AFTER STARTING ANEW
Chapter Thirty-Three
Faint sounds of accordion music whispered
through the warm summer air, the soft chugging of boat motors on the Seine, and
the delicious smell of freshly roasted coffee all combined together assaulting
Rose’s senses with a feeling of light-heartedness and romance that she had not
felt in years. She gazed across the table and studied Jack, who was deeply
engrossed in yet another of his sketches. Rose sighed deeply as she thought
back now on the twenty-six years of their marriage. Somehow the time had flown
by, their happiness and joy interrupted now and again by a war, the Depression,
and illness. Somehow they had managed to rise above it all. She had to
reluctantly admit that they had been lucky.
Jack had resourcefully provided well for
their family through the first years of their marriage. And they still lived
day to day, mainly on the income from his teaching position. However, with her
mother’s marriage to Arthur and their unexpected inheritance from the sale of
the Heart of the Ocean, they had been quite suddenly plunged into an affluence
that they had never imagined. It was from these funds that now allowed for a
few luxuries such as this trip.
Rose had known that Jack had longed to return
to Europe for years for several reasons. One was to show her the Paris that had
so inspired him as a very young man. Another was to reassure himself that the
beauty and grandeur of the "City of Lights" was still intact after
the hard days of World War I. No battles had been fought right there, but the
hardships of the population had made the country appear rather grim. They had
conquered the main obstacle that had prevented them from coming across the
ocean and that of course had been the journey by ship. She had to smile to
herself now as she recalled those shamelessly decadent days on board the Queen
Mary. They had slept until noon, took long walks along the deck and made
deliriously sweet love before dinner. Dressed for the evening meal, they would
emerge from their cabin, both flushed from their intimacy, giggling like the
reckless couple they had been in 1912. After dinner, they would study the
stars, their arms entwined about each other, lost in thoughts of passion and
love. During those five days last week, they had managed to keep the reminders
of Titanic at bay, concentrating instead on the peace and beauty of the ocean
and the miraculous love they shared.
"Rose?" Her head jerked up as she
heard Jack’s soft whisper. His eyes danced with laughter. He tossed his head
back, chuckling. There was a knowing look in his eyes as if he knew exactly
what she had been thinking.
"Why are you blushing?" he teased.
Rose reached up and pulled her hand down
along her face. Had she really been blushing, just from thinking of those
erotic times on the ship? And yet, there was no denying her racing pulse or the
warmth that she felt on her skin. She gazed at him. Her Jack. Still her lover,
her husband, and friend. What they had was unusual and the envy of everyone
they knew. The relationship they had was special and they both knew it. Theirs
was a love that had helped them conquer all the traumas that life had thrown in
their way. From the first time that she had looked into Jack’s eyes, she had
been mesmerized. Knowing that she could endure anything if he was at her side.
His blue sport shirt matched the color of his eyes. A few strands of his hair
fluttered on his forehead. While his hair was blond, each year a little more
gray crept in, adding to his good looks. Making him more distinguished. But,
Jack still had that boyish charm that captivated everyone he met. There was no
denying, however, the wisdom that he now displayed or the great sense of
responsibility that had always rested heavily on his shoulders.
"Oh, Jack," sighed Rose. "I
was just reliving the trip over. It was so…so wonderful. Like there was only
you and I in the world. I wish we could do it all over again."
He lifted her chin and studied her still
impish face. "Well, we do have the trip home. We could perfect all of our
techniques. Cause a scandal. ‘Look at that depraved couple. Is that all they do
all day?’ Can’t you just hear some of those smug people we met on the
ship?" He smiled, mocking some of the society people they had rubbed
elbows with on the way to Europe. There were a few couples who could have
stepped right out of 1912, so stiff and rigid in their behavior. Some things
did not change in the world. "Hey, Rose. Come on. We still have two weeks
to enjoy ourselves here. I am sure we can find plenty of time to be alone in
our own little world." He stood up suddenly and closed his sketchbook.
With one hand he tucked his pencil behind his ear. The other he held out to
Rose who looked at him questioningly. "Where are we going?" Jack’s
forehead puckered and his eyes roamed the street in front of him, as if making
an impulsive decision. His head nodded and he turned to glance at the puzzled
Rose. "This way," he said, as he guided her across the busy street,
dodging taxis, buses, and honking cars as they went. When they reached the
other side of the street, he continued to pull Rose along beside him. Smiling
as he ignored her half-hearted complaints that she could not keep up with him.
Suddenly he stopped in front of a bakery.
"Here, Rose. Time for something to eat." He inclined his head toward
the window, his own mouth watering at the display of rich cakes, creamy puff
pastries, and flaky fruit tarts. "Which one are you going to have?"
he asked.
Rose sighed in exasperation, though her mouth
curved into a smile. "Jack, I won’t be able to fit into my clothes if we
keep eating this stuff. I’ll grow fat as a blimp and you shall have to leave me
behind when I have nothing to wear." She had to admit that the delicacies
before her were special, unlike any desserts that she had ever eaten at home.
The last time she had been in Paris, she had been so restricted by her then
staid mother and Cal, that she had only seen their hotel, several designer
salons, and the Louver. Now with Jack, she was viewing an entirely different
Paris. The areas of the city where the real Parisians lived.
So what if her clothes got a little tight.
She could walk it off on the deck of the ship on the way home. Having a time
like this with Jack was something that she wanted to totally immerse herself
in. She glanced up at Jack, who stood studying her. He had a twinkle in his
eye, which could only mean that some mischief was on his mind. "What are
you thinking?"
"Oh, I was just thinking about you
having nothing to wear." He started to laugh and then silenced the both of
them as he leaned down and captured her lips with his. As he drank in the scent
of her hair and the light fragrance of her perfume, Jack’s mind wandered to the
first time he had ever really touched Rose, aside from the night he had rescued
her. It was the night they had first danced together. He remembered how electrifying
it felt when he slid his hand around the small of her back. How magical it had
been when she looked perplexed and confused as to what was expected of her. And
then how right and how natural it seemed when they took off across the dance
floor, their eyes sharing thoughts that their mouths could not speak.
As Jack rested his head against Rose’s
temple, he caught a glimpse of a building that seemed somehow familiar to him.
It was the place he had often visited when sketching "his French
girls" as Rose still called them. The tall narrow brick structure seemed
to lean slightly to the right. As if in its old age it could no longer support
itself. There was a sign on the front awning proclaiming that a bar was now
occupying the first floor. With many new buildings and the changing of
businesses, Jack had been a bit turned around in the circuitous section of Montmartre
and he had not realized that they were so close to one of his old haunts. The
windows on the second floor were boarded up, but as his eyes scanned higher to
the top floor and the roof, he could make out the distinctive oblong skylight
that, with certainty, marked the place where he had done some of his best
sketching in 1911 and 1912.
Jack drew Rose closer to him, feeling her
relax against his shoulder. Neither of them caring that there were pedestrians
passing on the sidewalk. Hardly anyone gave them a second glance, reassuring
Jack that Paris was still the city of lovers. He bit his lip, contemplating the
plan that was forming in his head. A brash, bold idea that harkened back to a
very young Jack. It might take a little bluffing on his part, and certainly
some charm. But if he had his way, he was about to make the sketch of his
dreams.