"Hello," she said, her heart leaping with pleasure because Paul was so obviously glad to see her. She had dug Eunice's discarded gift of Chanel No. 5 out of her bottom drawer and put a little behind her ears, and had brushed her hair until it shone.
"Come on," Paul urged. "I want to show you something." He went into the chateau and Flip and Ariel followed. They went across the empty hall and up the wide stairs, then down a broad corridor and up more stairs, and it seemed that every time Paul led her down a dim passage there was another flight of stairs at the end. At last he opened a door and started up a very steep, circular iron stairway. Openings were cut in the thick stones of the walls and through them Flip could see the sky, very blue, and puffs of snowy clouds. The stairs were white with bird droppings and Flip could hear the birds just above their heads. A swallow sat on the stones of one of the openings and watched them. Ariel laboriously climbed up three steps, then sat down to wait, a patient expression on his ferocious bulldog's countenance. Flip followed Paul on up. At the top of the stairs was a small platform and more openings looking out over the country on all four sides. The birds flew in and out, scolding excitedly. Flip rushed to one of the windows and there was the valley of the Rhône spread out before her, Montreux and Territet, Vevey and Lausanne, lying in a pool of violet shadows, and the lake like melted silver and across the lake the mountains rising proudly into the sky, with the snow descending further and further down their strong flanks in ever-lengthening streaks.
"Like it?" Paul asked.
"Oh—yes!" Flip breathed. "Oh, Paul—"
"This is my place," Paul said. "I never thought I'd bring anyone here. But I knew you'd feel about it the way I do."
Paul leaned back against the cold stones of the turret wall, his scarlet sweater bright against the grey stone. "Still worrying about that Eunice?"
"I can't help it," Flip said.
"School any better?"
"No."
"Still hate it?"