Here is a gift chapter from Black Heron - Life in the Shadows, due out in December 2026
The following is an Editors Proof
© 2026 M. Barrett Miller
All rights Reserved.
Hall of Mirrors - Versailles
After a year in Moscow with American Express International Bank and affiliating with the Australian Secret Intelligence Service, Mick Garrett began a relationship with a woman attached to the French Embassy. He met Natalie at one of the many receptions that brought so many together at various embassy events. Further into their relationship, she shared that she was an agent with DGSE (Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure) for foreign intelligence.
Jack, ASIS, Moscow, permitted Mick to share his stringing for the agency with her. The Australians and French had several schemes in which Mick could play a role if needed.
No one knew at the time that several years later, after Natalie’s cover was almost blown, she would ask Mick to fulfill a mission of national importance. The Australians filed that adventure under the name “The Bridge.”
Before all that took place, Mick and Natalie would arrange to meet in Paris. Any intimacy in Moscow was a bad idea.
On one occasion, when Mick booked the Ritz rather than staying at her flat, she suggested they spend the day as tourists.
They arrived at the Ritz by taxi, too late to wander the streets in search of a meal.
Being insane over Natalie, Mick booked the Suite Maria Callas through his Country Manager in Paris. It was located on the sixth floor, offering views of the hotel’s gardens and the Eiffel Tower. When they entered the room, they laughed at the sheer insanity of the opulence surrounding them.
They went directly to the window, drinking in the lights that only Paris can offer to the world.
“Hungry?” Mick asked her.
“Let’s call down and get a bottle of wine and a couple of sandwiches. I don’t want to leave this spot until I have to.”Natalie, as her nature demanded, often said something in French in a loving dig to her Irish man, who seemed incapable of pronouncing a single French word properly.
Mick had learned not to ask - he just chuckled as she teased him.
As Mick worked his way toward consciousness, he was greeted by the faint smell of gardenia, the scent Natalie used sparingly.
When he turned towards her, he once again felt the joy of her being in his life. What a miracle, he thought.
She rolled onto her back, allowing him to look at her and admire what he thought transcended beauty.
She turned towards him, opening her eyes, locking with his, saying, “Good morning, love.”
She snuggled into him, hooking a leg over his so they could be even closer.
“Morning. If I ever move from this spot, I’ll call down for coffee and croissants.” Mick whispered.
“Hm, stay exactly where you are, mister.”
He laughed enjoying how she addressed him.
Time and embraces went by before they rose, ordered breakfast, and showered in preparation for a day in the spring sun.
As they were enjoying their breakfast, Natalie jumped up and went to the window. “My camera is in my bag. Take my picture, and then I’ll take yours so we always have this day. C’mon, mister, get the camera.”
They clowned around, offering both serious and comedic poses.
“Ok, that will never get printed,” Mick said as she offered more to the camera than even the French might have developed.
“Is my Irish man a prude?” She teased.
“Hardly, as well you know.” He teased back.
“You know we can’t have photos showing us here together. Let’s offer a peek at who we are that only we will recognize.”
She did various poses, with hats, without hats, a towel wrapped and draped like a hijab, and flowers from the vase on the side table perched randomly on her head, each time covering her face just enough to be unrecognizable.
Mick did the same until they ran out of film.
“Let me have the film. I’ll post it to the shop in Vienna I’ve used. He’ll send the photos back to me through the American Embassy in Vienna that we use courtesy of the Yanks.”
“Yanks come in handy at times though not too often.”
They both knew that the Americans had way too big a footprint to trust when it came to intelligence and the protection of information gathered by others.
Natalie, thanks to Jack’s briefing, knew that few, besides her, were aware that the Australians had a Secret Service.
The two of them, when in secure locations or out of their operating theaters, occasionally discussed the wonder of operating in the shadows without anyone suspecting their activities.
The French were well known and well respected for their intelligence and counter-intelligence around the world. That, occasionally, they were too arrogant to share information had caused more than one tense moment within the secret community.
“Well, how do you see this day proceeding?” Mick asked Natalie as she went through her clothes, deciding what to stun the public with in the city with the best-dressed people on the planet.
“I want to be a tourist. Let’s go to the Musée d’Orsay to admire Camille Claudel’s genius.”
