a coffee and croissant at the café across the road and wait for you there,” she said. Then she added, “Good luck.”

In the window, one wedding dress lay draped over a white iron garden chair. A birdcage hung from the ceiling in which sat a feathered papier-maché dove. The dress was oyster white with a bodice intricately adorned with tiny pearls in the shape of a clamshell. The skirt was embroidered with wavelike swirls. A dress fit for a mermaid. The sign read Le Dé à Coudre d’Or. In smaller letters underneath it said Propriétaire: Sylvie Bourdin.

As he reached up to twist the large brass doorknob, he caught sight of the back of his hand. His skin was translucent with blue motorway-map-like veins. His nails were thick and yellowing. In the glass of the door the young man who had married Miriam had vanished and in his place was an old man with too-thick white hair and wrinkles like a walnut. Time had gone so quickly. Sometimes he barely knew himself. He gave a wry smile and at least recognized his front teeth, which had always been slightly crooked.

A chain of small bells tinkled as he stepped inside. The shop was so cool that he shivered. The white marble floor glittered beneath a chandelier the size of a tractor tire. A row of wedding dresses hung on a rail down one side of the shop. There was a gold throne covered in blue velvet on which sat a Pomeranian dog. It wore a blue studded collar, the same color as the chair seat.

A lady appeared through an archway. She wore an immaculately cut cobalt blue suit and a wrist full of gold bangles. He estimated that she was a similar age to himself, though a good skin-care regime, lashings of black mascara and scarlet lips made her look fifteen years younger. Her hair was platinum and coiffed into a high bun and she had the lithe body of a dancer. “Bonjour, monsieur,” her voice lilted. “Comment puis-je vous aider?”

Arthur felt like he was back in French class stumbling for words. He had never been any good at languages, telling himself that it was unlikely he was going to venture far enough away from York to put them to any use. “Bonjour,” he said, but then any French words whatsoever evaded him. He smiled to make up for his ignorance. “I am, er, looking for Madame Bourdin, the owner of the boutique.”

“I am she, monsieur.”

“Oh, good.” He sighed with relief. “You speak English.”

“I try. Comme ci, comme ?a.” Her laugh tinkled around the shop like the silver bells hung over the door. “Sometimes, though, my words are not so good. Are you looking for a wedding dress, sir?” She waved her hand as if waving a wand over his clothes.

Arthur looked down half expecting to now be dressed like Prince Charming. “Oh, no,” he said. “Not for me. Well, obviously not for me. But I came to see you. I think.”

“Moi?” She held her hands to her heart. “How lovely. Take a seat.” She led the way to a white desk and waved him to the chair opposite—another throne with a blue cushion. “How can I assist you?”

Arthur took a photograph out of his pocket and placed it on the desk. It was one of Miriam and the children on the beach at Scarborough. “Have you owned the shop long?”

“Ah, oui. Many, many years now. I am the original owner.”

“Then I think you may have known my wife.”

She raised one eyebrow but then picked up the photograph. For a moment she studied it. She looked up at Arthur. Her eyes widened. “Oh, my. This is Miriam, non?”

Arthur nodded.

She peered back at the photograph. “Could you be... You are Arthur?”

“Yes.” His heart did a small flip. “You know of me?”

“A long time ago, Miriam wrote to me. Not very often, but then I wasn’t very good at keeping in touch, either. I am a good dress designer, but at letters, not so good. She told me that she was getting married to a lovely man named Arthur. I was invited to your wedding but unfortunately I had to stay in Paris to look after my mother. I offered Miriam a dress from the boutique but she wore her mother’s dress, yes? So I sent her a present instead. It was a little charm that I found in an antiques shop—a gold thimble. It is the name of my shop.”

“My daughter and I found a slip of paper with the name on it.”

“I enclosed a small note when I sent Miriam the charm...”

Arthur took the charm bracelet from his pocket and held it out for her.

“But this is the charm!” Madame Bourdin exclaimed. “Miriam used to wear this bracelet all the time. That is why, when I saw the charm, I had to buy it to send to her.”