Chapter twenty-three
“I hope you won’t mind but something’s come up that has necessitated a slight change in our plans for today,” Gabriel announced over coffee and croissants the following morning. “I’ve only just found out,” he tapped a finger to his smartphone, now lying on the breakfast table where he’d placed it after reading a new message, “that I have an important event on here in Paris this evening and we’ll need to stay another night. Its short notice, I know, but I must attend – if I don’t go tonight, I may not be invited back next year.” He smiled a trifle mysteriously before he added, “and I’d very much like you to accompany me as my guest.”
Darcy hesitated in the middle of slathering raspberry jam and extra butter on her warmed croissant to glance up, curious. What kind of function made it a proviso that you had to attend or you wouldn’t be invited back?
She was the only other occupant at the table; Connor and Rosie had already gulped their breakfasts with the speed of young wolves and had raced off downstairs to the concierge’s ground-floor apartment, yelling back up the stairs that they were going to play with her spaniel bitch’s recently whelped pups. Madame Moreau, the apartment’s concierge, was a delightfully plump grandmother who had been overjoyed to see two children arrive in the normally childless apartment building that she had overseen for twenty years. Gabriel had laughingly described her as the woman who ruled his life her with an iron fist cleverly disguised inside a hand-knitted tea-cosy, in place of the more usual velvet glove. Madame spoke limited English but upon first meeting Connor and Rosie she had made Gabriel repeat in English her invitation for the children to visit her any time. Her front door, marked by numerous pots of flowering red geraniums, was always open, she said, situated where she could see anyone who passed by just inside the pass-coded outer security door to the apartment building.
“We can be up early tomorrow and make it back to Belagnac in time for the start of school,” From his recent experience, he could calculate just how long that journey took and knew he could easily have both children at their respective school gates by start of lessons.
Gabriel’s next question left Darcy wondering what on earth they were going to. “You wouldn’t happen to have brought a white dress with you by any chance?” At her puzzled expression he added, “White shoes? White accessories? Anything from casual to cocktail would be appropriate.”
“Well, I’ve got a pair of nude-toned high-heeled sandals and a white cardigan but nix on the dress. Don’t know why I thought the sandals would be useful for walking around Disneyland but I put them in my bag anyway.” When packing, Darcy had thrown in a few extras and knowing there would be plenty of space in the SUV and hadn’t bothered to sift back through her bag to edit out the items she might not require for the trip. “Why do you ask?” she was intrigued.
“Dress code,” he replied briskly. There was a glint of something cagey lighting up his eyes that she couldn’t fathom. “I can’t explain any more than that, -not yet, anyway,” he held up a hand to forestall additional questions.
“It’s not one of those weird ‘brotherhood’ things is it? You aren’t going to suddenly inform me that you’re a member of some secret sect, like you’re a mason or something?”
“No. And if I was a mason I doubt you’d be invited, -French freemasonry is still pretty much men-only.” Despite her questioning he would add nothing more to satisfy her curiosity.
Darcy’s imagination ran riot. She pictured an ominous visualisation of some creepy group of cloaked and hooded men standing around a sacrificial slab, –with her in her virginal white dress trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey upon it and the music from Carmina Burana crescendoing in the background. The music grew louder and louder in her head as she saw herself struggling desperately against her bonds to get free.
Unaware of the direction of her thoughts, Gabriel continued to plan out loud. “There aren’t many shops open today –Sunday is still a bit sacred in Paris where shopping is concerned but I can order a selection of dresses in for you to try. Shall I guess your size or do you want to tell me?” His voice, all practicality, went some way to breaking through her vision. “We can still visit Montmartre this morning with the children as we’d planned and the dresses should be delivered here by mid-afternoon for you to choose.”
Still a little lost somewhere between the vision and reality, Darcy had nodded agreement to all this and given him her size before she realised what she had done. She shook her head to dispel the imagery and change her ‘yes’ to ‘no’ but Gabriel had taken the first nod as assent and was talking on his mobile, making the necessary arrangements.