“Great idea. I haven’t been there in a bit. We can tweet Rodin’s nose for how he treated her.”
“Men! Sometimes I wonder.” She shared, giving Mick that cocked smile she saved for moments when she drilled into her truth.
“We can go to the Rodin gardens, have lunch somewhere, maybe in the Tuileries. If we have time, let's go to Musée de l’Orangerie and bask with Monet’s Water Lilies.” She enthusiastically added.
“All sounds good. Maybe dinner at any of a thousand spots along the way. Ok.”
“Perfect. Now, tomorrow I want to go to Versailles.”
“Versailles. Seriously?”
“ I have something in mind, and I don’t want your peaked eyebrows to tarnish the thought. Tomorrow, it’s off to Versailles. Agree?”
Mick smiled, saying, “I only wish I’d thought of it.”
She patted his shoulder, mumbling something in French, as she passed by on her way to the loo.
Only Paris can offer Spring days that are held forever in one’s memory.
The sky was brilliantly clear, allowing the sun to warm the city, encouraging comfortable walking for the crowds embracing the day.
They headed out of the Ritz, in Place Vendôme, heading south toward the Tuileries Garden.
Arm in arm, they crossed the river via the Passerelle Léopold-Sédar-Senghor, which brought them right to the museum’s doorstep.
When they entered the museum, they went directly upstairs to visit Camille Claudel and Rodin.
Mick watched Natalie’s reaction to Camille’s art as she broke the rules and ran her hand along the bronzes.
She turned to Mick, “She spent thirty years in a mental asylum, dying of malnutrition at 78. Damn!”
“If I remember correctly, she lost it when Rodin rejected her. That might not be absolutely true, but it’s how I remember it.” Mick added in a reverent whisper.
“That and how her art was received. The so-called art experts and the press deemed her art to be overly sensual and inappropriate. Her declining career and instability ultimately came together to destroy her. What a shame. She was a brilliant artist.”
The two of them wandered through the museum, enjoying works by Van Gogh, Degas, Manet, and Renoir, as well as lesser-known artists.
“Who is your favorite?” Natalie asked.
“Impressionists draw me to them the most. I appreciate other styles, but I guess my days at the National Gallery in London have influenced my interests.”
They stopped talking when they got to Van Gogh’s Bedroom at Ales.
“He painted it in his happiest moments. Hard to believe this painting, and others, were mere decorations on his wall.” Natalie said.
“Your art school background is showing.” Mick teased.
“She looked at him, broke into laughter, and said maybe she’d quit her day job and become a museum guide.
“I have a feeling that once in, never out,” Mick said, referring to their connections to the services.
“You’re right, my friend.”
They knocked around for a few more minutes before exiting the museum into glorious sunshine.
As they headed towards the river, Natalie said she’d like to sit for a bit. She pointed to a vacant bench to the left of the bridge.
They sat in silence embracing the sights before them.
“Michael, are you content?”
“Content?” How do you mean that?”
“I mean, with your career, your corporate career, which seems to have become more complex because of your relationship with Jack.”
Mick thought about it for a moment as this wasn’t an easy question.
“Right now, at this moment, I am so happy that you and I have found each other. That is foremost on my mind.” She reached over and took his hand.
He paused for a second before continuing, “My corporate position is a plum assignment in the company. With the U.S. President having had a successful visit, I got kudos for holding everything together with the entourage that traveled with him. My career has opened up to lots of possibilities.” He stopped to watch a young boy trying his best to get his kite soaring.
Natalie gave him a 'continue, please' nod.
He looked around to ensure it was prudent to continue.
“Sure, I’m new to the game that you and Jack are old hands at, but it seems to fit me like a glove. I’m not sure where it will take me and remain open to whatever rolls out.”
He turned so he could look her right into her stylish sunglasses.“So, are you content?”
“I wasn’t until a certain language-challenged Irishman charmed his way into my heart.” She laughed at her own dig before continuing. “My job is more stressful than I ever imagined. I am proud to work for the service and see myself there for my entire career. Trying to balance my embassy cover job, and now you, has knocked me a bit off my usual steadiness with job and career. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been wishing for you forever, and here you are sitting next to me watching the Seine roll by.”
Mick looked left of her, spotting a cart selling roasted chestnuts. “Back in a flash.”
When he returned, he offered her a chestnut, muttering, “When in Paris.”
