Authors: Julien Ayotte
Prince Ahmad arrived with his entourage at Le Bourse airport on a Sunday afternoon in late May. Later that day, Françoise arrived at Hotel Marseilles and knocked on the door of Room 500. As no surprise to her, the prince had rented half of the fifth floor of the hotel, including his own personal suite of four adjoining rooms. A tall very dark man answered the door. He was richly dressed in robes and wore a turban on his head. The man wore several gold rings on his fingers.
“How may I help you?”
“Bonjour, I am Françoise Dupont of the Louvre and I am here representing the museum to personally welcome his highness to Paris.” As Françoise entered the foyer to the suite, the servant immediately took notice that Françoise was not wearing a hat or a veil on her head or face.
“You cannot meet with the prince in this manner, madame. All women speaking to the prince must be shielded in the face and head. I will get you the proper clothing before introducing you to Prince Ahmad.”
“That will not be necessary, monsieur, as I will not wear a veil or a hat unless I choose to. That is not the custom here in Paris, or in France for that matter, and women certainly do not hide their faces for anyone. And besides, if I am to tutor the prince at the Louvre for the next few weeks and also show him around the streets of Paris, I most certainly will not do so in disguise. Please tell that to the prince.”
The servant asked Françoise to wait in the foyer, and he soon disappeared behind double-sliding doors into a gigantic living area of sofas and chairs against a backdrop of several large glass doors leading to a balcony overlooking the city.
Several minutes went by, and Françoise started reconsidering whether her reply had sounded ruder than it had been intended to be. Surely the prince at the earliest opportunity would inform Claude of this behavior, she thought.
“Madame Dupont, the prince will see you now,” came a loud announcement as the doors slid open.
“It is Mademoiselle Dupont, monsieur, not madame.”
“Forgive me, mademoiselle, and thank you for correcting me.”
“Your Highness, may I present Mademoiselle Françoise Dupont from the Louvre.”
The living area must have been thirty feet long and nearly as wide as the majestically dressed man began his approach toward Françoise. He was dressed head-to-toe in a silk robe with glowing crystals attached throughout. He also had several huge rings on his fingers and a richly decorated turban with a sapphire stone in the forehead section. He was lighter skinned than the servant, with shiny dark eyes and a broad smile that unveiled stunningly white teeth against his darker complexion. Prince Ahmad was a very handsome man, a feature that Françoise noticed immediately.
“Ah, Mademoiselle Dupont, please forgive me for the earlier formality by my servant, he is accustomed to such protocol for visitors to the palace in Banra.”
“That is quite all right, Your Highness, my comments to him were not intended to be insulting to your customs, but to merely inform him that we do not do this in France, regardless of who the visitor is. Welcome to Paris. I trust that your hotel accommodations are suitable.”
“Quite comfortable, thank you. Although, I must confess to not having seen your city from the terrace yet. Shall we do that now, mademoiselle, over some tea perhaps?”
“That would be wonderful, Your Highness, and perhaps I can point out a few of Paris’s well-known sights for you.”
As the two entered the marble-tiled terrace, complete with ornate serving tables and gothic sculptured chairs, Françoise was taken over by the prince’s charm and awareness of European custom. As they approached the terrace railing, the prince began to untangle his turban as if he was removing it. The process puzzled Françoise until, at last, Prince Ahmad stood before her with his perfectly combed black hair, slicked back in a glimmer.
“I have noticed that most gentlemen in your country do not wear anything on their heads. I will do the same while I am here. Please, sit down, mademoiselle.”
“I do not wish to draw attention to myself.”
Françoise could not help but wonder why such a man with so much power and education was a bachelor. Surely, he must be a womanizer, she thought. And, likely, he had had his choice of many women in Khatamori and had found no need to marry yet. Perhaps it was customary to have several wives in his country, Françoise pondered.
“Forgive me for saying, mademoiselle, but you appear to be so young to have such an important position at the Louvre,” Prince Ahmad inquired. “How is this to be?”
