A Gentleman in Moscow - Amor Towles Page 0,185

add only a few minutes to Sofia’s journey, but it would allow her to disappear into the anonymity of the Champs-Élysées; and she should still have enough time to reach the embassy before her absence was discovered.

But when the Count had made this calculation, what he had failed to take into account was the impact upon a twenty-one-year-old girl of seeing the Arc de Triomphe and the Louvre lit up at night for the very first time. True, Sofia had seen them both the day before, along with plenty of other sights; but just as the Count had imagined, she had seen them through the window of a bus. It was a different thing altogether to see them at the onset of summer, having received an ovation, changed one’s appearance, and escaped into the night. . . .

For while in the classical tradition there was no Muse of architecture, I think we can agree that under the right circumstances, the appearance of a building can impress itself upon one’s memory, affect one’s sentiments, and even change one’s life. Just so, risking minutes that she did not have to spare, Sofia came to a stop at the Place de la Concorde and turned slowly in place, as if in a moment of recognition.

On the night before she had left Moscow, when Sofia had expressed her distress at what her father wanted her to do, he had attempted to console her with a notion. He had said that our lives are steered by uncertainties, many of which are disruptive or even daunting; but that if we persevere and remain generous of heart, we may be granted a moment of supreme lucidity—a moment in which all that has happened to us suddenly comes into focus as a necessary course of events, even as we find ourselves on the threshold of a bold new life that we had been meant to lead all along.

When her father had made this claim, it had seemed so outlandish, so overblown that it had not assuaged Sofia’s distress in the least. But turning in place on the Place de la Concorde, seeing the Arc de Triomphe, and the Eiffel Tower, and the Tuileries, and the cars and Vespas zipping around the great obelisk, Sofia had an inkling of what her father had been trying to say.

“Was it like this all night?”

Richard Vanderwhile, who was standing in his apartment in the embassy, had just noticed the angle of his bow tie in the bedroom mirror. It was at a slant of twenty-five degrees.

“Your tie is always like that, my dear.”

Richard turned to his wife in shock.

“Always! Why on earth haven’t you ever said anything?”

“Because I think it makes you look rakish.”

Giving the nod of one who could make do with “rakish,” Richard took another look in the mirror, then pulled the tie loose, hung his tuxedo jacket on the back of his chair, and was about to suggest a nightcap when there was a knock at the door. It was Richard’s attaché.

“What is it, Billy?”

“I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, sir. But there is a young man asking for you.”

“A young man?”

“Yes. Apparently, he is seeking asylum. . . .”

Richard raised his eyebrows.

“Asylum from what?”

“I’m not certain, sir. But he isn’t wearing any shoes.”

Mr. and Mrs. Vanderwhile exchanged looks.

“Well then, I guess you had better show him in.”

The attaché returned a minute later with a young man in a newsboy’s cap who was, in fact, barefoot. In the manner of the polite but anxious, the young man took off his cap and held it at his waist in both hands.

“Billy,” said Mrs. Vanderwhile, “this is not a young man.”

The attaché’s eyes widened.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Richard. “Sofia Rostov.”

Sofia smiled with an expression of relief: “Mr. Vanderwhile.”

Richard told his attaché he could go, then he approached Sofia with a grin and took her by the elbows.

“Let me get a good look at you.” Without letting go of Sofia, Richard turned to his wife. “Didn’t I tell you she was a beauty?”

“You certainly did,” said Mrs. Vanderwhile with a smile.

Although from Sofia’s perspective, it was Mrs. Vanderwhile who was the beauty.

“What a terrific turn of events,” said Richard.

“You weren’t . . . expecting me?” asked Sofia tentatively.

“Of course we were! But your father has grown quite fond of all this cloak-and-dagger business. He assured me that you were coming, but he wouldn’t let me know when, where, or how. And he certainly didn’t tell me you’d be arriving

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