Darcy reached for her coffee cup, listening to him issuing instructions –she couldn’t help the sneaky hope that he’d got the super-efficient Mlle PA-BA out of bed to do his bidding. Hearing him speak, she had a small guilty thought that it must be nice to have the money, power and connections to be able to make all this happen at short notice. As he ended the call and replaced the phone on the table, she mused that it appeared to be too late to back out of this particular roller-coaster ride. She was thinking that she hoped it would be more along the lines of Indiana Jones-exciting than Space Mountain-terrifying, when the unpleasant sacrificial scene from Temple of Doom shot into her mind in vivid Technicolor; Carmina Burana was instantly replaced with loud banging drums, chanting and terrified screams. “Oh great,” she muttered crossly under her breath.
“What did you say?” He had seen the frown but couldn’t make out her words.
“N -Nothing –just some crazy visual imagery going through my head,” she didn’t feel up to explaining the convoluted twists of her imagination over breakfast.
“O–kay. How about I go down and prise the children from Madame Moreau’s before you end up with a puppy to go with your kitten –and I’ll ask if she can babysit Connor and Rosie this evening, …then we’ll head for Montmartre?”
“Thanks, that’d be great. I think.” She knew Madame would be an exemplary baby-sitter but wished the children could accompany them, not sure that she felt ready for a night out alone with Gabriel.
“I’d take Connor and Rosie with us but tonight’s an adults-only event.” He pulled back his chair and stood.
Knowing how uncommon it was for the French to exclude children from ‘events’ did little to restore Darcy’s confidence that she was going to have a fun time that evening. She might have backed out still, could she, but Gabriel had already left the room.
“When are you going to tell me where we’re going and what we’re going to?” Darcy asked plaintively. She was sitting next to Gabriel on the Metro. He was impeccably dressed from top to bottom in an off-white V-necked cable pullover, white linen pants and white leather lace-up shoes and looked as if he’d just come from a very civilised game of cricket on some English village green.
But that wasn’t all, -as if he wasn’t ‘white’ enough he had a white jacket looped through the straps of an insulated cool-bag that sat at his feet and a white fedora hat atop his head –its black band the only hint of colour in his entire outfit. Before they had left the apartment, he had handed Darcy two light-weight folding slat chairs; painted white, -Huh, she’d thought caustically, -no surprises there. He had stowed them in a carry-bag with a request that she carry this while he hefted a small folding card table and a the cool bag, full to the brim with food, a bag of ice and bottles of drink.
By now her nerves and curiosity were all-but killing her, and like that cat she was dying for some ‘satisfaction’ to bring her back. She reached down to smooth the accordion-pleated skirt of her new white dress, wondering if they were off to some fancy-dress party. Or maybe a picnic in the park? But then, why the table and chairs? Whatever, it was, it looked as if they were eating out, somewhere in Paris and she was dying to know where and with whom –this thought immediately brought back her breakfast-table visions; -perhaps, she revised, not so much dying as very keen, to be told what was going on.
“Patie
nce, ma petite rousse, we will arrive soon enough.” He hadn’t let a single detail about their destination slip, his gaze scanning the stations, “ah, this is our stop now, Trocadero. Allons-y.”
“Yeah, but allons-y to what? And who died and left you the new Doctor Who?” Darcy grumbled as she followed his retreating back, teetering in her strappy heels on the uneven surface. As she emerged from the Metro, two things happened in concert: first, she noticed that they were no longer the only people dressed all in white, while at the same time she suffered a ‘Marilyn moment’ with the full-skirted dress, -the soft white pleats flying up in all directions with the assistance of a crafty little breeze that had sprung up from nowhere.
“Eek, help!” any previous thoughts flew from her mind and her voice was reduced to a mortified squeal, as she almost dropped the chairs and fumbled with her skirt in a wasted effort to keep the garment under control. A few appreciative wolf whistles came from nearby where several of the closest white-dressed gentlemen clapped in enjoyment of the spectacle of a very nice pair of legs on display right up to matching satin panties. As the breeze went on its merry way and her skirt calmed and settled back down once more, Darcy would have hidden her face in her hands but for the need to keep hold of the chairs, so she opted instead to go with the moment, smiling as she dipped a curtsy and acknowledging the onlookers before walking on.
