Moonlight Over Paris(12)

“You were doing perfectly well on your own,” Helena insisted. “I merely contributed some moral support.”

“All the same, I was very grateful to find a friend with similar interests and enthusiasms.”

“I was heartbroken when you and your sisters left for Italy,” Helena added.

“We’d hoped Helena might visit me in America, but the war got in the way, and then . . . well, you know what they say about one’s best intentions. We’re making up for lost time this summer.”

Sara and Helena reminisced throughout the rest of the meal, while Mr. Howard divided his attention between Gerald and Agnes. As they were eating the last of the figs that had been serving in lieu of pudding, the Murphys’ children were brought in to say good night. A little surprised by the lateness of their bedtime, Helena glanced at her watch and saw it was only a quarter to nine. Hardly more than an hour had passed since her and Agnes’s arrival at the hotel.

“Honoria, Baoth, Patrick. Please say good night to Mrs. Paulson and Lady Helena, and to Mr. Howard.”

“Good night, Mr. Howard,” they chimed, coming round to shake his hand. “Good night, Mrs. Paulson. Good night, Ellie.”

“Good night, my dears,” Helena replied, not minding their use of her childhood nickname at all. “Shall I see you on the beach tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes, oh yes! Yes, pleeeeease!” shouted Patrick, who was only four years old. “We’re going on a treasure hunt!”

Gerald smiled indulgently. “You won’t be going anywhere if you don’t listen to Nanny and hop straight into bed. It’s already an hour past your bedtime.”

The Murphys were such wonderful parents, and their children really were delightful in every way. It did pain Helena at times, the knowledge that she was unlikely to ever have her own children, but moments like these went a long way in making up for such disappointment. And it was something, besides, to be everyone’s favorite aunt.

With the children settled and their meal at an end, Gerald suggested they go out to the terrace and watch the sunset. So they trooped after him and stood before the modern, chromed railing as the sun descended ever closer to the wine-dark, slumbering sea.

Gerald passed around his cigarette case, but Helena’s parents had forbidden her to smoke when she was younger, and consequently she had never taken up the habit. In any case, she quite disliked the smell. Rather to her surprise, Mr. Howard declined as well, and moved a little distance away from the others.

“Gassed in the war,” he explained. “Smoking just makes it worse.”

“I see,” she said. “I’m sorry to—”

“So . . . Ellie,” he said, turning to face her, his hip against the railing. “You don’t seem like an Ellie.”

“It’s my pet name. From childhood. Didn’t you have one?”

“Well, I was christened Samuel, so I guess that Sam is it. Never felt like a Samuel. That’s my uncle’s name.”

“I don’t feel like an Ellie, not really. But I don’t mind when the children use it. Or my aunt.”

“Earlier, when I was fixing your bike, you introduced yourself as Helena Parr.”

“I’m only the daughter of an earl,” she protested. “The ‘lady’ is a courtesy title; no more. I’m nothing in my own right.”

“Aren’t you?” he asked, suddenly serious.

“You know what I mean. It’s something that belongs to my father, not me. That’s why I don’t like to use it. And it does seem rather, well, pretentious. Especially when speaking with an American. Please call me Miss Parr.”

“Would you mind if I called you Ellie instead?”

Oddly enough, she wouldn’t. “No,” she said, and found herself smiling up at him.

“And would you mind if I join you at the beach tomorrow?”

“Not at all. Do you know how to dig for buried treasure? Build a sand castle? The children will expect us all to join in.”

“Does an American know how to play baseball? Of course I do.”

“Then I’ll—”

“Helena, dear, do you mind awfully if we trundle back home?” Aunt Agnes called.

“No, I don’t mind.” She took a step back from Mr. Howard and offered her hand. He shook it firmly, just as he’d shake hands with a man. “Good night, then,” she said.

“Good night, Ellie. See you tomorrow.”

Agnes, normally so chatty at the end of an evening out, complained of a headache as they got into the coupe for the short trip home, and the resulting silence gave Helena a chance to reflect on their dinner with the Murphys and Mr. Howard. She decided that she rather liked him, and not only because he was handsome and interesting and really quite amusing. He was, she reflected, simply unlike any man she’d ever met in her circle of acquaintance at home. He was honest and straightforward, and she hadn’t discerned even a hint of artifice or pretense in his manner.

With the exception of Gerald, whom she knew by virtue of her friendship with Sara, she’d never had a male friend before. There had been her fiancé, and before him a handful of suitors, but she couldn’t honestly say they’d known anything about her. Certainly she’d never felt she could speak to them with candor, or share her thoughts and feelings in any meaningful way. Yet Mr. Howard, on the strength of a few hours’ acquaintance, had asked her questions and, even more surprising, had actually listened to her answers.