Françoise related her childhood experiences with her father’s tutelage and the subsequent tour business, all of which led to the opportunity to conduct museum tours at the Louvre. The prince was fascinated by her enthusiasm and good nature. He could not help but gaze at her as she went on and on, a trait she had acquired in the museum over the years.
“You will call me Ahmad during my stay here in Paris, so as not to draw any attention to me, something I do not need.”
“And then, you may call me Françoise, Monsieur Ahmad.”
“If you don’t mind also, I will wear French clothing for our visits at the museum and throughout Paris. Again, I do not want for people to be looking at me because of the way I dress.”
“Do you require some assistance in getting new clothing, or have you already taken care of that?”
“No, uh, Françoise, I have all the necessary items. The robes you see me in now will only be worn while I am here in my private quarters. And now if you will excuse me, Françoise, I am weary from my journey and need to rest. Perhaps you will join me here later this evening for dinner, as my guest.”
“Oh, I am sorry, Ahmad, but I have made other plans for the evening. Should I meet you here in the morning or will you go directly to the Louvre to begin our instruction?” Françoise inquired, embarrassed.
“At the museum would be fine, Françoise. Shall we say around nine a.m.? Until then, I hope your evening is pleasant.”
As they walked through the hotel suite, Françoise was engulfed with the smell of incense throughout, a very refreshing fragrance that she was not familiar with.
“Oh, what a wonderful smell this is, is that from your country, Ahmad?”
“Yes, we light such burning candles as a spiritual request to Allah to bless these rooms we occupy. It is again a custom which I will keep within these quarters, although I must admit that, in my country we might take this for granted since it is used everywhere. There is even a liquid fragrance used by Khatamori women that is very similar to this one.”
“What is it called?”
“It is called the
Flower of Heaven
to represent the aroma of flowers and the respect that these things are all gifts from Allah.”
Françoise bid goodbye to the prince and headed for the elevators leading her down to the lobby. Fool, she thought. Why did I tell him I had other plans tonight when I had no such thing? Just as well, she mumbled to herself. She could use the relaxing evening in anticipation of some likely hectic days ahead. Nevertheless, there was something about Ahmad Maurier that gave her a strange feeling inside, something she had not felt toward anyone for many years. Perhaps it was this feeling that made her hesitate at Ahmad’s invitation, a cautious denial of preventing such feelings from surfacing further.
On Monday, Françoise was at the museum at 7:00 a.m., the normal start of her day. She would review the schedule of tours for the day. She no longer did many museum tours herself but would arrange the assignment of tours to others, carefully matching the tour leader to the group. Some of her staff was better with school groups while others were more fluent in other languages that accommodated various groups from outside of France. The tours ran several hours and overlapped, beginning in different parts of the museum to avoid congestion in any one gallery. Françoise had developed this system to maximize the flow of traffic in the galleries and Claude had been remarkably impressed with her ability to create this system.
Promptly at 9:00 a.m., Ahmad arrived at the Louvre, strikingly handsome in a gray suit, complete with silk tie and matching handkerchief in the breast pocket; his hair combed precisely the same as he had uncovered the afternoon earlier. His shoes were polished and appeared to be right out of the shoe box. Françoise had failed to alert Ahmad to the amount of walking involved in gallery tours and Parisian sightseeing and she could only imagine how sore his feet would be at the end of the day. She made a point to suggest to him that, on future days, he should consider more comfortable attire, less formal, and a pair of shoes or sandals that would be less strenuous on his feet. Ahmad laughed at the suggestion, commenting that there was no such thing as a prince in casual attire when in public view. Customs were sacred to such royalty, whether in Khatamori or elsewhere. He did, however, reserve judgment on wearing different shoes pending the outcome of his first day’s adventures.
The Louvre museum houses more than six thousand European paintings dating from the end of the thirteenth century to the mid-nineteenth century, from miniatures to monumental canvases. The Department of Paintings was organized into national schools, subdivided by country and within century from particular countries for France and Italy. Additional countries represented include Spain, Germany, the Netherlands, Flanders, Holland, and Great Britain. All of the paintings were located on the first and second floors of the museum.
