Reverie. Candace Gold

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СКАЧАТЬ tried to mentally photograph everything she saw as her cab approached Paris. The driver, Habib, was Moroccan and his English was passable. However, when he discovered she spoke French well, he seemed delighted to be her unofficial tour guide, pointing out everything of importance that they passed. She found the need to pinch herself to confirm she was really in Paris and had to restrain herself from hopping out of the cab and checking each landmark more intimately.

      Paris had been divided into twenty districts called Arrondissements. Her apartment was situated in the sixteenth Arrondissement. According to Habib, this was where the wealthy people lived and shopped. As they drove through the area, she could see why. It had beautiful homes, several museums and a gorgeous park.

      “This is the widest road in Paris,” he said as he turned onto avenue Foch. “It goes from the Porte Dauphine in Bois de Boulogne, clear to the Arc de Triomphe.”

      “Isn’t my apartment along this street?”

      “Yes. We are almost there. It is on the next block, mademoiselle.”

      When the driver pulled to the curb in front of a white stone building, she knew they’d arrived. She got out of the cab quickly and looked at the structure. The area was well-lit, and she was able see the smooth elegance of the five-story limestone structure which towered over the nearby park in what looked more like suburbia than a city block. There were well-maintained trellises of ivy adorning its front, with two stone flowerpots filled with colorful flowers flanking both sides of the entrance. The arched basement-apartment windows bore iron gratings, and an elaborately designed wrought-iron fence ran across the entire length of the second floor. Admiringly, she wondered how much history this building had witnessed. She was thrilled and felt lucky she’d picked an apartment in such a beautiful and well-kept district.

      Habib helped carry her luggage inside the vestibule. She thanked and paid him. Then she buzzed the concierge.

      Within minutes, a tired-looking, middle-aged man of medium height and thinning black hair appeared at the glass door wearing a flannel shirt with a torn pocket and ancient-looking blue coveralls. He had a streak of grease across his right cheek. “Oui. Est-ce que je peux vous aider?”

      Nikki easily translated the can I help you and explained in French who she was. The man broke out into a huge smile. Speaking their language seemed to have that effect on the French. Which made her glad she had learned to speak the language so well.

      “Bonjour! Je suis Pierre. Bienvenue vers Paris,” he gushed warmly as he welcomed her and began to chatter away as if they were long-lost friends. “Please forgive my appearance,” he said, taking a rag from his pocket and wiping his hands, “trouble with the boiler.”

      He grabbed the two heaviest pieces of luggage and led the way to the wrought-iron lift which would take them to her apartment on the second floor.

      He stopped in front of 206. “This is your flat.” He opened the door and brought her bags inside.

      Nikki followed behind him. As she entered, she immediately felt a strange feeling of déjà vu that she’d been in this apartment before. Of course, that was impossible. She’d never been to Paris as an adult, let alone this particular apartment. Her parents had brought her on one of their vacations when she was a baby, but as far as she knew, they had always stayed in hotels. Still…the feeling clung to her like a second skin as she walked into a room which looked as if it had been frozen in time.

      “Does it meet your approval?” the concierge asked, interrupting her thoughts.

      “Why…yes. It’s lovely...and so…quaint. Thank you for your help, Pierre.”

      “I’m at your disposal, mademoiselle. Apartment B1.” He handed her the key and left.

      Nikki thanked the man again and closed the door quickly, now intent upon exploring the apartment. The room in which she stood had been listed on the website as a sitting room. The furniture, she guessed, was Victorian with its tall-backed matching magenta velvet sofa, love seat and chair. She noticed their intricately carved wooden legs. She sat down on the overstuffed sofa, which was very comfortable, and looked around the room at the wallpapered walls decorated with rich, black velvet brocade. The windows were covered with flowing drapery panels topped with swagged silk valances.

      There was a large, gold, ornately-carved wooden oval mirror hanging over a fireplace. The fireplace itself was white and had green columns on either side with a hand-painted mantle top. It seemed too lovely to use and, from the looks of it, hadn’t been in a while. A large expensive-looking Persian area rug covered the polished, dark hardwood floor.

      The next room into which she ventured was definitely a man’s study. In one corner of the room, close to a tall bookcase filled with leather-bound books, stood a large, dark, hardwood desk with an oversized, button-tufted, high-back, leather chair. At a glance, Nikki could tell that whoever had lived here had eclectic taste. There were as many art and music books as there were novels and non-fiction books. She read some of the titles of the leather-bound novels on the shelf, noticing books by Jules Verne, Balzac, Flaubert and Zola. The room was illuminated by two simple light fixtures which hung from the high ceiling. An upright piano stood against the wall between two windows. Though it looked like any ordinary piano, she thought she’d seen that particular one before. Probably in a movie like The Sting. It reminded her of the old-time player pianos in the saloons of the Old West.

      She suddenly felt herself being drawn to the piano as if it was a magnet. When she reached it, she noticed the disagreeable odor of stale tobacco hovering around it. She thought it strange the odor lingered only there, but when she saw the pages of a book of sheet music on the piano flutter open, she stood aghast. Realizing she was overreacting to what must be a draft, she laughed at herself for forgetting the building was old and most likely drafty. She glanced down at the musical score on the opened page. Reverie. The name sounded familiar, though she couldn’t understand why. She was fairly certain she’d never heard the song played before.

      A small overhead chandelier illuminated the sheen on the polished dark wood. This piano was a beauty. Even she could see that. Nikki sat down on the bench and lifted the lid to reveal keys yellowed with age. Without a second thought, she ran the tips of her fingers across the keyboard as lightly as a lover’s caress. She hadn’t touched a piano since her grandmother gave up trying to teach her in disgust. Being an unruly child, wanting to go outside to play with her friends, she’d merely mastered the rudimentary skills and could only play tunes like Chop Sticks and Papa Haydn.

      She glanced down at the notes on the page and lowered her hands to the keys. Then, as if by magic, she began to play the haunting song. She wasn’t certain if she was more shocked or bewildered by her unexpected skill. The strain of the beautiful melody filled the apartment. As she played, Nikki closed her eyes, feeling the music touch her very soul as the same weird feeling of déjà vu washed over her again, as if she’d heard this romantic song many times before. Not only had the piece moved her deeply, she sensed it meant something more. The ‘how’ and ‘why’ remained a total mystery to her. Suddenly, she felt someone’s hand on her shoulder and jumped up off the stool. Spinning around quickly, she saw no one. It had to be her imagination, though she still found it difficult to slow her racing heart. She slammed the piano lid down with trembling hands and steadied herself against the instrument. All this weird stuff had to be caused by the excitement of being in Paris, she reassured herself, but she rushed from the room just the same, hoping to err on the side of caution.

      Although a bit shaken, Nikki resumed her tour of the apartment. The master bedroom possessed a mahogany dresser with brass handles, a matching armoire and СКАЧАТЬ