Love at the Ritz Read online

  “Please tell me what it is and how I can help you,” Vilma prompted him.

  César Ritz drew in his breath before he began,

  “I never dreamt and I was never presumptuous enough to imagine that every room would be booked so soon. But, believe it or not, mademoiselle, the hotel is already full!”

  Vilma thought that he sounded like an excited schoolboys and she smiled as she replied,

  “I am so glad, monsieur. It must be a great satisfaction for you, after working so hard, to know that you are really appreciated.”

  “I am indeed very grateful,” César Ritz said. “But there is one deficiency and I swore to myself that when I opened the Ritz it would be as perfect as it was possible for any hotel to be.”

  “That is what I have been reading in the newspapers,” Vilma said, “and I am sure that it is really perfect.”

  “There is, unfortunately, one flaw.”

  “What can that be?” Vilma asked him.

  “For the chandeliers in the bedrooms, I used as a model one in this house. It was in fact the Vicomte de Servaiss who told me that he considered it one of the most attractive designs that he had ever seen.”

  “So you had it copied,” Vilma queried.

  “Exactly!” César Ritz replied. “But, while they were being installed, one was broken.”

  “How tiresome!” Vilma exclaimed.

  “Yes, indeed,” César Ritz agreed, “but it would not have mattered so much if the room did not have to be occupied tonight by the Comte Gaston de Forêt, a very important person in Paris.”

  He paused for a short while and then he continued,

  “There is nowhere else that I could put him, nowhere. And there is no chandelier in his bedroom.”

  He made it sound such a disaster that it was with difficulty that Vilma did not laugh.

  “Then how can we help you, monsieur?” she enquired.

  “I just knew when I came here,” Monsieur Ritz replied, “that the Vicomte, whom I have served for years and who has encouraged me in my ambitions, would have lent me one of the chandeliers from this house until the replacement that is being made for me is delivered.”

  His voice dropped as he pleaded,

  “Please, mademoiselle, please be generous and allow me to borrow one, just for the few days that must elapse before the replacement I have ordered comes from the factory in Lille.”

  Vilma smiled.

  “But, of course, monsieur, it will be a pleasure. I am certain that there are quite a number in the house and you can choose the one you want.”

  César Ritz clasped his hands together.

  “Merci, merci, mademoiselle, you are more than kind. I just cannot express my gratitude! How could I place the Comte in a room that is incomplete and with no light in the centre of its ceiling?”

  Vilma rose.

  “Come and see which one you require,” she suggested.

  She walked towards the door and César Ritz opened it for her.

  As the chandelier he required was for a bedroom, she knew that those in the Reception rooms would be too large.

  She went up the stairs and opened the door of a bedroom that was not in use.

  Hanging from the ceiling was an elegant chandelier that was a duplicate of the one in her room. It had a bowl-like shape with six candles suspended from it.

  Looking at the ceiling, César Ritz clasped his hands together.

  “That is exactly what I require, exactly what I have ordered,” he said, “except that it is not fitted for electricity, but it is quite easy to adapt it and I am sure that Monsieur le Vicomte will be delighted when I return it to him if it can be electrically lit, as most are in this house.”

  “I thought how skilfully some of the chandeliers have already been adapted,” Vilma said. “At the same time the Vicomte also uses candles, which I think are more becoming.”

  “You have not seen my lighting,” César Ritz replied. “I have spent hours, literally hours, of my time, mademoiselle, choosing what I sincerely believed was the most attractive colour, especially for beautiful women.”

  “I read about that in a magazine,” Vilma murmured.

  “Day after day,” Monsieur Ritz explained, “I worked with the electrician, trying out the effects of various colours on my wife’s complexion.”

  He made a gesture with his hands before he went on,

  “I finally decided that a delicate shade of apricot pink was the most becoming for her and that is what I have used throughout the hotel.”

  “It sounds wonderful!” Vilma exclaimed. “I do wish I could see it.”

  “Why not?” César Ritz replied. “I would be very proud to show you, mademoiselle, what I have achieved in making my dream become reality.”

  He saw the expression in Vilma’s eyes and added,

  “Come with me, mademoiselle, come with me now, I know you will not be surprised to learn that I have an electrician outside who will remove this chandelier so that we can take it with us.”

  Vilma drew in her breath.

  She knew that it was something that she should not do.

  But her father must remain quiet after his treatment, so he would not know that she had left the house.

  For a moment she hesitated.

  Then, because the temptation was too great, she said,

  “Call your electrician, monsieur, and I will put on my hat so that I can accompany you.”

  “You are very gracious,” César Ritz answered.

  He hurried down the stairs, moving more like a young boy than a man of his age.

  The electrician was surprisingly quick in taking down the chandelier.

  By the time Vilma came from her bedroom, César Ritz was waiting for her in the hall.

  Outside was a very comfortable carriage drawn by two fine horses.

  The electrician climbed up on the box beside the coachman, while Vilma and César Ritz sat inside.

