Chapter Two- A Day at the Louvre
Paris, L'Hôtel Saint Germain
Penelope had done her best to keep her promise and not replay the moment the train came as she tried to fall asleep that night. L'Hôtel Saint Germain lay within the confines of the Quartier Latin and was just as she had left it two days earlier. She didn't care much for the art deco style, a little too dated since its great revival had been twenty years before. Neither did the ridiculous sheets, of which there were far too many and were impossible to get under, do much for her. The bath, however, was glorious. Just large enough to lie down in properly, one of the ones made for two people that Penelope relished enjoying on her own. She had filled it almost to the brim then added more bubbles than a five year old would have done when left unattended with the bottle. That had taken up most of the evening. Anderbad seemed a long way away as she let the steam mask the room, even if it was less than twenty-four hours ago.
The bath however, was not enough and under the stiff sheets she couldn't sleep. As hard as she tried not to replay the last few moments of the train hurtling towards her, she couldn't stop thinking about it. The wind, the horrible roar and then the sudden drop to the ground that jarred her…
She gave up, pulling a dressing gown over her nightdress and going over to her balcony. Virgil had given them a lift to Paris, taking the Rolls inside Two's belly. It saved Parker another night of driving and gave her the chance to make sure Gordon was all right. He had been unusually subdued since handing Godber over to the police, keeping to the cockpit until Sir Jeremy requested a viewing of the machine he had helped build. Penelope lost track of the aquanaut after that as he had disappeared into the woodwork it seemed. She found him when she looked out of the glass door, not needing much light to recognise the fire engine red head in the swimming pool. Someone was throwing things into the water, which were being retrieved as if Gordon was some sort of aquatic dog playing fetch. Penelope opened the doors, the night air smoothing back her headscarf. Paris was still noisy, still alive even at two am. Virgil's laugh rang out as the nearest among the city's sounds.
"You've missed one," he called out. Gordon did a lap of the pool before resurfacing.
"Nope, you just can't count. Throw them again."
"I'm telling you, I had six and now you've missed one. See." Five plops echoed up the two storeys to where Penelope was standing. "So bring back six."
"You've dropped one somewhere!" With that Gordon went under, bringing the weights back within seconds. "Five."
"Don't blame me. You've left one at the bottom." Virgil was then unceremoniously splashed. "Oi! That's it, throw them in yourself."
"But Virgie…. That's no fun!" Penelope smirked at how good Gordon was at mimicking Alan. She knew she was intruding, had they known she was there they would have fallen back into their more mature selves. She couldn't close the door on them though, avoiding the silence of her room was worth the moral dilemma of eavesdropping on the boys.
"I'll throw one at you in a second." Virgil took off his shoes, sitting with his legs in the water. At her angle it looked to Penelope as if he had a large red fish bobbing around his feet, Gordon's body hidden by water displacement. Eventually he lay his head on the poolside next to Virgil's knee.
"You okay, Nemo?" Virgil asked him, almost too softly for Penelope to hear.
"I'm fine." It was too quick and forced. "I'd just rather not to have to open fire on someone again. I never even liked shooting at dummies." Virgil's hand, pale in the floodlights ran itself through Gordon's wet hair. Penelope had seen Scott in Gordon's face the moment he began to shoot at Godber. It was another unpleasant part of her memory of the tunnel. Gordon wasn't supposed to have the same serious scowl Scott often wore.
"I'm sorry you had to do that. I should have…"
"Don't, Virg. Just don't. You couldn't hit a barn door a three paces. Hell knows how you managed to get Penelope down without hitting her." She shuddered at the thought. Virgil's hands were always steady though, for which she was grateful.
"Yeah… That and the train…"
"Virg. You did it. Everything's fine. Where was the winch in the end anyway?"
"Inside, I think. Just opposite where you were standing. Doesn't matter, they'll make sure that control station's properly manned from now on." Virgil threw a weight nonchalantly into the water. The splash went ignored. Penelope finally felt guilty for listening in and decided she'd go in search of tea.
The hotel kept a small lounge open all night, not as public as the bar so appearing in her robe was acceptable. Fifty years ago she would have been killed by the shame but standards had become lax. Besides, it was Paris. Two businessmen in suits crumpled from a day of walking were sitting next to each other by the widow, heads close together. Penelope sat down in an chintzy armchair facing the archway entrance, politely returning then proceeding to ignore the smiles directed at her by the elderly gentleman in a flannel dressing gown sitting at the breakfast bar. Had the hotel been slightly smaller the room would have been homely. She ordered her red bush and poked at the day old newspaper on the table. There was nothing of interest, an update on the Sun Probe as it left the immediate vicinity of Venus and something to do with the French economy. She didn't doubt another crisis was looming, one always was.
