Chapter Seven- Adventures In Paris
Rated Blue Star for all ages. Some mild violence.
Some minutes later, amid Trixie’s gasps of delight at the buildings they were passing, Charles drew the car to a stop.
“Les Musée de Louvre,” he declared with a flourish.
“Wow, just wow,” Trixie exclaimed, awestruck.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Honey agreed.
“What time should I return for you, Mademoiselle Wheeler?”
Honey gave her wristwatch a quick glance. “Does five-o-clock sound alright to you, Charles?”
“Absolutement. I mean, yes,” the driver returned with a smile.
“I guessed that,” Trixie said, turning to her best friend. “Can you believe how quickly I’m learning French?”
Honey’s lips twitched at the impish expression on her best friend’s face. “It’s astonishing.”
“We’ll see you later, Charles. Merci.” Trixie jumped out of the car and after a moment, Honey followed suit.
“Are we really going to spend three and a half hours in the museum?” Trixie asked, consulting her own watch.
“Actually, it would take months to go through the entire Louvre. But I did think that before we got started we might like to have snack in the café. Mother organised Paris Museum passes for us, so we have our tickets. We can grab a map and choose which exhibits we’d like to look at. We could have booked a tour, but I thought you’d rather we wander around on our own.”
“I would,” Trixie admitted. “And going to a café first is an excellent idea. A French snack. Wait till I tell Mart.”
Both girls enjoyed their patisserie selections and café au lait, and they poured over the map Honey picked up, discussing the various things they wanted to see.
“If coffee at home tasted like that, I’d drink more of it.” Trixie licked her lips appreciatively.
“It is different, isn’t it? Now, I think the closest thing to us is the Denon Wing. It’s probably the busiest of all, but it has lots of the things we marked on our guide,” Honey said, consulting the brochure before tucking it into her shoulder bag.
Trixie nodded. “The Mona Lisa! Even I know about the Mona Lisa.”
“Don’t say things like that,” Honey admonished. “Why would you know about historical art? That’s one of the reasons there are museums. So that people can see and learn and experience history through art—or just enjoy it for its own sake.”
Trixie grinned at her friend. “You know, sometimes you sound like the art student, instead of Di.”
Honey returned the grin and shrugged. “I don’t have any of Di’s talent or ability, but I guess from a very young age, I was taken to galleries regularly and taught to appreciate art . And I do like how it lets us see another time, another idea.”
“Me, too. And now, Miss Wheeler, you can share your knowledge and play guide to your best friend. Where to first?”
The two girls slowly made their way to their chosen wing. Although there were a lot of people in the museum, it didn’t feel crowded. The wide halls, the soaring ceilings, and the sweeping staircases reminded visitors that the museum was once a palace and home to French Royals.
“Honey, it’s incredible.” Trixie breathed in hushed tones. “Just this building, all the details, it’s…wow. It’s art in itself, isn’t it?”
“Exactly!” Honey slipped her arm though her friends and squeezed. “I’m so glad you feel that way. The first time I came here with my grandmother, I drove her crazy, because I couldn’t stop looking at the walls, and the floors, and the ceilings. I mean, look at those curves—the way the light fills the space.”
Trixie nodded. “I’m so lucky,” she said.
“We both are. Come on, the Mona Lisa is this way. We have to start there.”
If Trixie were honest, she would say that while she could appreciate the beauty of the Mona Lisa, there were other works that appealed to her more. She marvelled at the colors in The Coronation of the Virgin, The Wedding Feast at Cana thrilled her, and she and Honey stood, hand in hand, silent before Delacroix’s La Liberté Guidant Le Peuple.
“You’re right,” she said as they moved towards more of their chosen pieces. “It does make history come to life.”
It was impossible to go into every room, though they paused frequently to admire many more exhibits. After a while Honey led her friend around a corner and Trixie stopped in her tracks. There, rising from a landing on a sweeping staircase was a majestic sculpture.
“It’s the Winged Victory,” Honey said, softly. “The Goddess Nike. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“So beautiful,” Trixie echoed. They stood, a little aside from the throng of people, just taking in the magnificent figure.
They did not hurry or rush from one thing to the next. Instead, allowing Honey to guide her, Trixie spent time with each painting, each sculpture—reading about its origins, its journey to the Louvre and the artists responsible.
“And it all could have been lost,” Honey said as they continued their exploration. “During the second world war, a lot of the really important pieces were evacuated and hidden so that the Nazis couldn’t remove them. Although the gallery was reopened during the occupation, many of the works remained hidden for the entire time.”
“Is that in the brochure or do you just know it off the top of your head?” Trixie teased.
“Sorry.” Honey shrugged. “I really do find it fascinating.”
“It is.”
