Moonlight Over Paris(52)
“I’m worried you’re cold. Shall we find you a café express?” she asked.
“No, I’m fine. Are you ready to move on?”
“May we walk through the market halls? I won’t take long.”
“Take as much time as you like,” he said, and helped her down from her perch.
They began at one of the halls given over to fish. Here she concentrated on quick, almost impressionistic sketches of the wares on display, adding notes in the margins to remind her of the colors she saw. There was an iridescent amethyst glimmer to the mussels, she noted, in beautiful contrast to the beds of moistened moss on which they were piled; nearby, delicate pink langoustines were arranged side by side, as neatly as soldiers on parade. There were barrels overflowing with the shimmering silver of herring and sardines, deep buckets full of squirming, ink-dark eels, heaps of carp and pike, fierce-looking swordfish, and even, at one stall, a bluefin tuna as big as a man.
The smell in the cheese and dairy hall was far less agreeable than the briny scents of the fish market, though the displays there were very pretty, with stacked towers of Brie, Camembert, and ash-covered chèvre; blue-veined rounds of Roquefort; gargantuan wedges of Gruyère and Cantal; and pail after pail of cream and milk and primrose-yellow butter. Helena adored cheese, the smellier the better, but a city’s worth of cheese in one enclosed space made for an eye-watering experience.
Last of all they visited the flower sellers where, despite the lateness of the year, there were masses of violets, chrysanthemums, pinks, Michelmas daisies, winter camellias and hellebores, their mingled scents conquering even the stench of the now-filthy streets and an adjacent pissoir.
Dawn was breaking, the moonlight was fading from the sky, her hand was beginning to cramp, and her teeth wanted to chatter. “I suppose we ought to be going home,” she said reluctantly.
“I’m happy to stay as long as you like, but you should try to get some sleep before class begins.”
“What time is it?” she asked, too tired to look at her wristwatch.
“Coming up on six o’clock.” He took her pencil and sketchbook and stowed them in her satchel, and then, before she could object, he bought a small bunch of violets. Wrapped in a corona of newspaper, their petals still streaked with soil, they made the prettiest posy Helena had ever seen.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he said, and he led her away, his hand once again in hers, to the relative quiet of the boulevard de Sébastopol, where they found a taxi for the short journey home.
She was too tired to say anything when they were in the car, but remembered her manners when they were once again standing at her aunt’s side door. “Thank you.”
He didn’t answer, only smiled and bent his head, she assumed to deposit a kiss on her cheek. But then his hand was touching her chin, encouraging her to look up, and before she had quite realized what was happening his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her, really kissing her, as no one had ever done before.
She knew she was meant to reach up and embrace him, twine her arms around his neck, but she would have to drop her satchel and posy. So she stood and let him kiss her, his big hands framing her face so gently, and all she could do was strain forward on tiptoe and press her lips ever more firmly against his.
If only it could have lasted forever, not only the kiss, but also his hand in hers, his presence at her side, his gift of violets fresh from the countryside. But the sun was rising, they were tired and cold, and she had to be at school in a few hours.
“I’m not sorry for that,” he whispered, his words soft against her cheek.
“Neither am I,” she managed weakly.
He dropped a lesser kiss on her brow. “Good night, Ellie.”
“Sam, I—”
“Lock the door behind me. I’ll see you soon.”
Back in her bedroom, she undressed, changed into her nightgown, washed her face, and brushed her teeth, and all the while her mind was whirring and turning and trying to make sense of what had just happened. Sam had kissed her, she had kissed him back, and nothing was simple or straightforward or uncomplicated anymore.
She got into bed, arranged her pillows, sheets, and eiderdown so they were perfectly comfortable, and still she couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, and how, in the space between two heartbeats, everything had changed.
Chapter 20
20 December 1924
Dearest Mama and Papa,
I do promise to send you a proper letter very soon, full of every last detail of my birthday and Christmas, but I have to run off to class in a few minutes, and would you believe I’ve yet to buy any gifts for Aunt Agnes or my friends here? (I sent off a parcel to you last week—has it arrived yet? I do hope you receive it in time.)
Thank you very much for the beautiful bracelet. It fits my wrist perfectly and as you know I have always adored amethysts. I opened it the moment I awoke this morning, having forced myself (with great difficulty!) to leave the parcel alone when it arrived last week.
Thank you as well for your cheque, which I had no trouble in depositing at Auntie A’s bank. Yesterday I went to Galeries Lafayette and spent nearly all of it on a new winter coat in a gorgeous raspberry color, and with the remainder I bought a matching hat.
Once again I am sorry to not be with you for Christmas, but Ma?tre Czerny only closes the school between the 24th and 26th and I dare not miss any classes. I know you will be very busy, what with everyone coming to stay with you in Yorkshire, and I do hope that you will be so occupied you won’t even notice my absence. Please know that I am thinking of you, and of course missing the both of you very much.