He held his hand out to her and she stood up, then followed him as he headed to the nearest table.
The man sitting there bumped his knees on the underside in his haste to stand and thus began a happy hour as the couple made their way from table to table, chatting, taking selfies, facetiming with family members, and listening to whatever the patrons wanted to tell them.
The press pool, seeing shadows moving inside the café surged forward, cameras pointing, lenses tweaked, boom mics extended, trying to get a glimpse or catch the conversations going on inside, but the president had asked for this to be kept private; the reason known only to him.
Early on, as soon as they'd entered the cafe, he'd assessed the patrons in one long glance, his eyes falling immediately on two elderly ladies in a booth towards the back. They had an air about them, a surety, a deep connection to place. He'd bet his bottom dollar that the were of a class almost gone, the last vestiges of the post-war Parisienne elite, the daughters of the men and women who'd lived under occupation.
He kept his eye on them as he and Jill worked the room.
To him it seemed that the women remained a little aloof but they were intrigued all the same. He noticed that they kept looking at Jill, as if they were assessing her. Noted too that every time he leaned towards her or touched her they seemed to approve. The hints were subtle; a slight change in posture, a tiny movement, an unheard comment passed from one to the other but he could read the cues, he was sure of it.
He whispered to Jill to follow his lead, to make a little extra fuss of the pair when they'd get to them, explaining that he had a plan in mind. She didn't even speak, instead her response was perfect, she reached up and kissed his cheek and ran her fingers down his face, glancing over his shoulder to be sure of who they were aiming for.
'Ladies, would you mind awfully if we sat for a moment? I'm always mindful of my wife navigating the world in heels,' he declared as they stopped at the table. One look and he knew he'd already scored some points; acknowledging the need for fashion while also being protective of his wife was always going to be a winner in Paris.
He spied the waiter hovering, clearly wanting to ask a question. Joe waved him over.
'Excuse me, sir but when would you like the remainder of your order?' he asked a little nervously.
Joe turned his beaming smile across the table. 'We'll have it now if you both care to join us?' he enquired and the two women seated across seemed to grow ten feet, basking in the adulation of the president.
The order placed and the beverages now on the table between them the four chatted amiably.
The two ladies; Madame Deveraux and Madame Auclair were most gracious, effusively complimenting Jill on her fashion sense and gazing so obviously at her ring finger that she'd asked if they'd like to look closer.
Joe had watched with delight as Jill slipped each ring off and explained the story behind each one; the ladies mesmerized by the explanations.
'I ... we ... would appreciate your discretion. I don't talk about them publicly, some people see love and thoughtfulness as weak. They'd mock the fact that Joe designed this one, or that we drew the details of this together', she said pointing at the relevant pieces as she spoke. 'But to me it just makes them more special, to know that my husband put in so much effort is something I treasure. Just as I treasure him', she said to the obvious delight of her smitten husband.
The ladies exchanged a glance. To witness such moments of intimacy between the first couple was truly exceptional, it crafted a connection between the four of them; or that's how it felt to the women at least.
