Chapter Thirteen

Antoine broke away from the group slightly to lean against the balustrade. The waxing moon hung in the dark sky, illuminating the garden below the terrace in a cool glow. The cigarette tasted sharp and sweet, the smoke mingled with the rosy scent of Charlotte's perfume. The fact that she'd come thrilled him. Her company was always his deepest pleasure, and at Guillaume's, he didn't have to worry so much about everyone watching him and forming harsh opinions the way he did in other settings. He could relax and enjoy Charlotte. And she could see that his life wasn't all stuffy balls and social expectations. That they could be together in a world like this no matter what was happening in his other world.

The feather on her hat quivered as she tilted her head back and blew out her smoke. The lantern light cast a pale light on her skin. She'd been quiet so far that evening. Not distant. Quite the opposite, especially on the dance floor. But quiet, like she had something on her mind.

"Have you seen any shows since you've been in Paris?"

"I haven't."

"We should see something together. Maybe the opera they were just talking about? Or something else, if you like." He offered this and immediately realized that once his engagement was official and announced, he wouldn't be able to take Charlotte to society venues even as friends. People would say it was in poor taste, which was precisely why he had to put all that business off for as long as he could.

"That sounds nice," Charlotte said noncommittally.

A server came around with a bottle of champagne, topping off everyone who held out their glass. Olivier Arnaud, a family friend of Guillaume's whom Antoine had met a few times, called for a toast to Guillaume's hospitality and servers with champagne. Everyone cheered with half-hearted good-nature. And the conversation carried on. The air and the group buzzed with latent energy, like the night was, despite the hour, just getting underway.

Not surprisingly, less than thirty minutes later, Guillaume came up and tapped on Antoine's shoulder. "Ready to get out of here?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Some of us are going to Moulin Rouge. Charlotte, we'd love it if you'd join us."

"Can you leave your own party, Guillaume?"

"My parents' party, you mean. And yes. I can absolutely leave. They can hold their own, believe it or not, without my supervision."

She smiled. "A cabaret sounds like fun. Count me in."

"Wonderful." Guillaume gave Antoine another hard pat. "Give me a minute to gather everyone and then we'll take the metro."

Antoine nodded and, after Guillaume had gone, said to Charlotte, "I'm so glad you want to go. I wasn't sure you would."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're always scampering off early, going to bed so you can wake up before the sun and write during the quiet hours. At least I assume."

"That's an astonishingly close guess. Except for all the nights I simply had a different party to attend and made excuses about work to avoid hurting your feelings."

"Oh, really? Well, we can drop you wherever you like, if you have somewhere better to be."

"I do not. At least not tonight," she teased.

"Then I'm in luck." He offered her his arm, and she took it.

It seemed to take forever for the little group to separate from the party proper. There were goodbyes to be said, excuses to be applied, logistics to consider, and decisions to be made. Then there were the last pieces of gossip on which to get snagged on the way out the door. The group lost two who came up with a better idea on the short walk to the metro station. By the time it was all said and done, eight of them descended the stairs and boarded the underground train.

The carriage was lined with wide windows, which looked out on the dark walls of the tunnel. Inside it was sparsely occupied. Two women in domestic uniforms were seated toward the front, an older gentleman and younger man who looked like he could be his son boarded along with them and took seats in the back. An older couple who may have been heading home from dinner at a friend's glanced at their lively group and then silently returned their quiet conversation.

Antoine sat next to Charlotte on one of the little benches. Guillaume fell into the seat in front of them and shifted so he was facing back at everyone. Natalie Fornier and her friend, whose name Antoine had regrettably forgotten, sat on the bench across the aisle from Guillaume. Yves Beaulieu, a lawyer friend of Guillaume's who knew how to have a good time, and his wife Anais sat on the bench behind Antoine and Charlotte. And Olivier took the bench across from them.

When the train started moving, Guillaume smiled the way he did when they were kids about to embark on some grand adventure.

"Guillaume has fully embraced the metro as a mode of travel," Antoine said mostly to Guillaume and Charlotte, but loud enough for the whole group to hear.

"I'm a little surprised," Natalie said. "I thought fancy carriages were the only way to go."

"Or one of those ones with the motor," her friend said.

"That would be fun, wouldn't it?" Olivier said.

