“Thank you,” he said.
They agreed that Loic would meet her at the apartment once she had arrived.
“I’ll see you in Paris,” she said. And hung up. And shook her head. She had let a mad idea run to fruition. So unlike her. What she was doing, she had no idea. But she had to get away, she knew that. She wanted to find out about Louisa. For some reason, she felt closer than ever to her ancestor. For some reason, Sarah felt almost as if Louisa were calling to her from the past.
CHAPTER TWO
Sarah’s boss, Amanda, insisted on hosting a farewell dinner for Sarah at her favorite tapas restaurant in town. It was one of Boston’s hardest-to-get-into places, but Amanda had cultivated a friendship with one of the hip owners, and she liked to show off the fact that she could get a table at the drop of an emerald brooch.
Sarah knew the food would be as good as the tapas in Barcelona, or so everyone said. Long wooden tables ran down the center of the room. An artisan bar sat along the length of one exposed brick wall, and an oversize blackboard showcased the menu. Sarah hung her favorite leather jacket over the back of her chair, shook her coworkers’ hands, and ran a hand through her black bob. She had taken great care with her makeup this evening—had spent some time on her dark brown eyes. This evening she wanted to look particularly professional. She suspected her workmates were stunned that she was going to Paris.
The first part of the evening passed well enough. Sarah found herself chatting her way through the entrées of smoked eggplant and wild mushrooms with summer herbs and plates of melt-in-your-mouth grilled corn, while her colleagues—graphic designers, along with art educators and marketing people, curators of paintings, and staff on research fellowships—kept up the sort of steady banter that Sarah always enjoyed on nights out.
But once the food was done, Brian Doolan, one of the museum’s longest-standing curators, addressed Sarah, and the table fell quiet. “What we’re going to miss is your efficiency.” His eyes twinkled, and Sarah found herself raising her brow.
Sarah toyed with her dessert wine, watching the sticky liquid move around in the bottom of the glass. “My efficiency?” she said. “Wow. Thanks.” She kept her tone light. She knew Brian. And she knew what he said was only a half joke.
“You have to hand it to yourself,” Amanda chimed in from Sarah’s other side. The older woman tossed her long blond hair and fixed Sarah with her green eyes. “It’s what you do best. Don’t know how we’ll manage without you for the summer.”
“Thanks.” Sarah knew her voice sounded as flat as a sunken soufflé.
“You’re so reliable.” There was nothing nasty in Amanda’s tone, but Sarah had heard these words too many times to count. Responsible, efficient, sensible. Rational. Sarah had to push away a sigh. Was that how Steven had seen her? Reliable? Not novel enough?
“You know,” Brian said, “I always say, if we need someone dependable, then Sarah’s our girl.”
“Thanks.” Sarah knew she was sounding like a record player with its needle stuck on one song.
“And you know what the best thing is?” Brian warmed to his theme. “You do things in an orderly fashion. Nothing is spontaneous with you. You work to a plan. Logical. We need people like that. I just find you invaluable. Wish I had more of your qualities myself.”
“So when you said you were going to Paris,” Amanda laughed, “I nearly died on the spot. What, I thought, could Sarah possibly be wanting to do in the city of love? I mean, Paris is totally out of character for you. It’s not the city I’d choose for you at all. London, yes, but never Paris.”
“Are you planning a little liaison of your own? You know, revenge and all that on that vile ex-husband?” Brian leaned in closer to Sarah. “Do tell.” He sounded wicked.
Sarah pulled away. She liked Brian, but right now she could smell stale wine and garlic on his breath.
“It’s not that,” she said.
“So you just want to go to Paris for the summer, because you can?” Brian was not giving up.
“Yup.”
“Good for you.” Amanda sounded cheerful.
“I don’t believe you,” Brian went on. “I’ve known you since you were twenty-three. Nine years is a long time, Sarah. You’re too strategic to do this for no reason.”
“I admit that I do enjoy a plan.” Sarah shrugged. “But I don’t have one this time.”