though, Mr. Benedict. You said you didn’t want anything after—”
Julian nodded. “I remember what I said,” he replied shortly. The car pulled up to the hotel. As he got out, he called over his shoulder, “Be ready by eight.”
Ten
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Cora asked the driver as she stared out in awe.
“ Oui, mademoiselle, ” the driver replied. “Mr. Benedict was very specific.”
Cora gulped and without further argument, stepped out of the car.
At exactly eight o’clock, the hotel front desk had called to let her know her car was waiting for her. Confused, Cora had come down to be greeted by a French driver who told her he was there to take her to Mr. Benedict. Filled with questions but unable to voice them, Cora had stepped into the car wondering exactly what kind of meeting she was going to.
As the car drove off, she heard the soft lapping sounds of the Seine behind her. Lights illuminated the richly ornate building in front of her, making the whole place glow against the dark night sky. With large windows and beautifully sculpted arches, Cora was sure she was standing in front of some kind of palace or chateau.
Amidst her awe, Cora caught sight of a white-gloved attendant by the front doors, waving at her. Cora waved back and quickly headed towards the entrance.
The attendant smiled and motioned her in. “Welcome, mademoiselle , to the Musée d’Orsay. Please enter,” he said in a thickly accented voice.
Cora’s eyes widened upon hearing the name. She was in a museum ? But as she stepped into the cavernous hall, she saw no one inside. Looking down both sides of her, she saw rows and rows of paintings with scattered sculptures down the middle. Yet not one person was to be found. Except herself and the attendant.
“If you’d please,” the attendant said with a smile, leading her down a large open space with arching glass ceilings. “Please head down this way towards the end of the hall.”
Cora could only nod silently as she walked down the spacious hall, surrounded by the most famous paintings in the world. With each step she took, her eyes grew wider and wider.
She had hardly had any exposure to fine arts growing up. But during her first year in New York, she remembered when the Museum of Modern Art had had a Free Admissions Day. Curious, she had walked in with no expectations of what there was to see.
Cora ended up spending hours at the museum. She couldn’t take her eyes away from the paintings. Each work seemed to chip away and reveal a side of her own self that she had never known existed. With every painting, Cora experienced a different mood or mentality. She had never felt such peace as when she had seen Monet’s water lilies or such raw passion as when she had seen Pollock’s splattered paint. A whole new world of breathtaking beauty and exhilaration had opened up for Cora that day.
And now here she was, in Paris, walking down the empty halls of a museum that held the world’s masterpieces. She could hardly believe it.
So engrossed was she in admiring the works that she hardly noticed the figure standing at the end of the hall. She had to tear her gaze away from a Cézanne to look at the broad shoulders and long back of Julian Benedict. He was standing with his back to her, admiring a Rodin.
If Cora had been shocked to find herself in an empty museum at night, she was flabbergasted to see Julian Benedict standing inside.
“Mr. Benedict?” she said tentatively. She stepped towards him, standing