Always and Forever by Cynthia Freeman Page B

at once she was tense.
    “The small house at the edge of town where Chuck and I were billeted. I don’t know who’s there now. It had been deserted when we came into the city. The owners had run off without even packing most of their clothes. They may have been collaborators, knowing what would happen to them with liberation.”
    “But it wouldn’t be deserted now,” she guessed.
    “Let’s try to find a taxi to take us there,” he said ebulliently. “Maybe we can rent it for the night. Nobody has money in Paris, the way I hear it. We’ll ask them to play innkeeper.”
    Only Phil would dream up something like this, Kathy thought dreamily when they were at last in a taxi and approaching the house. What a romantic way to spend a holiday in Paris!
    Kathy stood inspecting the cottage while Phil paid off the driver. It was probably a hundred years old, she guessed, but cared for lovingly. In another few weeks the tiny garden would be beautiful.
    People lived here. An older couple appeared at the doorway, curious about the arrival of a taxi. Phil turned from the taxi, slid an arm about her waist, and prodded her toward the couple. They were suspicious of Phil and her; Kathy interpreted, pleased that her own French was sufficient to translate.
    “Please forgive our intrusion.” Phil smiled charmingly. “I was billeted here when the Americans arrived to help in the liberation of Paris. I wanted to show my wife where I lived.” Kathy saw the woman glance at her hand and smile faintly. “I was wondering—” He hesitated, his eyes apologetic. “Would it be possible for us to rent the house? Just for one night,” he pinpointed. “We’ll be gone by tomorrow afternoon.”
    The couple exchanged a startled glance. A pair of crazy Americans, they were thinking, Kathy surmised.
    “We have been here just a few months,” the man began. “The house belonged to my uncle, who has since died. I am not sure that he would approve of strangers—” Why was he talking so much? He paused while Phil pulled a handful of American dollars from a pocket and held them up eloquently. “But for such a fine young couple,” he continued with an expansive smile, “I think he would approve.”
    The woman indicated a small supply of food could be had if they wished; Phil dug up more American dollars.
    “I am sorry, we have no coffee or tea,” she said wistfully. “But from the man next door we could buy a bottle of decent wine for you.” Phil produced more bills. “Edouard, go fetch the wine,” she ordered.
    When they were alone in the house the older couple went off to spend the night with friends—Phil reached into the firewood stack beside the living room fireplace, pulled out a chunk of wood, and looked around for newspaper.
    “Over here,” Kathy said and reached for a sheaf of newspaper from the waiting heap. “A fire will feel great.” There was a chill in the house that told her the firewood was meted out grudgingly.
    Kathy stood and watched while Phil crumpled up the newspaper, placed it in the grate, then added the chunk of wood.
    “Bring in a pair of glasses from the kitchen,” he told Kathy while he struck a match and held it to the paper. “We’ll have some wine once the wood starts to burn. Along with those fancy English biscuits and the cheese we bought in that shop.”
    “Coming right up,” Kathy said lightly. This was like something from a Hollywood movie.
    They waited until the chunk of wood was ignited, then Phil opened the wine bottle, and filled the two glasses. Kathy was opening the box of English biscuits.
    “Close the drapes,” Phil ordered. “I want to shut out the whole world.”
    “All right.” Kathy hurried to obey. It was a lovely feeling to be alone with Phil in an ancient cottage with a fireplace lighting up the room.
    They settled themselves on the floor, using the sofa as a backrest, and gazed in contented silence at the flames while they sipped the rather decent wine and nibbled at the