"Mind if I join you?" Virgil's voice made her jump. Holding her tray of tea and another steaming mug of something for himself he stood over her with a shy smile.
"Why thank you, darling!" He set the tray down then dragged the second armchair closer. "I thought you boys would be in bed." She wasn't going to admit to being well aware they had been poolside only minutes ago.
"I sent Alan and Gordon to bed. Alan's a sloth and Gordon's shattered. I'm still on island time." The coffee wasn't going to help matters. At least he had it weak, she thought. "Dad called."
"Oh?" He was grinning at her.
"He said you'd asked him to give us some shore leave."
"I may have told him your boys were overworked and deserved a break. You're already in Paris so why not make a holiday of it?" It had seemed a good idea three hours earlier, time for them to relax and forget the world was relying on them, but since overhearing exactly how perturbed Gordon was, she wondered if letting them go back to Scott would have been the better plan.
"Well thank you. We fly back the day after tomorrow. If all goes to plan. Makes a nice change of pool for Gordon." As if they could get the fourth Tracy out of the water for anything except food, regardless of his mental state.
"I suppose you and Alan will have to find something to do all day." Alan finding something to do wouldn't be the problem, keeping him within reach in case of an emergency would be.
"Oh, we'll find something. I suppose you're driving straight back to England?" He stuttered for a moment, not quite forming another word. Coffee was hastily sipped. Penelope simply stirred her tea and waited for him to carry on, in the dull lamplight his neck appeared to have gone a little red. For a man who could face an erupting volcano without getting flustered he appeared to be having trouble speaking.
"There's a Renaissance exhibition in the Louvre," she said, taking pity on him. "I thought I might at least have a day in Paris enjoying myself." It was endearing how his eyes lit up at the mention of the Louvre.
"I read about that, they've collected all of the Florentine school's work together, or as much as is on public display."
"Perhaps some Da Vinci would put the tunnel out of my mind." She received a rather long look from him over the top of his mug.
"You'll never get near them. No, the lesser known artists would be more worth your while. Then you can see where he got his inspiration from and what happened after him."
"Well, I must confess it's not really my area of expertise." She drew her speech out, waiting.
"If- if you'd like I'd love to show you around. There's so much more than just the Mona Lisa on show." Then someone's, probably Gordon's, voice in his head stopped him. "That is, if you wanted me to. I tend to ramble on and bore people."
"I would love to go with you, darling." She gave him her prettiest smile. "I'm sure I'll be in for a first class tour. I'll ask Parker to be ready at ten." If Virgil stayed off the coffee he would still have plenty of time to adjust to Central European Time.
"That's alright, Penelope. Alan sorted me a car from the Paris offices." At least the unlimited Autobahns were out of Alan's reach. She expected the nearest race track would be getting a visit from the youngest Tracy come morning.
"Splendid, dear. Good night then." With some plans to distract herself with and a definitive time when her attempts at sleeping would end Penelope decided she would give going to bed another try.
"Good night, Penelope." He even stood as she left, as if he were in a period drama. Perhaps, she thought with a smile, Scott had lent his collection of Jane Austen adaptations to his brother.
Penelope made a mental note to introduce something other than brown to Virgil's wardrobe. As flattering as the odd ochre jumper could look he did seem to make a consistent effort to be in something resembling a soil core more often than not. That morning it was a plain terracotta shirt under a jumper that could have been part of the Malory Towers school uniform. She hoped it would warm up and he would ditch the jumper in favour of the shirt. Both he and Scott looked rather dashing in paler colours. Then again, Paris was hardly a tropical climate so Virgil was probably cold. At least he didn't clash with her blue dress too much.
He stood by the car, something sleek and visibly chosen by Alan so that Virgil wouldn't embarrass his brother by driving around in something outdated. Off duty Virgil had a way of lounging against things, Scott opted for sitting squarely on a surface but the middle Tracy just sort of reclined. She wondered if she could sneak a sepia photograph, possibly with a cigar, just to round off the dashing movie-hero from the mid nineteen hundreds look.
"Good morning, Penelope."
"Hello, dear. Thank you," she answered as he opened the door for her. The car smelled of fake leather, which proceeded to squeak when Virgil got in. "I didn't see Gordon in the pool, I hope he and Alan managed to occupy themselves." Her companion chuckled.
"Alan's dropped Gordon off at the Olympic Aquatics Centre. He thought he might try out another Olympic pool for the day. Alan's gone driving somewhere."
