The Paris Architect: A Novel

But Bette was a far more passionate lover than her boss, far more aggressive. For the first time in his life, sex was more exciting than getting a new commission.

Lucien propped the pillow against the headboard and lit a cigarette. He surveyed the hotel room. The bright white walls with the dark walnut wainscoting and stone fireplace gave it a homey feeling. When the time had come for sex, Lucien hadn’t been able to go back to his flat because Pierre was there. He couldn’t tell the boy to get lost for the afternoon. He’d thought they’d be going to Bette’s, but she’d told him they couldn’t go to her place because she had relatives from out of town staying with her, so they’d just gotten a room at the inn where they had dined. He reached over and stroked her beautiful auburn hair, and she began to stir. Bette yawned and opened her eyes. When she saw Lucien, she smiled sleepily.

“We seem to be off on the right foot,” she whispered, as she caressed Lucien’s cheek.

“Indeed we are, mademoiselle.”

“I think you definitely have possibilities.”

Lucien was quite pleased at that turn of phrase and laughed. He snuggled up next to Bette, totally intoxicated by her smell and the warmth of her body. Meeting Bette was a lucky break. Maybe a love interest would take his mind off his problems, which were like a sword of Damocles hanging by a thread above his head, ready to drop at any second. Maybe making love a few times a week would alleviate the strain.

“Well, I’m glad I’m a potential lover,” said Lucien.

“Potential? You are my lover, my sweet. What are you doing Thursday night?”

“I can clear my busy schedule for you. Your place?” asked Lucien hopefully.

“No, how about your place?”

“Can’t,” Lucien replied quickly.

“And why’s that?”

Lucien became tongue-tied and couldn’t think quickly enough to dream up an excuse. Pierre was always in the flat in the evening. In fact, Lucien didn’t like the boy going anywhere besides the office during the day for fear of being picked up by the Germans. He was more scared of arrest for Pierre than himself now. Countless Parisians had disappeared, quietly vanishing into thin air without a word, never to be seen again. He wanted to get into the sack with Bette as often as he could, but not if it meant casting out Pierre.

“Ah…relatives visiting. Just like you.”

“From where?” asked Bette.

“From Nantes. My Uncle Emile. My mother’s brother. A fine man.”

“I see. So where should we meet?”

“How about the Café l’Hiver? You know it?” asked Lucien, running his hand through her hair.

“It’s a charming place. But what about afterward? All through supper, we’ll be thinking of making love to each other, so where shall we go?”

“Mmm…well, there’s the Hotel Gagnol on the avenue Parmentier. It’s very comfortable and quite convenient,” said Lucien.

“You’ve been there before. With the remarkable Adele, I bet.”

“Yes, we went there one time when we were so excited we couldn’t wait to get to Adele’s flat.”

“Ah, those were the days. You’re not sorry to lose the great Adele?”

“Our days together were bound to come to an end. I’ve become an item on the menu she got tired of. How about you, my love? Are you ready for a second serving?”

“It’s almost seven, and I’ve got to get back,” Bette said. “My relatives will be wondering what happened to me.” She bounded out of the bed and headed for the pile of clothes on the floor.

Lucien was mesmerized by the sight of her body. Incredibly long, beautiful legs, a tiny waist. Instead of being flat-chested like so many Paris fashion models, Bette had a wonderful pair of full breasts. She caught him admiring her body.

“Not too bad for an old woman of thirty-one, eh?”

“Not too shabby at all. Are you sure you won’t have some dessert?” asked Lucien as he pulled away the sheet to show Bette he was ready to go.

“That’s very tempting, but I can’t be late,” said Bette as she put on her brassiere, exciting Lucien even more.