“Let’s go see one of the antiquities collections. Maybe Mesopotamia or Egypt?”
“I’d love that,” Trixie said. “It will remind me of all those wonderful Agatha Christie novels set in Egypt and places like that.”
Honey reached over and hugged her friend. “I knew I could count on you to bring a little murder into the conversation—even in the Louvre.”
“Huh!” Trixie gave a mock sniff. “That’s rich coming from the gal who was just talking about the war.”
Honey laughed. “That is a very good point.”
“Let’s go,” Trixie urged. “If I’m really lucky, there’ll be a mummy.”
“Oh, golly. It’s almost five,” Honey said, consulting her watch. “I can’t believe how quickly the time went.”
“Me, either,” Trixie agreed. “You were so right, Honey. You could spend days and days in here.”
“I know. I’d say let’s come back tomorrow, but I really want to take you to the Musée Orsay. I know it’s a bit of a cliché, but I love the Impressionists.”
“It’s all new to me, Hon. I’ve seen some things at museums in New York, but this is amazing.”
“New York does have wonderful collections, too.” Honey reluctantly began to lead her friend back towards the entrance where Charles would be waiting for them.
“You two look as if you need a rest,” Mrs. Wheeler observed when they arrived in the suite.
“The museum was wonderful,” Honey said. “but we are feeling a little weary.”
“Take it easy for an hour or so, then we’ll have a nice early dinner. Quite unfashionable in Paris, but they’re used to our American ways.”
A brief rest and a freshen up lifted both girls’ energies, and when they had donned pretty dresses, button through sweaters, and low heels, they stood together, admiring their reflection.
“I won’t even disgrace the United States,” Trixie said, noting that her blue and white dress and blue sweater suited her perfectly.
“What a thing to say!” Honey gave her friend a playful slap.
“Hey! We are in Paris, France. I’m pretty sure you once told me it was the fashion capital of the world or something like that.”
“Well, you look very nice, Ms Belden.”
“As do you, Ms. Wheeler.” Honey’s pale yellow dress and cream sweater, embroidered with tiny daisies, did suit her. “Now.” Trixie reached for her friend’s arm. “Shall we go down to dinner?”
Smiling, Honey nodded and together they went to join Honey’s parents.
The dining saloon of their hotel was quiet when they entered, just after six thirty.
Trixie took her seat and lifted her head to stare at the glass enclosure that surrounded them as the stars and lights of Paris filled the room. “This is so beautiful, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler,” she said.
“It really is,” Honey agreed, her hazel eyes dancing.
“See, Matthew. I knew L’Orangerie was the right choice. It’s a little simpler than Le Cinq, but the setting is marvellous.”
A waiter unobtrusively filled their water glasses and handed them menus. Trixie opened hers and closed it again almost immediately. “I’m guessing reading this won’t help me decide,” she said with a smile. “I’m happy for someone else to choose, but no snails. Mart said there would be snails.”
“Whilst they are delicious, I’m sure we can avoid l’escargot.” Madeleine Wheeler smiled at her young guest. “Perhaps you and Honey would like to order different dishes for each course and you can sample one another’s meals?”
“I’d like that,” Trixie said.
“We could do that, too.” Matthew Wheeler grinned at his wife.
Madeleine gave her tinkling laugh. “I am not that naïve, Matthew Wheeler. That translates as you eating all of your dinner and as much of mine as you can manage.”
“Worth a try,” Honey’s father said, beckoning the waiter and ordering wine for the adults and sparkling water for the girls.
When he returned, Mrs. Wheeler placed their order, in French.
“I didn’t understand most of that, but I’m sure it will be delicious.” Trixie sipped her water and glanced around the restaurant. Only a few tables were occupied and she imagined it was as Honey’s mother had said—French people ate dinner later.
Trixie did at least recognize the asparagus that formed part of her entrée, but the flavour of it and of Honey’s less familiar dish were absolutely delicious.
“These mushrooms are divine,” Honey exclaimed, when their main courses were served.
“This lamb is wonderful, too,” Trixie said. “Mart would be beside himself here.”
By the time they got to dessert, both girls were starting to slip in their chairs, even though it was still quite early.
“This, I do know.” Trixie dipped her spoon back into her dessert bowl. “Chocolate is a universal food.”
“So is meringue,” Honey added, and they swapped bowls before leaning back and giving contended sighs.
“Are you girls happy to go back to our suite? Your father and I would like coffee and a dessert wine.” Mrs. Wheeler regarded her young charges affectionately.
“I know I’d like to jump into bed,” Honey admitted. “What about you, Trix?”
“Me, too,” Trixie said, stifling a yawn. “I’ve had the most wonderful day. Thank you again, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler.”
