“Petit déjeuner. Fashionably late.”
“Yes, of course. Anyway, I thought you might want to have lunch at the Café de Paris. Three’s a good time,” he said, glancing at his watch. He tilted his head to the side and added, “I did check with Norbert first to see if he had other designs on your time. He thought he would be free, but he’s tied up with business for the Principality. I mentioned that I’d be glad to step in where you were concerned. He did suggest that I might be being a little too pushy, and I should let you get acclimated to your new surroundings. I told him I didn’t think you were so old that you needed the time for such a thing. Was I wrong?”
“Actually, I am getting hungry. Where is the Café de Paris?”
“The one in Monaco is in Monte Carlo, right near the casino.” He sounded surprised that I didn’t know.
“Oh, right. Well, let me throw something else on, perhaps.”
“No, you’re fine like that.”
“Then let me run a brush through my hair and put on some lipstick,” I said.
“You’re fine like that,” he repeated. “At least, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Don’t you know that women look good for themselves first and for a man last?”
He laughed. “Not the women I’ve met.”
“Maybe you need to expand your acquaintances.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” he replied with an impish smile.
As I walked out and up the stairs, I laughed to myself. Wasn’t I the little coquette? Before Mrs. Brittany, whenever I met a boy I was interested in or who was interested in me, I was crudely honest about my intentions. I was changing, and I liked the change. When I stood before the mirror and fixed my hair, I paused as a ripple of concern washed across my mind.
Wasn’t this happening a little too quickly? Norbert brings him along, and then Norbert steps out of the picture. Mrs. Brittany was testing me for sure. Was she testing to see how quickly I would socialize? Was she testing to see if I would be careful? Or was this actually going to be my first foray into the field? Would she get a report from Norbert and Paul? Should I have been so eager to go with Paul? I had decided that I would always be a tougher critic of my behavior with men than Mrs. Brittany would be. Should I have played harder to get, turned him down but suggested perhaps another time? Was it too late to change my mind? How would that make me look?
How conscious of my every action, every word, I had become. Did that make me careful or just plain neurotic? Whatever, I thought. If I’ve been tossed into the game, I’ll play it as best I can, and if I fail, I fail. Maybe it was a good idea to find out if I could do this, be a full-blown Brittany girl, sooner rather than later, not only for her but for myself. Why should either of us waste any more time?
He was waiting for me at the base of the short stairway, looking up at me with such admiration in his eyes he made me feel like Venus descending.
“You still look terrific to me,” he said.
“I didn’t think I’d look worse after brushing out my hair and putting on some lipstick.”
He laughed and held out his hand for mine. This time, I was being gripped with some interest. I looked back and saw Margery standing in the kitchen doorway staring at us.
“Shall I prepare dinner tonight, Miss Wilcox?” she asked.
“We’ll call you,” Paul answered for me. He looked to see what I would say or do about his answering for me so quickly.
“I’ll call you if there is any change in my plans,” I told her, stressing “I’ll.”
He nodded. “Pardon my enthusiasm, s’il vous plaît.”
“Enthusiasm isn’t bad, but every woman surrounds herself with her own minefield. Be careful. First learn the terrain,” I warned with a small smile.
He sucked in his breath and straightened up quickly. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He started to raise his hand toward his forehead.
“Don’t salute me, please, Paul. That’s the kiss of death.”
“Okay,” he said.
We stepped out.
Paul had a gold Lamborghini.
“Oh, you have the Murciélago,” I said.