After Olivia unpacked, she flipped through a magazine, and saw an ad for Sotheby’s real estate agency in Paris. She assumed they’d speak English and decided to call and see what kind of rentals they might have for six months or a year. She felt brave and adventuresome when she called them and spoke to a woman agent with a British accent. She promised to get back to Olivia after she checked her listings. She recommended the seventh, eighth, and sixteenth arrondissements when she heard where Olivia was staying. They were the three most elegant and desirable areas of Paris, as well as the first arrondissement, around the Place Vendôme. She asked if Olivia wanted a furnished or unfurnished apartment, and if a house would be acceptable. Olivia said she thought a house might be too big, and perhaps not as safe and protected as an apartment. She didn’t care whether it was furnished or not. She thought it might be fun to furnish a place sparsely with special things she found and could ship back to New York when she left. Her apartment in New York was tired and dreary anyway, and some new pieces from Paris might improve it when she went back. It all sounded like fun to her now and was part of the adventure. What mattered to her was that she live her life fully, meet new people, do new things, breathe the air of Paris, and be completely alive, not buried in a job going nowhere, tied to a man who never came through for her, with her life on hold, waiting for a miracle that would never happen. Seeing how empty her mother’s life had been right to the end had been a powerful wake-up call. It was everything she didn’t want and was determined she wouldn’t let happen to her. Her mother’s life had seemed like a living death. She had sacrificed her whole life to George and what suited him, and in the end, he had died with his wife at his side, not Olivia’s mother.
The Sotheby’s agent promised to call Olivia as soon as she had something to show her. She said she was going to get right on it and do some research. Olivia was excited when she hung up. She went for a long walk along the quais of the Seine, with Notre-Dame behind her and the Eiffel Tower up ahead, underneath a gray Paris sky, filled with fluffy white clouds. She loved the Paris sky. She was happy just being there, and confident that it had been the right move, and good things were going to happen. She could feel it in the air.
The best domestic agency in Paris was surprisingly small, Joachim discovered when he went there for an appointment two days later. He had spent the days putting order in his mother’s apartment. He had reorganized her closets, straightened the papers on her desk, which she had scolded him for, bought all the kitchen implements she was missing, sent drapes to the dry cleaners for her. He had been a whiz around her apartment, and she told him she was afraid to come home at night, for fear of what he might have done while she was at work. She tried to explain to him that she liked the friendly disorder in her apartment, it was her mess and it worked for her. She knew he meant well, but she told him he needed a job or activity of some kind to keep him busy. So he had called the agency to make an appointment, and look for something temporary.
The woman who ran it looked like a plump, friendly grandmother, or a schoolteacher. He filled out an application and handed it to her, and she frowned as she read it.
“Oh dear . . .” she said under her breath and glanced up at him. “You are very qualified, aren’t you? I see you’ve never worked in France, only in England.” But his French was perfect, and he had listed English, French, Spanish, and German for languages he was fluent in. His documents would allow him to work legally anywhere in Europe. “I’m not surprised you haven’t worked here,” she said kindly. “Unfortunately, there are no great homes here anymore. Most of the chateaux have been closed for years, or sold, most often to people from the Middle East, who bring staff from their own countries. Some are Americans, but they usually don’t have a lot of help. And the French who still own their families’ chateaux don’t have the money to hire anyone and have ancient family retainers who are quietly letting the chateaux fall apart around them. There are no great homes left here as there are in England, or very, very few.”
“I’d be quite satisfied working in a normal-sized house or an apartment,” Joachim said, and the woman nodded thoughtfully, glancing at a list of her current requests, none of which really matched his qualifications, or even came close.
“I don’t suppose you’d want just a driver’s job. We have several of those.”
“That doesn’t really use the full range of my skills,” he said, and she nodded again. It was true. There were so many things on the list of what had been his normal duties. He was an expert, highly trained, experienced butler, and knew how to do things that her clients hadn’t requested in many, many years. And she had the best listings in Paris, for some very important families, and people with noble titles. But what he wanted and was qualified for was an extinct breed in Paris, a dinosaur that had disappeared.
“I’d actually prefer a temporary position here,” he reminded the agent. “I probably will go back to England if the right job turns up there. But in the meantime, I’d like to have something to do, and I can be more flexible than I would be for a long-term job. Although I have to admit that just being a chauffeur doesn’t sound too interesting.”
“You’re probably right. And all the chauffeuring jobs we have on the books right now are for very old people, and they don’t go out much. Although it seems like you were used to that in your last job. Most younger people don’t use chauffeurs anymore. Is there any particular reason why you want a temporary job here?” She wondered if he had a romance going and wanted to be in Paris for that reason. He was a very handsome, distinguished-looking man, and had worn a well-cut dark gray suit to come to see her, with a white shirt and dark navy tie. He looked better dressed and more respectable than most of her clients, but she didn’t comment on it.
“I have an elderly mother here,” he said, and then smiled guiltily, and she noticed that he had a cleft chin when he did. He was almost irresistible, he was so good-looking. He looked more like an actor or a banker than a butler. “She would kill me for calling her that, and she’s very active. But I’ve spent so little time with her, living and working in England. Now that I have a break, I’d like to take advantage of it, and spend some time here, if I don’t drive her crazy staying with her.” The woman smiled. “I only want a live-out position here.” In England, he would have to be live-in to run a house and staff properly, and particularly in the country. Head butler positions were always live-in, even today.
She asked him a few more questions, based on his application, and then stood up. “To be honest, I don’t know if we’ll find anything for you, but I’ll certainly try. Any employer will be lucky to have you, even for a short time. I just don’t know if I have the right prospective employer. You’ll be overqualified for any job, but it’s a question of making the right marriage between your skills and their needs. You never know, something unusual might turn up. One of our Middle Eastern clients might want to hire someone local, but then they’d probably want you long-term. I don’t suppose you want to stay here permanently?” she inquired. He looked hesitant and shook his head.
“I’m better trained for what I was doing in England, running two or three large homes at once. And I enjoy my mother’s company, but I think she’ll be ready for me to go back to England in a few months.” They both laughed, shook hands, and he left a few minutes later. From what she said, he doubted that they would find him anything, and he didn’t expect to hear from her again.