Page 100 of When Fashion Turns Deadly
“To be fair, I didn’t know it was stairs the whole way,” Isabelle said. “But I’m pretty sure this means you get to buy more than one item from the pâtisserie afterward.”
“And we’re more prepared than you thought.” Marit swung her new Ralph Molenaar purse around so it was clearly visible. “Isabelle and I have purses to carry the extras in.”
Despite his dread of the hike ahead, Lars grinned. “We should probably make a pact of secrecy right now. No one is to tell Ralph if we putéclairs and mille feuille inside them.”
“Mille feuille might be pushing it a bit,” Isabelle said, a hint of concern in her voice. “They’re not exactly self-contained.”
“Okay, I’ll eat the mille feuille before we leave the pâtisserie,” Lars said.
“I’m taking that as your agreement to tackle the stairs,” Cole said. “Let’s go.”
Eight minutes and four double flights of stairs later, they reached the top. By the time they’d climbed the third set, Lars had decided that breathing normally was better than anything he could buy at the pâtisserie. He’d now reached the point where he was pretty sure he’d have to live out the rest of his life at the top of Montmartre.
“There’s no way every visitor to SacréCœur climbs those stairs,” he panted. “Where are all the little old ladies and pushchairs?”
“I don’t know,” Marit said. “But I hope they make it up somehow. Just look at that view.”
They rounded the corner. The ancient basilica towered above them, its white marble walls and domed roof gleaming in the sunlight. Below, stretching out as far as the eye could see, was the city of Paris.
“Wow!” His burning muscles temporarily forgotten, Lars raised his camera and adjusted the focus.
Photographs of the panoramic view came first, and then he slowly made his way along the length of the overlook, snapping at least two dozen shots of the basilica from different angles. Finally, he swung around to capture Marit against the magnificent backdrop. She smiled—not the smile she offered the professional photographers she worked with regularly but the one reserved just for him. He lowered the camera, and closing the distance between them, he pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.
“Even with all that’s happened over the last few days,” he said, “I’m really glad we were able to experience Paris together.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”
“I think maybe it’s been good for Cole and Isabelle too.”
Marit looked over his shoulder and smiled. “I think you’re right.”
Moments later, Cole appeared at Lars’s side, his arm firmly around Isabelle.
“Well,” Cole said, “you’ll be pleased to know that Isabelle has figured out how the little old ladies and strollers get up here.”
“How?” Lars asked.
Cole turned, drawing Isabelle with him so that Lars had a direct view of the people lined up on the other side of the road. As he watched, a rectangular object about the size of a lorry cab crested the hill.
“It’s a funicular railway,” Isabelle said. “And from what we can tell, it goes up and down the hill at fairly regular intervals.”
In other words, they could have reached SacréCœur without climbing a single stair.
Lars glared at Cole. “Did you know about the funicular?”
Cole released Isabelle long enough to raise both hands. “Nope. And I’m as excited as you are to stop at a pâtisserie after we go down.”
“On the funicular,” Lars said firmly.
“Right.” Isabelle offered him an encouraging smile. “No more stairs for us today.”
“Except all the ones that lead into the basilica,” Cole said.
Groaning, Lars reached for Marit’s hand. “It’s official. One way or another, Cole’s going to kill me.”
“Don’t worry,” Marit said. “We’ll recruit Isabelle. Her self-defense skills are top-notch, and she’s a really good teacher.”
Isabelle laughed. “As long as you promise that I can be there when you first take Cole down, I’ll teach you everything I know.”
“You hear that, Cole?” Lars asked. “You’re outnumbered.”
With a grin, Cole led Isabelle toward the basilica’s entrance. “In my line of work, I’m used to it.”