“Anytime, Trixie,” Mr. Wheeler said. “Now off to bed with the two of you. We have a big day planned for tomorrow.
Back in their suite, the two got ready for bed. Trixie was strangely quiet and Honey moved to sit beside her friend. “Are you okay?”
Trixie thought for a moment before answering. “I think we should take a look at that doll,” she said.
“Really?” Honey sounded doubtful.
“What if it’s damaged or something. Or what if that man gave us the wrong thing? Do you want to hand Mr. Reid something broken or wrong?”
Honey blanched. “No. I guess you do have a point.”
“Great.” Trixie leaped off her bed and crossed the room to where Honey had stored the box. Lifting it up, Trixie placed it on the bureau and carefully untied the string and pulled the paper pack, she slowly removed the lid of the box. Sure enough, nestled inside the satin lined box was a beautiful china doll.
“Oh, Trixie, she’s exquisite,” Honey said, noting the fine detail in both the doll and her period costume.
“She is kind of pretty,” Trixie admitted. “Sort of like Marie Antoinette.”
“Well, I hope she has a happier ending,” Honey said as she replaced the lid with a half-smile. She re-wrapped the box and tied the string in a neat bow.
Trixie nodded. “I’m guessing she is valuable though. Maybe even worth stealing.”
Trixie and Honey both slept soundly in their beautifully appointed room. The following morning, Trixie sat up in bed as Honey drew back the drapes, allowing the pale light to filter through.
“It really is so different here,” Trixie observed quietly. “Everything, I mean. Not just this amazing hotel, but everything—even the sky. Though I guess that sounds silly.”
“It doesn’t sound silly at all,” Honey returned, perching on the end of Trixie’s bed. “It sounds very smart. The light is different here. It’s special. It’s one of the reason why there have been so many French artists and French schools of art. That’s why I’m excited about us going to the Musée d’Orsay. The way the impressionists capture light—oh, Trixie, it’s magical.”
“I can’t wait,” Trixie said. “I bet Di would love it.”
“I know she would,” Honey agreed.
The two teenagers dressed swiftly and waited as patiently as they could for Honey’s mother to finish dressing so they could all go down to breakfast. When they were seated at the elegantly laid table, Trixie glanced around, noting that many of the diners seem to be breakfasting on fruit or pastries and coffee.
Mr. Wheeler caught sight of her slightly disappointed expression. “I’m hoping you will try the crepes or French toast or Pain Perdu, Trixie,” he said. “Madeleine is always happy with fruit and a pastry and I hate to pass on the herb omelette, but I can at least enjoy vicariously if you two try something different.”
“Honestly, Matthew.” Mrs. Wheeler shook her head and smiled at her husband.
“I’ll have the crepes, with ricotta and fresh raspberries,” Honey said decisively.
“Well, I’d hate to disappoint your dad, Honey, so I’ll have the French toast, I mean, Pain Perdu.” Trixie sat back in her chair and took another look around the room. She was in Paris, eating breakfast in Paris. What a way to start the day.
Having agreed to meet the Wheelers’ later for their visit to the Eiffel tower and a ride on the Seine, Trixie and Honey set out for the Musée d’Orsay.
“It will probably take around half an hour,” Honey explained. “But it’s a lovely morning, even though it is quite cold.”
The two followed the route on Honey’s map, moving along Avenue George V and crossing the Seine, admiring the old buildings, the wide streets and the people who passed them on their way.
“Look at that line of people,” Trixie said, as she and Honey made their way into the museum. “We sure are lucky your mother organised those tickets for us.”
Honey nodded. “She knows how busy these places get.”
“It’s another beautiful building, Honey.”
“And it’s filled with beautiful things. What would you like to see?”
“Your favorites,” Trixie said firmly. “It’s another thing we can share.”
“Then let’s start with Monet.” Honey’s eyes shone. “He, as Bobby would say, is my favoritist of all.”
Although Trixie had seen a number of the Impressionist’s works, they hadn’t prepared her for the evocative beauty of Monet’s works. The blue of his waterlilies and the muted tones of his poplars were especially beautiful. Honey also took her to see paintings by Renoir, Degas, Cezanne, and Van Gogh. All of these names were familiar in a vague way from a history of art class they’d had earlier in the year, but seeing so many of the pieces up close and personal was a completely different experience.
“I know you and your folks, and Di’s too, have some famous paintings, but this…” Trixie shook her head.
“Actually, as much as mother loves art, she always says the best place for paintings like these is in a museum, where everyone can see them. I think that’s why we don’t have more art at home.”
“That’s nice,” Trixie said.