She laughed, saying, “What’s next? La baguette, escargot, Crepes Suzette, artisan cheeses?” She switched to French to list items that went right over Mick’s head.
“Whatever you said, and a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape AOC would make this perfect day even better.”
“Hm, maybe you’re not so savage!” She leaned into him as she teased him.
After a moment, she took off her dark glasses, turning to him, saying, “I love you.”
“And I you.” After a moment, he added, “Maybe we could add in Maurice Chevalier singing I Love Paris.’”
She giggled, “Perfect. Ok, let’s cross over, skip the museum, walk the Avenue des Champs-Élysées arm in arm under Plum trees, Magnolias, and the budding chestnut trees.”
“You have become not only a tourist, but a romantic one.” He teased back as she rose, spun, and reached out for him.
She took his arm, saying, “Why Maurice Chevalier?”
“My mother loved him. She used to say repeatedly she would like to travel to Paris and see him.” After a moment, he added. “Sadly, she never did.”
Natalie didn’t reply until halfway across the bridge. “If I remember, I’ll tell you some sad stories about Chevalier.”
“I’d prefer to keep my memories. Ok?”
She just leaned into him rather than replying.
They walked via the Place de la Concorde, where they stopped for a wander through the Hermes shop, before continuing at a casual pace towards the Arc de Triomphe.
“What a beautiful day!” Mick exclaimed as they enjoyed the weather, the crowds, the colors, and smells.
“Even though I’ve lived here for years, I never become dull to what an amazing, unique place this is.”
“Do we have a destination, or are we just going to keep wandering?”
She stopped and gave him a strange look, saying, “Hm, maybe we’ll cross back over and go to the top of the Eiffel Tower. You getting weary, mister?”
He laughed at her ability to zero in, saying, “ No, I’m enjoying being a wide-eyed tourist. Versailles tomorrow, right?” “Stick with me, and soon you’ll be a cultural man speaking like a Frenchman from the outback of Ireland.”
“One day, I’ll show you around Ireland. You’ll love it.”
She smiled and said, “I’d love to walk where you have walked before.”
Her comment threw Mick a bit, but he found himself embracing the hope at the same time. God, he loved her more every moment.
She broke the mood, saying, “We’re back to Moscow in a couple of days, where we have to keep a certain distance. I am uneasy with that, though I know anything else is problematic.”
“When do you think you’ll be rotating back here?” He asked.
“About a year.” She took a deep breath. “Here is a secret,” She looked around to see who might be able to hear what she would share, “I am running a Russian military officer who is paranoid about anyone else getting involved in the relationship. I’m not sure how it will work if I leave, but I can’t stay there forever. God forbid! Part of me hates the place.”
Mick waited a moment as he took in the depth of the risk she had just taken by sharing what was beyond top secret.
“Jesus, Natalie. What incredible pressure. Do you feel supported?”
“Yes, in a way, as only a couple of people know what I’m doing. This is nothing I ever imagined.” She blew out a breath, “Sorry, Michael, I just had to share. Now, can we totally switch topics?”
“Sure, but even though I’m new to all of this, there is nothing I won’t do to help you.”
She smiled at him, saying, “Nothing anyone can do right now, but thank you.”
They continued walking, silently, arm in arm, until Mick suggested a glass of wine to fuel their journey around Paris.“Perfect.” She pointed to the cafe up the street where a couple was vacating a sidewalk table. “Let’s take that table.”
Mick had a million questions. Should I tell Jack what she shared? How did she start a relationship with a Russian soldier? How is she managing this in a city where everyone is watching everyone? He knew to leave it alone and be thankful she trusts him. Damn!
Natalie’s mood lightened up as they sat down.
“How about some fruit and a cheese plate plus a bottle of wine?” She asked as the waiter headed their way.
“Sounds great.”
Natalie gave their order to the waiter responsible for their table.
“How long do you think you’ll be in Moscow?” She asked.
He laughed. “Not sure. Usually, people get rotated every two years. Still, since Nixon visited, and the business community is growing, plus Brezhnev heading to the states, plus a Stanford Research conference in 18 months, I may never leave Fun City East.”
She laughed at what many in the diplomatic community call Moscow. “Do you have anything to do with Brezhnev’s trip?”
