One Summer in Paris, page 11
The dressing room was larger than her bedroom back home.
She hadn’t been looking forward to this, but now she realized how good it was to no longer be at home, surrounded by reminders of David.
She opened her suitcase and hung up her clothes. The silence unnerved her, so she walked back to the balcony and flung open the doors, letting the noise in. Car horns, shouts, street noise—the general cacophony that was Paris.
She closed her eyes, remembering the first time she’d come here.
Eighteen years old and her life so complicated she couldn’t begin to untangle it. But she had. She’d created the life she’d always wanted and had never thought for a moment that her life would one day be a mess again.
She walked into the bathroom and gulped at the opulence. It was like something from the Palace of Versailles, all mirrors and gilt. She half expected to find Louis XIV lying in the bath.
There were twin basins and she unloaded her toiletries next to one of them.
The mirrors made it possible to see herself from every angle.
She stared at her reflection, noticing the dark smudges under her eyes. Her complexion was sallow, as if she’d been stored in a dark place for six months. Her hair was lank after the journey and she felt hot and tired. Old.
She’d ignored the years, but she saw them now in the fine lines etched into her skin and the streak of silver peeping between blond strands. She thought about Lissa with her perky breasts and dewy, perfect skin and instinctively stood up straighter.
She turned away, knowing she wouldn’t be spending much time in the bathroom. Those mirrors forced reflection in more ways than one. It was tempting to spend her whole time ruminating on the past, but she knew she had to move forward.
It was early afternoon. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep, but she knew that if she did that she’d never adjust her sleep pattern.
Instead, she unpacked the rest of her clothes, folding them neatly into the drawers.
If David were here, he’d be watching her with one eyebrow arched.
You don’t have to be so obsessively neat, Grace. You’re allowed to leave a jacket on a chair or a shoe on the floor.
It had almost been a joke between them, her inability to have any disorder in the house.
It was a habit that had stayed with her long after her parents had died.
With a soft curse, she dragged open the drawer she’d just filled, pulled out a shirt and flung it on the bed.
Her heart started to beat faster. Her palms itched to pick it up and fold it back to neatness, but instead she reached into the drawer again and this time she flung a scarf.
“You see?” She spoke aloud. “I can let things go if I need to, but what’s the point? What’s so good about living in a mess?”
She stripped off the clothes she’d worn for traveling and dropped them on the floor.
The hotel staff would think she was a madwoman.
She walked into the bathroom and took a shower, washing away all the dirt of the journey.
She’d thought her life was clearly mapped out. Of course David’s still was. He’d simply switched certain parts around, namely her. It was like selling one house and seamlessly buying another without the need to go into rental accommodation first.
Her future, however, was not sorted. Unlike him she didn’t have a lover waiting in the wings.
How did women meet men when they reached her age? She imagined herself filling in an online profile. What would she say about herself?
Predictable, boring, organized.
Or perhaps she’d learn to relish her single status and travel the world alone. She’d read an article on the plane: You Don’t Need a Man to Be Happy.
Grace didn’t need a man. She needed David. Her best friend. But he, apparently, didn’t need her.
What if he and Lissa had a child together? Sophie would have a stepfamily. What if she chose to spend holidays with her dad, Lissa and the new baby? Grace would hover around the edges of her life.
No! She wasn’t going to do that. She wasn’t going to think ahead and make herself miserable.
Fighting her thoughts, she dried her hair, sent a message to both Mimi and Monica, letting them know she’d arrived safely, and then called Sophie.
She was trying hard not to be an intrusive parent, but she needed to hear her daughter’s voice.
“Hi, Mom!” Sophie sounded bubbly and happy. There was the sound of chatter and laughter in the background.
Grace smiled. “Where are you?”
“In a bar. We met a bunch of really fun people. We’re practicing our Spanish.”
A bar? Grace checked her watch to see what time it was in Seville. “You’re having fun?”
“It’s awesome. We went to a great party last night.”
Grace frowned. Sophie had never been a party animal. She’d always been quiet and studious. The only boy she’d ever been interested in was Sam. “Be careful, won’t you?”
“Mom, this is me you’re talking to. I don’t know how to be anything but careful.”
The noise in the background grew louder and Sophie had to shout to be heard.
“I’d better go, Mom. Talk to you soon.”
“Okay! Love you.” Grace hung up, missing David more than ever. She wished she had someone to share the anxiety with.
There was Monica, of course, but her friend worried more than she did.
To distract herself, she pulled out the map her grandmother had given her.
She wished Mimi had agreed to come to Paris with her, then she could have shown Grace all her favorite places in person instead of simply drawing them on a map.
Perhaps she’d go for a stroll before dinner, but first she’d lie down just for a few minutes.
She woke three hours later, disorientated and with less than fifteen minutes until her dinner reservation.
She sprang off the bed, ignoring the wave of dizziness that was a combination of jet lag and months of sleep deprivation.
She applied her makeup, slid into a dress that was smart but not too over-the-top, grabbed her bag and made her way to dinner. On her own.
