“Oh Vienna,” Adele said with a smile. “I haven’t been in so long. I wonder if it’s still the same?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Gisele asked.
“Well, I’ve heard that the Nazis—” her mother began, then stopped abruptly, casting Evelyn a quick look. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure it’s perfectly fine.”
Evelyn’s lips tightened slightly but she made no comment, turning her attention to her breakfast resolutely.
“What are your plans for today, Evelyn?” Claude asked, speaking over the sudden silence at the table smoothly.
“Papa asked me to take something to a friend of his in Neuilly-sur-Seine. He didn’t have time before his train left.” Evelyn glanced at her cousin. “Can I borrow your car, Gisele?”
“Of course,” she answered cheerfully. “It may need petrol.”
“Thank you. I’ll take care of it. Tante, I’m not sure if I’ll be back for lunch, so don’t worry if you don’t see me.”
“Will you be all right driving out there alone?” she asked, her brows creasing faintly. “Perhaps Nicolas should go with you?”
Evelyn laughed and shook her head. “I’ll be perfectly fine, Tante. Don’t worry about me.”
Evelyn drove up a long, curving driveway that led to the large château William Buckley made his residence while he was in France. His wife was a Frenchwoman of no little social standing and the property had been in her family for generations. Evelyn remembered the couple well from their visit last Christmas. Her mother had been thrilled to have a fellow Frenchwoman to discuss her homeland with. Evelyn remembered the woman as being very friendly and sweet, and her husband as a jovial man who was a tremendously good shot with a rifle.
She looked to the left at a wide, endless expanse of lawn and inhaled deeply. While she loved Paris, Evelyn was a country girl at heart. She missed the wide open spaces of her home in Lancashire. Breathing in the fresh, clean air now and smelling the wonderful scent of beech trees, Evelyn felt a pang of longing for home. Stifling a sigh, she turned her attention back to the long driveway.
A moment later, the large house came into view. It was an old, sprawling, square structure that stood tall above the perfectly landscaped gardens as it had for over a hundred years. Impressive with its clean lines and long, elegant windows, the château was everything that Evelyn expected from the wealthy Paris suburb. She followed the driveway as it curved before the front door with its dual pillars and wide, shallow stone steps. As she pulled to a stop just past the steps, the large front door swung open and an older servant dressed in the uniform of a butler, or majordome as they were called in France, emerged.
Switching off the motor, Evelyn untied the scarf that covered her hair, protecting it from the wind that had whipped in through the open window as she drove from the city. She tossed it onto the seat next to her and picked up her shoulder bag and the sealed, leather pouch that her father had handed her the night before.
A footman appeared next to the car and opened the door, holding it open so she could climb out of the low sports car. She nodded to him in thanks, turning towards the wide steps leading to the front door. The sun shone brightly, warming the top of her head and glinting off the smooth, worn stone as she walked up the steps to the waiting butler.
“Mademoiselle Ainsworth?” he asked.
Evelyn nodded. “Yes.”
“Monsieur Buckley is expecting you,” he told her, standing aside so that she could enter the large, marble entryway.
Evelyn stepped into the cool house and looked around the wide, square hallway. The columns from the outside were mirrored within, adorning the walls and stretching to the high, ornate ceiling.
“This way, Mademoiselle,” he said, moving across the large expanse of floor to a door on the far side.
Evelyn followed him, glancing towards the wide, circular staircase sweeping up to the second floor. About halfway up the steps, a white cat sat watching her with unblinking green eyes. Resisting the urge to stop and try to coax the feline to her, she turned her attention back to the rigid, straight back of the servant. She followed him through the door and into a bright and sunny morning room. The room was empty but two doors with glass panes opened onto a stone-flagged patio at the back. He led her to the open doors and stepped outside, clearing his throat.
“Mademoiselle Ainsworth,” he announced.
The couple seated at a wrought iron table looked up at his announcement and she smiled at them.
“Bonjour!” she greeted them cheerfully.
“Evelyn, my dear!” Marguerite Buckley stood up and moved forward with her hands stretched out. “How lovely to see you again!”
She spoke in accented English and Evelyn grasped her hands, allowing the air next to her cheek to be kissed.
“Please, speak French if it’s more comfortable for you,” Evelyn beseeched in French.
Marguerite smiled and linked her arm through Evelyn’s, leading her to the table where William was standing, waiting for them with a big smile on his face.
“Your accent is perfect,” she commended her, switching back to her native language. “How are you enjoying Paris?”
“Very much,” Evelyn replied. “I’m having a wonderful time!”
“How long have you been here?” William asked as they drew up to the table.
“Four weeks now.” She held out the leather pouch. “My father asked me to deliver this, and he sends his apologies that he was unable to bring it personally.”
“I completely understand,” William said, taking the pouch. “I appreciate you taking the time to drive out here with it. You’ll stay to lunch, of course.”
“Yes, we would
