13 Little Blue Envelopes(42)

186

“Come on!” Keith said, much too cheerfully for her comfort.

He guided her down by the elbow and hoisted up her backpack.

The man walked them down a path, lighting the way with

his flashlight. He made no attempts to speak. He led them to a small round guardhouse, where he picked up a walkie-talkie.

“Oh my God,” she said, burying her face in Keith’s chest to block out the view. “Oh my God. We’re getting arrested in France.”

“We can only hope,” Keith said.

Rapid French. She heard the walkie-talkie land on the desk and pages being flipped in a book. Jangle of keys. Electronic bleeping noise from some kind of sensor. Then they were moving again. She didn’t know where, because she decided just to keep her eyes shut and her body tucked in close to Keith’s.

There would be phone calls to New Jersey—maybe they

would put her on a plane home right now. Or maybe she was going straight to a Parisian jail filled with French hookers with their cigarettes and fishnets and accordions.

Creaking noise. Movement. She clung tighter to Keith, digging her fingers into his arm.

They stopped.

“You can open your eyes now,” he said, carefully pulling her fingers back from his arm. “And I’d really like to keep this, if you don’t mind.”

187





The Best Hotel in Paris

They were on the sidewalk, and she was still gripping his arm, just not as tightly.

“We’re not arrested?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “It’s Paris. You think they arrest people for kissing? Were you worried?”

“A little!”

“Why?”

He seemed genuinely puzzled.

“Because we just got stopped by the French police for public indecency or desecrating graves or something!” she said. “We could have been deported.”

“Or asked to stop trespassing by the watchman.”

They walked along the quiet street of closed-up shops. A

neon clock on the outside of a store told them it was just after eleven.

“Oh my God,” she said. “I missed curfew. I’m locked out.”

189

“Oh, dear . . .” He pulled a metro ticket from his pocket.

“Well, have a good night!”

“You’re leaving me?”

“Come on now,” he said, jauntily throwing his arm over her shoulders. “Would I do that to you?”

“Probably.”

“Come back with me if you want. There’s some room on the

floor.”

The train to where Keith was staying was a suburban commuter train, and that train wasn’t running until the morning. He dug his hands into his pockets and smiled.

“So,” she said, “what now?”

“We walk around until we find somewhere to sit. And if we like the sitting place, we lie down.”

“On the street?”

“Preferably not on the street. Preferably on a bench. Maybe some grass. Although, this is Paris. No telling what the millions of little dogs have been doing in the grass. Bench, then. Railway stations are good. I know you said you aren’t rich, but now would be a good time to use your secret supply of cash and get us a room at the Ritz.”

“My aunt was broke here,” she said, almost defensively. “She lived on the floor of a café, behind the bar.”

“I was joking,” he said. “Relax.”

They walked along in silence until they stumbled on one of the more major parks—a real one this time.

“You know where I think we are?” Keith said. “The Tuileries.”

Normally, she would have been terrified to come into a park 190

at night, but after having just been caught by the police in a dark graveyard, the wide avenues and moonlit white fountains didn’t seem very alarming. It was hard to see where they were going, but they could follow the crunching noise their footsteps made in a long gravel path they were walking along.

They came to a large circle in the path. There was a fountain in the center and benches all around.

“Here we are,” Keith said. “Our hotel. I’ll have the bellman take up our bags.”

He dropped Ginny’s bag down on one of the benches and

settled down with his head on one end of it.

“Down pillows,” he said. “Sign of quality.”

Ginny stretched out in the opposite direction. She stared up at the dark outline of the trees above them. They looked like shadowy hands reaching for the sky.

“Keith?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“Just checking.”

“Still here, mad one.”

She grinned.

“Think we’re going to get mugged and killed?”

“Hope not.”

She wanted to ask something else, but before she could

think of what it was, she was asleep.

Ginny heard a rustling by her head, but her body had no desire to move. She had to will her eyes to open. She glanced at her watch. It was ten. Ginny reached over to shake Keith by the shoulder. He had his arms folded and tucked in tight over his 191

chest, and he looked so content that she didn’t really want to wake him.