“Well? What do you think?” Antoine asked the question with justifiable pride.
The taxi had brought them up the steep, twisting road and dropped them off just below the Sacré Coeur at the best possible viewpoint. The sky was a cloudless cerulean blue, the sun blazed down, and what looked like the whole of Paris was laid out before them.
Dot’s eyes prickled with emotion at the sheer beauty of the sight. This surely had to be one of the most stunning views on earth. Antoine tilted his head so he could glimpse beneath the broad brim of her straw hat, then smiled at the expression on her face.
“It’s just…perfect.” Dot shook her head. “I don’t know what else to say.”
Antoine gave her hand a squeeze. “And you are perfect too.”
Which could have sounded nauseating, but somehow, when it was spoken in a French accent, managed not to.
“Thank you.” She returned the squeeze; he had taken so much trouble. Every detail of their trip had been planned to the nth degree. The hotel was wonderful, unbelievably French and luxurious. Last night Antoine had taken her on a boat trip down the Seine, followed by dinner at a jewel of a restaurant tucked away in the back streets of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. This morning they had strolled through the Luxembourg Gardens, and now he’d brought her here to Montmartre. Antoine was an excellent guide, full of information, determined she should enjoy every moment.
“I can’t believe you’ve never visited Paris before.” He was shaking his head.
“I know. It’s crazy.” Dot was still gazing at the view. It wasn’t as if she and Lawrence hadn’t taken plenty of vacations, just that somehow they’d always ended up going…well, somewhere else.
“And you see the Tour Eiffel?” Of all the landmarks, it was the one that had first caught her eye, but Dot nodded and obediently followed the line of his pointing finger. “We’ll be there this evening.”
“Really?” Dot wondered how well her feet would hold out. “I’ve heard the lines for the lifts can be quite long.”
“Oh, Dot, do you think I’d do that to you?” Antoine’s eyes twinkled as he shook his head. “We won’t be queuing, ma chérie. There’s a private lift that takes people up to the Jules Verne restaurant on the second level. It’s the most magical place to eat—Michelin starred, quite superb.”
“Oh my goodness, I’ve heard of it! One of our customers told me about the Jules Verne last year. But he said it’s always booked up months ahead.”
“This is true, but sometimes it is possible to pull strings. For very special occasions and very special people.” His voice caressing her like silk, Antoine murmured, “And some people are worth pulling strings for. I promise you, mon ange, this will be an evening you’ll never forget.”
“How lovely. We’ll have to take photos to show everyone! Ooh, and I can’t wait to be in it when all the lights go into overdrive and the whole thing lights up like a giant sparkler!” As Dot mimicked the sparkling with dancing fingers, she heard her phone begin to ring inside her handbag. “Sorry, better just see who that is… Oh, it’s Josh. I hope everything’s okay with the hotel…”
One moment she was answering the call, her gaze fixed on the higgledy-piggledy rooftops of heat-hazed Montmartre, the next moment she was listening to Josh’s words and the ground was falling away beneath her feet. All around her, tourists joyfully exclaimed at the view, chattering away in a multitude of different languages as they held up their cameras and jostled for the best shots.
“What is it?” Antoine asked when she’d said, “I’ll call you back,” and hung up.
“Lawrence. He’s in the hospital. Heart attack.”
“Oh, that is a shame. Well, never mind. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” He rested his hand in the small of her back. “Wait until you see the inside of the Sacré Coeur.”
Dot turned to stare at him. “What?”
“Its beauty is astonishing, truly beyond compare. Come, you will love it. The architectural style is Romanesque-Byzantine and the great bell, the Savoyarde, is one of the heaviest in the world at nineteen tons—”
“Antoine, did you hear what I said?”
He was looking at her, baffled. “Of course I did. But it isn’t going to affect our trip, surely. We’ll be back in St. Carys on Sunday night. That’s—”
“I can’t stay here,” Dot interrupted, her heart thudding. “I have to go.”
