AT THE ENTRANCE TO A METAL BRIDGE THEY WERE ABOUT TO cross, Amanda asked, “What are these?” She pointed to a garbage can with padlocks attached around the rim.
“Up until recently, it was a modern custom for lovers to attach love locks, with their names written on them, onto the side of this bridge, called Pont des Arts. Then they would throw the keys into the river below,” explained Aunt Jenny. “It represented the couple’s commitment to each other. The custom grew so popular that the weight of all the padlocks became a serious safety concern. Eventually a section of the bridge’s side collapsed under the weight of them. As you can see, now the sides of the bridge are covered in Plexiglas so nothing can be attached. I guess a few couples have decided to use the rubbish bins to lock their love!”
“That’s too bad. I like the idea of the love locks,” replied Amanda.
“I told you, Paris is the city of loooove.” Leah made a silly grin. “Look, down there on the quai, there are people having a picnic. Now that’s sweet.”
Amanda looked down at the wide stone walkway hugging the river. A table, covered in a linen cloth, was set with china, and around it sat two couples on folding chairs, laughing as they sipped their wine. An open bottle sat in the centre of the table. Beside them, on the ground, a large wicker basket rested with a baguette sticking out. The sun bounced off the water and illuminated the bridge near them.
Amanda took a picture. “That is the most romantic picnic I have ever seen.”
“Only in Paris,” said Aunt Jenny with a smile.
When they returned to Shakespeare and Company, Aimee glanced up from dusting shelves. “Oh, there you are. Two young men stopped by and dropped off tickets to The Phantom of the Opera for you tonight.”
Leah’s face clouded over. “I don’t want to see a boring old opera.”
“It’s not really an opera. It’s a musical and it’s a great love story. You’ll enjoy it!” Amanda beamed. “Oh, please let’s go.”
“To see the play in the actual Paris Opera House would be a treat,” agreed Aunt Jenny.
“And you can wear your new outfit.” Amanda pointed to the bag in Leah’s hand.
“I guess it would be good to see the inside of the opera house.”
“There are four tickets, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to come along with you,” said Aimee as she folded up her dustcloth.
“Of course. Please join us,” replied Aunt Jenny.
Amanda zipped up her purple raincoat. A slight drizzle began as they headed toward the large imposing building that was the famous Paris Opera House. As they got closer, she could see the exterior covered with many sculptures. Every bit of space was decorated. The busts of well-known composers looked down from between stately marble columns. On the right and left corner of the façade stood huge golden-winged figures, glistening in the rain. Aunt Jenny said they were called Poetry and Harmony.
Once inside the main hall, Amanda stood with her mouth open. The room glittered with gold. Huge crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Marble statues lined two magnificent staircases. She felt like she had entered wonderland.
Leah poked her. “Look up!”
Amanda bent her head back and gasped. “This place is unbelievable.” The ceiling, painted with bright colours, looked like a spring garden.
“It is magnifique, is it not?” A familiar-looking young man wearing an usher’s uniform stood beside her.
“Do you not remember me? I am Pierre. I saw you at the Arc de Triomphe.” He grinned. “And you are the lovely Mademoiselle Amanda, from Canada. I am pleased you received the tickets I dropped off at the bookstore.”
Amanda felt her face get red. She stammered, “Well—I—thank you!”
“You are early. Can I show you and your friends around the opera house before the play begins?”
Leah jumped in. “That would be great.”
“You two go ahead,” said Aunt Jenny. “Aimee and I will wait here, by the staircase. I want to get a better look at these statues.”
Pierre took the girls backstage and pointed out the dressing rooms. He then took them to a door that led to the side of the stage. Amanda gulped as she looked out at the huge theatre full of red velvet seats, gold trimmings, and chandeliers.
“Wowza! This is wickedly posh,” exclaimed Leah.
Leading the girls down some stairs behind the stage, he showed them the lake under the building.
“I remember this from the play,” said Amanda.
“There really is one, and here it is,” explained Pierre.
Amanda shivered and looked around, half expecting the phantom to appear.
When they arrived back upstairs, they encountered a huge commotion. Police directed people out the front door, where soldiers waited in a line.
Pierre stopped another usher rushing by. “What is going on?” he asked.
“Someone called the gendarme to say there was a bomb in the opera house.” The young man’s voice trembled. “We are trying to evacuate the building.”
“A bomb!” Leah grabbed Amanda’s hand. “Let’s get out of here—fast!”
“Wait! It is too crowded. You will get crushed. I know another way.” Pierre turned and walked briskly down a hallway.
Leah’s eyes grew wide. “Should we follow him?”
“I think so,” Amanda barely whispered as she gripped her friend’s hand.
Pierre briskly led them down hallways, around corners, and through doors. The girls sprinted to keep up with him. Amanda hoped he knew where he was going. She sure didn’t want to stay in the opera house if there was a bomb in it. Her heart beat faster and her throat felt dry.
Pierre tried a door but it was locked. “Non!” He threw his hands up in the air, then pointed. “We will try this way.” He turned around and marched down another corridor. At the end loomed a large door with a sign in French and English: FIRE EXIT. USE ONLY IN AN EMERGENCY.
Pierre shrugged. “This is an emergency, n’est-ce pas?”
He pushed with all his weight against the door. It flew open. An alarm pierced their ears.
Outside, sirens filled the air as theatregoers in their finery spilled out of the front door. People shouted and ran every which way. One woman was crying, her mascara running down her face.
“Now how will we find Aunt Jenny and Aimee?” Leah bit her lip.
Amanda’s eyes searched the crowd. She noticed a familiar-looking tall man with a ponytail, helping a police officer guide people away from the front door. Soldiers moved toward the entrance of the building.
“That will be l’équipe de déminage, the bomb disposal unit.” Pierre clenched and unclenched his fists as he took a couple of shallow breaths. “We should move away from here, just in case there is an explosion.” He grabbed Amanda’s elbow and led the girls across the street, dodging frantic people.
Amanda trembled. She suddenly wished she was back home in Canada.