Chapter 20: Chateau de Versailles

There were two policemen, one male and one female seated in the formal receiving room (sometimes called a parlor in America) when I arrived. Cynthiana had sent word asking me to welcome them as everyone else was busy getting ready.

They stood when I entered but seemed surprised when I shook their hands while introducing myself. They explained that they were with the US Secret Service and they and their team would be checking the house out while we were gone, in preparation for the First Lady’s visit tomorrow...

“Would you care for something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” I asked.

“No, thank you,” said the female agent. “We just wished you to know that we are here and would be around until the First Lady leaves tomorrow.”

When I followed them out, I discovered that there were six more of them. The electronic signals from all their equipment became irritating for a moment until I reminded myself why they were there.

Living out in the country like I had been doing for the last week, I had become used to the relative peacefulness that living here had brought. Not since I was cruising the Caribbean had I felt such serenity. But now, their vast array of electronic equipment had brought me crashing back to reality.

Suddenly, soft fingers covered my eyes from behind. “Devinez qui?” someone breathlessly purred in my ear and then ruined it by giggling.

“Mischa!” I said in delight. “When did you get in?”

“Phillipe and I arrived just after lunch. They said you were making a house-call,” she replied. “I had hoped that we might share a nap, but...”

“When do you return to Cannes?” I asked, hoping she was going to stay a while.

“Tomorrow. I have to return for school. Mother just flew us up for the ball,” she said sadly.

“Then we shall make time later,” I told her and then kissed her forehead. I didn’t want to mess with her makeup.

Four hundred years ago, The Chateau de Versailles (or The Palace of Versailles) was a small hunting lodge constructed by Louis XIII, approximately twelve miles west of Paris. Over the next hundred years it was expanded until it became one of the largest chateau’s in the world, containing over two-thousand-three-hundred (2,300) rooms spread over sixteen acres.

It includes the famous Gardens of Versailles, the recently restored Hall of Mirrors, the Royal Stables, the Palace Chapel, and the Opéra Royal. As well as the restored apartments of Louis XVI and his queen, Marie-Antoinette. It is now the property of the French Republic and is open to tourists throughout the week, during the day.

Tonight, the Palace of Versailles was to play host to an international delegation honoring a new French Treaty and attended by The French President and invited guests from around the world, including the President and First Lady of the United States.

Because of all the high profile dignitaries, security was tight and our cars were driven to a side entrance for the quick dash through the reporters into one of the halls. I made up my mind to come back as a tourist in the near future so I could enjoy this magnificent place.

Because it was a ball instead of a diplomatic dinner, we were shown to one of the tables that ringed the room and soon someone came to take our drink orders. Most of the people were milling around the vast hall, talking to others and soon they were stopping by our table. Cynthiana seemed to know just about everyone and made certain to introduce me to all of them.

I noticed that there were a lot of whispered conferences and realized that there was probably more business being discussed than on a golf course on a Sunday morning. Suddenly, I was aware of a presence over my shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir, President Macron asks if you could attend him,” he said formally. I stood and offered my hand to Cynthiana, to the frown of the messenger. We then followed him across the room to a small raised platform that had only one table. Seated there were the President and First Lady of France. We stood politely until we were acknowledged.

“Welcome to France and The Chateau de Versailles,” said President Macron, shaking my hand. “May I present my wife, Madam Macron. Brigitte, you know Cynthiana, and this is her young protégé, Mr. Masters.”

“Bonjour, welcome!” she said and turned to Cynthiana with a long string of French. I recognized my name once, but that’s it. Then to me, Brigitte said, “My friend, Anita is looking forward to meeting you tomorrow. They felt it better to meet in private instead of in public,” she told us. “This is ... okay?”

“As you wish,” I told her.

She and Cynthiana spoke a little more, and then we were dismissed.

“I guess I can go home now,” I told Cynthiana. Meeting the President of France had seemed a little anticlimactic after the week-long buildup.

“Not without breaking a young girl’s heart,” she reminded me.

The orchestra began playing but not many seemed interested in dancing yet. A few minutes later, Roberto, our dancing coach, came and got me and led me back to a dressing room complete with lighted dressing table and a small attached bath.