"He retired very young, they both did," Penelope mused quietly. The car barely moved, stuck in the tourist traffic.
"Alan chose to stop to join International Rescue. Gordon couldn't carry on after the accident." Virgil's sigh was heavy.
"But he seems fully recovered, you wouldn't have known about the hydrofoil!" She desperately wished she hadn't mentioned their careers, Scott's attitude to his own should have warned her to keep well clear for the others as well.
"It messed his back up bad. We're lucky he's alive and walking. Four people died, and Kat lost her legs." His scowl had nothing to do with the hapless motorist in front of them.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realise, I knew it was a terrible accident, but..."
"It's all right. He's still holding onto the hope that one day he'll reach the speeds he used to. Hopefully before he's too old to stand a chance." The Champs Élysées stretched out in front of them as they turned around the memorial come roundabout Arc de Triomphe. Virgil seemed to have to concentrate intently in the traffic and she caught the repeated filthy looks he shot at the gear-stick.
"What do you suppose you would be doing if your father hadn't called you to be part of his organisation?" she asked suddenly. Virgil shrugged.
"Building bridges probably." He sounded less than enthusiastic. "Dad always expected Scott to join the Air Force , so when Johnny pulled out to go to space he started teaching me business. I guess that's probably how things would have gone if Scott hadn't dropped everything and come home." It was hardly an inspired speech, of all the things Tracy Enterprises was involved in Virgil had mentioned possibly the least interesting. Penelope wasn't quite sure how to turn that around into something positive. "Doesn't matter though, I guess Dad always had International Rescue at the back of his mind. I don't suppose there's anywhere to park?"
"I'm not sure." The silence was broken by another driver's liberal use of his horn and the engine's protests at Virgil forgetting to change gear.
"Alan's trick, he knows I hate stick shifts. I don't get to drive that often anymore." At last something he sounded more relieved about. "Here we go." With skill learnt from reversing Two into the cliff hanger, Virgil parallel parked like a champion. So close that he had to go two cars down to actually get through to the pavement and open her door.
"Well, if you can reverse something as large as Thunderbird Two you can reverse anything."
"Ah, it's nothing." Praise made the reddish tinge in his neck return. "Shall we?" She took his offered arm and they set of towards the one time royal palace.
The queue was manageable and only snaked around the great glass pyramid once due to the blustery weather. Penelope tapped her foot impatiently, there were few things she had to queue for and it was an English custom she had never enjoyed. Virgil, as ever, was more patient.
"I read a book where aliens climbed down the Eiffel Tower and began to take over Paris," he said, almost directly in her ear as he stood behind her. "They left all the galleries alone, to take back whole for their victory parade."
"Virgil, darling, I do worry about what you boys end up reading at times. Scott was explaining the plot of some Victorian space adventure to me over tea the other day." Scott had suddenly developed a rather odd taste for science fiction. Penelope thought the effort he was clearly making to ingratiate himself with a certain someone's family quite endearing, and completely unnecessary.
"Don't worry about me, it was John's book. Besides, what could possibly happen?" She had to turn around to glare at him. No Tracy should tempt fate like that. He laughed, low and loud enough to make the people in front of them turn around curiously. "We've dealt with giant alligators, Penelope. We can handle aliens."
"Virgil, darling. Please shut up." He just chuckled warmly and they moved forward, a few paces closer to the pyramid.
Finally they reached the escalators taking them beneath the glass and into the huge chamber below. After that it wasn't too long a wait before they were walking along the gallery towards the exhibition. Virgil once again had her arm politely in his and his other held a guidebook. Somehow he was also flicking it open and glancing around to find the corresponding paintings.
"Here." Virgil directed her towards the wall furthest from the crowd waiting to catch a glimpse of the da Vinci's off in their own rooms. "Hercules and Deianira by Antonio Pollaiolo." There were the obligatory naked Greek gods and some arrows being pointed at people. "Nessus the centaur planned to kidnap Hercules' wife, of course he turned up just in time and shot him. Not before Nessus gave her a phial of poison, claiming it would keep Hercules faithful to her. When she tried it out it killed him." Penelope could dimly remember classical literature lessons in a stuffy parlour not so far from Anderbad. "The proportion's a bit off and I'd hardly call the anatomy exact. I wonder if Berlin let them have Daphne."
"It's getting rather crowded in here, perhaps we should try one of the smaller rooms and wait until everyone goes for lunch?" Penelope suggested. The queue to see the Botticelli wall was pushing them out of the way.
