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She frowned.
‘It will be worth it,’ he promised.
‘All right.’ She leaned back in the seat. The driver put the taxi in gear and joined the maniacal traffic heading towards the centre of town. The driver chattered as they drove, but Noelle did not hear a word he said. She was drinking in the sights of her city. She supposed that because of the blackout, Paris was more subdued than usual, but to Noelle it seemed a city of pure magic. It had an elegance, a style, even an aroma all its own. They passed Notre Dame and crossed the Pont Neuf to the Right Bank and swung towards Marshall Foch Boulevard. In the distance Noelle could see the Eiffel Tower, dominating the city. Through the rearview mirror, the driver saw the expression on her face.
‘Nice, huh?’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Noelle answered quietly. She still could not believe she was here. It was a Kingdom fit for a Princess … for her.
The taxi pulled up in front of a dark, grey stone building on the rue de Provence.
‘We’re here,’ the driver announced. ‘That’s two francs on the metre and ten francs for me.’
‘How do I know the job will still be open?’ Noelle asked.
The driver shrugged. ‘I told you, the girl just left this morning. If you don’t want to go in, I’ll take you back to the station.’
‘No,’ Noelle said quickly. She opened her purse, took out twelve francs and handed them to the driver. He stared at the money, then looked at her. Embarrassed, she reached into her purse and handed him another franc.
He nodded, unsmiling, and watched her lift her suitcase out of the taxi.
As he started to drive away, Noelle asked, ‘What’s your sister’s name?’
‘Jeanette.’
Noelle stood on the kerb watching the taxi disappear, then turned to look at the building. There was no identifying sign in front, but she supposed that a fashionable dress house did not need a sign. Everyone would know where to find it. She picked up her suitcase, went up to the door and rang the bell. A few moments later the door was opened by a maid wearing a black apron. She looked at Noelle blankly.
‘Yes?’
‘Excuse me,’ Noelle said. ‘I understand that there is an opening for a model.’
The woman stared at her and blinked.
‘Who sent you?’
‘Jeanette’s brother.’
‘Come in.’ She opened the door wider and Noelle stepped into a reception hall done in the style of the 1800’s. There was a large Baccarat chandelier hanging from the ceiling, several more scattered around the hall, and through an open door, Noelle could see a sitting room filled with antique furniture and a staircase leading upstairs. On a beautiful inlaid table were copies of Figaro and L’Echo de Paris. ‘Wait here. I’ll find out if Madame Delys has time to see you now.’
‘Thank you,’ Noelle said. She set her suitcase down and walked over to a large mirror on the wall. Her clothes were wrinkled from the train ride, and she suddenly regretted her impulsiveness in coming here before freshening up. It was important to make a good impression. Still, as she examined herself, she knew that she looked beautiful. She knew this without conceit, accepting her beauty as an asset, to be used like any other asset. Noelle turned as she saw a girl in the mirror coming down the stairs. The girl had a good figure and a pretty face, and was dressed in a long brown skirt and a high-necked blouse. Obviously the quality of models here was high. She gave Noelle a brief smile and went into the drawing room. A moment later Madame Delys entered the room. She was in her forties and was short and dumpy with cold, calculating eyes. She was dressed in a gown that Noelle estimated must have cost at least two thousand francs.
‘Regina tells me that you are looking for a job,’ she said.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Noelle replied.
‘Where are you from?’
‘Marseille.’
Madame Delys snorted. ‘The playpen of drunken sailors.’
Noelle’s face fell.
Madame Delys patted her on the shoulder. ‘It does not matter, my dear. How old are you?’
‘Eighteen.’
Madame Delys nodded. ‘That is good. I think my customers will like you. Do you have any family in Paris?’
‘No.’
‘Excellent. Are you prepared to start work right away?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Noelle assured her eagerly.
From upstairs came the sound of laughter and a moment later a red-headed girl walked down the stairs on the arm of a fat, middle-aged man. The girl was wearing only a thin negligee.
‘Finished already?’ Madame Delys asked.
‘I’ve worn Angela out,’ the man grinned. He saw Noelle. ‘Who’s this little beauty?’
‘This is Yvette, our new girl,’ Madame Delys said. And without hesitation added, ‘She’s from Antibes, the daughter of a Prince.’
‘I’ve never screwed a Princess,’ the man exclaimed. ‘How much?’
