Where Trust Lies Page 6

  Mother coaxed, “But, Edith, the breakfast he’s arranged for us—he’s found a patio with a lovely view of the St. Lawrence. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  Mrs. Montclair turned around. “Mr. Lorant may as well know from the start that I shan’t let him bully me. I shall be ready when I am good and ready.”

  Mother, looking a bit pale, walked toward the door, advising softly, “Girls, would you please go to the lobby to meet Monsieur Laurent? If we’re not down by the time he needs to leave, you are free to go without us. I shall try to hurry Edith along. However, if it comes to that, please ask him to leave the address at the front desk, and we’ll follow in a taxi.”

  Julie spun on her heel and marched down the hall. Margret cast a glance toward Victoria, who seemed to abandon her mother in favor of the promise of breakfast, and followed them. The last they heard was a frustrated, “Now, where did I leave my glasses?”

  Monsieur Laurent allowed very little further waiting time before shaking his head and leading them out without the two matriarchs. He conducted them expertly through the hotel’s maze of wide, elegant hallways until he reached a broad set of doors. Stepping out into the bright sunshine, Beth was amazed to find herself in a different world from what she had glimpsed through the darkness last night. She followed their guide across a wide, paved walkway and up to a long railing. Looking beyond, Beth was awed to see a sudden drop over a sheer cliff and a magnificent view of the lower city and the river. Gazing from one side to the other, Beth became lost in the spectacular vista.

  With a dramatic gesture, their guide drew their attention to what lay behind them. “Regardez vous.”

  Far above loomed the sprawling, imposing structure of Le Château Frontenac. The brick-and-limestone edifice with its neat rows of windows soared floor upon floor, angled here and there in surprising corners and turrets. The walls stretched up to the steep gabled rooflines and the central tower thrust into the blue sky. It was truly magnificent—perhaps the most beautiful building Beth had ever seen.

  “It’s marvelous!” Margret gasped. Julie was busy snapping pictures with her camera, and Monsieur Laurent was happy to take several of their group with the hotel as a backdrop.

  “Oh, won’t Father love to see these photographs!” Julie enthused.

  “Are you ready to see more of our city? Oui? Then follow me,” Monsieur Laurent instructed. “It is a lovely day. We shall walk to a favorite patisserie for our breakfast. It’s not too far, and I believe you will all enjoy the stroll.”

  The way was rather long but always downhill, so it was indeed a pleasant walk—even for Margret, who was carrying JW, though Beth cheerfully shared the task halfway there. Weaving in and out along the narrow lanes and broad intersections, past lovely gardens, they were soon enclosed by stone walls and crowding shops, Julie continuing to point the camera at everything that caught her eye.

  Their guide encouraged them on. “Let’s keep moving, ladies. Yes, we’ll be there shortly.”

  “But, Julie, you won’t be in any of the photos,” Margret pointed out. “Do you want me to take the next one?”

  Julie laughed. “You’re right, darling. I’d like to prove that I came too!”

  “There’ll be plenty of time,” Beth cajoled with a little more firmness than the patient man. “Do hurry, Julie. We don’t want to fall behind.”

  “Monsieur,” Beth called to him, “I feel as if I’ve somehow stepped out into Europe this morning, or at least as I’ve imagined Europe. Quebec City is so much . . . well, much more ‘foreign’ than I had expected.”

  He responded with a charming smile and a slight bow, pride in his eyes over his city of birth. “Yes, I understand what you mean, mademoiselle. It is a very old city, founded in 1608 and the heart of la Nouvelle-France. Much of the Old World is still to be enjoyed here.”

  And soon, just as promised, they found themselves seated on a crowded patio overlooking the river. The delicious pastries were indeed worth the walk, they agreed, including JW, who had signs of his treat across his cheeks.

  “Mrs. Bryce,” Monsieur Laurent said to Margret, “I am finished eating. Allow me to hold the little one so you may enjoy your breakfast.” He reached for JW as he spoke, and the small boy eagerly held out his arms.

  “I’m afraid he’s covered in crumbs, monsieur,” Margret demurred.

