He shook his head. “I am not here as an aviator. I am here as your business manager. It does not matter who I am. This is all for you.”
His words warmed me, and I wanted to repay his thoughtfulness.
“Do you know Lucas Voland?” I asked the girl.
The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Monsieur Lucas Voland?” She prattled off a slew of French words I did not understand, though I did catchgrand aviateur. Great aviator.
I nodded. Even if she couldn’t understand my English, she knew Luc’s name. I motioned toward him, appreciating his attempt at humility, though it wasn’t necessary. He deserved all the applause and accolades he could get.
Luc shook his head, and his shoulders grew stiff. What little relaxation he was enjoying a minute ago vanished, and his face shuttered.
“Lucas Voland?” the girl cried out. She shouted something toward the rest of the café, and all the patrons turned their heads to see.
Soon everyone, even the cook, was at our table, showering Luc with French words I could not understand. Finally the owner of the café broke up the group, and they began to return to their chairs, their faces bright with excitement.
The only person who didn’t look pleased was Luc.
By the time we arrived at the hotel, Luc had become cold and distant again. He answered my questions, but with one- or two-word responses. Grace had become quiet and withdrawn, as well—though whether she was upset at me or Luc, I couldn’t tell.
I tried to shake off their moods. I had learned my lesson and wouldn’t tell anyone who Luc was again. But as soon as we walked into the hotel, I knew someone had called ahead from the café and told them who we were.
“Monsieur Voland!” the proprietor said with a hearty voice. “Bienvenue. Je suis honoré.”
Luc’s cool voice was not as lyrical as he spoke to the proprietor in French. It was easy to tell there was a problem here, too, though the proprietor looked very unhappy and uncomfortable. Luc saidnoseveral times, and the proprietor seemed to be trying to convince him to do something he didn’t want.
I hung back with Grace, trying to stay small and out of the way in the corner. Luc was probably very angry with me already. I didn’t want to irritate him further.
“He asked you not to tell anyone who he was,” Grace said under her breath. “It’s clear he doesn’t like the attention. Why did you do it?”
“I thought he was attempting to be humble. Why fly if you don’t want attention?”
“Not everyone does it for the applause, Hope. I don’t write for applause but to shed light on injustice. Perhaps Luc flies for reasons other than fame.”
I turned to her, surprised. “Does this mean he might have a noble character, after all?”
She sighed. “I don’t knowwhyhe doesn’t like the attention—perhaps he’s a notorious criminal and doesn’t want his past to come to light.” A small smile tilted her lips at the absurdity, butthen she became serious again. “Instead of assuming you know what’s best for people, try to listen to them. Try to honor their wishes. He’s not happy with you right now.”
“This coming from the woman who has assumed the worst in him since you met.”
She shook her head and looked down at the bag in her hand. “I admit I have not given him the benefit of the doubt, but he’s so hard to get to know. All I can base my assumptions on are his behaviors, and he’s often indifferent and withdrawn—if he’s not being arrogant and aloof.”
Finally, Luc turned, frustration in his hooded eyes. He crossed the lobby to join us. “There is only one room available. Monsieur LeBlanc is trying to give us his family’s apartment, but I cannot put his children or his wife out of their home. So I have agreed that we will take the single room. I hope that is satisfactory.”
“Yes.” I nodded quickly, not wanting to make more trouble for him.
Luc was guarded as he spoke to Grace. “Will that be acceptable?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He turned back to the proprietor, and after several more minutes of debate, Mr. LeBlanc finally gave Luc a key and pointed toward the stairs.
Grace and I followed Luc up a narrow staircase and down a hallway to a door at the end. He unlocked the door to reveal a small, cold room with a single bed, a washstand on an old dresser, and a straight-backed chair in the corner. There were no rugs on the wood floor, only one small pillow on the bed, and a narrow window near the corner of the room.
When Luc turned on the lamp, it did nothing to improve the quality of the room. If anything, it looked more threadbare and uncomfortable.
Luc looked at Grace as if expecting her to complain.
Instead, my sister smiled and said, “At least we have a room and can be out of the night air. I’m thankful for that.”
