The Paris Architect: A Novel

Lucien couldn’t wait to get home to tell the news to Celeste. Well, at least the part about the factory. Telling her about Manet’s apartment would put her in grave danger. The apartment job must always remain a secret. As Lucien walked home, he held the book tightly against his chest. He soon realized that any Gestapo agent watching him would think something was up, so he moved the book into one hand and held it loosely by his side, as a person normally would. But because he was terrified that the book would slip out of his hand, hit the sidewalk, and disgorge all of his francs, he kept an iron grip on it.

As he walked by a telephone booth, an idea occurred to him. He picked up the receiver, deposited his coin, and dialed his mistress, Adele Bonneau. It had been a long time since he’d shared the news of a new commission with her, and she would be quite pleased. A successful Paris fashion designer in her late thirties (late twenties, if you asked her), Adele had a genuine interest in his architectural practice. She always wanted to see the designs and wouldn’t hesitate to offer her opinion, which Lucien loved, although he rarely took her advice. After they had had sex and were lying in bed smoking and drinking wine, it brought him great pleasure to argue with her when she disliked some aspect of a design. It was as sexually arousing to him as their foreplay. As was often the case with mistresses, Lucien felt that Adele was really the kind of woman he should’ve married in the first place. Adele also knew of the latest architectural work being done in Paris, whereas Celeste believed architecture was a man’s business and thus was of no interest to her.

The phone rang several times before Adele picked up. Lucien was thrilled to hear her deep, sexy voice.

“Adele, my love, I’m going to be doing a new factory for Auguste Manet, the big industrialist,” announced Lucien.

“Why, how wonderful, my dear Lucien. That’s thrilling news,” said Adele. “I just love it when you get a new job—you remind me of a five-year-old on Christmas morning. I’m so happy for you. Remember, you must show me the preliminary designs before you present them to Manet.”

“You know I will, my sweet. You’re my co-architect, we work together on everything,” Lucien said. He always told his clients the same thing, that they would work as a team on a project, but that was pure nonsense. He made all the decisions, because collaboration on any creative work was doomed to fail.

“We must get together to celebrate,” said Adele. “Le Chat Roux would be the perfect place.”

Lucien grimaced; it was also the most expensive place. “We’ll see,” he replied.

“I remember whenever my parents said ‘we’ll see,’ it always meant no,” said Adele.

“No, we’ll go. I promise.”

“My love, Bette, my manager, just came in and I must talk to her about the upcoming show. It’s been bedlam around here, getting ready for it. Remember, I’ll never forgive you if you don’t come to my show. Call me tomorrow and I’ll let you know my schedule.”

“I’m going to use these incredible concrete arches that’ll—”

“Precious Lucien, Bette is waiting. Call me tomorrow,” said Adele, abruptly cutting him off.

***