Françoise began her instructions in the museum area covering French artists during the fifteenth century. Each artist had a different style and flare for varying details and the use of color. Françoise was careful to point this out to Ahmad as they began what would surely be a lengthy set of informative meetings for four days each week over the next month. The fifth day would be spent touring the city with Saturdays and Sundays left for Ahmad to do as he wished. Evening meetings were not required but left to the discretion of Françoise, Claude, and Ahmad.
Amhad was very quick to learn the differences among the various artists of France and also of the other European countries represented at the museum. On the few occasions that Claude personally took charge of the tutoring, Ahmad showed less enthusiasm. He had grown accustomed to Françoise’s open personality, her wit, and her beauty. When compared to the darker skinned women of his country, Françoise’s blue eyes and brown hair nicely complemented her soft and pure complexion. At five-feet, six-inches tall, Françoise had developed into a stately woman with a magnificent body. Over the weeks that followed, Ahmad insisted on several occasions that Françoise join him for dinner following an all-day tour of Paris or a full day at the galleries. Following several excuses to refuse such invitations, she found herself running out of reasons to deny Ahmad’s advances until she finally agreed to dinner at the Café Royal.
There were many memories for Françoise at the Café Royal and Monsieur Cardin was still there at the age of sixty-six. A widower with no children, the restaurant was his life. When Françoise and Ahmad arrived one evening for their first dinner together, Monsieur Cardin greeted Françoise with a warm smile and a huge embrace. Tears began to swell in his eyes. Françoise was like the daughter he never had, and the fondness he had for her father Louis extended easily to Françoise. He missed Louis as maitre d’ following Louis’s retirement a few years earlier, and seeing Françoise breathed new life into this tired old man. Ahmad was impressed with the attention and respect bestowed on Françoise by everyone at the Café Royal. The quiet table near the window overlooked the Seine and the cool May breezes were refreshing following a warm day of sunshine. The waiters were very attentive to the needs of the two special guests, being ever so careful not to appear overeager in their constant quest to assure that every aspect of the dinner was perfect. Ahmad was a connoisseur of wines and, as the wine steward recommended several fine choices, Ahmad asked specifically for a particular dry white wine, to which the steward immediately showed his approval.
Françoise literally hogged the conversation throughout their evening at the Café Royal, relating many stories of her tour leader days and before that as a youngster visiting her father who had worked for Monsieur Cardin for so many years. Glimpses of Dick came to mind on more than one occasion that night but Françoise shook these images from her mind as quickly as they came up. She had not returned to the Café Royal in over five years since Dick and she had been there. At first, it was a way of trying to wipe out this memory. Then, when she was expecting Dick’s child, the embarrassment of people seeing her pregnant in the presence of her father or Monsieur Cardin would have crushed her father.
Over the next few weeks, Ahmad and Françoise dined often together and several times at the Café Royal. On all of these evenings, Ahmad was a perfect gentleman and host, completely fascinated by everything about Françoise. Unlike most of the women in Khatamori who had little opportunity or desire for independence, Françoise was very outspoken and did not hesitate to disagree with many of the prince’s beliefs on religious matters and laws of state in his Middle Eastern country. This boldness was something Ahmad had never witnessed before from a woman. He wondered if there were women like this in Khatamori and, if so, how come he had never met one. Perhaps, he thought, he had never looked for this characteristic in the women he socialized with and that, if such women did exist, they dared not question a prince for fear of personal harm. He had never thought of himself as a powerful man although, as the son of a king, surely he was aware of the respect this commanded from his subjects.
As the month-long museum experience was coming to an end, Françoise was surprised by a question posed by Ahmad.
“With so many paintings by so many great artists, how does the museum protect itself from any harm or losses coming to the paintings? I see that you have many guards and barriers to the paintings, but how would you replace one of these great works if it was damaged or ruined?”
“They are irreplaceable, Ahmad, because they are originals. We can only ask an expert what they are worth, what someone would pay to own one of these, and then buy insurance to cover any loss we might have. There is no way we can replace it, but at least we can use the insurance money on the painting to buy others of equal value.”