  “Oh, that is no trouble at all. I’ve held many a baby in my day.” Leaning back in his chair, he bounced JW on his knees, all the while performing a singsong verse in French. His face moved through a range of exaggerated expressions, causing the toddler to giggle in delight.

  Julie remarked, “You must have children, monsieur.”

  A fleeting shadow crossed the man’s face before he could say quietly, “Yes, two sons. But we lost them both in the war.”

  “I’m so very sorry,” Margret replied.

  “Merci.”

  Beth felt her heart constrict at his loss and would like to have known more, but Mother and Mrs. Montclair arrived by taxi just then.

  “Welcome to you both. I trust you are enjoying a pleasant morning.”

  “Good morning, monsieur.” Mother’s smile looked a bit forced. “I’m confident that it will improve.”

  “We have a car coming to pick us up in ten minutes,” the man said cordially. “We shall have a look around before lunch—and then shopping in the afternoon. Does that suit you all quite well?”

  “Ten minutes,” Mrs. Montclair repeated. “One can hardly eat in such a short time!”

  “Oui, madame.” His smile never faded.

  Delighted at his approach with Mrs. Montclair, Beth smiled at him warmly. “Here, monsieur. Let me take JW so that you can gather your things.” But the boy turned away from Beth’s hands and tucked himself up against the guide.

  “I believe, Miss Thatcher, that he’s made up his mind,” he said with a laugh.

  Beth’s heart sank. Her nephew had chosen a stranger over an auntie. She hoped this wasn’t a sign of things to come.

  Chapter

  6

  SIGHTSEEING TURNED OUT TO BE a rather constant battle between Mrs. Montclair and Monsieur Laurent. She would notice a small shop or kiosk nearby, but their guide would move them along, insisting that shopping would take place in the afternoon. Periodically, Mrs. Montclair would simply ignore his instructions and disappear, turning up later with another bag in her hands, seeming pleased with herself for having outwitted Monsieur Laurent.

  When they returned to the hotel for lunch, Beth fell across her bed, fatigued from walking and the constant interruptions of Edward’s mother and Julie’s camera. The new shoes would likely be comfortable once broken in, but today they had left little blisters on the backs of her heels. She wished for a short nap rather than another meal, but rose with a sigh, switched shoes, and followed the others to one of the hotel’s fine dining rooms.

  After lunch, they climbed into taxis for a large shopping area with row upon row of quaint shops and street vendors—a much better site than the morning’s tourist places. Again, with merely a twinkle in his eye, Monsieur Laurent directed them to the best values. Mrs. Montclair looked less smug as she realized here was a far better selection of merchandise at lower prices than her morning purchases.

  Monsieur Laurent waited close at hand, helping to barter for the best value and answer their many questions, particularly interpreting the French signage and currency. Out on the street, Beth was caught by a display of paintings that captured not only the look of the enchanting French city but also something of its mood and character.

  “How much?” She pointed to a favorite and tried her best to pronounce, “C’est combien?” Unfortunately, she had not considered that she would not understand the rapid answer given in response. Monsieur smiled and repeated the price in English.

  It’s a suitable amount. Actually, rather inexpensive—though the painting will be bulky to pack. Beth paused to weigh the idea carefully. Perhaps, though, a painting is better for teaching the
children about this city than a photograph that’s small and only black-and-white. It would give a beautiful, more accurate impression of Quebec.

  “Oui,” she said as she looked into her handbag for the amount. But Monsieur Laurent was already holding out the correct bills to the artist as he murmured to Beth, “Your father instructed me to handle all the financial transactions during the trip.”

  The painter folded brown paper around the purchase and smiled broadly. “Enjoy, mademoiselle.” Monsieur reached for the package.

  Beth paused, looking once more at the art display. Instead of knickknacks and baubles, a painting would accurately convey to my class these other areas of Canada. Immediately Beth broke into a smile. And Julie could do the paintings!

  “Monsieur, ask him, please—does he have any blank canvases?”

  “Miss Thatcher? You want them blank—you mean, unpainted?”

