"The Forest Secret" - Chapter 12

Quaint and busy kiosks around Paris Gare du Nordtrain station were everywhere, selling drinks, snacks, baguettes. The two women arrived early for their morning train with hopes of grabbing some breakfast together before boarding, but it took them some time to locate a free table.

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting all this,” Charley said, waving her hand to cover the vast area of the terminal.

“Believe it or not, it’s the second busiest train station in the world because it connects Paris to other European capitals with direct service.  For instance, high speed trains leave every hour between Paris and London.”

“Till you hit the channel, right?  Then what do you do, take a ferry and pick up the train on the other side.  I think I recall doing that on my school band tour all those years ago.”

Stephanie smiled. “My American friend is getting older, I’m afraid,” she said in reply.  “The train goes straight through the tunnel under the English Channel - only takes a little over two hours.”

That was unexpected. Things had been so hectic in the last couple of days that Charley was looking forward to a slow journey, make various stops in quaint towns, and then eventually get to London sometime in the evening.  Now, hearing this news, she knew they would arrive before lunch.

Stephanie had secured them Business Premier tickets on the rapid Eurostar train, which afforded its own exclusive ramp and security clearance.  Within a minute of boarding, they were in their own booth with long, sleek windows overlooking all the bedlam that was a modern train station.

Despite her desire for a more relaxed journey, Charley felt her pulse begin to race as the train reached unimaginable speed once it was out of Paris proper.  At one point she found herself needlessly gripping one of the arm rests.

“I know,” Stephanie began.  “When I first came from Canada, it was on the opposite end of this trip - London to Paris - and it was white knuckle time.  We have nothing like it in Canada.”

“What speeds are we talking about here?” Charley asked.

“In about 15 minutes we’ll be up to 300 kilometres an hour.”

“What?  No way?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Stephanie replied with a knowing grin.

And she was right. The view out the window, while pleasant, was becoming more and more a blur.  And it seemed as though every village they passed had numerous quaint and beautiful churches on display.

Within 30 minutes of leaving, a waiter came to their booth offering a three-course meal, choice of red, white or rosé wine, coffee following the meal and a selection of decadent desserts.  Charley opted for the steak, while her companion dug into a vegetarian lasagna.  There was no need to rush, but both were hungry and were on to the coffee in only a few minutes.  Only then did Charley begin to relax.

“Are you from New York - as your home town, I mean?” Stephanie asked as they both observed the landscape sweeping by.

“Was born and raised in Poughkeepsie?”

“What?  Where?” Stephanie asked, clearly confused.

“Actually it’s a pretty well known part of New York State, only a few miles from Hyde Park, where Franklin Roosevelt lived.  It’s on the Hudson River, and although it only has about 30,000 people, it has two universities and lots of industry, being so close to the big city.  Dad worked the typeface press for the Poughkeepsie Journal and mom sold makeup at the local drugstore.”

“So you got your journalistic urges from your father?”

“No, I was too busy in sports to take much interest in his work.  I went to Emerson College in Boston for my degree and started almost right away at the New York Times.  I’ve been lucky, I guess.  Plus it kept me close to them.  And what about you?”

“Well, I was born and raised by the water, too - a place called Penticton, British Columbia - easier to spell than Poughkeepsie.” They both laughed, prompting the waiter to come by with more coffee.

“I graduated from journalism school at the University of British Columba - UBC - but partway through I grew more interested in the image side of things and took photography.  I never regretted it.  Plus, it helps me to get to know gifted writers like yourself.”

“It’s funny you know,” Charley said as she smiled at the compliment, “I hardly know a personal thing about anyone in the Paris office, and yet we’ve seen lots of one another.”

Stephanie slipped off her shoes and rested her feet on the seat opposite beside Charley.   “Okay, so here’s theColes Notes of what you need to know.  Let’s start with what we all understand - Lambeau’s a rustre.”

“A what?” Chrley blurted.

“Rustre - French for boor or beast.”  Both women broke out in spontaneous laughter.  “Seriously, though, beware of him.  He’s had a remarkable career and at one point was a great writer and awarded the Albert Londres Prize, France’s highest, but he became a society darling, dated movie stars, drank a lot and went on binges with social drugs. He’s past his prime, and likely his usefulness to the paper, but he still has a huge following and they tolerate him.”

“Elaine?” asked Charley.

“A gem …. a real gem. She was married for 22 years before her husband was taken with lymphoma cancer - a real sad ending.  That was a few years ago and since then she has just plowed herself in into her work.  She’s the best of copy editors, I hear, and I’m not sure Bernard could survive with out her.”

“Peter was the first to meet me when I arrived at the office and was very considerate.”

Stephanie pondered Charley’s observation for a moment and then began nodding her head.  “You’re right.  We called him the ‘friendly giant’ for a time but it aggravated him, so we let it go.  He likes you though.”

It was said so off-handedly that Charley sat up in shock.

“That can’t be,” she blurted.  “He never given any such indication.”

“I know … I know. He’s a real gent and won’t push anything, but I can just tell from how he looks at you.”

“Is he married of have a girlfriend?”

“Nope.  Like Elaine, he's married to the paper.  But I do think he gets lonely sometimes.”

“So, that brings us to Denis.” Charley segued.

“Denis - brilliant, marvellous powers of concentration, intense at times - and quite gay.”

“Really?”

“Yup.  He has a partner that apparently works for Air France. He came to our Christmas party a few years ago - cute, about the same height, great hair, and totally dotes on Denis. It’s was kind of cute.”

“And somehow Bernard has to keep it all together,” noted Charley.  “When I first saw him a couple of days ago, I thought of him as stern and quick-tempered, but, really, he’s laid back, insightful, and has been very supportive of what I’m sent here to do.”

“There’s nothing more than that,” her friend added.  “What you see is what you get with Bernard.  It’s true that he’s somewhat old school, but he has adapted well to the new technologies and keeps people like me around longer than we initially planned.  It’s because he just loves news and newspapers. He’s been a staple in the journalism field for decades in Paris and has contacts everywhere, not just in France. The Timeswas fortunate that he stayed on after the Herald Tribune folded.”

Charley smiled.  “I know I’m fortunate to have and editor in France and one in New York that have given me what I need.”

“O, sister, you don’t know the half of it.”

“What do you mean?” Charley asked, sitting up to the edge of her upholstered seat.

“Did you know that Bernard and Sandra were an item for a time?”

“What!”  Charley exclaimed.

“Prior to coming to the Times, Sandra worked as the European correspondent for the Washington Post,mostly covering NATO stuff.  Bernard had never married and they were an item for a couple of years, I think - before my time.  When the Postpacked up its Paris office, theNew York Timeswas the first in line to get Sandra.  Bernard tried to sign her on to the Tribune, but for whatever reason she opted to move back to New York.  I don’t know all the details, but apparently they stay in touch by phone.”

Charley caught herself thinking that the story she had just heard recounted was almost as intriguing as that between Aramis and Mary.  As her mind played with the possibilities, Stephanie quietly nodded off, leaving her companion alone in her thoughts.

A few minutes later Charley checked her phone in search of any new messages, but the free wi-fi was patchy.  She eventually gave up and, like Stephanie, found the motion of the train, even at speeds of 300 kph, gentle enough that she drifted off, her mind mulling through what lay ahead, on the other shore.