“She was going to be a docent, but then she and dad got married and then she got pregnant with me and after that, she wasn’t very well, and then she was used to traveling with dad for business and helping him out and…I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”
“You’ve hardly done it at all lately. You were due.” Trixie frowned for a moment. “Di was talking about being a docent wasn’t she? Something to do with helping in a museum??”
“Someone who leads tours in galleries and museums,” Honey confirmed.
“I bet she would have been good at that.”
“I think so.” Honey stood back to admire Pissarro’s painting of the Louvre and the Seine. “Just think, he saw what we saw.” Finally, she glanced at her watch. “We should get going.”
Honey’s parents were waiting for them at the chosen café, and the two girls slid gratefully into their seats.
“I love how French people eat on the sidewalk,” Trixie said as she sampled her café au lait and tartine “You see so much more than when you’re stuck inside a restaurant.”
“You do, don’t you?” Matthew Wheeler agreed, selecting a pastry himself.
The sun shone down on the group and Honey and Trixie happily filled the Wheelers in on their visit to the museum while they ate.
“Merci.” Trixie smiled up at the waiter, who returned to clear away their china. “It was…delicious.” She settled back in her chair and glanced around as Mrs. Wheeler reached into her purse to pay the check. Suddenly, Trixie stopped, her gaze fixed on the redheaded man sitting at the table furthest from them. He looked up, caught her eye and leapt to his feet, throwing money on the table before moving quickly away. Trixie stood, too, and craned her neck, but there was no sign of the redheaded man.
“Is everything okay, Trixie?” Matthew Wheeler asked.
Trixie nodded, but Honey, who had seen her friend’s expression knew better. Something was definitely up.
There was no chance for the two to chat as they made their way to the Seine and boarded the glass-topped boat. “I never get tired of this river,” Trixie said, eyes darting from thing to the next, “Every time we see it, it seems different. A smiling Mrs. Wheeler acted as tour guide, and in spite of what had happened at the café, Trixie found herself enthralled and peppered her friend’s mother with questions.
The sun was just beginning to fade from the sky as they reached the spectacular wrought iron structure that seemed to dominant the Paris skyline. But it wasn’t until the two teenagers stood, side-by-side, gazing across the city from the sheltered summit of the Eiffel tower, that Honey was finally able to speak to her friend.
“What did you see at the café?” she demanded.
“Not what, who,” Trixie returned, blue eyes rounding. “It was that redheaded man from yesterday. The one who was across from that dingy doll store.”
“What? Are you sure?” Honey’s brow furrowed.
“Of course, I’m sure.,” Trixie’s own expression was more anxious than impatient.
“Well, I guess it’s not that strange. I mean we were in both places.” Honey reasoned.
“Exactly. He must have followed us.” Trixie worried at her bottom lip.
“Because of the doll?” Honey said doubtfully.
“Well, it must be the doll,” Trixie returned, keeping her gaze fixed on the sprawl of Paris.
“It could be a coincidence.”
Trixie hesitated a moment before shrugging her shoulders. “I guess it could be. My suspicions aren’t always right.”
“They usually are, though.” Honey squeezed her friend’s arm. “We should go back and join my folks.” The two girls stepped into one of the glass elevators that ran up and down the immense structure.
Trixie leaned back against the glass wall and watched as another lift began its descent to the bottom of the tower. Her eyes widened and she grabbed Honey’s arm. “Look Honey, look.” She pointed and Honey’s gaze locked onto a tall redheaded man.
“Oh, Trixie. Maybe, you were right, after all.”
Although Honey agreed that Trixie may well be right about seeing the same redheaded man, she wasn’t convinced it meant he was following them or that he was interested in the doll. In the end, they decided to keep their eyes open for the remainder of their trip, just in case.
Exhausted from their busy day, the two were happy to eat dinner early again, this time in a simple Left Bank Café. They walked back, arm in arm, with Honey’s parents following along behind. The streetlamps threw yellow pools of light on the sidewalk and the cafes and bars were filled with people.
“Versailles tomorrow, girls.” Mrs. Wheeler said, as they entered the hotel lobby.
“The Palace,” Honey said dreamily. “I can hardly wait.”
The Palace did not disappoint, though Trixie found it hard to imagine real people actually living in such luxury. The hall of mirrors, the sumptuous apartments—it seemed almost wrong to her. The gardens were easier to appreciate, and she wished her mother could see them. She did catch sight of more than one redhead during the day but had to admit she didn’t get a good look at any of them. They ate at a little café, and both girls had genuine French fries with their meal, before heading for the airport and home to Westchester County.
MAIN NEXT
Author's Notes—Vivian and Deanna continued to share their knowledge and help me out in Paris. I did actually use the menus from the George Cinq ( a place I could never afford to stay in) when writing this a couple of years ago. Naturally, they have made some changes since. Trixie Belden et al belong to Random House and not to me. No profit is being made from these scribblings.
