The Paris Architect: A Novel

“So good to see you again, Monsieur Bernard.”


“Lucien, tell me about all your new work,” said Adele. “When we last spoke, you were designing an armaments plant or something out in Chatou, wasn’t it?”

“In Chaville, my love. Now I’m doing another for Monsieur Manet.”

“How exciting,” feigned Adele.

Lucien smiled at Bette, who saw that he was having a hard time keeping focused on Adele. She realized that he didn’t come to the fashion show to see the latest in floppy hats, and that pleased her.

“My Lucien is one of the most talented architects in France,” Adele said. “Even more than that boring old fool Le Corbusier. That chicken shit ran off to Spain, or was it Switzerland? And besides, he’s such an ugly man.”

“But a very talented ugly man, Adele. When the world thought of French architecture in the ’20s and ’30s, it was always the work of Le Corbusier they admired.”

“Yes, but he’s still ugly, with those atrocious round black glasses. Is that supposed to make him look intellectual or something?”

“Adele, let’s take a spin this afternoon for lunch out to the country. I know of an inn that is most hospitable. What do you say, my darling?”

“Lucien, you’re a sweetheart, but my work calls this afternoon. Let’s do it another time, shall we?”

“I can cover for you this afternoon, Adele, my sweet. It’ll be no problem. It’s just the fitting of those two black velvet outfits,” said Bette. “You lovebirds can get away for a while. It sounds terribly romantic.”

Adele glared at Bette for what seemed like a full minute. Bette responded with an amused look.

“That’s quite kind of you, my darling, but I must oversee those fittings,” Adele said. “They have to be absolutely perfect for next week’s show. You know what a perfectionist I am.”

Bette also knew that Adele never went to oversee a fitting, always forcing her to deal with it. This afternoon, Bette knew, Adele would be busy with a Gestapo officer fitting something inside her.

“Yes, I know you do love things that come in black.”

Adele ignored the comment and looked over at Lucien and patted his hand.

“I’ve got a wonderful idea!” she said. “Why don’t you take my Bette for a jaunt in the country? She’d love to breathe some fresh air. She’s always cooped up in Paris. Aren’t you, dear?”

So Adele was giving her some leftovers. But that was okay. Lucien seemed very promising material. And the look on his face said he was quite pleased by this turn of events.

“What time should I be ready? I live at 3 rue Payenne,” asked Bette.

“Two o’clock?”





44





Lucien watched Bette as she slept next to him. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman, and it felt like an honor to have made love to her. They had spent a wonderful afternoon together, dining and enjoying each other’s company. It was taken for granted that they would wind up in bed together by the early evening. Lucien had been hopelessly inexperienced when he’d first slept with women in his student days. Some of the crueler girls hadn’t been shy about telling him either. But with practice he’d improved. There had been a series of affairs of varying lengths before he married Celeste, then seven years of exclusive nondescript sex with her until the past three years’ fireworks with Adele. He found it tremendously exciting to have a mistress; it felt very grown-up and cosmopolitan. The secret trysts added electricity to his boring life.