The waiter appeared, uncorked a bottle of wine, and placed a plate of assorted fruits and cheeses in the middle of their table.
Mick answered when the waiter stepped away. “Not with the official party, but with all the hangers-on traveling with him. Get this. I’ll be authorizing American Express cards, so Bank of America or Chase Manhattan doesn’t issue theirs and get the PR, for about a dozen of them. Of course, all the names will be bogus, and the SOB’s will undoubtedly want to pay their bills by some fiddle they come up with against our office costs, etc.” He continued after a sip of wine and a nod of approval on the wine choice. “No way will they want to pay whatever charges they rack up in any negotiable currency. My bet is they will dump a bunch of worthless rubles into our office account and call it a day.”
She chuckled. “Godless commies always have a way, don’t they?”
“When it comes to money, they always try to find a way. When Nixon was in town, I had to guarantee in writing that all the non-official bills for rooms, cars, etc., for reporters, White House staff not housed by the Russians in the Kremlin would be billed to my office and that I had to pay them in Pounds Sterling.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.” He popped a slice of orange in his mouth. “The White House, as of two weeks ago, has still not paid its staff’s bills, which my office billed 48 hours after they left Moscow. I’ve sent everything to our government relations guy in D.C. to clear the bill sometime in our lifetime. You wouldn’t believe how much the bar bills were when they were in town. I could buy a cabin somewhere on what they all drank.”
She raised her glass to him in salute.
Time passed as only it does in Paris.
Natalie looked at Mick, who seemed to be lost in his thoughts, saying, “We’re fortunate that the sun is setting almost directly on the Champs-Élysées. If we’d been here two weeks ago, it would have set right down on the Avenue.”
Mick turned to look west. “Not so bad right now.”
They settled back into a warm silence that only those warmed by love can do.
The waiter came to their table, cleared the plates and their empty wine glasses. He asked if they wanted another bottle, receiving negative head shakes from both of them simultaneously.
“Where now?” Mick asked.
“Let’s head to the Jardins des Champs-Élysées before it gets dark and then decide if we want to eat in the hotel or double back to Le Cinq.”
Mick laughed, saying, “We’ll never get in there without our having booked it when we were born.”
“I didn’t really want to go there, anyway. We are certainly not dressed for the George V,” She replied with a bit of sarcasm in her voice.
They had to weave as the street became filled with Parisians and visitors from the four corners of the planet.
When they entered the gardens, Natalie asked Mick, “Are you going to share with Jack what I told you about running a Russian?”
Fortunately, for Mick, he had thought about this very decision from the moment she shared it. “No. I have no plans to share that with him unless at some time you suggest I do.”
She squeezed his arm in acknowledgment of what he said.
After a moment, he asked her. “What do you think about our dating while we are in Moscow? I really don’t want to wait for accidental encounters or for when I can fly out of the country to meet you somewhere.”
She thought for what was, for Mick, an uncomfortable length of time before replying. “DGSE is probably one of the more strict and perhaps paranoid agencies when it comes to their people having relationships without their approval. They will, if I ask them for permission, investigate you back to when you began secondary school. When I asked you if you were going to share with Jack my activities, I should have immediately told you that I have no intention of sharing what you are doing with ASIS.”
She continued her train of thought. “Later tonight, I’ll ask you a million questions to ensure our pact to lie to our bosses doesn’t boomerang back on us if I, we, decide to offer you up to French Intelligence. I know, because I discreetly checked, that the Aussies have nothing more than actual diplomats in their embassies around the world officially, so the idea that you are affiliated is beyond anyone’s imagination.”
Mick took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, no one will know I enquired. I did it here in Paris on a machine I am authorized to scrub in case anyone ever checks it. It’s in my place here, in a safe, and encrypted with the strongest encryption we have. I searched, in a roundabout way, about the Australian Foreign Service. Everyone thinks the Brits control everything the Aussies do, so no worries on that front.”
“Ok, I feel better, I think.”
She chuckled. “Don’t worry, I know how to bury information and destroy any trail. My job, you know.”
The lights were beginning to flicker on throughout the gardens. It wouldn’t be long before they twinkled like fairies racing from flower to flower.
As they strolled, Mick thought about how much he cared for her. He realized he had finally found the person he could give himself to, lock, stock, and barrel - no holding back - no lies.
