The Paris Time Capsule (13 page)

Cat stood outside Sylvie’s house while the older woman hugged Loic hard. Then, turning to Cat, Sylvie handed her an envelope.

“
It is the only photograph that I have of my mother, of Isabelle, when she was young.”

Cat opened the pale blue envelope, and looked at the faded photograph inside. A dark woman stared straight at the camera, her hair swept back off her face in a neat bun. The photo had not been softened, as so many were during that time. This was no
romanticized version of Sylvie’s mother. But her features were clear.

“
Great, thank you.” Would she ever come back to Provence and see Sylvie? See this beautiful village perched on a hill? Blossom had spread down in the valley, and the view was a riot of pinks and frothy whites. Leaning forward, she hugged Sylvie.

“
You will let me know how you get on. You will keep Loic in line.”

Cat pulled back and smiled.
“Yes, to both. I’ll do everything I can to find out the truth. Then, I’m going to hold you to your part of the bargain!”

Loic
’s friend, Etienne pulled up outside the house. He and Loic loaded up their bags.

After one last, long hug with Sylvie, Cat climbed into the front seat of the car. She had emailed Christian, and left a message on his phone.

The train wound through
the south of France, then west to Albi, vineyards and olive groves giving way to greener fields, wider rivers, medieval towns. The carriage was half empty, and, for a brief and uncomfortable moment, Cat considered moving away from Loic, not sitting right next to him in the train, but then, that seemed churlish. They needed to be as prepared as possible for what they were about to do.

“
I have a theory,” Cat said. “About your grandmother.”

“
Oh, oui?” Loic leaned back in his seat. “Tell me.”

“
Maybe her affair with your grandfather was … mostly in the apartment. The memories hurt her too much. Sylvie told me he was killed during the war. But, it wasn’t war that stopped her from going back. It was love.”

“
Hey there.” Loic held up a hand. “Way too romantic.”

“
Why?”

“
Well, Cat, for a start, my grandmother was tough. She just got on with things. Second, she was not in any way a romantic. She despised anything like that. You’re right about my grandfather being killed in the war, but that’s all.”

“
Romance and love are not the sort of thing you discuss with your children and grandchildren.”

“
Why not, Cat? If you were happy, you would tell your children this. You would tell them about their father, their grandfather. She didn’t. Ever. There was more going on.”

“
It was love that stopped her from going back. I bet it’s simpler than you think.”

“
No,” Loic said, staring out the window again. “She would have viewed romance as a weakness, Cat. I knew her. Well.”

Cat opened and closed her mouth, but she couldn’t help it.
“But would she have viewed love as a weakness too?”

“
It can be,” he said. “If you get it wrong.”

Cat looked beyond him, out the window of the train while
Loic made some phone calls, got out his laptop, seemed absorbed. By the time they pulled into Albi, Cat had a plan. They would find out immediately if there was a nunnery in town and she would communicate regularly with Christian.

“
Here we go,” Loic stood up, smiling at her, looking, Cat thought, almost conciliatory now. “How about we check into the hotel, and ask them to point us in the right direction towards the local nunnery. Let’s also have some lunch.”

“
Good plan.” She handed him down the suitcases while he stood on the platform. Then, they marched down towards the station, trailing their suitcases, like any other professional team, off to do business.

The hotel was just off the main square, opposite the vast red cathedral that stood, sentinel, dominating the town center. It was hard to decide whether the building looked more like a fortress or a church.

“
It was built to show the strength of the Catholic Church,” Loic said. “They had just defeated the Cathars.”

“
That explains it.”

“
Oui.”

They walked, off the square up a narrow street, lined with half timbered houses, their ground floors devoted to charming artisan shops. Cat stopped several times and gazed in windows.

“Come on, Cat. Let’s get to the hotel.”

“
Yes …” Cat said, her eyes drawn to the windows of a patisserie, elegant confections that looked more works of art than mundane food, lined up in rows in the window. Automatically, she reached for her camera.

“
Cat…” Loic stood in the middle of the road, raised his sunglasses.

“
Yes, okay,” Cat said, tearing herself away from the blissful creations.

“
The Albi convent is closed down,” the receptionist told them from her elegant desk in the hotel’s miniature lobby.

“
I see,” Cat said. “Is it possible to see the building where it was?”

The receptionist pulled out a map.

“Meet back here in the lobby in ten minutes, Cat?”

Cat nodded, and pulled her suitcase towards the tiny elevator.

Terracotta tiles, warmed by the mid-day sun, ran from wall to wall in Cat’s room. An enormous king sized bed covered in a white quilt and at least six soft pillows sat square in the middle of the space. Cat had to tear herself away from the window that overlooked the tiny cobbled street.

It was hard not to stare at the town with its red
colored houses. The bricks appeared to be handmade, and Cat stopped to take photographs of them, pocked with the finger marks of medieval builders.

“
The old convent was down this way,” Loic said, leading her down yet another narrow street, past a covered market place. “The convent is now a Musee du Mode. Fashion. I doubt we’ll find anything there.”

Just as they stopped outside the entrance of the old building,
Loic’s phone began to ring.

“
You never know …” Cat breathed, taking in the elegant pots either side of the entrance door, glimpsing a divine interior, tantalizing vintage fashion displayed in tall glass cases. The old curved nunnery ceiling appeared to be lit softly in the reception area as if to tantalize, and right inside the glass door there was a large Chloe sign, and a selection of what were clearly Chanel shoes.