She could read a book, but she’d left hers on the plane and hadn’t yet bought another. After dinner she’d find that bookshop her grandmother had talked about, but for now she was going to have to stare out of the window and try hard not to look as if her husband had abandoned her.
The moment she entered the restaurant, she knew this had been a mistake.
This wasn’t a place where single women came to gaze out of windows. This was a place for romance and fine dining.
She was about to turn around and head back to her room, when the headwaiter spotted her.
“Madame Porter.”
How was it everyone knew who she was? She’d come here to disappear, but this hotel prided itself on personal service.
Grace followed him to the table laid for one in the window of the restaurant. Usually she loved traveling. She loved the sights and smells of new places, the discovery of local food, the sheer unfamiliarity of it all.
Right now she couldn’t access the usual feelings of excitement.
Feeling conspicuous, she looked at the menu.
She ordered a steak, and refused the suggestion of red wine.
The couple next to her, both of them effortlessly elegant, were laughing at a shared joke.
Another couple nearby kept reaching across the table and clasping hands.
Grace picked up her water. Maybe she should have made an exception and ordered wine. She needed something to numb her misery.
Some people loved solo travel. She was clearly doing it wrong.
At the end of the most excruciating evening of her life, Grace exited the restaurant and pulled out Mimi’s map.
“Madame Porter.” The concierge smiled at her. “Can I help you with something?”
Grace held out the map. “I’m trying to find a bookshop.”
The concierge studied the marks on her map and gave her directions.
Stepping through the door of the hotel, she felt the warmth of the sun.
It was late evening, and the whole of Paris was bathed in a summer glow.
Grace still had that slightly fuzzy-headed feeling that followed a transatlantic flight, but she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and followed the path along the river.
It was as busy as it had been in the middle of the day, and her spirits lifted slightly as she watched the evening river cruisers drift slowly past her. Music and laughter floated downstream along with the boats.
Philippe.
The memory was so vivid, she stopped walking.
It had been exactly this time of year. She’d been desperate to go on a river cruise. Neither she nor Philippe had the money so instead they’d taken the Batobus, the water taxi that stopped off at various points along the Seine.
It was from the river that she’d caught her first glimpse of the Musée d’Orsay, Notre Dame and the Louvre. From the water you could see the entire facade of the famous Grande Galerie and the Pavillon de Flore. There was no commentary, of course, but she hadn’t needed one because she’d been with Philippe, a native Parisian, who had kept his arms wrapped around her as he’d volunteered his knowledge of Paris.
They’d jumped off so that he could show her the Eiffel Tower, and then caught the last boat back. He’d kissed her as the sun was setting over the famous Pont Neuf, the oldest standing bridge over the river Seine.
Grace blinked, surprised that the memory could still be so vivid after so many years.
What was Philippe doing now?
She’d never looked him up or tried to find him on social media. The past was a door she’d never wanted to walk back through. She was only thinking of him now because this was Paris.
Would she have thought of Philippe if she’d been with David?
Focusing on the present, she strolled across the bridge as the concierge had instructed and followed the river on the other side toward the cathedral of Notre Dame. She ducked away from the river and here the streets were narrow, cobbled and shady. People were buying ice cream, browsing in boutique stores and strolling along enjoying the late-evening sunshine.
Grace glanced at the map and tried to orientate herself. Engrossed in working out where she was, she wasn’t aware of the man approaching from behind until he shoved her.
She flew off balance and landed hard on the cobbles. Her ankle twisted under her and her shoulder smacked into concrete, followed by her head. There was an explosion of pain. This is it. This is where I die.
Even in her dazed state, she imagined the headline.
Body of jilted wife found in Paris.
A tug on her shoulder brought her back to the present and she realized the man had snatched her bag.
“No!” All her valuables were in her bag. Passport. Money. ID. A photo of Sophie smiling on a trip to the beach.
The man was already sprinting away.
“Stop!”
A few tourists turned their heads, but this wasn’t Woodbrook, where the man’s identity would have been known to all. No one knew who he was and no one cared. Grace had craved the anonymity of a big city, but right now the big city wasn’t her friend.
Someone streaked past her. She heard the rhythmic thump of boots on cobbles and then a girl launched herself at the man, the weight of her and the surprise of the assault making him stagger. He collapsed onto the cobbles, howling and swearing. Grace watched in horror as he took a swing at the girl, but she grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back and sat on him hard.
“Merde…” She fired off a volley of words, most of which Grace didn’t understand.
She’d thought her French was fluent, but it seemed she still had a few curses to learn.
The girl glared down at him. She reminded Grace of a very angry tiger cub.
“You think you’re so tough? Remember which one of us is lying facedown on the floor right now.”
Grace struggled to a sitting position feeling bruised and inadequate. Here she was wondering if she had what it took to spend a month alone in Paris, and there was this girl who looked barely older than Sophie chasing down a criminal.
“Is this all he took?” The girl waved the bag at Grace and in doing so lost her balance.