Gabriel had turned around at her first utterance to see what was happening and got the full Monty, so to speak. He hadn’t joined in with the clapping but he had enjoyed the performance, considerably. The dress, he thought, in old English parlance, was worth every penny that it had cost.
As Darcy approached, he switched the table to underneath one arm and held out a hand for the chairs, making absolutely no effort to minimise his very broad grin, “Shall I take those for you,” he offered with belated gallantry, “it appears you may need both hands free.”
Darcy raised a single well made-up eyebrow in response as she passed him the chairs.
He stood, surveying her from head to toe, the look neither calculating nor lecherous, but rather, purely appreciative, as if he was contemplating a work of art.
“Have I told you how enchantingly beautiful you look this evening?”
“No, you haven’t, or you hadn’t, not until just now.” She was a little flustered at the compliment, coming right on the heels of her unintended knickers-flash. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” She glanced around at the every-growing crowd, “Now are you going to tell me what we’ve arrived at?” Hundreds of white-clothed people were alighting from the metro station, similarly toting small folding tables, chairs and picnic baskets.
“In a moment,” he was still filling his eyes with the sight of her. “That dress very much suits you,” he admired. Clearly an homage to the famous Marilyn number from the movie The Seven Year Itch, the dress was a halter-neck with a full pleated skirt that stopped at a few centimetres above her knees, but the similarity ended there –this dress that Darcy was wearing so beautifully was far more form-fitting than the original, Grecian-inspired bands of pleated silk dipping to cross under her breasts were cut precisely, drawing attention to Darcy’s toned back, small waist and luscious curves and the accordion pleating had more in common with Issy Miyake than any other designer. On her, it was perfect and looked as if it had been made for her. She had accessorised simply, her only jewellery a small diamante hair clip keeping her soft curls pinned behind one ear while the rest cascaded over her opposite cheek and a simple silver bangle around one slim wrist. Anything more would have been superfluous.
As for Darcy, for once, she was happy with her hair –as long as the evening didn’t get too windy or humid she had hopes it would stay under control for a change.
“Shall we walk while I enlighten you about this evening,” he said. “Take my arm or you might get lost and not be able to find me again in all this white.”
“Sort of -It’s all white on the night?” she couldn’t resist the pun.
“Hah hah. Hold tight or it will not be all white. I don’t wish to spend the entire evening searching for you once you’ve disappeared and I do not plan to dine alone.”
“This,” his arms full, he couldn’t sweep his hand to indicate the milling crowds so inclined his head as he began to explain, “is Le Dîner en Blanc. It’s a yearly event that has being going on in Paris for the past twenty-five years. It started small, as many good things do, with just a few friends who wanted to have a nice dinner in a spot they really weren’t supposed to, back before flash-mobs and pop-up parks and such were de rigueur –and they all wore white so they would recognise each other in the crowd.”
Darcy laughed at that, “how ironic, and now, if you wanted to stand out you’d have to wear anything but white.”
“Well, it has grown considerably and there are a few more traditions that have been added since then. Wearing white is just one of them,” They were standing side by side at the top of the massive divided stairs that led down to the Trocadero’s plaza and water features. Dominating the view on the opposite bank of the Seine was the tall elegantly iron-latticed spike of the Eiffel tower.
“For one, everyone who is invited must arrive by public transport.” Darcy could see buses below on the far side of the plaza, pulling up and disgorging hundreds of white-clad revellers. As one bus pulled away from the kerb another would promptly take its place.
“How does everybody know where to meet?” she asked.
Gabriel dipped his hand into his trouser pocket and waved his smartphone in answer. “Text message sent an hour before you’re expected to arrive. The people on the buses are told where to meet their bus but the location of the dinner is only revealed once they’ve boarded.”