‘Fifty francs.’
‘You must be joking. Thirty.’
‘Forty. And believe me, you’ll get your money’s worth.’
‘It’s a deal.’
They turned to Noelle. She had vanished.
Noelle walked the streets of Paris, hour after hour. She strolled along the Champs-Élysées, down one side and up the other, wandering through the Lido Arcade and stopping at every shop to gaze at the incredible cornucopia of jewellery and dresses and leather goods and perfumes, and she wondered what Paris was like when there were no shortages. The wares displayed in the windows were dazzling, and while one part of her felt like a country bumpkin, another part of her knew that one day these things would belong to her. She walked through the Bois and down the rue du Faubourg-St.-Honoré and along the avenue Victor-Hugo, until she began to feel tired and hungry. She had left her purse and suitcase at Madame Delys’, but she had no intention of going back there. She would send for her things.
Noelle was neither shocked nor upset by what had happened. It was simply that she knew the difference between a courtesan and a whore. Whores did not change the course of history: courtesans did. Meanwhile she was without a cent. She had to find a way to survive until she could find a job the next day. Dusk was beginning to brush the sky, and the merchants and hotel doormen were busy putting up blackout curtains against possible air attacks. To solve her immediate problem, Noelle needed to find someone to buy her a good hot dinner. She asked directions from a gendarme and then headed for the Crillon Hotel. Outside, forbidding iron shutters covered the windows, but inside, the lobby was a masterpiece of subdued elegance, soft and understated. Noelle walked in confidently as if she belonged there and took a seat in a chair facing the elevator. She had never done this before, and she was a bit nervous. But she remembered how easy it had been to handle Auguste Lanchon. Men were really very uncomplicated. There was only one lesson a girl had to remember: A man was soft when he was hard and hard when he was soft. So it was only necessary to keep him hard until he gave you what you wanted. Now, looking around the lobby, Noelle decided that it would be a simple matter to catch the eye of an unattached male on his way, perhaps, to a lonely dinner.
‘Pardon, mademoiselle.’
Noelle turned her head to look up at a large man in a dark suit. She had never seen a detective in her life, but there was no doubt whatever in her mind.
‘Is Mademoiselle waiting for someone?’
‘Yes,’ Noelle replied, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘I’m waiting for a friend.’
She was suddenly acutely aware of her wrinkled dress, and the fact that she carried no purse.
‘Is your friend a guest of this hotel?’
She felt a surge of panic rising in her. ‘He – er – not exactly.’
He studied Noelle a moment, then said in a hardened tone. ‘May I see your identification?’
‘I–I don’t have it with me,’ she stammered. ‘I lost it.’
The detective said, ‘Perhaps Mademoiselle will come with me.’ He put a firm hand on her arm, and she rose to her feet.
And at that moment someone took her other arm and said, ‘Sorry I’m late, cheri, but you know how those damned cocktail parties are. You have to blast your way out. Been waiting long?’
Noelle swung around in astonishment to look at the speaker. He was a tall man, his body lean and hard-looking, and he wore a strange, unfamiliar uniform. He had blue-black hair with a widow’s peak and eyes the colour of a dark, stormy sea, with long, thick lashes. His features had the look of an old Florentine coin. It was an irregular face, the two profiles not quite matching, as though the minter’s hand had slipped for an instant. It was a face that was extraordinarily alive and mobile so that you felt it was ready to smile, to laugh, to frown. The only thing that saved it from being femininely beautiful was a strong, masculine chin with a deep cleft in it.
He gestured towards the detective. ‘Is this man bothering you?’ His voice was deep, and he spoke French with a very slight accent.
‘N-no,’ Noelle said, in a bewildered voice.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ the hotel detective was saying. ‘I misunderstood. We have been having a problem here lately with …’ He turned to Noelle. ‘Please accept my apologies, Mademoiselle.’
The stranger turned to Noelle. ‘Well now, I don’t know. What do you think?’
Noelle swallowed and nodded quickly.
The man turned to the detective. ‘Mademoiselle’s being generous. Just watch yourself in the future.’ He took Noelle’s arm and they headed for the door.
When they reached the street, Noelle said, ‘I–I don’t know how to thank you, Monsieur.’
‘I’ve always hated policemen.’ The stranger grinned. ‘Do you want me to get you a taxi?’
