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  ADVANCE PRAISE

  “An Improbable Pairing is an entertaining romp through Europe’s high society of the 1960s, featuring a lovable young American rogue who aspires to love above his station and the countess who possesses the wit and charm to conquer him. Upon opening this book, you might feel you’ve stumbled into a Technicolor world starring a young Paul Newman and Audrey Hepburn, their romance blossoming amid the sparkling sights of Europe. Grab a box of popcorn and enjoy!”

  —Robert M. Eversz, author of Shooting Elvis

  “For traveled citizens of the world, Gary Dickson’s An Improbable Pairing is a look back on glory enjoyed by the lucky few in a manner all his—experienced young and clearly owned. Reminiscent of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Ford Maddox Ford—with nods to Elliot’s poetic sense and bright flashes of Henry James—a young American encounters Old World and an older woman with a modern ethic. To add some intriguing tang to this classic, coming-of-age romance, stir in the author’s encyclopedic love of fine cuisine, fashion, fine wines, great architecture, and beautiful women. All of this adds up to a compelling travelogue of culture and a complicated love. Eyes, ears, and all senses wide open and on high alert.”

  —Gregory J. Furman, founder and chairman of The Luxury Marketing Council

  “An Improbable Pairing, set in Paris and Geneva in the 1960s, is a delightful and architecturally cinematic romantic romp, about lovers you actually root for, written with tenderness and wit by a certifiable bon vivant. I absolutely adored it. I had so much fun. My heart was in my mouth up to the last minute. A page turner.”

  —Shelley Bonus, writer, astronomical historian, lecturer and session director of the Mt. Wilson Observatory 60-inch Telescope

  “Une merveilleuse histoire ou chaque personnage démontre l’importance d’avoir l’esprit ouvert au monde, la faculté de pouvoir embrasser différentes cultures et de créer de cette manière une vie ensemble, au début improbable, mais finalement si riche, remplie d’amour. J’attends la suite!

  A marvelous tale in which each character demonstrates the importance of an open mind, the ability to embrace different cultures, and to create in this manner a life together; while in the beginning improbable, it is in the end so rich, and so filled with love. I await the sequel!”

  —Nadine Juton, professor of literature at the Alliance Française of Los Angeles, University of Strasbourg, France, master’s degree in French literature

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Greenleaf Book Group Press

  Austin, Texas

  www.gbgpress.com

  Copyright ©2019 Gary Dickson

  All rights reserved.

  Thank you for purchasing an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright law. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the copyright holder.

  Distributed by Greenleaf Book Group

  For ordering information or special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact

  Greenleaf Book Group at PO Box 91869, Austin, TX 78709, 512.891.6100.

  Design and composition by Greenleaf Book Group and Kim Lance

  Cover design by Greenleaf Book Group and Kim Lance

  Cover credits: woman © Thinkstock / iStock Collection / NejroN

  orchids © Thinkstock / iStock Collection / Nik_Merkulov

  Paris © Thinkstock / iStock Collection / elenavolkova

  Author photo by Susan Collins

  Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data is available.

  Print ISBN: 978-1-62634-579-9

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-62634-580-5

  Part of the Tree Neutral® program, which offsets the number of trees consumed in the production and printing of this book by taking proactive steps, such as planting trees in direct proportion to the number of trees used: www.treeneutral.com

  Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

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  First Edition

  To my wife, Susie, my very own countess

  “Sometimes things become possible if we want them bad enough.”

  —T. S. Eliot

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I WISH TO RECOGNIZE AND THANK THE FOLLOWING INDIviduals and places for their sometimes unknown but certain contribution to my experience and knowledge as an author. And there are many others, though unnamed: friends, foes, and acquaintances who have unconsciously added to my perception of life and the world:

  Susan Dickson: My wife, who has patiently watched my successes and failures but always remained the same: steadfast, loving, and supportive.

  Nadine Juton: Literature professor at the Alliance Française, Los Angeles, whose casual suggestion, “have you ever written anything?” was the spark that launched my writing career.

  Mark Friedman, PhD: Confidante, teacher, and friend with whom I’ve had an on-going conversation of some forty years, bridging all manner of subjects from existentialism, to politics, to the finer points of a good Meursault.

  Shelley Bonus: Astronomer, teacher, writer, and bon vivant. A cheerleader of enormous talent.

  Lynn Hightower: Writing mentor at UCLA who critiqued but encouraged me in the beginning.

  Robert Eversz: Coach extraordinaire, teacher, cataloguer of all tips associated with writing. A kindred spirit of enormous empathy and a blend of encouragement and suggestion.

  Jane Friedman: The oracle at Delphi of the publishing world. Generous, thorough, encyclopedic.

  Université de Lausanne: A formative force in my youth and an influential memory in my present.

  Paris: I’ll always have Paris. It’s been pertinent and informative at every stage of my life.

  one

  HOW DIFFERENT SCOTT’S LIFE WOULD HAVE BEEN HAD he been attracted to the young girl, the one more his age, who was standing at the railing of the ship, rather than her companion, the beautiful woman wearing a soft gray suit, her hair blond and straight, a cashmere scarf of a crystalline blue that matched her aquamarine eyes draped casually across her shoulders. It was she who drew his attention. Her posture and bearing suggested a sophisticated, long-standing confidence, and Scott was transfixed by her beauty.

