Read Online To Be the Best by Barbara Taylor Bradford - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Taylor Bradford
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automobiles, being driven as if they were in a miniature Grand Prix, would make it safely without crashing into each other and creating a major disaster. That seemed to be almost an impossibility.
But suddenly their car was free of the traffic jam, jostling bumpers, screeching tyres and madly hooting horns, and was pulling onto the Champs-Elysées. She caught her breath in delight as she usually did upon seeing this glittering avenue.
Whenever she returned to Paris she remembered the very first time she had come here and all the other times after that, and there was always something of those times caught up in her feeling for it. Memory and nostalgia were woven into her love for the City of Light, her favourite city, the most beautiful city in the world. It was full of evocations of the past and of all those who had been with her who had made those occasions so very special: Grandy, her mother and father, her brother Philip, Tessa, and her cousin Emily, who had been her dearest companion on so many trips when they had been girls.
He was very much bound up with her remembrances of Paris, too, and in a short while she would be seeing him; she made up her mind not to spoil the weekend by worrying about the children or having regrets that she had changed her plans to be with him instead of them. That would not be fair, and anyway, she had always considered regrets to be pointless and a waste of valuable time.
They were on the Rond-Point now and ahead she could see the Egyptian obelisk built in the reign of Ramses II and transported from Luxor to rest in the immense rectangle of floodlit stone that was the Place de la Concorde. How spectacular the sight was…a breathtaking scene that was forever etched in her mind. She felt a sudden thrill of pleasure at being back here and she was glad she had told the chauffeur to take the longer route to the hotel.
But within a matter of minutes they were entering the Place Vendôme, that quiet gracious square of perfectly-proportioned buildings designed in the reign of Louis XIV, and coming to a standstill in front of the Ritz, and Paula was alighting and thanking the chauffeur and asking him to deal with the luggage.
She moved rather swiftly through the grand and elegant lobby and down the seemingly endless gallery filled with display cases from Paris shops, making for the Rue Cambon section of the hotel – known as côté Cambon, just as the other side where she had entered was called côté Vendôme. When she reached the smaller lobby she took the lift to the seventh floor and ran the length of the corridor to his suite. She found she was taut with excitement when she reached the door. It was slightly ajar, in anticipation of her arrival, and she pushed it open, went in, closed it softly, and leaned against it, catching her breath.
He was standing behind the desk, his jacket off, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, his dark tie dangling loose around his neck. He was talking on the telephone and he lifted asunburned hand in greeting, his face lighting up at the sight of her. He paused in what he was saying into the receiver, listened carefully to his caller and finally said in a low rapid tone, ‘Merci, Jean-Claude , à demain,’ and hung up.
They moved towards each other at precisely the same moment.
As she passed the small Louis XV table holding a bucket of champagne and two crystal glasses she gaily twirled the bottle resting in the ice and said in a light voice, ‘You were sure of yourself, sure I’d come, weren’t you?’
‘Of course,’ he laughed, ‘I’m irresistible.’
‘And so terribly modest.’
They met in the middle of the room, stood facing each other for a split second.
Quickly she said, ‘I almost didn’t…I was worried…worried about the children…they need me – ’
‘Madam,’ he said, ‘your husband needs you too,’ and reaching out he pulled her into his arms. He bent down and kissed her deeply on the mouth and she returned his
But suddenly their car was free of the traffic jam, jostling bumpers, screeching tyres and madly hooting horns, and was pulling onto the Champs-Elysées. She caught her breath in delight as she usually did upon seeing this glittering avenue.
Whenever she returned to Paris she remembered the very first time she had come here and all the other times after that, and there was always something of those times caught up in her feeling for it. Memory and nostalgia were woven into her love for the City of Light, her favourite city, the most beautiful city in the world. It was full of evocations of the past and of all those who had been with her who had made those occasions so very special: Grandy, her mother and father, her brother Philip, Tessa, and her cousin Emily, who had been her dearest companion on so many trips when they had been girls.
He was very much bound up with her remembrances of Paris, too, and in a short while she would be seeing him; she made up her mind not to spoil the weekend by worrying about the children or having regrets that she had changed her plans to be with him instead of them. That would not be fair, and anyway, she had always considered regrets to be pointless and a waste of valuable time.
They were on the Rond-Point now and ahead she could see the Egyptian obelisk built in the reign of Ramses II and transported from Luxor to rest in the immense rectangle of floodlit stone that was the Place de la Concorde. How spectacular the sight was…a breathtaking scene that was forever etched in her mind. She felt a sudden thrill of pleasure at being back here and she was glad she had told the chauffeur to take the longer route to the hotel.
But within a matter of minutes they were entering the Place Vendôme, that quiet gracious square of perfectly-proportioned buildings designed in the reign of Louis XIV, and coming to a standstill in front of the Ritz, and Paula was alighting and thanking the chauffeur and asking him to deal with the luggage.
She moved rather swiftly through the grand and elegant lobby and down the seemingly endless gallery filled with display cases from Paris shops, making for the Rue Cambon section of the hotel – known as côté Cambon, just as the other side where she had entered was called côté Vendôme. When she reached the smaller lobby she took the lift to the seventh floor and ran the length of the corridor to his suite. She found she was taut with excitement when she reached the door. It was slightly ajar, in anticipation of her arrival, and she pushed it open, went in, closed it softly, and leaned against it, catching her breath.
He was standing behind the desk, his jacket off, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, his dark tie dangling loose around his neck. He was talking on the telephone and he lifted asunburned hand in greeting, his face lighting up at the sight of her. He paused in what he was saying into the receiver, listened carefully to his caller and finally said in a low rapid tone, ‘Merci, Jean-Claude , à demain,’ and hung up.
They moved towards each other at precisely the same moment.
As she passed the small Louis XV table holding a bucket of champagne and two crystal glasses she gaily twirled the bottle resting in the ice and said in a light voice, ‘You were sure of yourself, sure I’d come, weren’t you?’
‘Of course,’ he laughed, ‘I’m irresistible.’
‘And so terribly modest.’
They met in the middle of the room, stood facing each other for a split second.
Quickly she said, ‘I almost didn’t…I was worried…worried about the children…they need me – ’
‘Madam,’ he said, ‘your husband needs you too,’ and reaching out he pulled her into his arms. He bent down and kissed her deeply on the mouth and she returned his
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