  Only as they turned into the Place Vendôme did she manage to say,

  “I think you will understand, monsieur, when I say that it would be a mistake for me to meet anyone from London. My father has no wish for his friends to know that he is in Paris. He has had a slight accident and is here for special treatment.”

  To emphasise what she had already said, she added,

  “He is not allowed any visitors and it would be most embarrassing for me to have to turn people away.”

  “Yes, of course, mademoiselle, I understand,” César Ritz replied. “We will not drive in to the grand entrance here in the Place Vendôme, but will enter by the back of the hotel which was my intention anyway.”

  Vilma realised that this was because he did not want anyone to know that he had been forced to borrow a chandelier for his ‘perfect’ hotel.

  When she stepped out of the carriage, César Ritz hurried her up a side staircase that led to the first floor.

  “I want you to see one of the best suites in the hotel,” he said, “which fortunately will not be occupied until this evening. The guests who were in it yesterday left this morning.”

  Vilma was already appreciating that the passages were lofty and were painted rather than covered with wallpaper. The attractive carpet was bright but traditional in design.

  César Ritz then showed her into a large suite overlooking the Place Vendôme.

  Vilma was entranced by the overwhelming luxury of the hotel.

  The walls of the bedrooms were bare except for large mirrors.

  There were, as she had read in the newspapers, no plushes or velvet, nor were there any frills or furbelows in the curtains.

  “I will not have wooden beds in the hotel,” César Ritz explained in the bedroom. “Brass is more hygienic.”

  As Vilma expected, the lighting was an apricot pink and she knew that at night it would make any woman look her best.

  There were built-in cupboards and the sitting room was furnished with large comfortable armchairs.

  There were flowers and bowls of exotic
fruit waiting for the incoming guests.

  “It is lovely, monsieur, absolutely lovely!” Vilma exclaimed.

  They then walked a long way down the passage until they came to the room that had no chandelier. In the other rooms they were suspended from the ceilings by silken cords.

  Now in the bedroom they entered the cords were there, but no chandelier.

  “I quite see why you so desperately needed the chandelier you have just borrowed from the Vicomte,” Vilma remarked.

  “All thanks to you, mademoiselle,” César Ritz said gallantly. “If you had refused me, I think I should have sat down on your doorstep and wept!”

  Vilma laughed.

  “We could not allow you to do that, not when you are the King of all the hotels and the most acclaimed man in Paris.”

  She could see how delighted César Ritz was by her compliment.

  It sounded even better, she thought, when it was spoken in French rather than in English.

  It was then, as they were talking, that the electrician came in with a folding ladder.

  He set it up in the centre of the room.

  Following him came two servants carrying the chandelier and they held it up so that the electrician could fasten it to the silken cords.

  Vilma had closely watched three electricians at home when they were wiring her father’s chandeliers and she thought that this man was more skilful at his job than the Englishmen had been.

  She was still watching when someone came into the room to whisper in César Ritz’s ear.

  “Forgive me, mademoiselle,” he sighed, “if I leave you, but I am now needed elsewhere in the hotel. I will be back as soon as I possibly can.”

  “Of course, monsieur,” Vilma agreed. “I will be quite happy here.”

  He bowed to her and then hurried away.

  Vilma continued to watch the electrician at work.

  Having finished connecting the wiring to the lamp holders, he climbed down the ladder and said,

  “I have to fetch the lightbulbs now, m’mselle.”

  When he had gone, Vilma looked up at the chandelier.

  She saw that there were several dirty marks on the bowl from the hands of those who had carried it up the stairs.

  She was quite sure that they would displease César Ritz when he returned to the room.

  What he had said to her and what she had read about in magazines told her that he was a fanatic where cleanliness was concerned.

  So she decided that she would remove the marks herself.

  She looked around.

  The door to the bathroom was open and she found a towelling flannel there, put ready for the expected guests.

  She thought that the bathroom was very elegant with a profusion of mirrors and the bath taps and those on the basin were of gold and she felt that this was unnecessarily extravagant.

  She went back into the bedroom.

  She was just about to climb up the ladder, when she realised that her hat would get in her way.

  Taking it off, she set it down on a chair with her gloves bedside it before she climbed up the ladder.

  She rubbed the marks gently and was relieved to find that they came off quite easily.

  She found also that the chandelier was rather dusty.

  She was cleaning the inside of the bowl when a voice from below her came in French,

  “What pretty angel has just come down from Heaven to illuminate me just when I most need it?”

  Vilma looked down and saw that there was a very smartly dressed man staring up at her.

  He was obviously a Frenchman and she guessed that he was between thirty and forty.

  But the expression in his eyes and the way he spoke made her feel a little nervous.

  “I-I was just dusting the chandelier, monsieur,” she replied.

  “As doubtless you polish the stars so that they gleam in the sky,” he answered.

  Again the way he spoke made Vilma feel somewhat embarrassed and she looked away from him and said quickly,

  “I-I have finished – now.”

  “Then I will help you down to earth,” the Frenchman offered whilst moving nearer.

