That Spring in Paris

by Ciji Ware

  “Are you sure you’re ready to do this? I mean, revisiting L’École so soon after—” She fumbled for words that avoided mentioning Jean-Pierre Grenelle. “You haven’t seen anybody from there yet and you’ve only been able to sit up for short periods of time.”

  “As you said yourself, Juliet, you’ll be leaving soon and I have to face it all on my own at some point. Why not today, when you’ll be right there beside me?”

  CHAPTER 14

  L’École des Beaux Arts was an easy walk from the flat, but Juliet hailed a taxi as soon as she and Avery emerged on Rue de Lille.

  “Save your strength for climbing that first flight of stairs at school,” she advised.

  Upon their arrival, their handbags, per usual, were searched and then they slowly ascended the wide cement stairway at the entrance, making their way down a corridor to an open door, forty feet away. Juliet described her earlier trip to explore where her forebear earned her certificate in architecture at the close of the nineteenth century. As they drew closer, they could hear a male voice lecturing in French on the shading of faces on a canvas to create a subject’s realistic bone structure. And then they arrived at the threshold where some dozen students stood by their easels, listening intently to their professor, a tall man of middle years in a white, cotton, paint-spattered smock. He stood commandingly in front of the class making quick marks with a pencil on a canvas with the faintest outline of a human head.

  Avery motioned to Juliet that they should remain outside the door and to listen to the instructor’s directions as the class drew to a close at the end of the hour. Juliet glanced at the high ceiling above her head and heard the murmur of other classes that were also in session in this wing of the school. Suddenly, it struck her that she was probably standing at the very spot Julia Thayer, née Bradshaw, had passed by many times, more than a hundred years before. She was no longer conscious of the students inside the classroom asking questions of their professor. Her mind filled with what it must have been like to be a bona fide student here a century ago. A swarm of resolutions buzzed in her head.

  I must study here! I must take landscape painting classes. I must do the art I am meant to create...

  “C’mon, Juliet!” Avery whispered hoarsely. “Class is over.”

  Startled from her reverie, she followed Avery into a large room that smelled pungently of turpentine. The space was littered with a raft of easels and various half-finished portraits leaning against them. A table stood against one wall with brushes soaking in large jars and paint-encrusted rags piled in one corner.

  “Avery! Ah, Cherie! Regardez, tout le monde! Avery est revenue pour nous!”

  Yes, thought Juliet with silent thanks, Avery had, indeed, come back to “everyone” in the portrait class—a miracle, given what had happened to Jean-Pierre, as the teacher sorrowfully explained to his class.

  The new arrivals were soon surrounded by students who had also known J-P, as he was being referred to in rapid French by several offering their condolences and pressing Avery for information about what had happened that horrible night.

  Juliet watched with alarm as Avery struggled to keep her emotions in check, which she managed to do until the last of her classmates departed. Within seconds, she collapsed in tears against Juliet’s shoulder. “I’m s-sorry, but seeing everyone was like reliving it all over again!”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Juliet replied, stroking her back, “that was what I was afraid of.” She gazed at the class instructor who looked strangely familiar. In a flash of recognition, she remembered the portrait Avery had been working on all week. It must be of Alain Devereux, her professor and the man who was the first person to send Avery flowers at the hospital with a card that asked when he could come see her.

  Avery sank onto a stool near an easel, her head shaking from side to side. “While everyone was asking me questions,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of the hand not restrained by her shoulder sling, “all I could think about was J-P standing up from the table at the restaurant when the shooting started... throwing me to the floor... covering my body with his. His friends, here, will never see him again, and—”

  Juliet sent Avery’s teacher a look of desperation. The tall, lanky man swiftly strode to her side. Every aspect of his demeanor was one of deep concern and sympathy and Juliet instantly took a liking to him. He put a gentle arm around Avery’s good shoulder and in English said, “I am so happy to see you, cherie. It was brave of you to visit us here so soon. When you said you were coming, I had hoped it wouldn’t be too much for you, so soon after...” He floundered an instant. “So soon after your terrible injuries.”