Noelle stared at him, the panic beginning to rise in her again, as she remembered her situation. ‘No.’
‘Right. Good night.’ He walked over to the stand and started to get into a taxi, turned around and saw that she was standing there, rooted, staring after him. In the doorway of the hotel was the detective watching. The stranger hesitated, then walked back to Noelle. ‘You’d better get out of here,’ he advised. ‘Our friend’s still interested in you.’
‘I have nowhere to go,’ she replied.
He nodded and reached into his pocket.
‘I don’t want your money,’ she said quickly.
He looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.
‘To have dinner with you.’
He smiled and said, ‘Sorry. I have a date, and I’m late already.’
‘Then go ahead,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fine.’
He shoved the bills back into his pocket. ‘Suit yourself, honey,’ he said. ‘Au ’voir.’ He turned and began walking towards the taxi again. Noelle looked after him, wondering what was wrong with her. She knew she had behaved stupidly, but she also knew that she could not have done anything else. From the first moment she had looked at him she had experienced a reaction that she had never felt before, a wave of emotion so strong that she could almost reach out and touch it. She did not even know his name, and would probably never see him again. Noelle glanced towards the hotel and saw the detective moving purposefully towards her. It was her own fault. This time she would not be able to talk her way out of it. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and as she turned to see who it was, the stranger took her arm and propelled her towards the taxi, quickly opened the door and climbed in beside her. He gave the driver an address. The taxi pulled away, leaving the detective at the kerb, staring after them. ‘What about your date?’ Noelle asked.
‘It’s a party,’ he shrugged. ‘One more won’t make any difference. I’m Larry Douglas. What’s your name?’
‘Noelle Page.’
‘Where are you from, Noelle?’
She turned and looked into his brilliant dark eyes and said, ‘Antibes. I am the daughter of a Prince.’
He laughed, showing even, white teeth.
‘Good for you, Princess,’ he said.
‘Are you English?’
‘American.’
She looked at his uniform. ‘America is not at war.’
‘I’m in the British RAF,’ he explained. ‘They’ve just formed a group of American flyers. It’s called the Eagle Squadron.’
‘But why should you fight for England?’
‘Because England’s fighting for us,’ he said. ‘Only we don’t know it yet.’
Noelle shook her head. ‘I don’t believe that. Hitler is a Boche clown.’
‘Maybe. But he’s a clown who knows what the Germans want: to rule the world.’
Noelle listened, fascinated, as Larry discussed Hitler’s military strategy, the sudden withdrawal from the League of Nations, the mutual defence pact with Japan and Italy, not because of what he was saying but because she enjoyed watching his face as he talked. His dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke, blazing with an overpowering, irresistible vitality.
Noelle had never met anyone like him. He was – that rarity of rarities – a spendthrift with himself. He was open and warm and alive, sharing himself, enjoying life, making sure that everyone around him enjoyed it. He was like a magnet pulling into his orbit everyone who approached.
They arrived at the party, which was being given in a small flat on the rue Chemin Vert. The apartment was filled with a group of laughing, shouting people, most of them young. Larry introduced Noelle to the hostess, a predatory, sexy-looking redhead, and then was swallowed by the crowd. Noelle caught glimpses of him during the evening, surrounded by eager young girls, each trying to capture his attention. And yet there was no ego about him, Noelle thought. It was as though he were totally unaware of how attractive he was. Someone found a drink for Noelle and someone else offered to bring her a plate of food from the buffet, but she was suddenly not hungry. She wanted to be with the American, wanted him away from the girls who crowded around him. Men were coming up to her and trying to start conversations, but Noelle’s mind was elsewhere. From the moment they had walked in, the American had completely ignored her, had acted as though she did not exist. Why not? Noelle thought. Why should he bother with her when he could have any girl at the party? Two men were trying to engage her in conversation, but she could not concentrate. The room had suddenly become unbearably hot. She looked around for a means of escape.
A voice said in her ear, ‘Let’s go,’ and a few moments later she and the American were out on the street, in the cool night air. The city was dark and quiet against the invisible Germans in the sky, and the cars glided through the streets like silent fish in a black sea.