  He put up his arms as if to take hold of her, but Vilma said hurriedly,

  “No, no – I need no help thank you. Just leave me – alone.”

  “That is something, my lovely angel, I have no intention of doing,” the Frenchman said. “You have come from the sky into my room and why should I refuse a gift from the Gods?”

  Vilma knew that he must be the Comte Gaston de Forêt.

  He put out his hand as he spoke and she felt him touch her ankle.

  She knew that, if she moved off the ladder, he would then take her in his arms and there would be little that she could do to prevent him.

  “Please – leave me alone, monsieur,” she said angrily, “you have no – right to – touch me.”

  “Let me explain to you what right I have,” the Comte replied. “I want, more than I have wanted anything for a long time, to hold you close to me.”

  The assured way he spoke began to frighten Vilma.

  She knew that, if she moved one step down, he would be able to put his arms around her.

  She was now feeling terrified that, if he did so, he would then try to kiss her.

  She had never been in such a situation before and so she had no idea of what to do next.

  “Go away, monsieur,” she flashed. “I wish to descend from this ladder and – leave the – room.”

  “That is something I shall certainly stop you from doing,” the Comte replied.

  His fingers tightened on her ankle and she thought that he was going to pull her down towards him.

  Holding tightly to the top of the ladder, Vilma screamed,

  “Help! Help!”

  Even as she did so, she knew that it was too soon for either the electrician or Monsieur Ritz to return.

  She felt the Frenchman’s hand move a little further up her leg and screamed again.

  “Help me, somebody! Oh, please – help me!”

  Because she was so frightened, she spoke instinctively in English.

  To her surprise and utter relief, she then heard an English voice asking,

  “Can it be possible that one of my countrywomen is in trouble?”

  A man appeared in the doorway and the Comte then turned round.

  “Oh, it is you, Lynworth!” he exclaimed. “What the Hell are you doing here?”

  “I am obviously coming to the rescue of a damsel in distress,” the newcomer replied. “I suppose, de Forêt, you are up to your old tricks again.”

  “This is my room and you have no right to come into it,” the Comte retorted.

  He was looking angrily at the newcomer.

  Vilma then slipped down the ladder and went round to the other side of it from where the Frenchman was standing.

  Then she ran towards the door, fearing that he might stop her from reaching it.

  She could not pass through it because the tall broad-shouldered Englishman was standing there.

  He put out his hand and took hers, saying,

  “You are quite safe now. Like the White Knight, I have saved you from the Dragon!”

  He spoke provocatively and his eyes were twinkling as he looked at the Comte.

  “One day I will get even with you, Lynworth,” he threatened disagreeably.

  “I doubt it, Monsieur le Comte,” the Englishman replied, “but, of course, I am ready to accept any challenge you wish to offer me.”

  He turned away as he spoke and, taking Vilma by the arm, drew her down the passage.

  Only when they had gone a little way from the Comte’s room did Vilma say,

  “My hat! I have left my hat behind in his room.”

  The Englishman drew a key from his pocket and opened a door on the other side of the corridor.

  “Wait in here while I fetch it,” he suggested. “You will be quite safe.”

  Without demur Vilma then walked into th
e room.

  Saying no more, he closed the door behind her and she heard the key turn in the lock.

  She found herself in an attractive sitting room not unlike the one adjoining the Comte’s bedroom.

  She was a little breathless from fear and consternation at what had happened and she told herself severely that it was her own fault.

  She should not have come to the Ritz Hotel in the first place.

  It had been a great mistake to allow herself to be left alone and so enable the Comte to come into the room and assume that she was one of Cesar Ritz’s hotel staff.

  ‘Papa would be furious,’ she surmised.

  She felt extremely grateful to the Englishman who had rescued her.

  She then heard the key turn again in the lock of the door behind her.

  A moment later he came into the sitting room with her hat in his hand.

  “Your admirer,” he said with laughter in his voice, “wished to keep it as a souvenir, but I managed to take it from him.”

  “Thank you – oh – thank – you!” Vilma cried. “I am so grateful to you for – saving me.”

  Chapter Two

  The Marquis of Lynworth had come to Paris on an impulse.

  He was a handsome and very attractive gentleman who enjoyed life enormously when he was not being pressured by his determined relatives into marriage to produce a son and heir for his Marquisate and his many possessions.

  He had had an unfortunate love affair when he was a young man.

  And it had made him decide that he would not marry until he needed a son in his old age.

  As he was now only just a little over thirty, ‘old age’ seemed a long way off and he was in no hurry anyway.

  But he was an only child.

  Therefore, not only his grandparents and his mother but innumerable aunts, uncles and cousins were all insisting in one way or another that he should be married.

  The more they badgered him, the more he decided that he would be bored stiff with any woman if she was with him for long, especially the type of woman they considered suitable to be the Marchioness of Lynworth.

  He was an extremely good rider, an expert Polo player and an acknowledged game shot.

  With his twelve thousand acres of land to look after, he had plenty to occupy him and he enjoyed himself to the full in his own way.