The man took instant advantage, twisted away from underneath her and sprinted away before she could grab him again.
“Well, shit—” The girl clambered to her feet. “I should have punched him and had done with it. There’s the proof that nonviolent solutions never work.” Her eyes were fierce and her mouth set in a determined line. Her hair was a vibrant red and tumbled past her shoulders in crazy curls. She had to keep scooping it back to stop it falling over her eyes. Her skirt was the shortest Grace had ever seen, her legs were bare and she was wearing a pair of heavy boots.
“Lowlife.” Scowling, the girl dusted off her legs and handed the bag to Grace. “You’d better check everything is there.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Grace checked her bag, relieved to have it safely returned. She stood up, trying to assess the damage. Her head hurt and her shoulder hurt, but the worst damage was to her pride. “Are you injured?”
“Me? Nah. I landed on him. He’ll probably feel it for a while, though.” That thought obviously gave her satisfaction and it gave Grace satisfaction, too.
“I don’t know how to thank you. I arrived in Paris today. Everything important is in my bag. If I’d lost it—”
The girl shrugged. “You didn’t, so no biggie.”
“We should probably find a gendarme and report it.”
“Why? The police have bigger things to deal with. And anyway, I don’t know enough French to report a crime. I can say my name, and I can say I don’t understand. I have no idea what the French for this asshole stole a bag is. Do you?”
“I’d probably find a different way of saying it. My French is pretty good.”
“Lucky for you. And if you don’t hang on to your bag, you’re going to need that French.” The girl straightened her strap top. “Your head is bleeding. You’d better come into the shop. You can clean up inside and then get a cab back to wherever it is you’re staying.”
Her head was throbbing and so was her ankle.
“You’ve been kind. And I don’t even know your name.”
“Audrey.”
“I’m Grace. You’re British? Are you on holiday? Working in Paris for the summer?”
“Yeah. I live over the bookshop.” The girl gestured along the street. “I was on my way home when I saw him grab your bag. You don’t look good. Are you going to faint?”
“No.” Grace analyzed her spinning head. “I’ll be fine, but I will take up your offer of cleaning up before I go back to my hotel. I don’t want to attract attention.” She could just imagine the reaction of the staff if she limped in with her head bleeding and her hands skinned.
“It’s down this street. It’s closed now, but I have a key.” Audrey slowed her pace so that Grace could keep up.
“You work in the bookshop?”
“Mornings. My payment is an apartment for the summer and enough money to buy one croissant a day. Unless I can find another job, I’m going to lose weight.” She paused outside a door, and Grace realized that this was the bookshop she’d been looking for when she’d been assaulted.
“I was coming here.” She gazed up at the windows, enchanted. “My grandmother is French. She used to visit this place when she lived in Paris.” And she still didn’t understand it. Why would Mimi have been interested in a bookshop?
“Well, I don’t think they’ve cleaned since that time, so you’re probably seeing the same dust bunnies she did. I hope you don’t have asthma or anything, because if you do you’re pretty much dead.” Audrey unlocked the door and pushed it open. A bell jangled noisily.
The girl dumped her bag on the floor and grabbed a chair. “Sit. I’ll clean up your head.”
Feeling unsteady, Grace sat.
Audrey vanished through a door and reemerged with a first aid kit.
She poured something onto gauze and cleaned Grace’s head. Her hands, if not exactly gentle, were quick and efficient. “So you don’t travel much?”
“I travel, but not usually alone.”
“The first rule is you’ve got to keep your bag close. Keep the strap across your body.” Audrey threw away the gauze. “And don’t stop in the middle of the street and look at the map. That shrieks tourist. Look up your route before you leave the hotel and if you have to check where you are, then do it discreetly. If you speak French, you can just ask for directions.”
“Yes.” What had she been thinking? It wasn’t as if she’d never left Connecticut. “I can’t believe you caught him.”
“You can thank years of almost missing the school bus. That’s my best running distance.” Audrey pressed a dressing to Grace’s head and taped it down. “Now let’s look at your ankle. Is it broken?”
Audrey was the most capable teenager Grace had ever encountered. What would Sophie have done in the same situation? She wouldn’t have chased after a man and brought him down with a few moves.
“It’s not broken. You brought him crashing to the ground. Where did you learn to do that?”
“I did martial arts at school. Can’t throw a ball to save my life, but I have a great turning kick.” Audrey ran her fingers over the bruising. “It’s swelling up a bit. Same thing happened to one of my friends at Sports Day last year. You probably shouldn’t walk on that for a few days. Put ice on it.”
Feeling a little better, Grace looked around the bookshop. “This place is like paradise.”
“I’m pretty sure paradise smells better than this. Also, shouldn’t paradise be sunny and full of drinks with those cute umbrellas in them?”
“But to work in a bookshop—it’s a dream, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. I’m mostly doing it for the apartment.”
“If you don’t speak French, how are you going to serve customers?”
Audrey shrugged. “Sign language? And I’m learning a few words. I’m using an app. It’s pretty good.”
“You seem to know plenty of swear words.”