"Ah, but this is the future of travel around the city. And I welcome it," Guillaume said.

The Paris metro was such a big deal that it made headlines even in Vernon. Cities all over the world were building underground trains to alleviate crowded streets. And it made it easier for people to get to and from work. Many of the city's workforce couldn't afford to live where the jobs were most plentiful. So it seemed to be worth the fuss over the construction and cost. It made the city smaller by being better connected. If people could overcome the hesitancy to go underground, then it was comfortable enough. The sparse carriage lacked cushions and armrests and other luxuries, but for a quick ride across town, none of that mattered. And it didn't have to stop or slow down for traffic.

"But you don't have to take the metro. You can afford your privacy," Natalie said.

"And wait in traffic like everyone else? Public transportation will never work unless everyone uses it. Even the people who can afford not to."

"That's very progressive of you, Guillaume," Charlotte said.

"Have you invested money in underground transportation?" Yves asked.

"No. I'm merely a citizen in need of a ride. But that's not a bad idea."

"So you don't mind the giant holes in the streets?" Olivier said.

"I heard him complain about that just the other day." Antoine chimed in.

"Building it is messy. But the result is worth the trouble. This is nice." Guillaume gestured at the carriage. The tunnel walls passed on the other side of the windows. "And we'll be on the other side of the city in no time."

"This is my first ride," said Charlotte. "But I don't know the city well enough to know where the metro can take me. Perhaps I should have been more adventurous."

Antoine quirked an eyebrow at her use of the past tense, but let it pass like a slip of the tongue.

"Moulin Rouge will be an adventure, for sure," Natalie said. "Forget about the metro. This is nothing."

When they arrived at the Blanche Station in Montmartre, the group exited the metro and made their way up onto Boulevard de Clichy. Antoine had been to Moulin Rouge a few times with Guillaume. These weren't the sort of outings he told Mother about, because he was supposed to be different than the people who hung around the clubs. But how could a person not love a raucous night of burlesque entertainment? It was wildly fun. And he was excited to be here with Charlotte, who would surely love the wildness of it. Except what she'd said in the park that day about men and their mistresses still tugged at his brain. This was the sort of place a man might bring his mistress and not his wife. And here he was with Charlotte, surely proving right some universal truth about the plights of mistresses and wives.

The red windmill, illuminated with spotlights, turned slowly above the rooftop. People congregated around the cabaret's entrance, waiting for friends or waiting for rides to get out of there. Music from inside carried out onto the street. Placards listing upcoming shows and events flanked the red door. Guillaume pulled open one side and held it for everyone. Charlotte smiled up at Antoine as they passed through, and he winked joyfully at her.

Inside Guillaume went to look for a maitre d' about service. The ceiling was draped with bold striped fabric and rimmed with strings of lights. Dinner tables set with white cloths and little lamps spread out around the stage, where a scantily clad dancer was swinging through the air and singing about love. Heavy red velvet curtains rimmed in gold fringe hung from the stage and along the walls. And an orchestra played from a balcony.

"What do you think?"

Charlotte squeezed his arm a little tighter and said, "It's amazing, Antoine. I'm too amazed to think."

"Charlotte! I thought that was you, Charlotte!" A woman emerged from the crowd, towing another woman behind her by the arm. "Diane didn't believe me."

"It's not that I didn't believe her. But you never come out! I'm surprised to see you is all." They were American, judging from their accents, and maybe sisters. Then, as if just noticing that Charlotte wasn't alone, the women surveyed him.

"We've only just arrived. I was at a party in the seventh, and then we took the metro here. Catherine and Diane," she introduced the women, "This is my friend Antoine de Larminet. Antoine, these are my housemates. They're sisters. That gentleman over there is Guillaume, who was hosting the party. A group of us came from his place."

"You again," Diane said to Guillaume, who looked as surprised as she was.

"We were just arguing about leaving and apparently met your friend Guillaume," Catherine said. "I'm ready to go and she's not."

"But now that Charlotte and her friends are here, you can take a cab home and I'll stay with them."

"Can't you stay, Catherine," Charlotte asked.

"I almost feel like it, now that you're here," she said regretfully. "But I have to work in the morning."

"So go home. I'll be fine!" Diane assured her sister.