They could not find a taxi, so they walked, had dinner in a little bistro on the place des Victoires and Noelle found that she was starved. She studied the American sitting across from her, and she wondered what it was that had happened to her. It was as though he had touched some wellspring deep within her that she had never even known existed. She had never felt happiness like this before. They talked about everything. She told him about her background, and he told her that he came from South Boston and was Boston Irish. His mother had been born in Kerry County.
‘Where did you learn to speak French so well?’ Noelle asked.
‘I used to spend my summers at Cap D’Antibes when I was a kid. My old man was a stock-market tycoon until the bears got him.’
‘Bears?’
So Larry had to explain to her about the arcane ways of the stock market in America. Noelle did not care what he talked about, so long as he kept talking.
‘Where are you living?’
‘Nowhere.’ She told him about the taxi driver and Madame Delys and the fat man believing she was a Princess and offering to pay forty francs for her, and Larry laughed aloud.
‘Do you remember where the house is?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come on, Princess.’
When they arrived at the house on the rue de Provence, the door was opened by the same uniformed maid. Her eyes lit up as she saw the handsome young American, then darkened when she saw who was with him.
‘We want to see Madame Delys,’ Larry said. He and Noelle walked into the reception hall. There were several girls in the drawing room beyond. The maid left and a few minutes later Madame Delys entered. ‘Good evening, Monsieur,’ she said to Larry. She turned to Noelle, ‘Ah, I hope you have changed your mind.’
‘She hasn’t,’ said Larry, pleasantly. ‘You have something that belongs to the Princess.’
Madame Delys looked at him questioningly.
‘Her suitcase and purse.’
Madame Delys hesitated a moment, then left the room. A few minutes later the maid returned, carrying Noelle’s purse and suitcase.
‘Merci,’ Larry said. He turned to Noelle. ‘Let’s go, Princess.’
That night Noelle moved in with Larry, to a small, clean hotel on the rue Lafayette. There was no discussion about it, it was inevitable for both of them. When they made love that night, it was more exciting than anything Noelle had ever known, a wild primitive explosion that shook them both. She lay in Larry’s arms all night, holding him close, happier than she had ever dreamed possible.
The next morning they awoke, made love, and went out to explore the city. Larry was a wonderful guide, and he made Paris seem a lovely toy for Noelle’s amusement. They had lunch in the Tuileries, spent the afternoon at Mal Maison and spent hours wandering around the place des Vosges at the end of Notre Dame, the oldest section of Paris, built by Louis XIII. He showed her places that were off the beaten track of the tourists, the place Maubert with its colourful street market and the quai de la Mégisserie with its cages of brightly hued birds and squeaky animals. He took her through the Marché de Buci and they listened to the din of the hawkers, pitching the merits of their bins of fresh tomatoes, their seaweed-bedded oysters, their neatly labelled cheeses. They went to the Du Pont, on Montparnasse. They had dinner on the Bateau Mouche and finished up by having onion soup at four in the morning at Les Halles with the butchers and truck drivers. Before they were through Larry had collected a large group of friends, and Noelle realized that it was because he had the gift of laughter. He had taught her to laugh and she had not known that laughter was within her. It was like a gift from a god. She was grateful to Larry and very much in love with him. It was dawn when they returned to their hotel room. Noelle was exhausted, but Larry was filled with energy, a restless dynamo. Noelle lay in bed watching him as he stood at the window looking at the sun rise over the rooftops of Paris.
‘I love Paris,’ he said. ‘It’s like a temple to the best things that men have ever done. It’s a city of beauty and food and love.’ He turned to her and grinned, ‘Not necessarily in that order.’
Noelle watched as he took off his clothes and climbed into bed beside her. She held him, loving the feel of him, the male smell of him. She thought of her father and how he had betrayed her. She had been wrong to judge all men by him and Auguste Lanchon. She knew now that there were men like Larry Douglas. And she also knew that there could never be anyone else for her.
‘Do you know who the two greatest men who ever lived were, Princess?’ he was asking.
‘You,’ she said.
‘Wilbur and Orville Wright. They gave man his real freedom. Have you ever flown?’ She shook her head. ‘We had a summer place in Montauk – that’s at the end of Long Island – and when I was a kid I used to watch the gulls wheel through the air over the beach, riding the current, and I would have given my soul to be up there with them. I knew I wanted to be a flyer before I could walk. A friend of the family took me up in an old biplane when I was nine, and I took my first flying lesson when I was fourteen. That’s when I’m really alive, when I’m in the air.’