Some minutes later, amid Trixie’s gasps of delight at the buildings they were passing, Charles drew the car to a stop.
“Les Musée de Louvre,” he declared with a flourish.
“Wow, just wow,” Trixie exclaimed, awestruck.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Honey agreed.
“What time should I return for you, Mademoiselle Wheeler?”
Honey gave her wristwatch a quick glance. “Does five-o-clock sound alright to you, Charles?”
“Absolutement. I mean, yes,” the driver returned with a smile.
“I guessed that,” Trixie said, turning to her best friend. “Can you believe how quickly I’m learning French?”
Honey’s lips twitched at the impish expression on her best friend’s face. “It’s astonishing.”
“We’ll see you later, Charles. Merci.” Trixie jumped out of the car and after a moment, Honey followed suit.
“Are we really going to spend three and a half hours in the museum?” Trixie asked, consulting her own watch.
“Actually, it would take months to go through the entire Louvre. But I did think that before we got started we might like to have snack in the café. Mother organised Paris Museum passes for us, so we have our tickets. We can grab a map and choose which exhibits we’d like to look at. We could have booked a tour, but I thought you’d rather we wander around on our own.”
“I would,” Trixie admitted. “And going to a café first is an excellent idea. A French snack. Wait till I tell Mart.”
Both girls enjoyed their patisserie selections and café au lait, and they poured over the map Honey picked up, discussing the various things they wanted to see.
“If coffee at home tasted like that, I’d drink more of it.” Trixie licked her lips appreciatively.
“It is different, isn’t it? Now, I think the closest thing to us is the Denon Wing. It’s probably the busiest of all, but it has lots of the things we marked on our guide,” Honey said, consulting the brochure before tucking it into her shoulder bag.
Trixie nodded. “The Mona Lisa! Even I know about the Mona Lisa.”
“Don’t say things like that,” Honey admonished. “Why would you know about historical art? That’s one of the reasons there are museums. So that people can see and learn and experience history through art—or just enjoy it for its own sake.”
Trixie grinned at her friend. “You know, sometimes you sound like the art student, instead of Di.”
Honey returned the grin and shrugged. “I don’t have any of Di’s talent or ability, but I guess from a very young age, I was taken to galleries regularly and taught to appreciate art . And I do like how it lets us see another time, another idea.”
“Me, too. And now, Miss Wheeler, you can share your knowledge and play guide to your best friend. Where to first?”
The two girls slowly made their way to their chosen wing. Although there were a lot of people in the museum, it didn’t feel crowded. The wide halls, the soaring ceilings, and the sweeping staircases reminded visitors that the museum was once a palace and home to French Royals.
“Honey, it’s incredible.” Trixie breathed in hushed tones. “Just this building, all the details, it’s…wow. It’s art in itself, isn’t it?”
“Exactly!” Honey slipped her arm though her friends and squeezed. “I’m so glad you feel that way. The first time I came here with my grandmother, I drove her crazy, because I couldn’t stop looking at the walls, and the floors, and the ceilings. I mean, look at those curves—the way the light fills the space.”
Trixie nodded. “I’m so lucky,” she said.
“We both are. Come on, the Mona Lisa is this way. We have to start there.”
If Trixie were honest, she would say that while she could appreciate the beauty of the Mona Lisa, there were other works that appealed to her more. She marvelled at the colors in The Coronation of the Virgin, The Wedding Feast at Cana thrilled her, and she and Honey stood, hand in hand, silent before Delacroix’s La Liberté Guidant Le Peuple.
“You’re right,” she said as they moved towards more of their chosen pieces. “It does make history come to life.”
It was impossible to go into every room, though they paused frequently to admire many more exhibits. After a while Honey led her friend around a corner and Trixie stopped in her tracks. There, rising from a landing on a sweeping staircase was a majestic sculpture.
“It’s the Winged Victory,” Honey said, softly. “The Goddess Nike. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“So beautiful,” Trixie echoed. They stood, a little aside from the throng of people, just taking in the magnificent figure.
They did not hurry or rush from one thing to the next. Instead, allowing Honey to guide her, Trixie spent time with each painting, each sculpture—reading about its origins, its journey to the Louvre and the artists responsible.
“And it all could have been lost,” Honey said as they continued their exploration. “During the second world war, a lot of the really important pieces were evacuated and hidden so that the Nazis couldn’t remove them. Although the gallery was reopened during the occupation, many of the works remained hidden for the entire time.”
“Is that in the brochure or do you just know it off the top of your head?” Trixie teased.
“Sorry.” Honey shrugged. “I really do find it fascinating.”
“It is.”
“Let’s go see one of the antiquities collections. Maybe Mesopotamia or Egypt?”
