Paris Is Always a Good Idea by Nicolas Barreau

Author:Nicolas Barreau
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466884632
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

Sixteen

The woman who knew nothing about Shakespeare had, contrary to her normal custom, gotten up early in the morning. It was Monday, and Rosalie felt that she needed to sort out her thoughts by taking William Morris for a long walk. She walked toward the Place Saint-Sulpice, passed to the right of the church with its angular white towers, and carried on along the rue Bonaparte, where all the stores were still closed, finally reaching the Jardin du Luxembourg.

She was met by the scent of a summer garden. The flowers and the greenery of the trees exuded a delicate fragrance that mingled with the dust of the paths and the morning dew. Two lonely joggers loped past her on the outer paths with extended strides: they wore little earphones whose thin white cables disappeared into their sweatshirts. Without much thought, Rosalie struck out along one of the many paths. The broad avenue she entered was still deserted. A ray of sunshine fell diagonally through the rustling leaves on the trees, bathing the path with light. The gravel crunched pleasantly under her feet, passing between rows of iron benches that lined both sides of the path beneath the trees, inviting passersby to stop and relax.

She made sure that she was on the side of the park where dogs were allowed, then let William Morris off the leash. He stormed off before stopping to sniff excitedly at the trunk of a tree.

René had already gone back to his own place earlier in the morning. When he had told her a few days before, his eyes shining, about his invitation to Zack Whiteman’s seminar, she hadn’t realized that he would be flying to San Diego so soon. But René had only managed to get the sought-after spot because a friend from the fitness club had had to drop out of the seminar, leaving room for him. So it was a matter of striking while the iron was hot, or losing out. He would have to leave in a few days, and René still had a lot to do. “This is a really lucky break,” he had said. “Whiteman is the fitness guru.”

Rosalie had nodded absentmindedly. To be honest, she had not really been on the ball since the evening with Robert Sherman. “Don’t you think it’s all very strange? I wonder what’s behind it?” she had said as she reported her conversation with the American to her boyfriend the next morning.

“Why are you getting so worked up about other people’s business?” René had asked as they sat at breakfast on the little roof terrace. “Don’t get me wrong, Rosalie, but you only painted the illustrations after all. Even if it does turn out that Marchais stole the story, you’re not guilty of anything. Let that crazy literature professor find out for himself.”

“Firstly, he’s not as crazy as I thought—his story even seems quite credible—and secondly, it’s my book, too, in a way,” Rosalie had objected. “And apart from that I don’t want Max Marchais to get into any trouble.

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