“I most certainly do, but I’m surprised that you do.”
The wicked grin again. “I know a lot of things I’m not supposed to. I say, do be a sport and come and eat with me. I know a great little bistro and it won’t take long. They serve students who have to hurry back to class. They all try to flirt with me, which is fun in a way, but makes me a little uneasy, being alone. I have to keep telling them my stern and strict papa has gone for a walk and will be back shortly.” She paused and there was an expression on her face I couldn’t quite read. Something had definitely troubled her. Then she smiled again. “Come on. It’s just back across the bridge. My treat. I’m spending my stepfather’s money and enjoying every moment of it.”
She slipped her arm through mine. “I really can’t,” I said, hunger and a desire to be with a friend in a strange city wrestling with my maternal instincts. “Liam has to be fed soon. I’m still nursing him.”
“Then we’ll go back to your place first,” she said. “Where are you staying?”
“In Montmartre,” I said. “At a friend’s apartment.”
Her face lit up. “Montmartre. Ooh, I’ve been wanting to go there, but not quite daring to alone. Come on, let’s go together. You can show me around.”
She almost dragged me off toward the Right Bank. I saw no reason not to let her come with me. Frankly I was in sore need of some good company.
“Is Montmartre really as wicked and sinful as they make out?” she asked. “Naked girls and opium?”
I had to laugh. “I haven’t encountered any naked girls or opium yet, but it does seem to be quite primitive. And lots of artists.”
“Oh, yes. Artists. I met some artists who wanted to paint me when I was walking in the Jardin du Luxembourg. I was sorely tempted to say yes, but then I thought if Peter happened upon a naked portrait of me, there would be trouble.”
“There certainly would.” The talk about artists had reminded me of her connection. “I don’t suppose you had a chance to visit Reynold Bryce, did you?”
“Before he died, you mean? Wasn’t that awful?”
“Ah, so you heard about it?”
She nodded, biting her lip like a small child. “It was an awful shock. It really upset me. I kept thinking that I’d seen him alive only a day before. I went to see him the day I arrived. I thought he might take me out to dinner, actually.”
We had reached the Métro station. “Oh, the underground railway. I’ve been dying to take a ride on a subway train. How exciting.” And she ran ahead of me down the steps. A train came thundering in and this time I knew where to stand for the second-class coach.
“So you were telling me about Mr. Bryce,” I said as we took seats on a wooden bench and the train began to move. “You saw him the day before he died. Was he surprised to see you?”
“Surprised, yes. Pleased, no.” She paused, bumping against me as the train went around a bend in the track. “He looked as if he was seeing a ghost to start with. Then I told him who I was and he said, ‘Of course you are.’ Then he told me he was in the middle of painting and didn’t have time to see me that day and I should come back when he’d finished.
“I said that my fiancé would be arriving in a few days and I didn’t know what his plans were for us.
“‘Fiancé? Good God, has it been that long?’ he said. Then a voice called out from another room and if my French was correct it told him to hurry up because she was getting cold. He looked quite embarrassed. ‘You see. Now is not a good time,’ he said, and led me back to the front door.” She turned to me with a bleak face. “And then he was dead.”
“Yes, it’s sad, isn’t it? They say it was a young Jew, angry about Bryce’s outspoken anti-Semitism.”
“Do they?” She paused. “Well, I suppose that was a good reason for killing him.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said. “You can’t go around killing people who insult you or disagree with you or society would be a highly dangerous place.”
“Have they caught this young Jewish man yet?”
“Not yet as far as I know. I expect they will, unless he flees to Spain or somewhere.”
“Good,” she said. “I hope they do catch him.”