He glanced back down at the index card. “But this name, Winthrop, it is not French.”
“No.” She studied him, wondering if perhaps he might actually be helpful to her mission. “My family name—I mean my great-grandmamma’s—is Beaumont.”
“Ah—Beaumont. That is common name in Avre.”
“Common?” She frowned.
“Oh, not so common as Bernard or Martin.” He pointed to himself. “Or even Durand. But, yes, there is Beaumonts in Avre.” He handed her the brass key.
“A real key.” She fingered the cool metal. “Not a card.”
“My maman—she insists on old ways.” He waved the index card before slipping it back into the wooden box then pointed to a nearby computer screen. “But this—this is for me. Best of both worlds.”
Simone smiled. “I see.”
“Now I will show you to your room.” He rounded the desk and picked up her bags. “This way.” He started to head for the big carved staircase, but then he paused. “You are on top floor, Miss Winthrop. You are good with stairs, no?”
“Yes. Stairs are fine.”
“Good. No lift.” He shrugged. “Some older hotels install lifts, but Maman, she say no.” He chuckled. “The stairs are good for the legs.”
“And they are beautiful.” She ran her hand over the carved banister. “Is this an old building?”
“Circa 1910. My great-grandparents build it.”
“And the name? Château Edelweiss? Isn’t edelweiss Austrian?”
“There is American misconception that edelweiss belongs to Austria,” he said, “but origination is in Switzerland. You know we are closer to Geneva than Paris?”
“I noticed that on the map.”
“My great-grandmamma, she was from Geneva. She named the château.”
“How interesting.”
“I have a friend,” he said as he started up the next flight. “His name is Leon. Leon Beaumont. He owns Café Bleu. Maybe he is your relation?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She made a mental note of Café Bleu. “Does the Café Bleu serve dinner?”
“Oui.” Noel paused at the top of the stairs. “I am happy to take you to meet my friend, Miss Winthrop. He does not speak English. I can interpret for you.”
She wasn’t sure about this. It was a generous offer, but was it wise to involve this somewhat snoopy innkeeper in her personal business? And yet . . . what difference would it make? She was an American looking for relatives in a small town at Christmastime—what was the point in trying to conceal something like that?
Noel set her bags by a carved wooden door. “I hope you do not think I intrude.” He looked genuinely apologetic. “Mamma, she say I am too enthusiastic sometimes.”
Simone couldn’t help but smile. “Enthusiasm is good sometimes. And, really, I would appreciate some help. I’d love for you to introduce me to your friend Leon Beaumont.”
He brightened. “Très bien!”
“What time works for you?”
He checked his watch. “First, I call Leon, Miss Winthrop, to make reservation.”
“Thank you, but please, call me Simone.” She smiled gratefully.
“Oui. Simone. You meet me in lobby at six thirty then?”
Simone felt confused as she slid her key in the door. Had Noel actually invited her to dine with him at six thirty? Or to go and meet with Leon? Although if Leon ran a restaurant, wouldn’t he be busy? Or was she just overthinking all of this? “Oui,” she said as she opened the door. “Merci beaucoup.”
Noel politely tipped his head. “De rien.”
As she took her luggage into the room, she knew that de rien translated to “it’s nothing.” But was it nothing? Had she just agreed to a date with the innkeeper? And, really, what was wrong with that? He spoke excellent English and had a friend who might be her long-lost relative. Perhaps a fifth cousin thrice removed. Who knew? Why not just go with the flow and enjoy the evening? Wasn’t that why she’d taken this trip? Or mostly anyway.
As she unpacked her bags, stowing clothes in an antique dresser and armoire, she remembered her real mission. Great-grandmamma Simone’s treasure. That was why she was here. But it wasn’t as if she could just announce this ridiculous notion to everyone she met. For one thing, they would probably assume she was crazy. Or even worse, they might become suspicious of an outsider trying to sneak in here and steal some family fortune. As if there were such a thing.
She removed the mysterious letter from her bag and read it again. And, although the very same letter had seemed rather bizarre and unbelievable back in California, it suddenly seemed a bit more real here in Avre. Especially in this charmingly rustic room with its rough beams and sloped ceiling. It seemed just the sort of room her great-grandmamma might’ve once occupied.
Simone pushed aside the lace curtains to gaze out the leaded glass window and couldn’t help but gasp at the magical twilight outside. The dusky indigo sky had painted the snow-covered rooftops in shades of pale blue, and windows glowed amber as lights inside were turned on. Once again, Simone got the feeling she was someone else . . . somewhere else . . . or perhaps even traveling back in time. But it wasn’t frightening. In fact, it was pretty exciting!
Chapter 7
CAFÉ BLEU was tucked into an old brick building that appeared to have apartments above. But as Simone got out of Noel’s car, she noticed a sign on the door. “The café is closed,” she said with concern.
“Oui. Is always closed on Monday, but Leon—he let us in.” Noel knocked loudly on the glass door.
“He knows we’re coming?” she asked.
“Oui, oui. He and Nicole—they expect us.”
“Nicole?”
“Leon’s wife and partner,” he said.
An attractive young woman appeared behind the glass. After peering outside, she unlocked and opened the door. With a bright smile, she cheerfully greeted Noel.
“Entrez, s’il vous plaît.” She waved them inside then closed and relocked the door. Suddenly she and Noel were speaking in rapid French, and then another man emerged from the kitchen, presumably Leon, and all three chattered so fast that Simone felt lost. But as introductions were made, Noel switched to English.
“I told them who you are, where you come from, and why you are here,” he told her as Leon helped remove their coats. “Leon is eager to know who your relative is and if you are related to him.”
Leon led them to a table set with four places and pulled out a chair. “Venez vous asseoir ici, s’il vous plait, Simone.”
She thanked him as she sat, watching as Nicole, still chattering with Noel, handed her husband a bottle of red wine then sat across from Simone.
“Mon meilleur—Bordeaux.” Leon held the bottle before Simone. “Spécialement pour vous.”
“Merci beaucoup.” She smiled, honored that he was presenting her with his “best wine.”
He filled their glasses then lifted his in a toast. “À Simone, j’espère une cousine de loin.” He smiled warmly at her.