  He, like these two women and most of the other transatlantic passengers, had moved to the starboard side of the liner in anticipation of an imminent departure. Peering down from the navigation deck, he was determined to get a better look. Cutting a path through the throng, Scott circled the deck before squeezing between two of the ship’s lifeboats to gain an unobstructed view of his new interest. But by then, the mysterious woman in gray had slipped from sight. Given her impeccable style, Scott guessed she was on her way to first class. He was in cabin (second class)—recommended as more fun by a friend of his father.

  The woman’s younger companion, however, remained where she had been, leaning against the railing. Based on her fair complexion, reddish-blond hair, and slight frame, Scott thought her English, no doubt. A child (from their resemblance, probably the young woman’s sister) and a stern-looking woman, whom Scott imagined a nanny, joined her. Distracted from his observations by the noise of the crowd, Scott looked beyond the trio of women, searching for his parents among those bidding passengers farewell on Pier 86, some eighty feet below.

  The day was August 30, 1963, and Scott was sailing from New York to the ports of Le Havre and Southampton aboard the SS United States, the fastes
t and most modern luxury liner afloat. In the late afternoon sun, the ship cast long shadows across the crowd below as the crew prepared to sail with the evening tide.

  Though the crowd stood elbow to elbow, Scott quickly spotted his parents and waved. Mother’s impeccable silhouette had caught his eye immediately, dressed as she was in her usual Celine finery; Sarah Stoddard dabbed at her eyes time and again with a white handkerchief, while his father, Edward, stood by displaying his usual steely demeanor.

  Scott was headed to graduate school at the University of Geneva to study international relations. His mother thought Switzerland too far; his father considered studying abroad too extravagant. The Stoddards agreed, however, on one thing: their vision for Scott’s future—a quick degree abroad before returning to get a law degree from a prestigious American university. His assignment was clear.

  The ship’s company jerked, startled by the two six-second blasts from the vessel’s giant foghorns, which announced that the SS United States was soon departing.

  Spurred on by the captain’s megaphoned instructions from the top of the bridge, the crew scurried about on the starboard side loosening the brawny hemp ropes from the dock’s massive cleats and then throwing them into the water. The twin diesel engines roared to life and, as soon as the last line was undone, the tide pulled the ship away from the dock. In seconds, Scott felt separated from everything he had known.

  Dutifully waving until his parents disappeared into the mist, Scott remained at his post long after the other passengers had retreated. He watched the receding pier as the ship passed the Statue of Liberty and then exited the Hudson channel into the open Atlantic.

  A noticeable lump hung in the young man’s throat, and a shiver—either cold or emotion—rippled across his tall, muscled frame. Though the other passengers saw a young man, brown hair ruffled by the breeze, hands jammed into his coat’s pockets, inwardly, Scott cheered—he was free: free to do whatever he wanted, free to be whomever he would be. And free from the almost constant supervision of his parents.

  two

  UNPACKING IN HIS CABIN, SCOTT DISCOVERED HIS activity sheet. Intrigued, he noted there was a dance in the ballroom following dinner. His thoughts wandered to the blond woman he’d spied on deck; he felt certain he would not see her there. She would be a world away, behind many secured passageways and doors, luxuriating in the grandeur of first class, which he would only be able to experience by paging through the ship’s brochure. But perhaps the young English girl, her friend, would be in attendance. Determined to make an impression, Scott dressed in an elegant dark navy suit, blue-and-white striped silk tie, and a crisp poplin white shirt, lightly starched. A last check in his mirror revealed fashionably styled dark brown hair, cropped in the day’s popular Kennedy cut; a pocket square, peeping out just the right amount; and a tie with one perfect, single Windsor knot. All was in order.

  Scott made his way along the ship’s passages to the dining room. It was customary that passengers were assigned to tables for the duration of the voyage. He sighed as he exchanged handshakes, for Scott’s assigned companions consisted of five other male passengers: two business types (who spoke no English) and three young students returning to their English boarding school. Scott was not interested in the company of these men. Impatiently, he watched the entrance for more diverting diners.

  There. Scott spied the glint of reddish-blond hair. The young woman, her sister, and the nanny proceeded to the front, near the captain’s table where the second in command (the executive officer, subbing for the captain) was seated with his invited guests. The young woman, too, had dressed carefully for dinner, and her attire suggested a real interest in the after-dinner dance. A black dress, with empire waistline and spaghetti straps, smartly accentuated her slender frame. Black high heels and a white pearl choker perfected her ensemble. Smiling and conversing with everyone at the table (especially one of the young officers seated across from her), she appeared to be in a very gay mood.

