CH 83 Paris: Reception

Bonnie had of course seen Paris illuminated any number of times, but it seemed to her, as Richard handed her out of the taxi at the Place du Carrousel, that the Louvre's Cour Napoléon had never been more brightly lit. The close-set street lamps along the courtyard's three sides shone star-like in the dark, their golden glow lighting up the long facades above them, while, radiant in the center, the Pyramid blazed a dazzling white, its brilliance mirrored in the reflecting pools at its base. A red carpet, its length striped at intervals by path-lighting beams, stretched out from the museum entrance nearly to the curb, beckoning them forward and inside.

A handsome young man garbed in head-to-toe black stood by the open entry door, and, at their approach, bid them a good evening and motioned them through to the next set of greeters, a trio of young women, all identically attired in simple black dresses with festive sequined collars. One of these verified that their names were, indeed, on the guest list, and cordially invited them to proceed down to the Hall Napoléon, either by way of the spiral stair, elevator or escalator, as they preferred. Bonnie and Richard opted for the stairs, and, as they descended, Bonnie saw that one side of the enormous atrium had, by means of a temporary wall, been partitioned off from the rest and converted into a more intimate space by the judicious placement of freestanding decorative panels and striking flower arrangements. Servings stations, their surfaces laden with trays of hors d'oeuvres and ranks of wine bottles, were already attracting the attention of some guests while others moved about or stood chatting together at cloth-draped cocktail tables, glasses of champagne or some other libation in hand. Against the burble of their conversations there rose the sound of a spritely classical music piece being performed, Bonnie suspected, by a live if as yet invisible string quartet.

They were met at the bottom of the stairs by still another young hostess whose job it was to inform them of the evening's program. The ceremonial presentation of the reunited Coupes d'amour was scheduled to take place around eight thirty; in the interim, they were welcome to enjoy their exclusive preview of the French Rococo exhibition, either immediately or after having partaken of the refreshments prepared by Michelin-star-chef Paul Bertin, as they liked. Richard deferred to Bonnie on the matter, and she, more anxious for the moment to reconnect with Bear than see the paintings, turned their steps toward the reception area.

She did not immediately spot Bear, or, indeed, anyone she knew, but there were several celebrities she recognized — a venerable French actress, a high-fashion supermodel, a British pop-music power couple — and other glitterati — Paris socialites and one bona fide Royal Highness — whom Richard pointed out to her. He was in the process of identifying a rather ostentatiously bejeweled woman as France's foremost patroness of the arts when Bonnie heard her name spoken and, turning, found a smiling Dr. Cummings coming her way. He was accompanied by a petite, pretty woman whom he introduced, as Bonnie anticipated, as his wife, Gwen.

"I'm so pleased to meet you," Bonnie said, taking the hand Gwen extended. "Dr. Cummings mentioned he was combining business with pleasure on this trip. You arrived a couple of days ago, I believe. Are you enjoying your stay?"

"Oh, yes! Very much! It's such a beautiful city!"

"That it is," she agreed, charmed by the woman's enthusiasm. "And this is my dear friend, Richard de Clermont. Richard, Dr. and Mrs. Cummings."

"De Clermont?" Dr. Cummings echoed, clasping Richard's hand. "The fellow who tracked down all those dusty old historical records? Well, this really is a pleasure, monsieur. May I say your research skills are nothing short of extraordinary."

Richard, pleased but flustered, inclined his head briefly. "I was only too glad to be useful." He swiftly changed the subject, inquiring of Gwen where they were staying, and if the accommodations were to their liking. When, the conversation having moved on to how the Cummings had been spending their time, Gwen recounted having wandered the Galleries Lafayette that morning while her husband worked, Bonnie took advantage of the opening to ask Dr. Cummings if he'd been present at La Coupe d'amour's uncrating.

"I was, yes, and I'm glad to report it didn't suffer the slightest damage in transit. Curtis and his crew back home did their usual excellent job." He chuckled. "If you could've just seen the Louvre staff's faces when they saw how much care had gone into crating the painting! It took them an hour to dismantle the outer and inner cases and remove all the packing materials."

"Dr. Baer must've been relieved."

Cummings nodded. "It's a nerve-wracking business, moving a painting, but it all went smooth as silk, thank God."

"I… um… haven't seen Dr. Baer tonight," Bonnie ventured, doing her best to sound casual. "He didn't ride over from the hotel with you?"

"He did," Gwen confirmed, "but he decided to take in the exhibition first…"

"And we were more interested in trying the gourmet fare. Speaking of which…" Dr. Cummings indicated the serving stations with a tilt of his head. "Care to join us?"

Bonnie opened her mouth to decline, but caught so hopeful a look on Richard's face, she smiled instead and suggested Dr. Cummings lead the way. They loaded their plates from the beautiful arrays of bite-sized morsels — mini tarts, tiny wraps, crostini, skewers of meat, cheeses, vegetables — and repaired to one of the empty cocktail tables to enjoy their feast.

The talk turned, naturally, to French cuisine, a topic on which Richard was, happily for Bonnie, something of an expert. She was left free to lend only half an ear and allow her gaze to travel discreetly over the crowd in search of Bear. She met with no success, but did catch sight of Henri Perrin and Rosa Vincent, both of whom came over, separately, to say hello and linger chatting for a while. Before he moved on, Henri reminded the Cummings that he looked forward to seeing them again Friday evening. "I'm giving a small dinner party," he explained to Bonnie. "In appreciation for the hospitality the Jeff showed our team when we visited Washington. I very much hope you can come as well, Bonnie, and you, too, of course, M. de Clermont."

