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She smiled, glad to be with him once again and to have the chance to speak English. Julia had missed her father enormously. He had more gray in his side whiskers than she’d remembered, and the wrinkles that fanned out beside his eyes seemed deeper. Putting together the British artist exhibit had been time-consuming, and it had taken its toll. She sat back, knowing it would set him at ease.
“What shall we do after this?” she asked. “Or must you return soon to the Grand Palais?”
He glanced at his pocket watch, clicking it shut and tucking it back inside his waistcoat. “I’ve time to visit another exhibit, if you’d like. You’ve still not seen the magnification of the moon through the world’s largest telescope. Fascinating, that. Or we could just enjoy a nice iced lemonade and watch the crowds.”
“I would be happy to do either of those things,” Julia said. “There is still so much to see. And, of course, we must watch the moving pictures again. If not today, then...” Her voice trailed off as a person below caught her attention: a man in a bouclé coat and a wide-brimmed farmer’s hat. She leaned forward again and felt her father’s hand clamp her shoulder. Could it be him?
“Luc!” she yelled.
“My dear, really.” Her father shook his head as he glanced at the other people in the car. “Most unbecoming of a young lady to holler like that. What would your grandmother say?”
Julia pointed downward. “But, Father. It ishim. Luc Paquet.” She was sure of it. “Luc!” she yelled his name again, waving her handkerchief over her head.
This time, he turned, looking up. Even from this height, she could see the moment he recognized her. He lifted his hand.
He is here.Julia gripped the bar of the safety gate as her heart pounded uncontrollably. He had come after her.
Her father held on to his hat, peering down over the Grande Roue car. “Luc Paquet, the artist from Provence?”
“Yes.” Julia was breathless with anticipation. “The same.” The Grande Roue moved impossibly slowly in its descent, and by the time her car reached the bottom and the attendant opened the gate, she practically jumped out of her seat.
She opened her parasol, and once her father had climbed out of the car, she took his arm, pulling him forward.
Luc waited at the exit. He stood stiffly and watched her with an unreadable expression.
Julia couldn’t erase her smile. As she drew nearer, the familiar fluttering started in her chest. “Luc, I am so happy to see you.” She was pleased at her choice of clothing this morning. She wore a white gown with lace embellishments that flattered her figure splendidly, and on her hat were colorful silk flowers and ribbons. She motioned between the two men. “Please allow me to introduce my father, Colonel James Weston. And Father, this is Luc Paquet.”
“Bonjour, Colonel Paquet.” Luc inclined his head. His expression did not change.
Her father tipped his hat. “Glad to meet you at last, sir. I must thank you for the care you gave my daughter.” He spoke French slowly, with a heavy accent. “Always finding trouble, this one.” Colonel Weston chuckled, patting Julia’s hand where it rested on his arm. “The wrong train. How does one manage that?”
“I—” Luc began, glancing at Julia as if wondering if he was meant to give an answer.
“But that’s all in the past,” her father continued. “My daughter is safe, thanks to you, monsieur—and she found quite a prize in Provence. An unknown artist of your talents was an extraordinary discovery. The entire art community is talking about it.”
Luc looked at Julia. His expression wasn’t pleased.
“Have you seen your painting in the Grand Palais, Luc?” she asked.
“I have not. Not yet.”
Julia felt another thrill. He had come to find her before even seeing the artwork.
“I believe you’ll be very pleased, Monsieur Paquet,” Colonel Weston said. “Julia found a splendid frame, and my French colleague has placed it beautifully among the other impressionists from your country, though I believe yours has drawn the most attention.”
Luc cleared his throat, apparently uncomfortable with the conversation. “Sir, with your permission, I hoped to speak with Miss Weston alone for a moment.”
“Of course.” Colonel Weston smiled. He patted Julia’s hand again and then gently took it from his arm, squeezing her fingers affectionately. “I should return to the Grand Palais anyway. Why don’t I meet you there. I would be pleased to introduce you around, show you some of the highlights. Shall we say in two hours? It will give Julia a chance to show you some of the exhibits.”
“Merci, monsieur,” Luc said, inclining his head again.
Colonel Weston tipped his hat and strode away.
Julia took Luc’s arm, and they started toward the river. People passed, wearing costumes from every imaginable nation. Music sounded from different quarters, some songs familiar, others exotic. The trees overhead were in blossom, the air was warm, and she felt utterly happy. She directed him toward the Pont Alexandre III, the bridge that would take them to the Rive Droit and the Grand Palais.
Julia spoke first. “I can’t believe you found me, Luc. There are so many people here.”
As if to prove her point, the crowd pushed them to the side of the road as an Egyptian caravan walked past. Julia stared at the camels with their flat feet and rounded humps and apologized as she bumped into a woman wearing an extremely fancy peach-colored hat.