“I’d love that,” Trixie said. “It will remind me of all those wonderful Agatha Christie novels set in Egypt and places like that.”
Honey reached over and hugged her friend. “I knew I could count on you to bring a little murder into the conversation—even in the Louvre.”
“Huh!” Trixie gave a mock sniff. “That’s rich coming from the gal who was just talking about the war.”
Honey laughed. “That is a very good point.”
“Let’s go,” Trixie urged. “If I’m really lucky, there’ll be a mummy.”
“Oh, golly. It’s almost five,” Honey said, consulting her watch. “I can’t believe how quickly the time went.”
“Me, either,” Trixie agreed. “You were so right, Honey. You could spend days and days in here.”
“I know. I’d say let’s come back tomorrow, but I really want to take you to the Musée Orsay. I know it’s a bit of a cliché, but I love the Impressionists.”
“It’s all new to me, Hon. I’ve seen some things at museums in New York, but this is amazing.”
“New York does have wonderful collections, too.” Honey reluctantly began to lead her friend back towards the entrance where Charles would be waiting for them.
“You two look as if you need a rest,” Mrs. Wheeler observed when they arrived in the suite.
“The museum was wonderful,” Honey said. “but we are feeling a little weary.”
“Take it easy for an hour or so, then we’ll have a nice early dinner. Quite unfashionable in Paris, but they’re used to our American ways.”
A brief rest and a freshen up lifted both girls’ energies, and when they had donned pretty dresses, button through sweaters, and low heels, they stood together, admiring their reflection.
“I won’t even disgrace the United States,” Trixie said, noting that her blue and white dress and blue sweater suited her perfectly.
“What a thing to say!” Honey gave her friend a playful slap.
“Hey! We are in Paris, France. I’m pretty sure you once told me it was the fashion capital of the world or something like that.”
“Well, you look very nice, Ms Belden.”
“As do you, Ms. Wheeler.” Honey’s pale yellow dress and cream sweater, embroidered with tiny daisies, did suit her. “Now.” Trixie reached for her friend’s arm. “Shall we go down to dinner?”
Smiling, Honey nodded and together they went to join Honey’s parents.
The dining saloon of their hotel was quiet when they entered, just after six thirty.
Trixie took her seat and lifted her head to stare at the glass enclosure that surrounded them as the stars and lights of Paris filled the room. “This is so beautiful, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler,” she said.
“It really is,” Honey agreed, her hazel eyes dancing.
“See, Matthew. I knew L’Orangerie was the right choice. It’s a little simpler than Le Cinq, but the setting is marvellous.”
A waiter unobtrusively filled their water glasses and handed them menus. Trixie opened hers and closed it again almost immediately. “I’m guessing reading this won’t help me decide,” she said with a smile. “I’m happy for someone else to choose, but no snails. Mart said there would be snails.”
“Whilst they are delicious, I’m sure we can avoid l’escargot.” Madeleine Wheeler smiled at her young guest. “Perhaps you and Honey would like to order different dishes for each course and you can sample one another’s meals?”
“I’d like that,” Trixie said.
“We could do that, too.” Matthew Wheeler grinned at his wife.
Madeleine gave her tinkling laugh. “I am not that naïve, Matthew Wheeler. That translates as you eating all of your dinner and as much of mine as you can manage.”
“Worth a try,” Honey’s father said, beckoning the waiter and ordering wine for the adults and sparkling water for the girls.
When he returned, Mrs. Wheeler placed their order, in French.
“I didn’t understand most of that, but I’m sure it will be delicious.” Trixie sipped her water and glanced around the restaurant. Only a few tables were occupied and she imagined it was as Honey’s mother had said—French people ate dinner later.
Trixie did at least recognize the asparagus that formed part of her entrée, but the flavour of it and of Honey’s less familiar dish were absolutely delicious.
“These mushrooms are divine,” Honey exclaimed, when their main courses were served.
“This lamb is wonderful, too,” Trixie said. “Mart would be beside himself here.”
By the time they got to dessert, both girls were starting to slip in their chairs, even though it was still quite early.
“This, I do know.” Trixie dipped her spoon back into her dessert bowl. “Chocolate is a universal food.”
“So is meringue,” Honey added, and they swapped bowls before leaning back and giving contended sighs.
“Are you girls happy to go back to our suite? Your father and I would like coffee and a dessert wine.” Mrs. Wheeler regarded her young charges affectionately.
“I know I’d like to jump into bed,” Honey admitted. “What about you, Trix?”
“Me, too,” Trixie said, stifling a yawn. “I’ve had the most wonderful day. Thank you again, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler.”