Of course, there was no way for him to know that Natalie was having similar thoughts. She knew her history and reluctance to share herself totally. It seemed a miracle to her that she had met a man, an unlikely one, who blew her windows open. She told herself to quit thinking and to keep feeling what was right there in front of her.
She turned to him, saying, “How about we continue walking and then, in a while, order dinner to our room. We can sit on the balcony and take in the magic of Paris.”
“I like that much more than finding the right restaurant, dealing with crowds, noise, etc.” He paused before adding, “I want to be with you and not the clatter of humanity.”
She leaned into him, kissing him on the cheek. “My thoughts as well.”
As they approached the Fontaine de Diane, Natalie asked him. “I know you were raised in Waterford, where you attended school before Trinity. Did you leave any trail my people can find that would raise any eyebrows?”
“Are you counting the wake of broken hearts I left behind?”
She laughed as she pushed against his shoulder. “Were any of them married, Russians, or any other godless soul that could red flag you?”
“Hardly. Until I got to university, I was too intimidated by the ladies to leave any sordid legacy.”
“Well, that’s nice to know. Any crazy political affiliations at Trinity that have marked you?”
“Some anti-war and social justice activities, but nothing shocking.” After a moment, he continued. “When I was in NY, I was approached, casually, by someone I presumed was an arm of American Intelligence. I wasn’t welcoming to them at all. Hm, I’m guessing that when I started spending time with various Australians in and out of business, and then later recruited by Jack, they had investigated me. Right?”
“They would have, for sure.”
“So, Jack checked you out before that briefing that allowed us to be together, even though no one knew just how together we are.”
“I was surprised that he opened up to us, allowing me to help you, as even though no one knows who they really are in the spooky world, but if I weren’t cleared by whatever background checking he did, he’d never have approved it.”“Ah, that was a little confusing! Spooky world!”
“What I mean is they, the Aussies, undoubtedly did a check on me and maybe on you as well.”
She laughed, repeating Spooky World.
He laughed along with her, saying, “Jack used that term when he told me just to keep my eyes open when I did a recon trip to Leningrad and avoid skulking around trying to be a spook.”
“Between the two of you I’m going to have to learn a new language to keep up."
They enjoyed the moment watching a family walking together through the gardens.
“By the way, mister. We do not skulk.”
They walked on, being enveloped by nightfall and the garden lights.
When they got back to the hotel, Natalie went to the concierge to arrange for transport to Versailles in the morning.
They took the lift and walked down the hall to their suite. Once in the room, Natalie asked Mick what he wanted for dinner.
“Why don’t you order. Whatever you want will be fine with me.”
“Hand me the menu and prepare to eat like a Parisian!”
When she hung up, he asked her what she ordered.
“You’ll see. It’s going to be about forty minutes, so come join me in the shower.”
When they had completed playing, they donned Ritz robes, returned to the living room, turned on the fireplace, and sat looking out towards the Eiffel Tower.
Mick got up to answer the knock on the door, allowing the waiter to enter and place their meal on the small dining table, which he covered with a tablecloth. Maurice, the waiter, lit a candle, placing it in the center of the table along with a small vase of flowers he had brought with him. Silverware and china appeared from the cart, placed on the table and the side table. He placed several covered dishes on a side table. He was explaining what he brought, looking at Mick as he spoke. Natalie laughed at the mistake, sharing who knows what with the waiter.
When everything was ready, Mick took care of the gratuity, walked the waiter to the door, and returned to what looked like a banquet.
“My sweet lord! What awaits us?” He asked as she poured two glasses of wine and handed him one.
“Take a seat. We will start with grilled oyster with brousse cheese.” She uncovered, like a magician, the treasure under the cloches.
They enjoyed the oysters in total silence.
“My lord, amazing. What’s next?” He asked.
She rose, moved the plates off the table, replacing them with plates of barbecued lobster paired with cassava an hibiscus. As Mick looked at the wonder in front of him, she said, “The deep red hibiscus infusion adds our, a, beautifully romantic, tart and floral to the richness of the lobster. Enjoy.”
A moment into their lobster tasting, Natalie shared that it might be the best-tasting dish she had ever enjoyed.
Mick got up and opened the second bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild Aile d'Argent Blanc.
As he filled their glasses, he asked, “Do you eat like this at the French Embassy in Moscow?”
