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It wasn’t long before my mind was clear and so was my desk.
“Thanks, Aunt Effie,” I said, sticking my chest out with pride at my accomplishment and placed my hands on my hips. I felt the matchbook I had stuck in my pocket and my eyes went to my computer.
Could it be possible? Could the place still be around?
I typed Le Procope into the search bar and couldn’t believe it popped up. I sat staring at it. It was not only one of the most famous restaurant/cafe in Paris, but it was also the oldest dating back to 1686. I could imagine my aunt wearing a designer dress—a French designer of course—descending the marble staircase with the backdrop of the crimson walls graced with portraits in ornate gold frames. She must have been a sight to behold. It mentioned important literary and political people frequenting the café, Napoleon Bonaparte, Benjamin Franklin, and Thomas Jefferson among them, though far before my aunt’s time. However, it did give me a thought, since it was a place where politics, the arts, and the ever-emerging world had been discussed. Could my aunt have been involved with a famous political figure of her time? I dismissed the thought almost immediately since it would have surely made some newspaper. Unless it had been kept hush hush.
My cell rang. It was Amy. After the initial I’m feeling fine, I told her about Aunt Effie.
“I bet he was famous, and they had the most wonderful love affair, but in the end, it could never be because… he was married,” Amy gasped. “Did you think her lover could have been married?”
“We don’t know if she had a lover.”
“Meet me at eight on a matchbook implies a clandestine affair,” Amy said.
“Okay, you got me there. It does, but what about those romances you read? They all have happy endings. I would have preferred Aunt Effie to have a happy ending.”
“Why do you think I read romances? They guarantee a happy ending,” Amy said with a sigh. “I wish Aunt Effie could have had one, especially if it was the everlasting kind of love she’d found with the unknown man. So is drop-dead-gorgeous coming over tonight?”
I had to smile since Ian was drop-dead-gorgeous. “Yup, he’s coming over.” My phone beeped and I saw it was Ian. “That’s him now, can you hold on a minute?”
Amy obliged and I barely got out hi when he started apologizing.
“I’m sorry, Pep. Ah cannae make it tonight. Willard Hughes only has time available tonight to discuss my contract in-depth or otherwise he won’t be free for another week. Also, to discuss Martin Sands since Willard warned me the man will no doubt make a power grab for anything he can get. He told me to clear at least two hours, and then Sarina showed up earlier than expected. Her schedule changed and she’s only available tonight and tomorrow morning to shoot the photos a publisher commissioned. The shoot will go well into the night.”
I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed, though I didn’t tell him that. “That’s okay. You do what you need to do.”
“I hate to think of you alone after just suffering a possible concussion.”
That he sounded truly upset warmed my heart. “Amy might come over, if not I’ll probably watch some shows with Mo.”
“I’ll call you later, though it will be much later—”
“Don’t worry about it. Do what you have to do, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said already feeling lonely.
“That you can count on, leannan,” he said.
I clicked back over to Amy. “Are you free tonight?”
“Oh, what happened?” she asked as if expecting the worst.
“A business call with his new agent and a photo shoot with some model named Sarina who arrived early due to a schedule change and has to leave tomorrow.”
“Sarina?” Amy asked cautiously.
Why did it sound like a death toll to me? “Yeah, Sarina and spill what you know.”
I didn’t have to twist Amy’s arm; she spilled the beans without any twisting.
“Sarina is a top fashion model, but she does a limited number of shoots for covers only with Ian and you better have the bucks to purchase them. They are pricey. A few publishers purchase them for their high-earning authors.”
“Why would she model for the cover of a book when she’s a top fashion model?” I asked, suspecting an answer that wasn’t coming fast enough. “Tell me, Amy.”
“Sarina and Ian were involved, hot and heavy for a while. She did some covers with him for fun, so it was said, but let me tell you, they were some scorching covers.”
“Why did they call it quits?” I asked.
“No one really knows. Some rumors say it was mutual while others say he dumped her and of course others say she dumped him. No one knows but they’ve remained friends.”
“You don’t sound convinced about that,” I said.