Rosa, in her turn, seconded the invitation. "Oh, yes! You must come! I'm acting as Henri's hostess, did he tell you? And if you're concerned, Bonnie, about leaving your grandmother in the lurch, you needn't be. Angela — and you, Richard, mon ami — will be my guests. Just an intimate group, as Henri said. Ten people at the most."

Richard had his share of acquaintances stop for conversation, too, and it was while he was engaged with one of these that the Cummings excused themselves to take in the exhibition. Bonnie, impatient to head in that direction but obliged to wait for Richard, cast a few more looks about her, and it was then, as the crowd suddenly shifted, that she spied Bear only a short distance away. He was standing on the edge of a small group, his dark head inclined toward an auburn-haired woman Bonnie could only see from the back. He was nodding, apparently listening, but not with his full attention, if the glances he kept stealing about were any indication. At one point, his gaze skimmed over Bonnie, then shot back, his face lighting with a pleasure that, an instant later, turned self-conscious as his eyes met hers. He acknowledged her stifled smile with a wry tip of his chin, and turned back again to the woman.

Secure in the assumption that Bear would make his excuses and be joining her shortly, Bonnie was content to stay put and feign interest in the anecdote Richard's longwinded friend was relating. Minutes passed; M. Courbet, having at last exhausted his small talk, took himself off, and Bonnie, looking to see what was keeping Bear, smiled to see him making his way toward her. It wasn't until he'd come up to the table and made room at his side for the redhead that she realized he wasn't alone.

Bonnie looked from the woman to Bear, a question in her eyes, but he gave no sign of noticing. He nodded a greeting to Richard, and then, turning to her, said, rather too cordially, "Glad to see you made it, Bonnie. Good flight? Everything go okay?"

"Yes, fine. Thanks." She regarded him uncertainly, confused, but, thankfully, there were the social niceties to fall back on. "Richard," she said, finding a smile for him, "this is my senior colleague, Rudolph Baer. I may've mentioned him a time or two."

"Ah, oui!" Richard reached a hand across the table. "Enchanté, monsieur."

"Bear, this is my friend, and consultant extraordinaire, Richard de Clermont."

"M. de Clermont." Bear took Richard's hand and shook it warmly. "I'm very pleased to meet you, sir. That research you did for Bonnie was top notch!"

"Too kind, monsieur."

"Not in the least." Bear motioned, finally, to his companion, who, in anticipation of being introduced, favored Bonnie and Richard with a dazzling smile. She was an attractive woman, thirtyish, Bonnie thought, tastefully rather than expensively dressed. "I'd like you both to meet Margot Saint-Cyr. She works here at the Louvre — Collections Management — and had a hand in pulling together the Rococo exhibition."

"Just a minor role," she said, murmuring a "bonsoir, monsieur," and an "enchantée" as she shook hands. "Have you seen it yet? No? Oh, but you must! Considering we were given only four months to prepare, we've assembled a truly stellar retrospective. There are twenty-five Lebruns — twenty-five! — most of them on loan from major museums, naturally, but some privately-held works, too, many that haven't been seen by the public in years! And there's a very nice selection of Watteaus as well, including La Boudeuse. Now that was a coup, let me tell you! The Hermitage, as you can imagine, was extremely reluctant to lend it, but we persuaded them in the end. Boucher is, of course, very well-represented… "

"And there're are several Blanchard paintings," Bear put in. "All landscapes," he was quick to point out at Bonnie's flare of interest.

Margot eyed Bonnie with new respect. "You're familiar with Blanchard's oeuvre? I, myself, think he's vastly underrated as an artist. His paintings of classical ruins are, in my estimation, exceedingly fine. Fortunately for us, the current Baron Blanchard has an extensive collection and generously agreed to let us borrow as many paintings as we'd like. He's here tonight, as it happens, as a guest of our department. It was the least we could do to show our appreciation for his…"

Mercifully, at that moment, an amplified voice interrupted, "Mesdames et messieurs, s'il vous plaît, votre attention…" The hubbub died down, and Bonnie, turning like everyone else toward the voice, saw a gentleman on the stage in front of the temporary wall looking out over the crowd from behind a spotlit podium. "Merci. We'll be moving on to the highlight of tonight's celebration in a matter of minutes, so I ask that you kindly remain in the area while those of our guests currently touring the exhibition rejoin us. While we wait, please enjoy another drink and more of Chef Bertin's delicious savories."

Margot swung back around, and, catching Bear's eye, raised her brows inquiringly. He answered with a nod, glanced from Bonnie to Richard, and said apologetically, "Neither of us has had a bite to eat all evening, so, if you'll excuse us…"

"Of course," Richard said affably. "Please, don't let us keep you. We can talk some other time."

"I hope so. Well…" He began to follow after Margot who, already several steps away, was waggling her fingers in farewell. "I guess I'll… ah… see you later." And with that, and a parting "Lovely to meet you" from Margot, they disappeared into the crowd.

Richard watched them out of sight, and then turned back to Bonnie, his expression contrite. "I'm sorry, Bonnie."

She looked at him in surprise. Her feelings were bruised, her spirits deflated, but not on account of anything he'd done. "Whatever for?"

"I was too quick just now in accepting your colleague's excuses. Perhaps you'd've liked to go with them?"

Bonnie forbore pointing out that they hadn't been invited. "No, I'd've said and done exactly as you did."

He flashed her a grateful look. "Good, because, frankly, I found that young woman's company very difficult to bear! It's all very well to be proud of your work, but to go on and on about it as she did…!" He broke off, embarrassed by his outburst, and, collecting himself, offered Bonnie a sheepish smile. "What would you say to another glass of champagne? I find that I could use one."

A drink, or two, Bonnie thought, was most definitely in order. "I say yes."