“Hardly. Our flats are self-sufficient, requiring, like everyone else, shopping at the hard-currency store or whatever is available in the market. When we have receptions or host dignitaries, we up the game. How about you?”
“My flat is an older one, but it’s ok for a single person. I buy just about everything at the hard currency shop. The Americans have a snack bar that I eat at when I pick up our company mail on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The Australians have what they call the “downunda” club, which has a choice of sandwiches. They open on Friday nights. I’ll have to take you there if we get approval to be together in public. You want to go through with that?”
“I do.”
“What else do you want to know?”
“You ready for dessert?”
“Sure.”
She opened the cooler and placed a vanilla mille-feuille and a chocolate tart in the center of their table.
Mick raised his glass to her, saying, “A perfect dinner. Thank you.”
She returned his compliment with a smile.
After devouring their sweets, Mick said. “If it weren’t so complex to get dressed, it would be nice to take a walk.”
“I’m going to order coffee, which we can enjoy on our balcony. This visit to Paris with you is one I want to remember forever.”
It wasn’t long before the waiter brought their coffees along with two glasses of Hennessy. He cleaned out their dinner dishes, wishing them a pleasant evening as he backed out of the room.
Natalie led Mick out onto the balcony, where they sat looking out over the world.
“If you squint your eyes, it looks like the stars and the city lights are mixing together.” Natalie pointed out.
“Magnifique!” Mick replied.
She chuckled, saying, “Keep working on it, mister. Soon you’ll be speaking like a Parisian.”
In the morning, they showered, dressed, and proceeded down to the Bar Vendôme, where they were immediately seated by a waitress.
Coffee arrived along with menus.
As they were reviewing their choices, Natalie said, “Listen to how they describe this room in English.”At the Bar Vendôme restaurant, a typically Parisian sparkle sets the tone. In this charming, life-filled setting, you’ll find the upbeat atmosphere of a brasserie that likes to celebrate each day in tune with the mood of the French capital. It’s the perfect all-day meeting place for a stylish meal, a glass of champagne, or a gourmet creation.
“One of the most beautiful rooms in a flawless hotel. One feels outside while inside.”
“You have a poet inside, Michael.”
“Shall we order the Ritz breakfast, allowing the chefs to do more magic?”
“Let’s.”
Mick ordered while their coffees were topped up.
As they were discussing nothing in particular, their breakfast arrived.
“Enjoy,” the waiter said as he placed their orders on the table.
Their waitress served fresh orange juice, a selection of freshly baked bread and pastries, jams & honey, yogurt, and organic eggs Benedict with smoked salmon.
While enjoying a croissant, Natalie said, “Let’s stay here forever.”
Mick nodded as he bit into his pastry of choice, slathered with blueberry jam.
“How about this?” Natalie offered after a sip of coffee. “Let’s walk up to the American Library in Paris. Not too long a walk that our recent meals demand.”
Mick nodded.
“I called them yesterday while you were showering. I asked them to look up something for me, which I’d like to pick up before we head to Versailles. We can walk both ways and be back for the taxi I booked.”
Swallowing a bite of salmon, Mick said, “You lead, I follow. I didn’t know there was an American Library in Paris. An actual American library?”
“I used to study there during university days. There are many stories about the library. One of my favorites is a wonderful story about a young Parisian who lands her dream job at the American Library in Paris. When the Nazis occupied the city, she and her colleagues joined the Resistance by using books as their primary weapon - secretly mailing reading materials to soldiers and delivering books to Jewish patrons who were banned from entering the library.”
“Have you been there recently?” He asked.
“Oh, yes. Many times. When in Paris, I’ve gone to enjoy the silence while I write reports, memos, etc., and I’ve gotten to know the staff quite well.”
“What are you picking up?”
“Secret documents.” She teased.
They weaved their way towards the Eiffel Tower, eventually arriving on Rue de l'Abreuvoir in Montmartre. “Some say this is the most photographed street in Paris.” Natalie shared.
“If we had no time constraints, we could nip into the La Maison Rose café for more delights!” Mick enthusiastically shared.
“I cannot eat another bite until supper,” She replied. “Look, Sacré-Cœur just up the hill. What a place this is.”
“The first time I was in Paris, I was forever captivated. Now, being here with you has made it perfect.”