“Anytime, Trixie,” Mr. Wheeler said. “Now off to bed with the two of you. We have a big day planned for tomorrow.
Back in their suite, the two got ready for bed. Trixie was strangely quiet and Honey moved to sit beside her friend. “Are you okay?”
Trixie thought for a moment before answering. “I think we should take a look at that doll,” she said.
“Really?” Honey sounded doubtful.
“What if it’s damaged or something. Or what if that man gave us the wrong thing? Do you want to hand Mr. Reid something broken or wrong?”
Honey blanched. “No. I guess you do have a point.”
“Great.” Trixie leaped off her bed and crossed the room to where Honey had stored the box. Lifting it up, Trixie placed it on the bureau and carefully untied the string and pulled the paper pack, she slowly removed the lid of the box. Sure enough, nestled inside the satin lined box was a beautiful china doll.
“Oh, Trixie, she’s exquisite,” Honey said, noting the fine detail in both the doll and her period costume.
“She is kind of pretty,” Trixie admitted. “Sort of like Marie Antoinette.”
“Well, I hope she has a happier ending,” Honey said as she replaced the lid with a half-smile. She re-wrapped the box and tied the string in a neat bow.
Trixie nodded. “I’m guessing she is valuable though. Maybe even worth stealing.”
Trixie and Honey both slept soundly in their beautifully appointed room. The following morning, Trixie sat up in bed as Honey drew back the drapes, allowing the pale light to filter through.
“It really is so different here,” Trixie observed quietly. “Everything, I mean. Not just this amazing hotel, but everything—even the sky. Though I guess that sounds silly.”
“It doesn’t sound silly at all,” Honey returned, perching on the end of Trixie’s bed. “It sounds very smart. The light is different here. It’s special. It’s one of the reason why there have been so many French artists and French schools of art. That’s why I’m excited about us going to the Musée d’Orsay. The way the impressionists capture light—oh, Trixie, it’s magical.”
“I can’t wait,” Trixie said. “I bet Di would love it.”
“I know she would,” Honey agreed.
The two teenagers dressed swiftly and waited as patiently as they could for Honey’s mother to finish dressing so they could all go down to breakfast. When they were seated at the elegantly laid table, Trixie glanced around, noting that many of the diners seem to be breakfasting on fruit or pastries and coffee.
Mr. Wheeler caught sight of her slightly disappointed expression. “I’m hoping you will try the crepes or French toast or Pain Perdu, Trixie,” he said. “Madeleine is always happy with fruit and a pastry and I hate to pass on the herb omelette, but I can at least enjoy vicariously if you two try something different.”
“Honestly, Matthew.” Mrs. Wheeler shook her head and smiled at her husband.
“I’ll have the crepes, with ricotta and fresh raspberries,” Honey said decisively.
“Well, I’d hate to disappoint your dad, Honey, so I’ll have the French toast, I mean, Pain Perdu.” Trixie sat back in her chair and took another look around the room. She was in Paris, eating breakfast in Paris. What a way to start the day.
Having agreed to meet the Wheelers’ later for their visit to the Eiffel tower and a ride on the Seine, Trixie and Honey set out for the Musée d’Orsay.
“It will probably take around half an hour,” Honey explained. “But it’s a lovely morning, even though it is quite cold.”
The two followed the route on Honey’s map, moving along Avenue George V and crossing the Seine, admiring the old buildings, the wide streets and the people who passed them on their way.
“Look at that line of people,” Trixie said, as she and Honey made their way into the museum. “We sure are lucky your mother organised those tickets for us.”
Honey nodded. “She knows how busy these places get.”
“It’s another beautiful building, Honey.”
“And it’s filled with beautiful things. What would you like to see?”
“Your favorites,” Trixie said firmly. “It’s another thing we can share.”
“Then let’s start with Monet.” Honey’s eyes shone. “He, as Bobby would say, is my favoritist of all.”
Although Trixie had seen a number of the Impressionist’s works, they hadn’t prepared her for the evocative beauty of Monet’s works. The blue of his waterlilies and the muted tones of his poplars were especially beautiful. Honey also took her to see paintings by Renoir, Degas, Cezanne, and Van Gogh. All of these names were familiar in a vague way from a history of art class they’d had earlier in the year, but seeing so many of the pieces up close and personal was a completely different experience.
“I know you and your folks, and Di’s too, have some famous paintings, but this…” Trixie shook her head.
“Actually, as much as mother loves art, she always says the best place for paintings like these is in a museum, where everyone can see them. I think that’s why we don’t have more art at home.”
“That’s nice,” Trixie said.
“She was going to be a docent, but then she and dad got married and then she got pregnant with me and after that, she wasn’t very well, and then she was used to traveling with dad for business and helping him out and…I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”
“You’ve hardly done it at all lately. You were due.” Trixie frowned for a moment. “Di was talking about being a docent wasn’t she? Something to do with helping in a museum??”