“
Maman,” Loic muttered, frowning at his phone. “I’d better take it.”

Cat edged her way towards the double glass doors, reached a hand out to one of the oversized copper handles.
“Take the call,” she said. “I’ll just … do some research.”

Loic
stalked off down the street, phone to his ear. Sylvie’s voice rang clear into the air. It was odd, hearing her so far away. Cat missed her already.

But if she was lucky, she had fifteen minutes to do a sweep around this intoxicating looking museum, and ask about the nunnery that used to be here. Cat slipped inside.

The gentleman sitting at the reception desk wore a bow tie and a boater hat. Cat couldn’t help it when her face broke into a wide grin at the sight of him. If she were a man, she couldn’t have thought up a better outfit herself.

“
Bonjour Madame,” the man said, tipping his hat to her, and, Cat was certain, running his eyes with appreciation over her yellow nineteen thirties coat suit.

Cat stole a glance out through the glass doors.
Loic had disappeared from view. Hopefully, Sylvie would keep him occupied for a while.

“
Bonjour,” Cat said, slipping the entrance fee onto the desk in front of her.

“
Merci. Vous aimez la mode, je pense?” There was a definite twinkle in the old man’s eye. A comrade, Cat thought. Most definite.

Did she adore fashion?
“Oui, er … oh yes.” she cast her eyes longingly into the museum.

With a chuckle, the man handed her an information pamphlet in English.
             

“
Oh, Merci.” She scanned the front page. The museum had only opened a year ago. The owner was a Monsieur Noel Chevalier… none other than the charming gentleman sitting opposite her. He had collected vintage fashion for over thirty years, and the museum’s current exhibition was a mixture of his own pieces along with items that were on loan from other collectors.

“
Please, enjoy, Madame. If you have any questions, I am here.”

Cat wanted to leap into the museum, wallow in it all in one delicious feast. But she forced herself to stop, held the pamphlet by her side, right out of temptation and sight.

“Monsieur,” she said. “I do have a question. I am interested in … the nunnery that was here.”

Right then, her own phone buzzed in her bag. She glanced at the man. He indicated to her to go ahead, take the call. It was an overseas call. New York.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cat said, her hand perched above the decline button.

“
It is no problem,” Monsieur Chevalier smiled. The door opened, a middle-aged couple walked into the museum.

Cat
hit the answer button, putting the phone up to her ear. “Bonjour?” she asked, then winced. “I mean, Hello?”

“
Cat!” The voice boomed down the line.

Cat shook her head.

“It’s Tash, darling!”

“
Tash?”

“
How long until you’re back?”

“
Well …” Cat held her hand up to cover the mouthpiece a little. The couple, who were now at the desk, had turned to look at her with barely disguised disgust.

“
Look, Tash, can I call you back?” Cat tried to keep her voice soft.

“
What’s that?”

“
Oh, look…” Cat took a step inside the room. Just as in the nunnery in Saint-Revel, the room was almost cave like, but, unlike the reception area, the only lights were on the exhibits, and clearly, these were something special. The first case contained a collection of dresses worn by Jackie Kennedy and Grace Kelly, wrap dresses in bright silks. In the almost eerie silence of the room, it was easy to be transported.

“
So! Darling, I’ve been helping Chris and Marilyn out with your party! I have to say, Chris is the most divine man.”

Chris? Christian hated his name to be abbreviated. And his mother had
only recently asked Cat to call her Marilyn.

“
It’s like, I’m getting to know him so much better. You know? You are one lucky girl. Actually -” Tasha dropped her voice a few octaves. “Scott tells me the wedding planner’s an old flame of Chris’? You’d better hot foot it back home soon, darling, because she is gorgeous, and you know she’s a Rothschild?”

Cat closed her eyes. In front of her, was an exquisite Edwardian dress, its creaminess offset with intricate embroidery at the bodice, short sleeves,
and a parasol. Imagine wearing that a hundred years ago in the south of France, sitting in the garden outside a stunning mas, perhaps one a little like Loic’s, in the shade, tea things set up on a small table in front of her, children playing on the lawns. Like a Renoir. What was she thinking?

“
Darling?”

Cat jumped on the spot.

“Sorry, Tash.” Cat marched across the room, to stand square in front of a gentleman’s dark green silk coat and cravat. Eighteenth century. Solid. Sensible. Now, she could picture Christian wearing that. Much better.

“
I have to go, Tash. Thanks so much for helping, but, I’ll be home soon. I have everything under control. I knew about the planner. I’ll contact Marilyn. Don’t worry about it.”

There was a silence.

“Tash?” Cat hissed, moving to the middle of the dark room. “It’s so kind of you, honestly.”

“
Sure.”

“
Look.” Cat cast about wildly for somewhere to stand. The older couple had moved into the room. The woman stared at Cat’s phone down her extra long nose.

“
Tash,” Cat marched across to a sensible, Victorian, high necked black gown. She looked at it. There was only one thing to do. “I was wondering … do you think you’d like to be one of my bridesmaids?”

This time, the silence only lasted a beat.
“Hey, Cat, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but I’m thinking about the others, Morgan and Alicia too?”

Of course.

“Of course. Sure, they can be bridesmaids too.” Cat noticed her voice drift off with her last words. Tash didn’t seem to notice.

“
This is going to be so good, darling.” Tash hung up.