A Quiver Full of Arrows

“Monsieur?”

“Do you speak English?”

“Un peu, un peu.”

“Hotel George Cinq.”

“Oui, mais je ne peux pas mettre toutes les valises dans le coffre.”

So Henry and Victoria sat huddled in the back of the taxi, bruised, tired, soaked and starving, surrounded by leather suitcases, only to be bumped up and down over the cobble stones all the way to the George Cinq.

The hotel doorman rushed to help them as Henry offered the taxi driver a pound note.

“No take English money, monsieur.”

Henry couldn’t believe his ears. The doorman happily paid the taxi driver in francs and quickly pocketed the pound note. Henry was too tired even to comment. He helped Victoria up the marble steps and went over to the reception desk.

“The Grand Pasha of Cairo and his wife. The bridal suite, please.”

“Oui, monsieur.”

Henry smiled at Victoria.

“You ’ave your booking confirmation with you?”

“No,” said Henry, “I have never needed to confirm my booking with you in the past. Before the war I…”

“I am sorry, sir, but the ’otel is fully booked at the moment. A conference.”

“Even the bridal suite?” asked Victoria.

“Yes, Madam, the chairman and his lady, you understand.” He nearly winked.

Henry certainly did not understand. There had always been a room for him at the George Cinq whenever he had wanted one in the past. Desperate, he unfolded the second of his five-pound notes and slipped it across the counter.

“Ah,” said the booking clerk, “I see we still have one room unoccupied, but I fear it is not very large.”

Henry waved a listless hand.

The booking clerk banged the bell on the counter in front of him with the palm of his hand, and a porter appeared immediately and escorted them to the promised room. The booking clerk had been telling the truth. Henry could only have described the room they found themselves standing in as a box. The reason that the curtains were perpetually drawn was that the view over the chimneys of Paris was singularly unprepossessing, but that was not to be the final blow, as Henry realized, staring in disbelief at the sight of the two narrow single beds. Victoria started unpacking without a word while Henry sat despondently on the end of one of them. After Victoria had sat soaking in a bath that was the perfect size for a six-year-old, she lay down exhausted on the other bed. Neither spoke for nearly an hour.

“Come on, darling,” said Henry finally. “Let’s go and have dinner.”

Victoria rose loyally but reluctantly and dressed for dinner while Henry sat in the bath, knees on nose, trying to wash himself before changing into evening dress. This time he phoned the front desk and ordered a taxi as well as booking a table at Maxim’s.

The taxi driver did accept his pound note on this occasion, but as Henry and his bride entered the great restaurant he recognized no one and no one recognized him. A waiter led them to a small table hemmed in between two other couples just below the band. As he walked into the dining room the musicians struck up “Alexander’s Ragtime Band.”

They both ordered from the extensive menu and the langouste turned out to be excellent, every bit as good as Henry had promised of Maxim’s, but by then neither of them had the stomach to eat a full meal and the greater part of both their dishes was left on the plate.

Henry found it hard to convince the new headwaiter that the lobster had been superb and that they had purposely come to Maxim’s not to eat it. Over coffee, he took Victoria’s hand and tried to apologize.

“Let us end this farce,” he said, “by completing my plan and going to the Madeleine and presenting you with the promised flowers. Paulette will not be in the square to greet you but there will surely be someone who can sell us roses.”

Henry called for the bill and unfolded the third five-pound note (Maxim’s is always happy to accept other people’s currency and certainly didn’t bother him with any change) and they left, walking hand in hand toward the Madeleine. For once Henry turned out to be right, for Paulette was nowhere to be seen. An old lady with a shawl over her head and a wart on the side of her nose stood in her place on the corner of the square, surrounded by the most beautiful flowers.

Henry selected a dozen of the longest-stemmed red roses and then placed them in the arms of his bride. The old lady smiled at Victoria.

Victoria returned her smile.