Darcy looked out over the growing crowds below with a sense of wonder, tinged with a dash of disquiet at the sight of sooo many dinner guests, “and everyone brings their own table, chairs and food?” She tried to tamp down the butterflies that were churning in her stomach at the prospect of sharing a dinner table with a cast of thousands.
“Yes. Guests must bring a table, a picnic basket, foldable chairs and a table cloth – the cloth must be white, of course. Participants are sworn to secrecy and only those with valid invitations may attend. If you miss a year, you don’t get invited back the next, hence why I was so keen to attend. Now, shall we head down and set up?” They made their way carefully descending the flights of steps.
Once they were down among the fountains, Darcy noticed that the tables the invitees had brought with them were being unfolded and positioned, with something close to military precision, in long straight rows. She and Gabriel joined a line that was in the process of being set up. After greeting their nearest dining companions, Gabriel unfolded and added their table and chairs to the existing row, unfurled the tablecloth then proceeded to set plates, utensils, glassware, napkins; a tiny lantern with a tea-light and, Darcy was thankful to see, food as, despite the butterflies she was beginning to feel quite hungry. There were no shortcuts and not a single plastic knife or fork to be seen. Gabriel had even carried the porcelain dinner plates from the apartment and the Rosenthal glasses. From the guests who were already set up, Darcy could see similar attention to details, including vases with white roses; she also noticed that the men were standing to one side of the line of tables while the women were waiting patiently opposite, so did likewise. They all stood chatting politely until the entire row was set up then everyone sat. More rules, she thought, but it gave a nice touch to the evening that no one was so impatient to start that they couldn’t wait for their fellow guests.
The dinner that followed was magical and more than a little surreal –with the breeze remaining never more than a soft zephyr, the moonlight and with the lights of the Eiffel tower blinking brightly in the background it was impossible not to feel grounded in the very essence and spirit of Parisian life. Between Gabriel acting as translator and the fortunate accident that the couple seated at her left elbow spoke English, she
felt part of the festivities and not excluded by her lack of understanding. Darcy loved every minute of the evening –from the food, the conversation and the dancing to the sparklers that revellers produced from their baskets and passed around so everyone had one. She had been relieved that her butterflies had settled not long into the evening and the experience went a long way to exorcising the ghost of her dinner-table fiasco with Patrick and his inamorata.
Not long before midnight, the eating, drinking, singing and carousing halted. Pre-warned by Gabriel of this Cinderella-like regulation, Darcy was still surprised when, of one mind, all the participants packed away their baskets, blew out candles, folded no longer pristine white table cloths and picked up their belongings, to reboard the buses and disappear into the night as if they had never been there. Along with everyone else she and Gabriel tidied up and made their way back to the metro.
Darcy passed through the street entrance held open by Gabriel on their return, before slipping his jacket off. Noticing her shivering in the late-night air as they had left the Trocadero, he had dropped it over her bare shoulders but here in the inner courtyards of the apartment block the heat of the day still lingered to warm the space. The sweet scent from a honeysuckle growing up a trellis behind a flower bed of blooms diffused into the night air. Darcy breathed it in, enjoying the end to a perfect fairy-tale evening.
“I had a really nice time tonight,” she spoke softly, mindful that that her voice would echo easily in the close confines of the paved entrance. “It was spectacular,” she did a little twirl, setting the dress floating in the half-light. “Thank you so much.”
“I had hoped you might enjoy yourself,” he replied, drinking in the sight of her floating like some ethereal creature around the courtyard, “I just hope you still feel that way when we have to get up by six to make it to school on time.”
“Ah, there’s always a piper to pay after the fun, isn’t there?” she bent to remove her sandals.
“Most often,” he didn’t disagree, pushing open the door to the stairwell and standing aside for her to walk through. Although his fingers itched to touch her, he stilled himself, knowing that ‘La Chasse’ would be over before it started if he was to lay so much as a hand upon her right now.
“Just remind me in the morning, if I get grizzly, that I said it was absolutely worth it,” she smiled sweetly as she padded past him barefoot, and started to climb the stairs.