line behind us. My mind clears. We are not in Salzburg, I remind myself, stepping back from him. Remembering Paul seated beside the Frenchwoman at the café, I clear my throat. “We should go.”
A confused expression crosses his face. “Okay.” I refold the visa and tuck it back into my bag as I follow Paul from the waiting room and down the steps. “Now we can go to the hotel and get your tickets…” he begins as we reach the street.
“That’s not necessary,” I say, cutting him off. “I mean, I really appreciate all of your help, but I am sure you have other things to do.”
Paul stops, his brow furrowing. “Other things?”
“Yes.” I pause, swallowing. “Your friends from the café will be wondering where you have gone.”
“You mean my buddy, John?”
“Actually, I was talking about the Frenchwoman.” I can hear the jealousy in my own voice.
“Oh!” A light dawns in his eyes. “Marta, I know how it must have looked, but it isn’t like that at all. Last year, our unit was in Paris several times.” So he didn’t just meet the Frenchwoman, I realize, my heart sinking further. Perhaps she is his girlfriend. Paul continues, “John has been dating one of the women, Collette, long distance since then. Emilie, the other woman, is Collette’s cousin. Collette had to bring Emilie along, or she wouldn’t have been able to see John at all today. They invited me along so Emilie wouldn’t feel awkward. But I’m not interested in her.”
“Oh?” I study his face, wanting to believe him. “But don’t you need to get back to them?”
“I’m sure old Johnny can handle two Frenchwomen just fine on his own. And now that you’re here…I never imagined, I mean, I’m so glad…” He hesitates, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. “Have dinner with me.”
My breath catches. Is it really possible that Paul wants to spend time with me, not the beautiful Frenchwoman? I open my mouth to accept his invitation, then hesitate. There is nothing I would rather do. But I cannot afford dinner, and I still have nowhere to stay tonight. I need to get to the Red Cross shelter. “I don’t know—”
“Please,” he pleads. “I’ll have the hotel clerk change your train and ferry tickets. Unless you would rather have that done at your hotel.”
“No,” I reply quickly. “I—I mean, they only seem to understand French at my hotel. I’m afraid they won’t get it right.” The lie slips out too easily.
“Then we’ll have it done at mine,” he says decisively. “And grab some chow, I mean, have dinner, while we wait for the tickets.”
Looking into his eyes, I cannot help myself. I would sooner sleep on the street tonight than leave Paul now. “That would be nice, thank you.”
“Excellent.” He claps his hands. “Where are you staying? I mean, do you want to go freshen up before dinner?”
“Th-the Hô tel Dupree,” I fib quickly. I hate lying to Paul, but I cannot bring myself to admit that I was planning to go to the refugee shelter. I glance down at the small satchel that holds everything I own, wondering if it might make him suspicious. But he does not seem to notice. “It’s rather far away, though. Is there a ladies’ room at your hotel where I can freshen up?”
“Sure.” We start down the street in the direction of the Servicemen’s Hotel. As we walk, I steal glances at him out of the corner of my eye. I am in Paris with Paul. It is almost too much to believe.
A few minutes later we reach the hotel and cross through the garden. Inside the lobby, Paul points to a hallway leading off to the right. “I passed a ladies’ room over there earlier. I don’t know what shape it’s in. Doesn’t seem to get much use these days. And while you’re doing that, I’m going to check in and get my key. Why don’t you give me your train and ferry tickets? I’ll see about having the front desk change your reservations and book you on the train to Calais for tomorrow
A confused expression crosses his face. “Okay.” I refold the visa and tuck it back into my bag as I follow Paul from the waiting room and down the steps. “Now we can go to the hotel and get your tickets…” he begins as we reach the street.
“That’s not necessary,” I say, cutting him off. “I mean, I really appreciate all of your help, but I am sure you have other things to do.”
Paul stops, his brow furrowing. “Other things?”
“Yes.” I pause, swallowing. “Your friends from the café will be wondering where you have gone.”
“You mean my buddy, John?”
“Actually, I was talking about the Frenchwoman.” I can hear the jealousy in my own voice.
“Oh!” A light dawns in his eyes. “Marta, I know how it must have looked, but it isn’t like that at all. Last year, our unit was in Paris several times.” So he didn’t just meet the Frenchwoman, I realize, my heart sinking further. Perhaps she is his girlfriend. Paul continues, “John has been dating one of the women, Collette, long distance since then. Emilie, the other woman, is Collette’s cousin. Collette had to bring Emilie along, or she wouldn’t have been able to see John at all today. They invited me along so Emilie wouldn’t feel awkward. But I’m not interested in her.”
“Oh?” I study his face, wanting to believe him. “But don’t you need to get back to them?”
“I’m sure old Johnny can handle two Frenchwomen just fine on his own. And now that you’re here…I never imagined, I mean, I’m so glad…” He hesitates, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. “Have dinner with me.”
My breath catches. Is it really possible that Paul wants to spend time with me, not the beautiful Frenchwoman? I open my mouth to accept his invitation, then hesitate. There is nothing I would rather do. But I cannot afford dinner, and I still have nowhere to stay tonight. I need to get to the Red Cross shelter. “I don’t know—”
“Please,” he pleads. “I’ll have the hotel clerk change your train and ferry tickets. Unless you would rather have that done at your hotel.”
“No,” I reply quickly. “I—I mean, they only seem to understand French at my hotel. I’m afraid they won’t get it right.” The lie slips out too easily.
“Then we’ll have it done at mine,” he says decisively. “And grab some chow, I mean, have dinner, while we wait for the tickets.”
Looking into his eyes, I cannot help myself. I would sooner sleep on the street tonight than leave Paul now. “That would be nice, thank you.”
“Excellent.” He claps his hands. “Where are you staying? I mean, do you want to go freshen up before dinner?”
“Th-the Hô tel Dupree,” I fib quickly. I hate lying to Paul, but I cannot bring myself to admit that I was planning to go to the refugee shelter. I glance down at the small satchel that holds everything I own, wondering if it might make him suspicious. But he does not seem to notice. “It’s rather far away, though. Is there a ladies’ room at your hotel where I can freshen up?”
“Sure.” We start down the street in the direction of the Servicemen’s Hotel. As we walk, I steal glances at him out of the corner of my eye. I am in Paris with Paul. It is almost too much to believe.
A few minutes later we reach the hotel and cross through the garden. Inside the lobby, Paul points to a hallway leading off to the right. “I passed a ladies’ room over there earlier. I don’t know what shape it’s in. Doesn’t seem to get much use these days. And while you’re doing that, I’m going to check in and get my key. Why don’t you give me your train and ferry tickets? I’ll see about having the front desk change your reservations and book you on the train to Calais for tomorrow
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