And later:
‘There’s going to be a world war. Germany wants to own it all.’
‘It won’t get France, Larry. No one can cross the Maginot Line.’
He snorted: ‘I’ve crossed it a hundred times.’ She looked at him puzzled. ‘In the air, Princess. This is going to be an air war … my war.’
And later, casually:
‘Why don’t we get married?’
It was the happiest moment of Noelle’s life.
Sunday was a relaxed, lazy day. They had breakfast at a little outdoor café in Montmartre, went back to the room and spent almost the entire day in bed. Noelle could not believe anyone could be so ecstatic. It was pure magic when they made love, but she was just as content to lie there and listen to Larry talk and watch him as he moved restlessly about the room. Just being near him was enough for her. It was odd, she thought, how things worked out. She had grown up being called Princess by her father, and now, even though it had happened as a joke, Larry was calling her Princess. When she was with Larry, she was something. He had restored her faith in men. He was her world, and Noelle knew that she would never need anything more, and it seemed incredible to her that she could be so lucky, that he felt the same way about her.
‘I wasn’t going to get married until this war was over,’ he told her. ‘But to hell with that. Plans are made to be changed, right, Princess?’
She nodded, filled with a happiness that threatened to burst inside her.
‘Let’s get married by some maire in the country,’ Larry said. ‘Unless you want a big wedding?’
Noelle shook her head. ‘The country sounds wonderful.’
He nodded. ‘Deal. I have to report back to my Squadron tonight. I’ll meet you here next Friday. How does that sound?’
‘I–I don’t know if I can stand being away from you that long.’ Noelle’s voice was shaky.
Larry took her in his arms and held her. ‘Love me?’ he asked.
‘More than my life,’ Noelle replied simply.
Two hours later Larry was on his way back to England. He did not let her drive to the airport with him. ‘I don’t like good-byes,’ he said. He gave her a large fistful of franc notes. ‘Buy yourself a wedding gown, Princess. I’ll see you in it next week.’ And he was gone.
Noelle spent the next week in a state of euphoria, going back to the places she and Larry had been, spending hours dreaming about their life together. The days seemed to drag by, the minutes stubbornly refusing to move, until Noelle thought she would go out of her mind.
She went to a dozen shops looking for her wedding dress, and finally she found exactly what she wanted, at Madeleine Vionett. It was a beautiful white organza with a high-necked bodice, long sleeves with a row of six pearl buttons, and three crinoline petticoats. It cost much more than Noelle had anticipated, but she did not hesitate. She used all the money that Larry had given her and nearly all her own savings. Her whole being was centred on Larry. She thought about ways to please him, she searched through her mind for memories that might amuse him, anecdotes that would entertain him. She felt like a schoolgirl.
And so it was that Noelle waited for Friday to come, in an agony of impatience, and when it finally arrived she was up at dawn and spent two hours bathing and dressing, changing clothes and changing again, trying to guess which dress would please Larry most. She put on her wedding gown, but quickly took it off again, afraid that it might bring bad luck. She was in a frenzy of excitement.
At ten o’clock Noelle stood in front of the pier glass in the bedroom, and she knew that she had never looked as beautiful. There was no ego in her appraisal; she was simply pleased for Larry, glad that she could bring him this gift. By noon he had not appeared, and Noelle wished that he had told her what time he expected to arrive. She kept phoning the desk for messages every ten minutes and kept picking up the phone to make sure it was working. By six o’clock that evening, there was still no word from him. By midnight he had not called, and Noelle sat huddled in a chair, staring at the phone, willing it to ring. She fell asleep, and when she woke, it was dawn, Saturday. She was still in the chair, stiff and cold. The dress she had so carefully chosen was wrinkled, and there was a run in her stocking.
Noelle changed clothes and stayed in the room all that day, stationing herself in front of the open window, telling herself that if she stayed there, Larry would appear; if she left, something terrible would happen to him. As Saturday morning lengthened into afternoon, she began to be filled with the conviction that there had been an accident. Larry’s plane had crashed, and he was lying in a field or in a hospital, wounded or dead. Noelle’s mind was filled with ghastly visions. She sat up all night Saturday, sick with worry, afraid to leave the room and not knowing how to reach Larry.