BRIDGES OF TIME

BY:  ROSE CARR

CHAPTER SEVEN

Remie looked down at the card Davit had given her, then back at the driver; he smiled and gave her the thumbs up sign.

“Are you sure this is the right address?”

“Oui, Madame,” he said nodding his head. "I’m sure. 351 Rue de les Place.”

Remie paid him and stepped out of the cab and found herself standing in front a large gate, which was in sore need of a paint job. She pushed it open and walked up the path, admiring the plants that lined the neat sidewalk. She was surprised that he lived in a house; she’d expected a bachelor’s apartment. He hadn’t worn a ring...but these days that didn’t mean a person wasn’t attached. She found herself in front of the door with her finger on the doorbell when it suddenly swung open and there he was, looking sensational even in faded jeans and an old blue shirt with his dark hair in a haphazard tumble. She hoped her mouth wasn’t hanging open.

“I just discovered I’m out of wine,” he said grimacing. “An unforgivable state of affairs, especially for a Frenchmen who has invited guests to dinner.”

Remie smiled conspiratorially and offered up the bottle of wine she had purchased. “Not to worry, you’re reputation is safe with me.”

“You’re a saint,” he grinned. With a little flourish he bowed and stepped aside to let her pass. “Please, do come in!”

He ushered her into the living room and as he helped her off with her coat she looked around the room, surprised by its elegance. The turquoise and green coach she settled into was not only beautiful, but also quite comfortable. She was surprised, and a little disappointed at the feminine quality of the room. He must live here with someone else she thought. It was silly of me to think that a man like him would be unattached.

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment and then down at his watch. “Dinner won’t be ready for a while,” he said. “Would you like a drink? Some coffee or perhaps a glass of the wine you were so thoughtful to bring?”

“Yes,” she said," a glass of wine would be wonderful.” She sipped at her drink, feigning a nonchalance she did not feel, hoping the little beads of sweat she felt popping up on her upper lip were not too noticeable.

“Really Mr. Jordan.... Davit,” she blurted out, “if you’re involved with someone else, perhaps I shouldn’t be here.”

He chuckled. She felt the flush creep up her cheeks was he mocking her? “I am, was... involved, things were...are rocky...but that’s not the reason I invited you here. I thought you could use the company and a good dinner, I certainly know I could.”

“Really?” she said.

“Really,” he said, jumping at the sound of the doorbell. “But I lied about the good dinner. Actually it’s only pizza.” He flashed her his charming crooked smile and she felt herself warming to him despite her earlier misgivings.

“Pizza’s fine,” she grinned, “as long as it’s double pepperoni and cheese.”

They ate in the small library filled with shelves of old leather bound books. A large desk sat in one corner, it’s worn top piled with neat stacks of paper along side a putty colored computer. In the room’s center, facing a large fireplace, sat a leather settee, shiny with wear. Clearly this was a man’s room. Over the fireplace mantle hung a portrait of a handsome couple. The man dressed in a uniform of the 19th century constabulary, the woman in flowing gown of burgundy silk with a sparkling red stone on a long golden chain resting in the cleft of her ample bosom. There was something familiar about them, especially the man. His features were stern, but his eyes were kind and gentle. “You like the painting?” Davit said, pouring her a cup of tea.

“Yes, yes I do.” Remie said. “Yes, he’s a striking man. Do you know the history of this portrait?”

“Ah, but of course,” he said smiling as he handed her the cup of tea. "Every painting has a story.”

“Who is he?” she asked.

“My Great- great-great Grandfather.”

“Really?” she said.

“Yes...or so I’ve been told.”

She stared at him and then at the painting. “You know, you do resemble him, around the eyes...”

He shrugged. “You think so? I can’t see it myself.”

She sat down and continued to sip her tea. “Yes, I really think you do. In fact I think there is a strong family resemblance. Don’t you like him?”

He sat down on the leather sofa. “I’m not sure. There’s not much about him that I know. He was married, and had a son and was, according to family stories and other historical records, a very much admired man.”

“Hum...” she said.

“What...what is it,” Davit said? “You don’t believe me?”

“Oh yes, I do.”

“Well,” he continued, “the story goes that he met his wife under mysterious circumstances and his family didn’t approve of her.”

“Really. I wonder why? She looks perfectly lovely.”

“Yes she does…in fact she reminds me of you.”

“Please,” Remie laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am, truly. Look at her, red hair, amber eyes…”

“A lot of people have red hair and amber eyes. Just look at her figure. I’m hardly as…well amply endowed as she was. And that waist! Look how small it is.”

A dimple appeared in Davit’s cheek. “Well…you aren’t suffering in the figure department.”

Remie reddened. “Enough!”

Davit suppressed a grin. These Americans could be so uptight. “Okay, I’ll be good. Enough about the portrait of people we’ll never know. Now I want to learn more about you.”

“Okay,” she said, “if then I can learn more about you.”

“It’s a deal," he said, “if you let me see you home. Paris may be the city of lights and love but not everyone takes that motto to heart. It can be a dangerous place.” They talked late into the evening and true to his word he drove her back to her apartment and saw her safely inside. She could not believe she had told him so much about herself and marveled that this man whom she had met less than three months ago could understand her so well.

to be continued....

© 2003 Rose Carr

Contact the author:  Rosematuse@aol.com

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