She took the lift to the lobby and strolled across it. As she neared the doors, she heard her name being called.
“Ms. Markham?” The same man, presumably the hotel’s manager, was behind the reception desk.
“Yes?” she replied.
“I hope everything is okay,” he said, not meeting her eyes.
“Everything is fine,” Janet replied. “I’m just off to the Louvre for a tour.”
“I see. I hope you enjoy your evening.”
“I’m sure it will be pleasant enough. Of course, I’d much rather take the tour with my husband than on my own, but that’s not possible right now.”
“Have you heard from Mr. Bennett, then?” he asked, glancing up at her.
She hesitated and then nodded. “I have, yes,” she said.
He blew out a breath. “I’m very sorry about earlier. I had my orders, you understand.”
“Yes, of course,” Janet replied, not understanding at all. “I’ll see you later, although for your sake, I hope you aren’t still working when I get back.”
He shrugged. “If it’s before midnight, I’ll be here. I may be here after that as well. As I said earlier, one of our staff is unwell.”
“I hope he or she feels better soon. Until later, then,” Janet replied.
She stepped outside and took a deep breath. All around her, the city hummed. Closing her eyes, she listened to the traffic hurrying past, the people rushing around her, and the voices. For the moment, everyone seemed to be speaking French, and the snippets of conversation that she heard fascinated her.
“…twice and then I told him I couldn’t…”
“…to learn that he has to do his schoolwork and not…”
“…Jason on Tuesday and Harvey on Wednesday…”
“…sixteen times in the past six days…”
The last one made Janet open her eyes. There were too many people around. She couldn’t be certain whose conversation she’d just overheard.
What would someone do sixteen times in six days, she wondered as she began to stroll towards the Seine. The sun was shining, but it wasn’t too hot. Christmas decorations were still everywhere. Janet dug her camera out of her handbag and took a few random pictures.
“Am I actually going to want to remember this?” she asked herself in a whisper as she took another snap. With a sigh, she dropped the camera back into her bag. The river seemed too romantic for her on her own, so she headed away from it, through the city streets. She remembered enough about the city to be confident that she’d find her way to the museum in plenty of time. That she could get a taxi from just about anywhere was also reassuring.
The streets closest to the river had seemed to be full of tourists speaking in dozens of different languages, but as Janet got further away from the Seine, she began to hear more and more French. Restaurants and cafés gave way to both private residences and hotels.
As she walked up one street and down another, she looked at the large and beautiful buildings that surrounded her, wondering which were people’s homes and which were luxury hotels. A few had discreet signs with hotel logos on them, but many did not.
“If I had all of the money in the world, which one would I purchase?” she asked herself. She stopped to study her choices, staring at a building that was only identified by a number. “Fourteen,” she read. “Which one would be thirteen, then?” She looked at the buildings on either side, but neither had a number showing. “Fourteen is lovely, anyway,” she muttered, reaching into her bag to find the camera again. She’d take a picture of it, and then she could share it with Edward when he returned, she decided.
She was still searching for the camera that must have fallen to the bottom of her bag when the limousine rolled past. It stopped in front of building fourteen and a uniformed chauffeur jumped out. He opened the door to the back of the car and then stood at attention as a man emerged.
As Janet studied the man, she wished she’d found her camera. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt with what could only be described as cowboy boots. The cowboy hat on his head completed the outfit and made him look completely out of place on the busy Paris street. Janet was too far away to properly guess his age, but she imagined he had to be at least sixty by the way he moved.
The man who next climbed out of the car was similarly dressed. Janet frowned as she looked at the pair. The first man, while oddly dressed for Paris, looked somehow authentic. The second man, who appeared to be considerably younger, almost looked as if he was playing dress-up or wearing borrowed clothes. Perhaps his suitcase had been lost somewhere and he’d had to wear things borrowed from the older man, Janet thought.
The woman who got out next was also wearing cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. Her shirt was only half-buttoned and it was long enough to almost completely
