thank you. It’s a scene I shall never forget. It has taken my breath away.”
Philip smiled. “Not everyone has your appreciation.”
“Surely no one could help but appreciate this.” She made a sweeping gesture at the view above and below.
“There are many women who are so busy trying to be—what you say—sophisticated, that they are blasé even about anything as beautiful as this.”
So they dined between the lights of Paris and the stars. Angela believed she had never tasted food so delicious. She thought with some inward amusement of the dull, “wholesome” fare at the hospital. She would come down to earth next week with a great jolt indeed. But Kirkwhite Annex and Lockerfield seemed extremely remote at this moment. She thought fleetingly how wonderful it would have been had Simon been in this wonderful place with her. But she quickly stifled such thoughts.
They lingered over dessert and their last glass of wine, reluctant to leave such exciting, glamorous surroundings. But the moment finally came when they had to leave to make room for others.
“I am afraid the other places you want to go to will be—what you call— anticlimax after that,” Philip said when they were once more outside. “Do you still wish to go?”
She laughed. “Yes Philip, I would like to.”
He pulled a wry face. “Why is it that, people are always so intensely interested in the working class of another country?”
“Simply because the ‘working class’ as you call them, are more representative of real people. The place where we’ve just been was lovely, of course, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. But really, Philip, how many of the people dining there were French? It’s my guess that the majority of them were either English or American tourists.”
“I expect you are right, Angela. Very well, we go to Montparnasse.”
This was a part of Paris Angela had not yet seen. Streets where old men lay huddled in shop doorways, or stretched out on the pavements over basement grills where the warm air drifting up would steal comfortingly over their thin, frail old bodies. Philip took her arm and led her down some steps leading to one of the numerous basement cafes from where came the sound of music and singing. At first, Angela found the noise and smoke and the crowd confusing. Then gradually, her eyes picked out groups and couples either sitting at small tables or standing about. A few were dancing, but with very little attempt at keeping either in time or step. Somehow, Philip managed to find two vacant places at a table where a couple were just leaving.
The people were certainly having a good time, each in their own way. Most of the women wore brightly colored blouses and long skirts. Angela noticed a marked absence of the woolly cardigan that seems to accompany the Englishwoman wherever she goes. Many of the men were dressed in slacks and open-neck shirts of every design and color. Here and there, couples held hands or gazed into each other’s eyes oblivious of everyone around them.
Suddenly, Angela blinked, then looked again at a couple in earnest conversation seated at a far table. She waited until the man turned his head slightly and her heart leaped. It was Simon. She looked at his companion. She was young and very attractive, but not, Angela thought, the kind of woman she would have expected Simon to be interested in. Then she blinked and looked again. It was Paulette. But what a different Paulette from the one Angela had seen in Suzette’s flat and modelling those beautiful gowns. Now she wore large earrings and jangling bracelets, no hat and colorful clothes. She and Simon seemed to have eyes only for each other, and with a sharp twist of her heart Angela saw Simon stretch out his hand to take Paulette’s. Unable to bear the sight Angela looked quickly away to find that Philip was watching her. “Someone you know?”
“Simon LeFeure.”
His eyes widened. “The son of Suzette?” He glanced
Philip smiled. “Not everyone has your appreciation.”
“Surely no one could help but appreciate this.” She made a sweeping gesture at the view above and below.
“There are many women who are so busy trying to be—what you say—sophisticated, that they are blasé even about anything as beautiful as this.”
So they dined between the lights of Paris and the stars. Angela believed she had never tasted food so delicious. She thought with some inward amusement of the dull, “wholesome” fare at the hospital. She would come down to earth next week with a great jolt indeed. But Kirkwhite Annex and Lockerfield seemed extremely remote at this moment. She thought fleetingly how wonderful it would have been had Simon been in this wonderful place with her. But she quickly stifled such thoughts.
They lingered over dessert and their last glass of wine, reluctant to leave such exciting, glamorous surroundings. But the moment finally came when they had to leave to make room for others.
“I am afraid the other places you want to go to will be—what you call— anticlimax after that,” Philip said when they were once more outside. “Do you still wish to go?”
She laughed. “Yes Philip, I would like to.”
He pulled a wry face. “Why is it that, people are always so intensely interested in the working class of another country?”
“Simply because the ‘working class’ as you call them, are more representative of real people. The place where we’ve just been was lovely, of course, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. But really, Philip, how many of the people dining there were French? It’s my guess that the majority of them were either English or American tourists.”
“I expect you are right, Angela. Very well, we go to Montparnasse.”
This was a part of Paris Angela had not yet seen. Streets where old men lay huddled in shop doorways, or stretched out on the pavements over basement grills where the warm air drifting up would steal comfortingly over their thin, frail old bodies. Philip took her arm and led her down some steps leading to one of the numerous basement cafes from where came the sound of music and singing. At first, Angela found the noise and smoke and the crowd confusing. Then gradually, her eyes picked out groups and couples either sitting at small tables or standing about. A few were dancing, but with very little attempt at keeping either in time or step. Somehow, Philip managed to find two vacant places at a table where a couple were just leaving.
The people were certainly having a good time, each in their own way. Most of the women wore brightly colored blouses and long skirts. Angela noticed a marked absence of the woolly cardigan that seems to accompany the Englishwoman wherever she goes. Many of the men were dressed in slacks and open-neck shirts of every design and color. Here and there, couples held hands or gazed into each other’s eyes oblivious of everyone around them.
Suddenly, Angela blinked, then looked again at a couple in earnest conversation seated at a far table. She waited until the man turned his head slightly and her heart leaped. It was Simon. She looked at his companion. She was young and very attractive, but not, Angela thought, the kind of woman she would have expected Simon to be interested in. Then she blinked and looked again. It was Paulette. But what a different Paulette from the one Angela had seen in Suzette’s flat and modelling those beautiful gowns. Now she wore large earrings and jangling bracelets, no hat and colorful clothes. She and Simon seemed to have eyes only for each other, and with a sharp twist of her heart Angela saw Simon stretch out his hand to take Paulette’s. Unable to bear the sight Angela looked quickly away to find that Philip was watching her. “Someone you know?”
“Simon LeFeure.”
His eyes widened. “The son of Suzette?” He glanced
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