“But you can’t. Are you serious? Ma chérie, this is crazy. He’s your ex-husband. You divorced him.”
“He’s ill. He could die…” She could hear her voice wavering. No. Stay calm. Be strong.
“If he’s going to die, it’ll happen regardless, whether you’re there or not. This is our weekend. Your weekend,” Antoine amended. “Everything I’ve arranged is for you.”
A taxi twenty yards away was disgorging a gaggle of excitable Japanese occupants. Dot hailed it and hurried over. Antoine jumped in after her.
“Please don’t go.” He clutched her arm. “Okay, we’ll fly back tomorrow. How about that? But we have to stay here tonight. Truly, the Jules Verne… It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Chérie, you can’t miss it.”
Dot looked at him and knew at once what was going on. Antoine might be a gourmand, but even he couldn’t be that desperate to eat a nice bit of food. He’d arranged practically every minute of this trip with characteristically immaculate attention to detail. There had also been a declaration of love last week during which he’d hinted that although they’d only known each other a few weeks, when you met someone and knew they were The One, what would be the point in hanging around? Just because a romance was whirlwind didn’t mean it wasn’t real and couldn’t last.
Antoine had evidently had Very Big Plans for this evening’s trip to the Eiffel Tower. No wonder he was looking put out.
He tried again: “Please.”
Dot shook her head slightly. “I’m going home.”
***
They arrived back at their hotel in the Latin Quarter and she began throwing everything into her case.
“He could be better by the time you get back.” Antoine was pacing the room like a supercilious panther.
“I hope he is.” As if her mind wasn’t bursting with fear and anxiety and mental pictures of Lawrence being taken ill, wondering if he was about to die, being rushed into the hospital then lying in bed facing his worst fears.
It was, of course, her own worst fear too. Lawrence could die.
“He doesn’t deserve this.” Antoine indicated the open suitcase with irritation. “Not after what he did to you.”
“Antoine, if you were going to ask me to marry you tonight…” Dot paused with a dove-gray silk dress in her hands. “Look, I’m sorry, but I would have said no.”
He reacted as if she’d slapped him hard across the cheek. “You would?”
“Yes.” She dropped the dress—ironically, the one she would have worn tonight—into her case.
“Why?”
Why? What could she tell him? That he was too perfect? Like a cut-out-and-keep version of the ideal partner?
“It’s no good; I can’t go into all this now.” Blindly, Dot shook her head. “I just have to get to the airport. What’s the number for the safe, please? I need my passport.”
Antoine had been the one to set the code. He crossed the room, pressed the buttons on the safe’s digital display, and opened it. From the other side of the bed, Dot glimpsed a small package wrapped in a distinctive—and instantly recognizable—shade of duck-egg blue. It was at the back, behind the other items. Then he closed the safe once more and held out her passport.
So he’d already selected her engagement ring from Tiffany & Co. Of course he would have gone to Tiffany’s; where else?
The rest of the packing was finished in a matter of minutes and in a silence that wasn’t exactly comfortable. Flipping the case onto its wheels, Dot said again, “I really am sorry.”
“You haven’t even booked a flight.” Antoine’s shoulders were stiff, his jaw taut.
“I know. I’m just going to catch the first one I can.” She’d kept the taxi waiting while she packed; it was time to head off to Charles de Gaulle airport. Waiting there would be less unbearable than this. “Thanks for…everything.” Dot hesitated; a kiss on the cheek probably wasn’t appropriate under the circumstances. “And I’ll pay my half of all this, I promise.”
“I still can’t believe you’re going. I would have given you everything you’d ever wanted.” Antoine’s voice registered frostiness tinged with regret.
It was no use; her brain was filling up again with images of Lawrence and what he was going through. Tightly clutching her phone, Dot prayed he was still alive. As soon as she was safely in the taxi, she would call Josh back.
Aloud she said, “I know you would.”