  Dinner ended. Scott, along with almost everyone else, migrated to the lounge, where he stationed himself at the bar. Situated near the entrance, Scott was strategically positioned to observe all comings and goings. When the young Englishwoman did enter, she was not alone. Though her sister and the nanny had disappeared, four other girls were in tow. Scott knew from experience that separating her from her friends could be a challenge. Approaching two girls to ask one for a dance was chancy. With five girls, any potential suitor would have to pass muster with all to be considered by one. Grimly, he remembered the many debutante balls and cotillions he had attended since his teens—the very life he was trying to escape by leaving Charleston. Under the circumstances, he knew he must swim with the tide. Ah, well; perhaps he’d find an interesting diversion.

  The music was continuous, the combo orchestra showing off its range of songs, from Bobby Vinton’s Blue Velvet to Peter, Paul, and Mary’s Blowin’ in the Wind. The girls, animated, talked and giggled. Scott finished his drink, summoned his courage and, with good posture and a winning smile, approached them as confidently as possible.

  “Good evening, Miss,” he said. “I’m Scott. That dress looks like it wants to dance. Shall we?”

  “That’s a very brash beginning, but you’re an American, so I forgive you. I’m Millie.”

  “That’s a lovely name, but it doesn’t answer the question. Would you like to dance?”

  “Yes, Miss Millie Summersmith accepts with pleasure the kind invitation to dance.”

  “Well, we had better hurry. This song will be over if we continue to banter.”

  “Is there something wrong with bantering, Mr. . . what did you say your name was?”

  “Scott. Scott Stoddard.”

  As they made their way to the dance floor, he could see the other men’s envious glances and was glad he’d moved quickly. Millie’s dress suited her well. Her smile was genuine, and her pale green eyes glistened in the room’s soft light.

  For the first few moments they were quiet, patiently learning each other’s moves. As they eased into the rhythm of unconsciously following and leading, he said, “Summersmith; that’s English, isn’t it?”

  “Are you always a master of the obvious?”

  “I’m not always anything, but I was right about the dress.”

  For the next two dances, Millie made sure she and Scott got to know each other. She: nineteen, parents divorced, her father living in New York, her mother in London. That summer, the three of them stayed in New York, on Long Island. Scott had correctly surmised that the younger girl was her sister (Tillie) and the older woman, her sister’s nanny. Millie made it clear that Miss Bannister was Tillie’s nanny, not hers, letting Scott know by the subjects broached—and so many other, subtle ways—that she was a young sophisticate.

  Scott volunteered that, at twenty-two, he was traveling to Geneva to earn his master’s degree. Millie laughed. His first trip to Europe! She’d been going back and forth between Europe and the States from an early age. She teased him about his American accent; his good-humored rebuttal—“You’re the one with the accent, Millie.”

  As they laughed, a well-dressed, tall (though not quite as tall as Scott), and handsome-enough guy tapped him on the shoulder to ask, “May I cut in?”

  Millie answered, “Sorry, not now.” The rejected suitor quickly turned to pursue another dance partner.

  “He looked eager,” Scott said.

  “Eagerness is too common a trait.”

  “Then I will try to keep it in check.”

  When they stopped dancing, Millie asked, “Want to have some fun?”

  “I thought we were.”

  “They have more fun in first class,” she said knowingly.

  “I bet they do.”

  “Let’s go! I know someone there, a friend of my mother’s.”

  Millie rejoined her companions’ table, retrieving her evening bag and saying something to her girlfriends, who convulsed with nervous laughter. Scott wondered—was it him or
their destination that prompted giggles?

  three

  THROUGH THE LAUNDRY ROOM, STARTLING WORKERS busy with the sheets and towels turning over and over in vast steamy vats, Scott and Millie hurried through the labyrinth below decks. Millie led them to a double steel door; when opened, the passageway revealed still another, a revolving door, to negotiate. Finally, they entered the ballroom.

  Scott gaped: crystal chandeliers, mahogany paneling, etched and stained glass, and an imposing, serpentine bar created a scene of opulent elegance. The full orchestra, an animated crowd, and champagne-fueled revelry—this was how he’d imagined evenings on the Titanic or parties described in The Great Gatsby. Luxury was front and center.

  “We made it,” Millie said. “Let’s find Desirée.”

  She was leading him across the ballroom when Scott spotted Millie’s companion, the beautiful woman he’d admired during boarding. Weaving through the tables and dancers, they approached her table in the corner of the ballroom. A party of two men in black tie and two women wearing ball gowns, their jewelry ablaze, were gathered there. The men rose as Millie approached the table. They all seemed to know Millie.

  “Millie, my darling,” Scott’s mystery woman said.

  “Yes, c’est moi, up from second class,” Millie said.

  “I don’t understand why your father insists on putting you down there.”

  “He says not to spoil us. Desirée, please let me introduce you to my friend, Scott Stoddard, an American. Scott, the Countess de Rovere.”

  The countess extended her hand. Scott took it gently and looked directly into her eyes. “Enchanté, Countess.”

  As the formalities of introduction and small talk progressed, Scott noticed the countess spoke with confidence and ease in both French and English. From what he discerned, she and her friends had spent late July and August in the Hamptons and were now returning to their respective residences in Europe. As they spoke, he marveled at her gestures, how her beautiful hands accentuated conversation; it was like watching a skilled conductor lead a symphonic orchestra. He’d never experienced any woman like her.