"I'll keep you company." Guillaume, suave as ever, stepped forward and volunteered. He kissed their hands in turn, lingering particularly over Diane's. "I need to make up for the poor first impression I fear I left with your friend."

Her scowl faltered. "It will cost you dinner, monsieur."

"Good, then it's settled," Catherine said. "I'll get out of here and you can stay with them. Will you see me out?"

"Of course." Diane turned to Charlotte then. "I'll meet you back here in a few minutes?"

"Okay."

"We'll get a table outside," Guillaume said. While Catherine and Diane headed for the exit, they went outside and found a table with enough seats for everyone. Antoine, Charlotte, Guillaume, Olivier, Natalie, and her friend sat. But the group started to disperse a little. Yves and Anais headed off for the dance floor. Then Olivier, Natalie, and her friend left the table for a closer look at the elephant that towered over the courtyard. Moulin Rouge was truly a magnificent sight, more like a circus than a dance hall, or a unique combination of the two. A cocktail server took their drink order, and then Charlotte's housemate returned.

"Were you and Catherine here for long?" Charlotte asked.

"A few hours. We were dancing almost the whole time. I must look like a disaster."

"Don't be silly," Guillaume said. "You're the most stunning woman here. Are you American?"

"I am. But we've been here for months and have no plans to leave."

The server returned with drinks and asked if Diane wanted anything since she'd only just joined them.

Diane declined with a flick of her feather boa. "I should eat something before I have any more wine."

"Dinner is still being served inside, mademoiselle. Let me know if you want a table."

"Maybe. Thank you."

After the server had gone, Guillaume commenced flirtations with Diane, asking about her hometown and what she'd done since coming to Paris.

Across the table, Charlotte raised her eyebrows.

Antoine laughed. Guillaume was always meeting the next love of his life. Sometimes that thrill of finding someone new left after getting to know the person, but being with Charlotte had only become more compelling the more Antoine got to know her. And he wanted to know absolutely everything.

"Let me buy you dinner," Guillaume said. "We've eaten, but you must be starving."

Diane looked at Charlotte, who shrugged.

Antoine shrugged as well, hoping they'd take off so he could spend some time alone with Charlotte. "We'll probably stay out here with the others, but you two should go ahead."

"Absolutely. We're fine here. You two go ahead."

In seconds, Diane and Guillaume were up from their seats and headed inside.

"Guillaume isn't usually drawn to Americans," Antoine said after they were gone.

"Diane is a lot of fun. She and her sister are the first Americans I've ever really known, and they have a different way of seeing things for sure. I think her family is quite wealthy. They didn't want Diane and her sister to come to Paris, and they don't pay for much. So Diane and Catherine both have jobs. And they work all the time. Not like most wealthy girls I know."

"Do you know a lot of wealthy girls?" Antoine said.

"Not as many as you, I'm sure."

"Touché. So what do you think of Moulin Rouge?" Their table was off to the side and secluded behind a potted palm from the main action. But a row of cancan dancers on the little stage held their skirts aloft, exposing lacy stockings and ruffled undergarments. On the floor below them, dancers in long gloves and minimal clothing kicked right along with them. Clowns in full face paint galavanted through the crowd. Costumed revelers coexisted with men in top hats, black suits, and white ties.

"It's quite the experience. Do you come here often?"

He nodded. "Guillaume likes it."

"So does Diane. But I won't ask about Guillaume's intentions."

"Well, I'm sure they're not the purest. But Guillaume is a gentleman."

"Does that mean he's promised to someone with an inheritance?"

The question hit him like a dart. She could bite so unexpectedly when something was bothering her. Not that he didn't deserve it. The reality of his existence was always with him, whether he was in Montmartre or Faubourg Saint-Germain. There was only one way to deal with such a reality, and that was to face it and power through with honesty and forthrightness. "Not Guillaume. His family made their money. And they aren't as traditional."

"Ah." Charlotte looked down at her hands. They were bare, but her arms were covered in the shimmery blue fabric of her dress. The wide neckline scooped down seductively far so the curls of her hair fell on her bare shoulders. It didn't matter how well Antoine faced his reality, though, if she wasn't willing to do the same.

Suddenly he wanted to sweep her away from it as fast as possible. "Charlotte, I think we should dance."

She lifted her bright gaze to his. "I think we should too."