  “Yes, so my sister can paint scenes on our journey.”

  Eyebrows raised, Monsieur Laurent posed the question to the startled artist. They discussed the unusual request for several minutes before it appeared they had arrived at a price.

  “It’s not a very good arrangement, miss. He’s charging a considerable amount for having already prepared the canvases.”

  “It’s all right. Please tell him my sister will paint for me along the way.”

  “I did so, Miss Thatcher. But he’ll still go home and tell his friends about the silly tourist who preferred to buy his paintings blank.”

  Beth blushed as Monsieur Laurent added more coins to the ones in the man’s hand. He grinned, giving an exaggerated shrug.

  “Bethie, did you see this bag?” Julie called. “Isn’t it exquisite?”

  “It’s very nice. Don’t you have one about that size?”

  “Yes, darling, but it’s a different color. They’re completely different. Don’t you think this would go nicely with my green-and-white plissé blouse?”

  “Really, Julie, I don’t know why you bother asking me. You would certainly know better than I.” This was met with a bright laugh.

  “You’re right of course, sister dear. I guess I’m just making conversation.” Julie grinned. “What did you buy? A painting?”

  “Several, actually. Monsieur is having them delivered. But . . . well, they’re not painted yet.”

  Julie’s eyebrows drew together.

  “I want you to do them . . . along the way. So I can show my students how eastern Canada looks and teach them about other parts of our country.”

  Julie shrugged and turned back to the handbag. “I guess I’ll have time. What else will there be to do at sea?”

  But Beth’s attention was drawn to someone behind them. “Don’t look directly, Julie,” she whispered, “but have you noticed that young man who keeps looking in our direction? No, don’t look at him!”

  Nervous laughter erupted from both of them, and Julie quickly slipped behind a display of broad-brimmed hats, her face a mixture of amusement and alarm. “Is he still looking? Did he walk away?” she said, her giggles uncomfortably loud.

  Beth put a hand to Julie’s mouth. “Yes, he’s coming this way. He’s looking right at us.” Julie’s eyes grew large, and she peered around a hat.

  “Bonjour,” called the stranger as he approached. “Do you speak English?” he asked boldly. “Will you help me, please? I could really use a woman’s opinion. And you look as if you might know a thing or two about scarves.”

  “You’re English?” Julie wondered.

  “I’m American.” Then shifting his bags into one hand, he extended the other toward Beth. “My name’s Nick—Nick Petrakis. And I promised my mama that I’d bring her back a new scarf, but I have no idea what constitutes a good one versus a second-rate one. Can you help a fellow out?”

  Beth took the offered hand with a nod. “Of course.”

  Julie’s hand was already out. “Hi, Nick. I’m Julie, and this is my sister Beth.”

  “Well, aren’t you both just a pair of beauties.” The flattery made Beth recoil, yet it had the opposite effect on her sister.

  “I’d be happy to give you a hand.” Julie slid past Beth, eyelashes batting. “If I do say so myself, I believe I have quite an eye for fashion. I merely need to know the color of your mother’s eyes?”

  “Come again?”

  Beth was uncomfortable with the flirtatious way they were interacting. Nick leaned closer, one hand resting above Julie’s head on the hat rack. “What does her eye color have to do with a scarf?”

  “Everything,” Julie insisted, tipping her face in a coy manner.

  “Well then, her eyes are brown. Dark brown like mine.” He leaned closer still. “Does that help, Julie?”

  She suddenly spun toward the table holding a mound of scarves. “Well, I like this one. Or no, this is better. The red in it will go nicely with her brown eyes . . . the yellow trim will complement them too.” She began rummaging further into the pile.

  Nick turned his attention to Beth. “You see, I’m leaving by ship tomorrow, so I have to finish my shopping today.”

  Beth took an awkward step back. “We . . . we leave then too.”

  “You don’t say. Tell me you’re not sailing on the Royal Phoenix, are you? Wouldn’t that be a strange coincidence?” He seemed to stand uncomfortably close.

  “I don’t know the ship’s name.” Beth found it difficult to meet his gaze.

