“How long will it take?” she asked with interest. He looked excited about it.
“If everything goes smoothly, three or four years. Maybe longer. I’m going to have to go to Italy a lot, for meetings with the builders, to work on the plans and watch the construction, and to make changes as the work progresses. And there’s the whole interior to design too. And all the materials to be selected. You remember what it was like when I built Princess Marina.” He had just been finishing her when he brought Natasha into his life, and her launch had been an extraordinary event, and the president’s wife had christened her. It was exciting to think of his doing it again. It had been five years since Princess Marina was launched.
They toasted the new boat with champagne, and then he looked at Natasha. “That’s only half of the surprise. I don’t want you to be bored when I go to Italy to oversee the boat, so I want you to have a project of your own. I want you to find an apartment in Paris, somewhere around four or five hundred square meters. You can decorate it however you want. And we’ll have a place to stay when we go to Paris.” He knew she liked it there, and she went to the haute couture and ready-to-wear shows four times a year, and they always stayed at the George V. Now they would have a home of their own. Her eyes lit up when he said it, and he was pleased.
“Are you serious? You’d let me do that?” She looked like a child at Christmas.
“Of course. The Paris apartment will be your boat, and it will be finished a lot faster. You can start looking right away. I’m going to Italy for the first meetings next week.” They were both thrilled, and she could hardly wait to call a realtor and start seeing apartments in Paris. Five hundred square meters was a big apartment, and there would be lots for her to do. “You can look for a house if you prefer it, but I think it will be easier and more comfortable in an apartment.” And she agreed. Houses were so much more work. They had a big staff in London that they had to take care of, and the house needed constant repairs. She didn’t want to have to oversee it. She was more interested in the decorating, and he was giving her carte blanche to do whatever she wanted.
“When are you going to Italy for the meetings?” she asked, as she put her arms around him and kissed him. He was happy that she was pleased.
“Next Tuesday. I’ll be there till the end of the week.”
“I’ll start calling real estate agents tomorrow.”
She called a realtor she knew in London to get names of Paris real estate agents, and by the following afternoon she had started to call them. Two days later she had six apartments to see, and had appointments for the following week. Two of the apartments were in the sixteenth arrondissement, and one was in the eighth, which didn’t sound as interesting. There was another on the Left Bank, on the quais, overlooking the Seine, and there were two on Avenue Montaigne, which sounded perfect.
“Do you want to see them with me?” she asked him that night over dinner, and he shook his head with a broad smile. “This is your project. Your ‘boat.’ I’ll see the one you want me to buy. You have to do the legwork before that.”
“I can’t wait,” she said, ecstatic, and insisted on showing him the photographs on the Internet anyway. He agreed with her—he thought the two on Avenue Montaigne looked like the most interesting and luxurious so far.
“Don’t rush into it,” he advised her. “Find one that you really love. It will be fun to spend some time in Paris.”
Vladimir had the plane take her to Paris on Monday, so it would be back in London for him when he flew to Italy on Tuesday. And his secretary had booked their usual suite for her at the George V. She ordered room service that night, as she always did when she was there without him. And she was excited to get started with the realtor the next day. They were planning to see an apartment on Avenue Foch first, on the sunny side of the street, the realtor had told her. And there was another one farther up, but she said it might be dark.
When Natasha met her at the first address at ten o’clock the next morning, the apartment was disappointing. It was sunny but in poor condition, large and rambling, and needed a lot of work, although as the realtor pointed out, the ceilings were high, and the tall windows were lovely. But it was too old-fashioned and Natasha didn’t love it, and she liked the next one even less. And the apartment overlooking the Seine on the Left Bank was much too small, although it was lovely. But they were used to more space, and in spite of the view and balcony, it felt cramped.
She met with a different realtor after lunch, and the apartment in the eighth arrondissement was not right for them at all, and Vladimir would have hated it. They had told her about a listing at the Palais Royal too, which was considered highly desirable, but it was tiny, with one very small bedroom, a small bathroom, and no closets. And she was seeing the two apartments on Avenue Montaigne last, with a different realtor. It was a wide avenue where all the best shops were, Dior, Chanel, Prada, and a dozen others, and both apartments had supposedly been recently redone. One was a modern penthouse, and the other was a duplex in an older building. She was beginning to get discouraged before her last appointment. Nothing she had seen was even close to what they wanted, or to what she thought Vladimir would like, although he had told her to pick the one she wanted, but she wanted him to love it too, since he was paying for it.