The Direction of the Wind: A Novel(21)

“She stayed here? For how long? Why did she leave?” The questions swirl in her head, but she tries to keep the dialogue manageable, tries to keep Cecile engaged and talking.

Cecile gestures around the reception area. “Look at this place. It’s not the most chic hotel in the city. People only stay here when they are passing through. But Nita . . . she stayed longer than most.”

Sophie wants to know every detail this woman can remember, but before she can decide on the next question to ask, Cecile starts moving toward a room behind the front desk.

“Would you like a coffee?” she asks over her shoulder. “This trip down memory lane requires a coffee for me.”

Sophie doesn’t drink coffee but says yes. Anything to connect with this woman.

Cecile returns with two tiny mugs of espresso and moves to the purple velvet couch in the reception area, motioning for Sophie to follow her. The couch is old and dingy and has seen better days. A close examination reveals cigarette burn marks and dark stains from who knows what, but Sophie doesn’t care. She sits next to Cecile and takes a sip of the strong coffee, forcing herself not to wince at the acrid taste and hot temperature.

“What is your name?” Cecile asks.

Sophie places her tiny mug back on the saucer and responds.

Cecile polishes off her espresso like a pro before saying, “Your aunt was such an enigma. She walked through those doors in a sari and was such a sight in this city! She didn’t even have a pair of jeans to her name. After she started working here, we had to go shopping to get her some more suitable clothing.”

Sophie remembers the parrot-green sari Nita had been wearing the last day she saw her and wonders if it was the same one, but she does not ask. She has far more pressing issues than wardrobe.

“She worked here?” Sophie asks.

Cecile nods. “She came here to pursue her art. Painting, if I recall correctly. We get so many artists through this place that it’s hard to keep track. She had to start taking shifts at the desk here to keep up with her lodging. Poor thing didn’t speak much French when she arrived, and jobs were hard to come by. Lucky for her, the owners had a soft spot for foreigners trying to find their footing in Paris.” Cecile stares off into the distance like she’s trying to remember more. “Actually, Nita was great for my dating life because I got to take on less work here and chase after more boys.”

Sophie nods as if she understands even though she’s never been on a date in her life, let alone had a boyfriend. She can’t really count her fiancé, Kiran, whom she has met once and is likely no longer her fiancé if her fois have told his family that she’s disappeared.

“Come to think of it,” Cecile continues, “maybe it would have been better if I had worked more during those years! Might have saved me from landing with husband number one.”

“How long was she here?” Sophie asks, trying to refocus the conversation.

Cecile cocks her head, thinking back. “Let me think . . . maybe six months? A year at most. It’s hard to remember so far back.”

“Why did she leave?”

A smile creeps across Cecile’s face. “L’amour, bien s?r!”

Sophie stares at her.

“She fell in love,” Cecile says in a wistful voice.

Sophie bolts backward as if she’s been slapped. “She what?!”

Cecile laughs. “Don’t be surprised, young girl. This is the city of l’amour. Love will happen to you when you aren’t looking as well.”

Sophie cannot tell this woman her shock is because Nita was married and had no business dating someone new, let alone falling in love with some stranger who was not her husband. She feels anger swelling up inside her as she considers the disloyalty to Papa. He was such a kind, generous man. He never even considered taking on another wife, even though he had a daughter to raise by himself and could have used a woman’s help. His sisters had begged him to move on, but he would not entertain the thought. Sophie now realizes it was likely because he knew Nita was alive and he was not truly widowed. Papa had remained faithful to his wife for the rest of his life. If only he had known that Nita did not share that same loyalty toward him.

“It’s been such a long time, so it’s surprising to hear what her life outside of India was,” Sophie says, trying not to grit her teeth. “Please continue.”

“I don’t know what else there is to say. She left to be with her new beau. She took on shifts here and there for a while but then stopped working here entirely. I don’t think I saw her again after that.” She holds up a finger and pauses. “No, I think I saw her a few times around Paris. Paris is such a small city. There was a bistro around the corner that she used to go to with her artist friends, and I saw her there a couple times, her beau’s arm around her and a cigarette dangling from her lips like there was no place in the world she would rather be.”

Sophie’s eyes widen at the thought of her prim, polished, never-a-sari-pleat-out-of-place mummy with a cigarette. She does not know any women in India who smoke. Then she thinks about how happy Nita had been—away from Sophie and Rajiv—and her eyes fill with tears, the big fat kind that there is no way of demurely retracting. Before she can say anything, they spill onto her cheeks, and she swipes them away. She repeats Cecile’s last phrase in her mind again and again: Like there was no place in the world she would rather be.