  “Then I can only hope,” he said with a grin and a wink from those brown eyes.

  He joined Julie, and they worked their way through the scarves she had draped over one arm. Beth frowned, feeling her pulse racing. The young man seemed harmless enough—and yet alarmingly forward. Perhaps that is just the way with Americans. Beth tried to remember if she’d ever been introduced to one before. Surely there have been occasions. Father has many American business contacts, though never a man quite so young as this.

  He was shorter than most, yet athletic and muscular. His shirt was tight across his chest and arms. He reminded Beth of a coiled spring—all energy just waiting to be released. Beth blushed despite herself.

  “Now, that one’s perfect. She’s gonna love it!” This Nick took Julie’s hand and kissed it slowly. “How can I thank you, doll? I do hope I’ll see you both again.” Turning to wave at Beth, he went to pay for his purchase.

  Julie moved closer, her eyes on the place where Nick had gone. “Bethie, did you see his eyes?”

  Just then Mother arrived with Margret. “Are you nearly finished, girls? Margret and I would like a taxicab. We’re just about spent. Where’s our guide?”

  Monsieur had two vehicles ready in moments. All the way back to the hotel, whenever Beth’s eyes met Julie’s, her sister would cover her mouth to stifle her giggles.

  The docks were a glorious confusion of people and trolleys and preparations for departure. The travelers had boarded as early in the morning as they could, made their way through the narrow corridors to their suites, then gathered on the observation deck for a good view dockside as the ship cast off. Looking out toward the city as it began to slide away, Beth realized she easily could have enjoyed several more days in the Old World charm of Quebec City.

  On the other hand, she was also anticipating relaxation in a deck chair with a book. A rather nice break from bustling from shop to shop, hoping for no further difficulties among their little group.

  Beth leaned against the polished wood rail and let the bright sunshine and the cooling breeze flow over her face. It was perfect weather and the perfect time of year. Her fingers reached for the tucked-away handkerchief where she had placed another of Jarrick’s rose petals as she dressed that morning. She was completely overwhelmed with joy and satisfaction, so grateful she had agreed to the cruise. Jarrick was correct in encouraging me to come along with my family.

  She was soon enjoying the lovely shoreline—green forests, scattered farms, quaint little fishing villages, and once in a while a lovely mansion with lawns stretching down to the wat
er’s edge.

  However, as they sailed farther east along the ever-widening St. Lawrence River, Beth began to feel a growing queasiness. She had not given further thought to seasickness, despite Victoria’s earlier warnings. Soon she could no longer deny the fact and retreated to her cabin, pulled the drapes, and wilted onto the chaise longue, hoping for relief. Mother fussed and worried. Emma brought ginger tea, aspirin, and cold cloths. But Beth could hardly keep from giving in to her nausea.

  Julie came and went frequently, at times flipping on the light switch or closing the door too loudly. A long respite of quiet came only after her mother and sister had dressed in gowns and gone off together. What a shame to miss the first night’s dinner on board. And how humiliating to seem to fulfill Mother’s recent assessment of my frailty.

  Beth squeezed cool water from a rag into the basin balanced in her lap and draped it across her forehead again, trying to do so without shifting her head from its place against the upholstered chaise. If she were careful not to move quickly, she hoped the quiet and darkness of the room would soon relieve her dreadful headache.

  Sometime in the evening, a muffled knock at the cabin door signaled her sister. “Bethie?” At least Julie was remembering to keep her voice soft this time. “Bethie, are you awake?”

  Beth answered through gritted teeth, “Yes, come in.” She could feel the penetrating light from the opening door even through the wet rag and closed eyes.

  “Bethie? I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Incomprehensible, though certainly believable, that Julie would expect me to meet someone at just such a moment. Beth sighed and drew the cloth from her head, squinting at Julie’s form and that of a second young woman just behind her.

  “This is Jannis. We just met.”

  Beth closed her eyes again and whispered a greeting to the unwelcome stranger. She felt Julie’s hand close round her own. “I told her how sick you’ve been. She wants to help.”