"All right." Slightly disappointed at missing Daphne Virgil carried on into a markedly less busy part of the exhibition. As they walked slowly around, she realised that even her knowledge of fine arts and culture left her completely unaware of the real treasures around her. Now that he wasn't critiquing the old masters Virgil was pointing out the secrets to every painting, even those he hadn't heard of.
There was a relentless stream of information, not too fast and delivered in a soft, private voice. Penelope could almost have taken notes. Virgil's knowledge seemed to encompass everything from classical myths to the bible as well as the actual painting technique. He knew a fair amount of gossip about the painters as well.
"This one was a bit rogue, the Florentine School weren't really ready for his ideas about perspective," Virgil said quietly, leaning as close to the glass as he dared. "And the strokes-" He stopped and flushed a warm red, which she immediately found adorable. "Sorry, stop me if I'm rambling." He had been talking non-stop for a good ten minutes, she worried he might need some oxygen soon.
"Not at all, it is quite fascinating." She graced him with a smile and waited to see if that would make him blush harder. Instead it simply began another tirade of information about the paintings. Virgil moved them gently on to the next one and she found she could pick out what he meant. He could have been an art history teacher, she decided, given an audience who actually listened instead of the deaf ears of his brothers.
By the time they finished the second gallery her feet were beginning to ache. Her heels were fabulous, it was Paris after all. They weren't, however, the most comfortable things imaginable. Penelope kept her face neutral but couldn't hide her lack of enthusiasm when Virgil suggested they climbed the stairs and investigated another gallery.
"Lunch?" he asked her instead.
"That would be wonderful." She smiled brightly.
The restaurant was packed, the promise of more than the usual amount of Florentine masters had attracted droves of chattering visitors, all with screaming children who were being made to see cultural heritage they clearly had no interest in. Virgil tugged at her arm, his voice getting lost at first. He had found a table and managed to weave them both through the crowd until Penelope was finally sitting down. In the noisy restaurant her sigh of relief was inaudible.
"I wonder how many days it would take to see everything in their collection," Virgil murmured once they were both sitting and were turning over the plastic coated menus curiously.
"At the speed you pass them, dear? You might be done by the end of the next millennia." He rolled his eyes and she received an expression Gordon was probably quite used to.
"Sorry, I was trying to go at a snail pace, which according to the guys is twice my usual pace." She laughed, patting his hand ever so briefly to reassure him.
"I don't mind, I just think we would need a little longer than you've been given in Paris to get around all of them." He sighed wistfully, flicking through the guidebook as she examined the menu. For central Paris it was hardly what she expected. She made a note to treat the boys to a proper Paris meal that evening. As Virgil got up to go and place their order, the small restaurant being too busy for waiter service, she realised it was the longest she had seen one of the younger boys without someone else around. That was ignoring the two hundred people currently in the same room as them. Scott of course had been around so long and there had been early conversations with John whilst setting up International Rescue to check she had everything sorted, but this wasn't a Thunderbird pilot bringing her a plate of salmon and a tall orange juice.
Virgil set her plate down gently, then sat to face his far less substantial fare. He opened his pre-packaged cheese sandwich slowly.
"Did nothing take your fancy?" she asked him as she started on her fish. "This is quite nice. I thought you boys ate poor Kyrano's kitchen empty three times a day." Virgil gave her a small smile.
"They had an awful lot of walnut cakes and pecan pies on the counter," he said. "It's probably overkill, but I'd rather not surprise you with anaphylaxis, I generally save that until after we've finished Botticellis. Packaged food is usually safer."
"Of course. We can't have you rushed off to hospital before we've seen the best bits." Penelope made a mental note to re-remind Lillian of Virgil's nut allergy. "Just out of interest, you do have that, er, what's it called, pen thing?"
Virgil gestured to his left trouser pocket.
"Always. We had one too many close shaves when we were kids. I think John even took some up to Five with him, just in case." Penelope was sure that John, having been at school with Virgil, had some traumatic memories of adrenaline pens and peanuts.
"The curse of America's national food, I suppose?" she asked lightly. "A victim of pb and j's?" She put on her most outrageous American accent, sounding not too dissimilar to Ruth Tracy. Virgil laughed.
"Don't ever try and go undercover as an American, Penelope. But yeah, that and unexpected nut oils."
"Ah, those dastardly villains, one never knows when the secret nut oils may strike." Virgil chuckled as he broke open his crisps.
