“Excuse me,” I said to the stranger.
He smiled and told me it wasn’t a problem, but he stared. It took me a moment to realize why. The juxtaposition of the feminine voice and masculine clothing had caught his attention.
I resumed watching the trio by the railing. Charlotte filled the glasses. The three of them clinked the flutes with a toast I was too far away to hear, and then they drank.
Keeping at Julien’s back so that he didn’t spot me, I inched closer. I wanted to listen to what they were saying.
The German was pointing out over the rooftops of Paris. “That is the street. Right there will be the finest store in all of this fine city. I want to be able to stand here and look out over Paris and see my store. Will you be able to do that, Monsieur Duplessi?”
They were all leaning over the railing now, looking far into the distance, toward the 5th arrondissement.
“Of course! The tallest, most fantastic store in the city!” Charlotte cried, answering for him.
The wind picked up, and I felt the first few drops of rain. But no one seemed to notice, or if they did, it didn’t dampen their spirits.
Charlotte pointed. “Is it right there? Next to the church? Will you sell hats? I love hats,” she sounded as if the champagne had gone to her head already.
“No,” the German said. He took her hand and moved to the right. “That street. Do you see it? There is a long row of uneven rooftops, like bad teeth.”
The wind grew stronger, but no more rain fell. It seemed to me that the tower was swaying. Some of the crowd noticed it, too. I heard comments of concern and surprise.
Another stronger gust caused a more obvious swaying that was disturbing enough for a surge of people to rush to the elevator. In the crush someone shoved me. I began to fall into the man in front of me. The stranger whom I’d thought looked like Benjamin. But at the last minute he moved, opening up a direct path between me and Charlotte. I was going to fall right into her as she leaned over the edge. I might throw her off balance.
I twisted to the right, falling instead into a middle-aged woman holding a child’s hand who was beside me and nowhere near the ledge.
“Be careful!” she shouted as she pulled her child closer.
I stood, turned around, looked for whoever had jostled me to complain. But no one around acted in the slightest way responsible. I had no idea who it had been.
At the railing, Charlotte, Julien, and the German were still looking out over the city, oblivious to my mishap and how close we’d come to disaster. Neither the strong winds nor the tower’s tremble seemed to be troubling them. Charlotte, still leaning, was now using her champagne glass as a pointer and swaying in rhythm with the tower, as if the wind were her dancing partner.
Julien pulled a notebook from his pocket and sketched rapidly, while the German looked on, lavishing praise.
Fat, cold raindrops began to fall then, enough so that the two men inched away from the railing and moved closer to the restaurant and shelter so Julien could keep drawing.
Charlotte, however, remained, still leaning over, still looking out, as focused on the city as the men were on the sketch.
A woman struggling to open her scarlet umbrella asked me to help. Taking the frilly contraption from her, I tried to release the catch while a squall pushed against my efforts.
Just as I was about to give up, the wind moved direction. At my back now, the gusts helped and the umbrella opened quickly. Suddenly, with a force that took me by surprise, the wind flew into the open canopy and stole the whole umbrella from me.
It flew, like some odd bird, through the air, right toward Charlotte, as if aiming for her specifically.
“Watch out,” I shouted over the rain.
I’m not sure what she heard, but she turned, saw the umbrella, moved to the right, giggled, and, following its trajectory, tried to grab it. What was she thinking? It was just some stranger’s red umbrella.
Teasing, the wind blew the elusive silk parasol back to her and then away in the other direction. Charlotte laughed, making me think of a kitten playing with a ball of string.
The sky blackened. In the distance thunder rumbled. The wind blew the umbrella back toward Charlotte, who, reaching for the wayward instrument, stretched out her hand and leaned all the way forward.
Too far forward.
I rushed toward her, reaching out to help her, to stop her, because I could see what was going to happen and I couldn’t allow it. To my horror my fingers grasped only air. Impossibly, in one quick and terrible instant, she’d gone over the tower’s railing. The parasol along with her, winging its way through the charcoal sky, picked up by drafts of air, dancing still. But Charlotte did not dance. She fell straight down, hurtling toward the crowd and the hard pavement below us. She fell fast, becoming smaller and smaller, while all I could do was watch.
A scream rent the air. At first I thought it was Charlotte but then realized I was the one screaming. She was laughing, drunkenly, hysterically, pathetically, and the sound of it rose up on the wind and splashed my face along with the cold, cold rain.
Chapter 27
I arrived at the bottom of the tower, shaking and disoriented. I looked around, trying to figure out which direction to take to leave, to make my way to the road, to find a carriage, to go home.
There were so many people milling around I couldn’t see any street signs.
To the right, at least a dozen uniformed officers had formed a barricade and were blocking off a section of the plaza. Was that where Charlotte had fallen? Was her body there on the pavement? I tried to see through their legs, but they had formed too solid a wall. Standing on my tiptoes, I searched for a glimpse of Julien between their starched caps. I didn’t see him, but I did catch sight of the German.
Then one of the policemen shifted position and nothing but uniforms were visible.
Not knowing which way to go, I decided just to walk in the opposite direction from the disaster site. I would be able to find a carriage on any street. It didn’t matter if it was in the opposite direction from La Lune. Heading a few blocks out of the way was of no importance now. I needed to get home. Everything would be all right once I got home.
I began to walk, two terrible words going around and around in my head, in some crazy rhythm that wouldn’t abate.
Fire, fall . . . fire, fall . . . fire, fall . . .
There was no avoiding the awful truth. The fire had been her first attempt. This had been her second.
My legs were shaking so badly each step seemed to take forever.
I began to notice more police had arrived. Or had they been there all along? Dozens of them, their hats standing out like white caps on a stormy sea. It appeared the gendarmes were stopping random people and asking them questions.
What would happen if they interrogated me?
Nothing, I reassured myself. I had nothing to hide. No reason to be so nervous, to be this nervous.
Trying not to attract any attention, I continued moving through the crowd, heading toward the street. Despite my efforts, one of the gendarmes focused on me. I bent to pick up an imaginary something from the ground.
How was I going to answer his questions? I didn’t even understand what I’d seen. I was only sure of what I’d felt—someone in the crowd had shoved me; the wind had pushed me. Such a strong wind. It was the wind that had picked up the umbrella. Why had Charlotte been determined to grab it? Had she drunk too much champagne?
“Monsieur?” The policeman blocked my path.
I stood up and looked at him, meeting his glance, at the same time pretending to put whatever I’d picked up from the ground into my pocket.
“Oh, excuse me, Mademoiselle.” He was embarrassed to have gotten my sex wrong.
“That’s all right.”
“Were you up on the terrace?”
I nodded.
“You are aware of what happened?”