Capturing Paris Read Online Free

sofa.
    â€œGeorges, let me help you with the champagne,” Bill said, having lost his seat next to Daphne. Georges carefully poured the champagne into sparkling clear flutes. Bill passed the glasses around and then offered a toast. “To our thoughtful hosts, to new friends, to Paris.”
    His words were met with murmured cheers and thanks. Paris would not be an easy city to leave, and Annie felt a little sad for him. She sat in a single chair beside the fireplace, while Bill pulled another chair closer to Daphne. Wesley explained their monthly ritual of joining Céleste and Georges for lunch, directing his comments to Daphne as if he were under some sort of gravitational pull. “It all began when we first moved to Paris,” he said.
    â€œEvery single month?” Daphne asked.
    â€œYes. And when the children still lived at home, they joined us.”
    â€œThe children made it very lively,” Georges said. “Sometimes mutual friends from Cambridge stopped in when they were visiting Paris.”
    â€œI think they planned their trips so as not to miss the Sunday lunches,” Wesley said. “Well worth it, as you’ll soon see. Céleste’s a wonderful cook.”
    Céleste shook her head and murmured denial, though she was obviously pleased by the compliment. Annie, sitting apart from the group, had the impression of being set adrift. She wanted to participate in the conversation but for the moment couldn’t think of anything to say. She was aware of Daphne’s charismatic presence and tried to brush away a niggling sense of envy. She sipped the cool, jewel-like champagne, enjoying the way it tickled her throat.
    â€œI’ve had some marvelous lunches here too,” Bill said. “Céleste and Georges love to collect English-speaking friends. They say they like to practice their English, but they hardly need to. They both speak beautifully. Anyway, you never know who you’ll meet here; it’s great fun.”
    â€œWe will miss you, Bill.” Céleste’s pronunciation drew his name out to sound like “Beel.” “Your stories of Boston and Cambridge have brought back many good memories.”
    â€œThose were good years,” Georges said, beaming at his guests.
    â€œYou will excuse me?” Céleste said. “I must see to the oven.” She touched Georges on the arm, and Annie noticed the loving glance that flickered between them.
    â€œMay I help you?” Annie asked.
    â€œNo, no, ma chérie , but maybe a little later.” Céleste pronounced little like “leetle.” Why is it, Annie wondered, that a French accent could sound so charming, while an American speaking French poorly hurther ears? Céleste left them for the kitchen. The smells of meat roasting in the oven hinted at the delicious meal ahead.
    Daphne leaned back against the soft sofa cushions. Annie studied her gray knit dress, stark and simple but immensely feminine. Georges hovered close to his English guest, looking like a delighted schoolboy when she accepted more champagne. Daphne watched Bill through heavy-lidded eyes as he rambled on about Boston and his research at the Bibliothèque Nationale, while Wesley, uninterested in Bill’s remarks, kept his eyes on Daphne.
    Although Daphne said little, she remained the center of attention. What was it that made her so alluring? Annie wondered. It was probably her many curves, most obviously the curves of her figure, but also the waves in her hair, and the curve of her lips, which slipped periodically into a smile. Annie knew that she herself was considered an attractive woman, though she thought of her face as ordinary, with its regular blue eyes, slim, straight nose, and overly wide mouth. Wesley once said she looked like a long-legged Alice in Wonderland. She would have gladly traded her aging-ingénue demeanor for Daphne’s indefinable appeal.
    When Annie reflected on the luncheon