The short respite over lunch gave her feet just enough time to recover before they were subjected to another meander through the exhibition. Virgil was significantly quieter than he had been that morning, his nose in the guidebook as they passed unfamiliar artists by. He wasn't guiding her any more. Instead he was frowning ever so gently at the book before double checking the paintings. For a while she let him be, content to look at the paintings without the endless stream of information from her companion. When he came to a halt beside a rather busy market scene, oblivious to her and making an annoyed humming noise repeatedly, she decided to step in.
"Virgil, dear? Is there something wrong?" She could almost see him as a toddler trying to fit a square peg in the wrong hole of his peg box, his face creasing up as something stuck out as wrong.
"The guidebook's inaccurate." He sighed, pocketing the small book. "Which one's your favourite then?" His sudden change in demeanour caught her slightly by surprise and he chuckled. "That was how Mom would keep Gordon occupied. She'd send him off to find his favourite and let me look at them in peace. He'd pick the one with the most knights and dragons in. Scott still does it if I make him come along." Penelope looked around the room slowly, wondering how she could choose the best of the Florentine masters' works.
"Portrait of a Young Woman," she answered. "I'm not quite so obvious as to choose a da Vinci but Botticelli has a place in my heart."
For a long time Virgil didn't answer, looking over at the line they had left earlier that wound its way past the Botticelli's. Half of his mouth rose into a very private smile.
"Yeah, it's nice." Once again an arm was offered to her. "We should probably head back, in case Gordon or Alan want to do something with their evening in Paris." She couldn't help but notice that it was his brother's plans that required him to leave the Louvre, not his own. They re-entered the imposing lobby, the afternoon sun falling through the pyramid. Penelope could see why it had been an unpopular choice when first installed.
Outside the music and faint whirring of the near permanent funfair further along in the Jardin des Tuileries wafted just beyond their reach. Freshly mown grass tickled Penelope's throat. Then Virgil stopped so suddenly he could have had emergency brakes on.
"Why wear something uncomfortable?" He jerked his head down at her heels. "There's no one to see."
"Fashion, darling." Besides, you're here to see and you are hardly 'no one'. Only Penelope didn't say the last bit out loud.
"There's grass, you could just take them off and be comfortable." She laughed at the notion until she realised he was seriously suggesting she took her heels off. Knowing she would ruin her tights she did so, only to have her shoes snatched lightly out of her hand at once.
"Virgil! Give them back!" There was a grin to rival Gordon's there and he took a step away. Penelope laughed. She and her classmates had done the same to each other a thousand times at school. There was little use in giving chase but she gave as good as she could, Virgil outrunning her easily, staying just beyond reach as they sprinted through the park. He dodged behind a tree, doubling back so that they ran around it, laughing. She must have been still in shock from Anderbad, the idea of running through a Parisian park in just her tights chasing after her shoes was so preposterous it was unfathomable almost.
Then Virgil let her catch him and she grabbed the heels, hugging the arm that had been holding them. For the briefest of moments Virgil held her waist before they drew apart, breathless and giggling.
"There, that was better than in shoes."
"That was immature and so incredibly improper," she answered. "And ever so much fun." His face was hardly flushed, his breath gone more due to laughter than from running and she reminded herself to start some new exercise regime to keep up next time. Immediately Penelope berated herself. There wasn't going to be a next time because ladies like her did not run shoe-less through Parisian parks after handsome Americans.
Heels in one hand, the other holding Virgil's arm, they sauntered on through the gardens. It was strange to no longer be at eye height to him, without her heels she had lost a good four inches and found that she had to look up at him. Her hair had come loose as well, she noted with an uncaring thought that would later shock her more composed self.
"Here we go…" Virgil gave the longest sigh a person without small children could give and pulled his vibrating phone out of his pocket. "Gordon." There was an endearing resignation in his tone, coupled with the slightest hint of well-placed fear. Penelope took the car keys from his hand to let herself sit down and fix her hair in the mirror.
"You know what, that's actually not too bad an idea," she caught him saying as he slid into the driver's seat. "Yes I know what it is." There was a pained silence and for a moment Virgil looked at her as if he had forgotten she was there. He winced before half muttering as discreetly as possible: "Can't you blackmail Alan or something?" Penelope's eyebrows jumped up. "Okay, I don't need to know that, Gordon… Please stop talking. Please just shut up… Okay, sure." Virgil held his head in his hands once he had gotten rid of Gordon, shaking it slowly.
"I'm rather going to have to inquire."
"Gordon wants to go to the Follies." Her eyebrows once again rose. "We just need to make sure Grandma doesn't find out."
"I don't need to know what Gordon has over Alan in that case, do I?" Virgil started the engine, shuddering at the thought.
"You really, really don't."
