rooted, staring after him. In the doorway of the hotel was the detective watching. The stranger hesitated, then walked back to Noelle. “You’d better get out of here,” he advised. “Our friend’s still interested in you.”
“I have nowhere to go,” she replied.
He nodded and reached into his pocket.
“I don’t want your money,” she said quickly.
He looked at her in surprise. “What do you want?” he asked.
“To have dinner with you.”
He smiled and said, “Sorry. I have a date, and I’m late already.”
“Then go ahead,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
He shoved the bills back into his pocket. “Suit yourself, honey,” he said. “Au ‘voir.” He turned and began walking toward the taxi again. Noelle looked after him, wondering what was wrong with her. She knew she had behaved stupidly, but she also knew that she could not have done anything else. From the first moment she had looked at him she had experienced a reaction that she had never felt before, a wave of emotion so strong that she could almost reach out and touch it. She did not even know his name, and would probably never see him again. Noelle glanced toward the hotel and saw the detective moving purposefully toward her. It was her own fault. This time she would not be able to talk her way out of it. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and as she turned to see who it was, the stranger took her arm and propelled her toward the taxi, quickly opened the door and climbed in beside her. He gave the driver an address. The taxi pulled away, leaving the detective at the curb, staring after them. “What about your date?” Noelle asked.
“It’s a party,” he shrugged. “One more won’t make any difference. I’m Larry Douglas. What’s your name?”
“Noelle Page.”
“Where are you from, Noelle?”
She turned and looked into his brilliant dark eyes and said, “Antibes. I am the daughter of a Prince.”
He laughed, showing even, white teeth.
“Good for you, Princess,” he said.
“Are you English?”
“American.”
She looked at his uniform. “America is not at war.”
“I’m in the British RAF,” he explained. “They’ve just formed a group of American flyers. It’s called the Eagle Squadron.”
“But why should you fight for England?”
“Because England’s fighting for us,” he said. “Only we don’t know it yet.”
Noelle shook her head. “I don’t believe that. Hitler is a Boche clown.”
“Maybe. But he’s a clown who knows what the Germans want: to rule the world.”
Noelle listened, fascinated, as Larry discussed Hitler’s military strategy, the sudden withdrawal from the League of Nations, the mutual defense pact with Japan and Italy, not because of what he was saying but because she enjoyed watching his face as he talked. His dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke, blazing with an overpowering, irresistible vitality.
Noelle had never met anyone like him. He was—that rarity of rarities—a spendthrift with himself. He was open and warm and alive, sharing himself, enjoying life, making sure that everyone around him enjoyed it. He was like a magnet pulling into his orbit everyone who approached.
They arrived at the party, which was being given in a small flat on the rue Chemin Vert. The apartment was filled with a group of laughing, shouting people, most of them young. Larry introduced Noelle to the hostess, a predatory, sexy-looking redhead, and then was swallowed by the crowd. Noelle caught glimpses of him during the evening, surrounded by eager young girls, each trying to capture his attention. And yet there was no ego about him, Noelle thought. It was as though he were totally unaware of how attractive he was. Someone found a drink for Noelle and someone else offered to bring her a plate of food from the buffet, but she was suddenly not hungry. She wanted to be with the American, wanted him away from the girls who crowded around him. Men were coming up to her and trying to start
“I have nowhere to go,” she replied.
He nodded and reached into his pocket.
“I don’t want your money,” she said quickly.
He looked at her in surprise. “What do you want?” he asked.
“To have dinner with you.”
He smiled and said, “Sorry. I have a date, and I’m late already.”
“Then go ahead,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
He shoved the bills back into his pocket. “Suit yourself, honey,” he said. “Au ‘voir.” He turned and began walking toward the taxi again. Noelle looked after him, wondering what was wrong with her. She knew she had behaved stupidly, but she also knew that she could not have done anything else. From the first moment she had looked at him she had experienced a reaction that she had never felt before, a wave of emotion so strong that she could almost reach out and touch it. She did not even know his name, and would probably never see him again. Noelle glanced toward the hotel and saw the detective moving purposefully toward her. It was her own fault. This time she would not be able to talk her way out of it. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and as she turned to see who it was, the stranger took her arm and propelled her toward the taxi, quickly opened the door and climbed in beside her. He gave the driver an address. The taxi pulled away, leaving the detective at the curb, staring after them. “What about your date?” Noelle asked.
“It’s a party,” he shrugged. “One more won’t make any difference. I’m Larry Douglas. What’s your name?”
“Noelle Page.”
“Where are you from, Noelle?”
She turned and looked into his brilliant dark eyes and said, “Antibes. I am the daughter of a Prince.”
He laughed, showing even, white teeth.
“Good for you, Princess,” he said.
“Are you English?”
“American.”
She looked at his uniform. “America is not at war.”
“I’m in the British RAF,” he explained. “They’ve just formed a group of American flyers. It’s called the Eagle Squadron.”
“But why should you fight for England?”
“Because England’s fighting for us,” he said. “Only we don’t know it yet.”
Noelle shook her head. “I don’t believe that. Hitler is a Boche clown.”
“Maybe. But he’s a clown who knows what the Germans want: to rule the world.”
Noelle listened, fascinated, as Larry discussed Hitler’s military strategy, the sudden withdrawal from the League of Nations, the mutual defense pact with Japan and Italy, not because of what he was saying but because she enjoyed watching his face as he talked. His dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke, blazing with an overpowering, irresistible vitality.
Noelle had never met anyone like him. He was—that rarity of rarities—a spendthrift with himself. He was open and warm and alive, sharing himself, enjoying life, making sure that everyone around him enjoyed it. He was like a magnet pulling into his orbit everyone who approached.
They arrived at the party, which was being given in a small flat on the rue Chemin Vert. The apartment was filled with a group of laughing, shouting people, most of them young. Larry introduced Noelle to the hostess, a predatory, sexy-looking redhead, and then was swallowed by the crowd. Noelle caught glimpses of him during the evening, surrounded by eager young girls, each trying to capture his attention. And yet there was no ego about him, Noelle thought. It was as though he were totally unaware of how attractive he was. Someone found a drink for Noelle and someone else offered to bring her a plate of food from the buffet, but she was suddenly not hungry. She wanted to be with the American, wanted him away from the girls who crowded around him. Men were coming up to her and trying to start
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