“Oh, she’s already gone.” A mischievous smile lit up her face. “I’m all alone until Peter gets here at the end of the week. Isn’t it thrilling?”

“How did you manage that?” I asked, having observed the most attentive chaperone on the ship.

“It was rather simple really. Everyone at home thought I was going to meet Peter and his family at the Ritz as soon as I arrived. The dreadful mademoiselle thought that too. So her job was only to escort me to Paris and deliver me to the Ritz—which she did. Peter thinks I’m arriving at the end of the week, at the same moment he gets here, so I’ve fooled all of them.”

She looked and sounded like a naughty ten year old.

“How did you manage to pull that off?” I asked.

“Simple. You just tell people what they want to hear. I’ve become rather good at it.”

“But won’t there be trouble when Peter finds out you’ve been staying at the Ritz for a week without him?”

She laughed. “How will he find out? I’m not staying at the Ritz, silly. I couldn’t afford that kind of money. I’m actually staying at a dear little hotel on the Left Bank… on the Boulevard Saint-Germain. It’s called the Hôtel d’Alsace and it’s quite dinky but famous because Oscar Wilde actually died there. You know about him, don’t you?”

“I most certainly do, but I’m surprised that you do.”

The wicked grin again. “I know a lot of things I’m not supposed to. I say, do be a sport and come and eat with me. I know a great little bistro and it won’t take long. They serve students who have to hurry back to class. They all try to flirt with me, which is fun in a way, but makes me a little uneasy, being alone. I have to keep telling them my stern and strict papa has gone for a walk and will be back shortly.” She paused and there was an expression on her face I couldn’t quite read. Something had definitely troubled her. Then she smiled again. “Come on. It’s just back across the bridge. My treat. I’m spending my stepfather’s money and enjoying every moment of it.”

She slipped her arm through mine. “I really can’t,” I said, hunger and a desire to be with a friend in a strange city wrestling with my maternal instincts. “Liam has to be fed soon. I’m still nursing him.”

“Then we’ll go back to your place first,” she said. “Where are you staying?”

“In Montmartre,” I said. “At a friend’s apartment.”

Her face lit up. “Montmartre. Ooh, I’ve been wanting to go there, but not quite daring to alone. Come on, let’s go together. You can show me around.”