Chapter 6
ALREADY SIMONE felt that her French was improving. The taxi driver seemed to understand her perfectly when she asked him to transport her to Gare du Nord—and soon she was in front of the Paris train station. Like everything else in Paris, Gare du Nord was beautiful. The front of the stone castle with its high-arched windows looked so elegant that she momentarily doubted it was truly a train station. But seeing other travelers going in and out with luggage, she decided this must be the right place.
The high, curved ceilings inside the terminal resembled a cathedral. After getting directions to the correct platform, she felt glad she’d come early. She leisurely strolled through the cavernous building and, since she’d skipped breakfast, she had plenty of time to get a latte and croissant to take with her. Strolling toward her platform with her smaller bag over a shoulder, her wheeled bag trailing behind her, and her coffee in hand, she imagined herself a seasoned traveler. And knowing this leg of her journey would never leave the ground actually made her smile.
Even so, it felt exciting to board the sleek silver train. It felt jarringly modern compared to the old-world Parisian culture she’d just enjoyed, and the interior was clean and comfortable. She took a seat by the window and made herself at home, setting out her coffee, pastry, and the novel she’d barely begun to read. So far so good. Wasn’t this what real seasoned travelers might do?
Between gazing out the window and covertly observing passengers, many who appeared to be headed for ski slopes, Simone was not the least bit bored. Without a doubt, she preferred train travel to flying. Too bad no train could cross the Atlantic. It wasn’t long before the Parisian buildings dissolved into less-populated, more suburban-looking areas. Eventually they were passing through the countryside with charming small towns along the way. Between the towns were numerous farms and fields, many with livestock like cattle, sheep, or goats. And, of course, there were vineyards. But because of recent rains, it all had a slightly soggy, quiet appearance . . . as if the land were resting for winter. Simone tried to imagine how green and alive it might appear in the springtime. Would she ever be back that time of year?
After a few hours, she realized it was nearly two and she was hungry. Seeing other passengers leaving and returning with food, she decided to do some exploring for herself. She picked up her bag and, acting like she knew where she was going, followed a young couple through a few cars only to discover they were headed to the rear of the train to smoke cigarettes. Embarrassed, she pretended to be stretching her legs as she turned around and proceeded in the other direction. Eventually she found the buffet car and got herself a light lunch and returned to her seat.
She was just finishing up when she realized the train was heading into hills dusted with snow. It didn’t take long before the dusting turned into deeper snow, thick and fresh and white. They were obviously at the foot of the French Alps now. Feeling almost childlike, she leaned toward the window, peering out and watching the snowy whiteness in wide-eyed wonder. She was not in Southern California anymore!
Simone felt like a character in an old movie as she got off the train in Avre. She remembered watching Dr. Zhivago with Grandma as a teen, and besides being a very long movie, it had involved a lot of snow. And Avre had a lot of snow. Fortunately, she had on her boots and warm coat, but the cold wind still cut through her as she hurried into the bright red two-story train station. She was pleased to find it was warm inside.
It took a couple of attempts to speak in stilted French before Simone pulled out the little notebook where she’d penned her travel information (in case her phone battery died) and showed it to the woman behind the desk. The woman spoke quickly in French, pointing this way and that, suggesting that Simone could walk. Then finally, looking at Simone’s luggage, she said what sounded like “take a taxi.” So that’s what Simone did.
Although the hotel really wasn’t that far from the train station, Simone was glad she hadn’t attempted to walk. She couldn’t imagine dragging her wheeled bag through about a foot of freshly fallen snow. Although people were out with snow shovels, there were lots of spots that had yet to be cleared. Still, it was so beautiful—so white and pristine and, thanks to the sunshine, glistening—that she couldn’t wait to get out and walk around in this winter wonderland. After she put on some more layers of clothing!
The hotel looked very much like the photo that Andrea had shown her last week. Was it really only a week ago? With its steep-angled roof and high narrow windows, it resembled a chalet. Covered with snow, it was charming and sweet. The interior wasn’t disappointing either. The beautiful front desk was intricately carved with bears and rabbits, trees and leaves. And the big stone fireplace had a crackling fire. On the wood-plank floors were worn Persian rugs with several large pieces of furniture—from antiques to big leather chairs and sofas—here and there. All looked very inviting.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle!” a man called as he carried in a load of firewood, depositing it into a box by the fireplace. Then continuing to speak in rapid French, some she understood but most she didn’t, he waved her over to the big reception desk. In broken French she explained her language challenges and told him her name. To her surprise, he replied in English.
“Ah, Miss Winthrop, welcome to Château Edelweiss.”
“You speak English!” she exclaimed happily.
“Yes. I studied in London.” He waved his hand. “To be a good innkeeper, I want to speak fluently.”
“Oh, that’s so nice. I’ve just come from Paris where, it seems, no one speaks English.”
“Aha. Did you travel well?”
“Yes.” She eagerly nodded. “It was a lovely train ride, and the snow made everything so pretty.”
“You like snow?” His blue eyes twinkled with interest as he removed an index card from a file box.
“I haven’t had much experience with it,” she said, “but I do think it’s beautiful.”
“Then you are in the right place.”
She smiled. “Good.”
He stuck out his hand. “I am Noel Durand. Welcome to my family’s inn.”
“Thank you, Mr. Durand.” She shook his hand.
“Please, call me Noel.” He tipped his head politely.
“Okay. Thank you, Noel.”
“And you? You are from California?” He looked at the index card.
“Yes.”
“Traveling alone?” Noel turned around to pluck a brass key from a board with numerous hooks.
“Uh . . . yes.” She wondered about this inquisitiveness but figured he must already know these answers anyway.
He turned back around. “And coming to Avre . . . in wintertime? So close to Christmas . . . are you a ski enthusiast?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“You have family here?” He tilted his head to one side.
“Maybe.” She grimaced, unsure of how much to reveal. Really, was this any of his business?
“Aha. You are looking for long-lost relations then.”
“Sort of.” She pursed her lips. Sure, Noel seemed a nice enough fellow, and he was certainly handsome with his blonde curls and blue eyes, but she didn’t appreciate his prying.