She gave him a big smile in return.
When they entered the library, Natalie waved at two women, whom Mick guessed were librarians, sitting behind a grand reception desk. As she approached her friends, Mick peeled off to wander around. He spotted a bronze plaque on the wall near the entrance. He stopped to read it, wondering why he knew nothing about this place.
The American Library in Paris was established in 1920 under the auspices of the American Library Association with a core collection of books and periodicals donated by American libraries to United States armed forces personnel serving their allies in World War I. The Library has since grown into the largest English-language lending library on the European continent.
Near the plaque, a framed note from Ernest Hemingway proudly stated his support. Beneath his note was an acknowledgment to Hemingway and Gertrude Stein for their early support of the library.
A little further from the door was a list of famous people who had frequented the library. Mick read the list: James Joyce, Thornton Wilder, Henry Miller, and some names he didn’t recognize.
Natalie came up behind him, saying, “Maybe someday you’ll be on the list.”
He chuckled, took her arm as they headed out and back towards the Ritz.
“Perfect place for a dead drop,” He said as they passed the world-famous cafe.
They walked back towards the hotel, stopping occasionally to watch buskers ply their trade.
“Do you think you could ever live here?” She asked him.
“Yes, though I’d have to work on my French, as you know it’s close to non-existent.
She chuckled, saying. “Maybe you should take a French lover.”
“Hm. Maybe I’ll organize that.”
Had anyone observed them, they would have witnessed two souls dancing in joy.
Mick waited in the stunning lobby while Natalie returned to the room to freshen up.
He enjoyed watching the comings and goings of visitors, dressed to meet the hotel’s high standards. No jeans here, he thought.“Ok, let’s go. Our ride is awaiting.” She said as she approached him.
When they stepped onto the sidewalk, they were waved at by a man in a grey chauffeur’s uniform standing next to a Bentley Flying Spur.
Mick looked at Natalie, raising his eyebrows.
“My treat. I want this to be a day you will never forget.”
Traffic was challenging, though the two of them were oblivious to the driver’s difficulties as they folded into each other and sank deeply into the handcrafted leather seat.
They pulled into the carpark a little over an hour from departing the Ritz.
Natalie and the driver spoke for a moment to ensure where he would be when they exited the palace.
Walking arm in arm, Mick asks her. “Is there a particular place we are going in the palace?”
“There is.”
Mick knew it was time to hold his thoughts and words and follow her lead.
They entered through the Grille d'Honneur, walked through the King’s State Apartments, the Hercules Room, the Hall of Plenty, the Venus Room, and the Diana Room, without a moment’s attention paid to these chambers.
Natalie led them into the Hall of Mirrors, walking directly to two chairs, a third of the way down the hall, next to the door that led to the King’s chambers and the Council Room.
She sat, indicating Mick should do the same.
After watching the movements of the guests for minutes, Natalie leaned towards him locking into his eyes, saying, “Tu es l’amour de ma vie.”
Mick looked at her, cocked his head, indicating he didn’t understand.
Smiling, she shared, “You are the love of my life. Now get up and dance with me.”
Mick took her in his arms.
Without music, they moved around the hall as though the palace itself had been created for them. The lights and reflections in the mirrors bounced off them, creating an endless combination of light and motion as they waltzed.
Guests moved to the sides of the hall, leaving the center for gliding the length of the room without the two of them being aware of any others.
When they stopped, they hugged, being surprised by the energetic applause from those who witnessed this moment.
Holding her as close as possible, he said. “For as long as I live, no matter what happens during the balance of my life, I will think of this every day and love you forever.”
Natalie died in an auto accident on the way to her home in Tetouan, Morocco. Their visit to that home years before the accident is shared in the book “The Bridge - Life in the Shadows”
*ASIS was created in 1954
The Service’s mission focused on collecting overseas intelligence, primarily in the Asia-Pacific.
In 1954, ministerial authority for ASIS shifted to what we now call the Minister for Foreign Affairs.
For over 20 years, the existence of the Service remained a secret.
ASIS was first referred to in Parliament in 1975, though was not officially acknowledged until 1977. Prime Minister Malcolm Fraser informed Parliament that, ‘ASIS’s capacity to serve Australia’s national interest will continue to depend on its activities being fully protected by secrecy.’
