French Lessons Read Online Free PDF Page A

gave
forth the promise of serious luxury. A stiff, taut–lipped doorman looked
Eleanor up and down with a stage smile, before opening the doors for her with a
faint bow. Realising in an instant that it was too late to backtrack, she
brushed past him with an overly friendly ‘bonjour.’
    The
foyer felt much bigger and far more intimidating than she’d anticipated. The
carpet was thick and the walls lined with glass cases, filled with fancy
leather goods, jewelry, and expensive perfumes. Eleanor made as though she did
this kind of thing every day of her life on her own. She followed the gentle
hubbub of chatter, glasses chinking and cutlery meeting plate, and found the
Riviera Bar at the end of the lobby.
    The
maître d’ smiled in surprise as she approached. He noted her youth and the fact
that she was alone. The man knew for certain that she was English – very
pale–skinned, if quite the most stunning creature he had laid eyes on for
quite some time.
    “Bonjour, allez –y Mam’selle ,”
he said graciously. Her confidence growing, Eleanor swept into the bar. Without
a further thought, she waltzed straight up to the horseshoe shaped serving area
and took a barstool. Of the two waiters behind, one was almost visibly struck
dumb. The girl was hardly of an age to be drinking alone, he thought. In France
she would be expected to be with her parents. These English and Americans could
be so brash at times, he remarked to himself disapprovingly. But Eleanor was in
her element.
    “Un verre de champagne s’il vous plaît ,” she announced, her
French more than adequate for ordering what she so badly wanted. A glass of
champagne by herself in Monte Carlo, how thrilling! An elderly couple having
coffee glanced at her and did a slight double take at her fine dress, and
assured turn of phrase. And Eleanor knew the protocol. She had been abroad with
Daddy many times and had stayed in countless hotels. When there was a murmur of
uncertainty in rapidly exchanged French, between the two waiters behind the
bar, she produced her little purse from her bag. In it was the precious
checking card her father had given her. It was for emergencies only. Well,
thought Eleanor, this is an emergency. She was alone, shirked, abandoned,
while her father only had eyes for that over–dressed New Yorker. And even
that Charlie fellow, who had at first seemed so interesting and handsome, had
been sarcastic to her. Well, stuff him and his flash red sports car. If she
were forced to be alone, then she would jolly well make the most of it.         
    The
maître d’ warmed, realising from her card that this was Harry Walker’s girl.
The man spent a lot of money in The Grand. It wouldn’t do to be offhand with
his daughter. Eleanor basked in having won him over. As the bar staff duly
provided her with a large glass of vintage champagne, she swung happily on her
barstool. She gazed across the bar and out the long windows towards the sea,
and the brilliant perfect azure skies beyond. No doubt her father and his
irritating wife had forgotten she even existed. In the background, Billy Fury
sang soft seduction from a discreet little jukebox. The whole stunning French
day was hers to enjoy. Gulping the flinty cold bubbles, Eleanor decided to wait
around the Hotel for the return of Charlie Hetherington. With her own money,
she’d prove to him she had independence. And if he were polite this time, she
might even buy him a drink. How exciting!
    The
afternoon passed. Charlie and his mates enjoyed an expensive long lunch with
his elderly uncle and friends of the family in Cap d’Ail. Uncle Jack had
retired to France and was most generous with his hospitality. Charlie couldn’t
get the Walker girl out of his head; her sweet blonde curls, petite frame, and
the cute shape of her pretty backside in her summer dress. She was a doll. He
very much hoped she wasn’t one of those spoiled brats he was growing tired of.
There was every chance. Harry Walker was