“Someone who leads tours in galleries and museums,” Honey confirmed.
“I bet she would have been good at that.”
“I think so.” Honey stood back to admire Pissarro’s painting of the Louvre and the Seine. “Just think, he saw what we saw.” Finally, she glanced at her watch. “We should get going.”
Honey’s parents were waiting for them at the chosen café, and the two girls slid gratefully into their seats.
“I love how French people eat on the sidewalk,” Trixie said as she sampled her café au lait and tartine “You see so much more than when you’re stuck inside a restaurant.”
“You do, don’t you?” Matthew Wheeler agreed, selecting a pastry himself.
The sun shone down on the group and Honey and Trixie happily filled the Wheelers in on their visit to the museum while they ate.
“Merci.” Trixie smiled up at the waiter, who returned to clear away their china. “It was…delicious.” She settled back in her chair and glanced around as Mrs. Wheeler reached into her purse to pay the check. Suddenly, Trixie stopped, her gaze fixed on the redheaded man sitting at the table furthest from them. He looked up, caught her eye and leapt to his feet, throwing money on the table before moving quickly away. Trixie stood, too, and craned her neck, but there was no sign of the redheaded man.
“Is everything okay, Trixie?” Matthew Wheeler asked.
Trixie nodded, but Honey, who had seen her friend’s expression knew better. Something was definitely up.
There was no chance for the two to chat as they made their way to the Seine and boarded the glass-topped boat. “I never get tired of this river,” Trixie said, eyes darting from thing to the next, “Every time we see it, it seems different. A smiling Mrs. Wheeler acted as tour guide, and in spite of what had happened at the café, Trixie found herself enthralled and peppered her friend’s mother with questions.
The sun was just beginning to fade from the sky as they reached the spectacular wrought iron structure that seemed to dominant the Paris skyline. But it wasn’t until the two teenagers stood, side-by-side, gazing across the city from the sheltered summit of the Eiffel tower, that Honey was finally able to speak to her friend.
“What did you see at the café?” she demanded.
“Not what, who,” Trixie returned, blue eyes rounding. “It was that redheaded man from yesterday. The one who was across from that dingy doll store.”
“What? Are you sure?” Honey’s brow furrowed.
“Of course, I’m sure.,” Trixie’s own expression was more anxious than impatient.
“Well, I guess it’s not that strange. I mean we were in both places.” Honey reasoned.
“Exactly. He must have followed us.” Trixie worried at her bottom lip.
“Because of the doll?” Honey said doubtfully.
“Well, it must be the doll,” Trixie returned, keeping her gaze fixed on the sprawl of Paris.
“It could be a coincidence.”
Trixie hesitated a moment before shrugging her shoulders. “I guess it could be. My suspicions aren’t always right.”
“They usually are, though.” Honey squeezed her friend’s arm. “We should go back and join my folks.” The two girls stepped into one of the glass elevators that ran up and down the immense structure.
Trixie leaned back against the glass wall and watched as another lift began its descent to the bottom of the tower. Her eyes widened and she grabbed Honey’s arm. “Look Honey, look.” She pointed and Honey’s gaze locked onto a tall redheaded man.
“Oh, Trixie. Maybe, you were right, after all.”
Although Honey agreed that Trixie may well be right about seeing the same redheaded man, she wasn’t convinced it meant he was following them or that he was interested in the doll. In the end, they decided to keep their eyes open for the remainder of their trip, just in case.
Exhausted from their busy day, the two were happy to eat dinner early again, this time in a simple Left Bank Café. They walked back, arm in arm, with Honey’s parents following along behind. The streetlamps threw yellow pools of light on the sidewalk and the cafes and bars were filled with people.
“Versailles tomorrow, girls.” Mrs. Wheeler said, as they entered the hotel lobby.
“The Palace,” Honey said dreamily. “I can hardly wait.”
The Palace did not disappoint, though Trixie found it hard to imagine real people actually living in such luxury. The hall of mirrors, the sumptuous apartments—it seemed almost wrong to her. The gardens were easier to appreciate, and she wished her mother could see them. She did catch sight of more than one redhead during the day but had to admit she didn’t get a good look at any of them. They ate at a little café, and both girls had genuine French fries with their meal, before heading for the airport and home to Westchester County.
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Author's Notes—Vivian and Deanna continued to share their knowledge and help me out in Paris. I did actually use the menus from the George Cinq ( a place I could never afford to stay in) when writing this a couple of years ago. Naturally, they have made some changes since. Trixie Belden et al belong to Random House and not to me. No profit is being made from these scribblings.
