BRIDGES OF TIME

BY: ROSE CARR

CHAPTER FOUR

The promised rain had not yet materialized so Remie dropped the Paris-Visite pass she had purchased for the Metro back in her purse. It was her first day and she wanted to savor it everything, even the risk of getting caught in a spring shower seemed exciting. She walked past small intimate bistros tucked away in cozy corners remembering how she and Scott used to sit and sip the rich dark coffee and talk for hours about nothing. The aroma of what would be the day’s lunch special filled the air around her and she breathed deeply, savoring the rich scent of pot-au-feu (beef simmered with vegetables) as it wafted out to her. She loved it served with a jug of dark mustard and a thick slice of Camembert cheese and a chunk of thick crusty bread. Her stomach rumbled loudly, she was getting ravenous. A clap of thunder followed by tiny raindrops splashed the sidewalk, turning to sharp stinging needles seconds before she ducked inside the door of a small restaurant that catered to the breakfast crowd.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Voulez-vous une table?” a pert young waitress asked.

Returning her bright smile, Remie struggled to remember her college French. “Une table? Oui. Pardon moi. Je suis americaine.”

“Bon,” she said. “ How many in your party will there be Mademoiselle?”

“One,” Remie replied wistfully, “only one.”

“Please come this way.” Remie followed her to a table near that sat near a window and looked out onto the rain swept street.

She ordered cappuccino and deciding to throw caution and her waistline to the wind she also ordered not one but two of the delicious chocolate filled croissants she had seen in the case on her way in. After the waitress came back with her order and left, she rummaged through her briefcase for the costume list she’d been sent by the wardrobe mistress of the Opera House. Glancing around, she slipped on the hated glasses she needed to read and began to study the list of costumes. The waitress arrived with her order and she continued to work between sips of the hot frothy drink and delicious pastry. She was deep into her work when she heard a voice and without looking up, automatically said, “Yes, everything is fine, but may I trouble you for a glass of water?”

“Of course you may, would there be anything else?”

Remie raised her eyes and over the rim of her glasses she was startled to see looking back at her, not the dark eyes of the little waitress, but the most beautiful hazel eyes she had ever seen.

“Oh my,” Remie said, her cheeks burning. She made a move to stand up, “Please excuse me, I didn’t mean...” and promptly knocked over her cup, splashing cappuccino all over the owner of those incredible eyes. Jumping back to escape the hot liquid she tipped her chair over, and sent papers flying in all directions.

‘Oh dear!” she cried, her face growing hotter by the minute. “Please excuse my clumsiness.”

“No excuses needed,” he said, kneeling down to help her gather the fallen papers, “I shouldn’t have startled you. Do you forgive me?” he said, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Trying to regain some semblance of her dignity, Remie said, “Forgive you?” she said. “It’s you who must forgive me. I’m so sorry I ruined your shirt. Please let me have it cleaned for you. It’s the least I can do.”

“This old thing?” he said with a charming smile as he dabbed at the spreading stain with a napkin. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll wash out.”

“Was there something you wanted to ask me?” Remie asked, hoping to change the subject.

“I was going to ask you if I could join you at your table,” he said. “All the others are full and you appeared to be sitting alone, so I...I hope you don’t mind?”

“Oh, no. No. Of course not,” she said, wondering why she was still standing there, staring at him like some sort of demented owl. What must he think of me she thought, patting her hair, hoping it was in place and that she didn’t look as disheveled as she felt.

“So,” he said as he pulled his chair up to the table and took the fresh cup of coffee offered to him by the waitress. “I notice you have costume drawings there, are you a designer?”

“Me? No,” she laughed. “Nothing so glamorous. I repair and restore old costumes, like the ones seen in museums.” Warming to the interest shown in his fine blue eyes, she continued.

“The Paris Opera House has hired me to help them in their current restoration project. They have a veritable treasure house of 18th and 19th century clothing that should be preserved and I feel that we should do all we can to preserve our history. I’ve always... Please forgive me, I must be boring you.”

Davit had been staring at her intently, then after a moment said. “I’m sorry for staring at you, and I know this sounds like a tired pick up line, but have you ever been in Paris before? I have a strong feeling that we’ve met somewhere before?”

“Yes,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Once, a long time ago, when I was a young student.”

“You studied here in Paris?” he asked.

“Yes, several years ago,” Remie said a little wistfully. She glanced down at her watch and grew alarmed. “Oh dear, look at the time,” she said, and stood up and began to gather her things.

“I really have to be on my way or I’ll be late for my first day of work.”

He looked out the window and said, “It’s still raining and I don’t think it will stop anytime soon. I would be pleased if you let me drive you to your destination. My car is right outside.” Seeing the hesitation in her eyes he said, “I can assure I’m quite trustworthy.” Pulling a chain from under the collar of his shirt he held out the identification badge of a police officer.

“You’re a police officer?” she said looking at his picture on the badge.

“A detective. Detective Davit Jordan, at your service,” he said with a little flourish.

“Well, okay,” she said, smiling up into his handsome face, noticing the little touch of silver in the dark curly hair. “How can I refuse one of Paris’ finest?”

He insisted on paying the waitress as she waited for him by the door. Pointing out a dark blue Citroën, both of them ran through the rain, Remie holding her briefcase over her head to shield her hair from the worst of the rain. He opened the door on her side and then dashed around the hood of the car, sliding in beside her. Remie could not help but notice his broad shoulders as one brushed against her when he started the car. The car smelled nice, like him. A clean fresh scent that also seemed oddly familiar. Steady old girl she told herself. He’s young enough to be...well, to be your younger brother.

“Buckled in?” he said. Before she could answer he slammed the car into gear and they darted off into the chaotic French traffic. Remie closed her eyes after one near miss, her knuckles turning white as she held onto the door handle for dear life thinking that this had not been such a good idea. Before she knew it they were pulling up in front of the Palais Garnier. Davit turned off the engine and turned slightly in his seat so he could face her.

“If you ever need anything,” he said reaching into an inside pocket of his chocolate brown corduroy jacket and withdrawing a cream colored card, which he offered her. “Please call me. Someone at this number will always know where I am.” He lifted his hand as if to touch her cheek, then thought better of it. Giving her a little smile, he turned away and opened his door to get out and come around to open hers. Remie put the card in her purse and stepped out into the rain. She thanked him and wanted to say more but could not think of anything clever and was aware he was getting soaked. Saying goodbye, she hurried up the stairs, wanting desperately to look back to see if he was watching her and feeling foolish for wanting to do so. A gust of wind sent stinging needles of rain that made her decision for her and she hurried into the building.

to be continued....

Contact the author: Rosematuse@aol.com

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