  So Professeur Devereux had been speaking by phone to Avery recently, Juliet noted silently, observing that Alain’s arm remained around her friend’s shoulder.

  “Maybe you’re right,” replied Avery. “Maybe coming here so soon wasn’t such a good idea.” She inhaled a few deep breaths to try to regain her composure. Meanwhile, Juliet introduced herself to Alain and suggested that she and Avery head back to the flat.

  “But I want to be able to come here!” Avery cried. “Painting is the only thing that means my world will go on after... after—”

  Alain stepped back and took his student’s chin gently in his hand. “Of course you should start painting again. But rather than here, with all your memories so fresh, why not work at my atelier? You can come there, even if I’m here teaching. If you find it too difficult to be where Jean-Pierre used to be—perhaps you’ll feel more yourself working in my studio. We can have lunch. We can have dinner. I will give you instruction, just as I would here, until you feel better. Would you like that?”

  Avery’s tears had stopped and she met Alain’s glance with the most vulnerable expression Juliet had ever witnessed on her friend’s face. “Would you allow that, Alain? Would you let me work in your private studio?”

  He nodded with a broad smile to confirm his invitation.

  Avery turned to Juliet. “You know, don’t you,” she said with obvious pride, “that Alain Devereux is one of the finest portrait painters working in France today? He’s painted everyone who’s anyone in Paris and has just been given a commission from a current cabinet minister, haven’t you?” she declared, turning back to her instructor.

  Devereux shrugged and merely said, “Oui.”

  Juliet repressed a smile. Was Avery smitten with her painting instructor? Had they been seeing each other outside of class before she was felled by the terrorist attack? Then she thought about her brother Jamie and wondered if his playing “rescue ranger,” as her mother had accused her of doing when she flew to Paris, was such a great idea after all? Given the signals she’d seen exchanged between Avery and Alain, she certainly didn’t want Jamie to have his heart broken.

  Hey... let them figure it all out!

  After all, Avery said she liked the idea of having company for the holidays. Maybe Alain Devereux is a married man, she thought, relieved, and was just being kind.

  Just like Finn...

  Juliet cast a friendly smile in Alain’s direction as Avery clutched his arm with her free hand. Her eyes darted around the classroom as if she were picturing Jean-Pierre at one of the easels. Juliet could see another wave of sadness had her in its grip.

  To Alain Avery declared, “I absolutely hate that Juliet’s going back to San Francisco.” Her shaking voice showed the difficulty she still had controlling her emotions.

  Meanwhile, a ping on Juliet’s phone announced a message. It was from Finn.

  Since you’ve set the date for your

  departure, can I take you and Avery

  to Le Bistro de Paris tonight? It’s

  only a few blocks from her flat.

  Juliet waved her phone in the air. “That’s from my landlord,” she joked, hoping to cheer up Avery. “Let me just call him. I’ll be right back.”

  She trotted down the corridor, anxious to be out of earshot. Finn answered on the first ring. After they exchanged greetings
and Juliet thanked him for his invitation to dinner, she described Avery’s emotional state after having seen her classmates at art school for the first time since the shootings and the death of Jean-Pierre.

  “I’ll ask her about dinner, but she’s had a real setback, I think. Frankly, I don’t think she’s up to going out again tonight.”

  “Well... okay. I understand.”

  “But I’m really glad you called,” she hastened to add, “because I need to talk to you. We don’t have to have dinner, or anything, but could you possibly meet me—now—for coffee or something?”

  “Absolutely. What’s up?”

  “I need to ask you about... well... PTSD. From what just happened here at the art school, I think Avery is showing some serious signs and—”

  “Of course,” Finn interrupted. “Why don’t you take Avery back to her apartment and I’ll pick you up in half an hour?” He paused. “How about I take you to a street that’s already decorated to the max for Christmas... and with the most wonderful pastries you ever tasted? It’s bound to cheer us both up and you can take a treat back to the patient. Sugar helps, I’ve found.”

  She knew he was joking, of course, but his response soothed her somehow. A few minutes later, Alain walked the two women to the front of the school and saw them safely into a taxi for the short ride back to number seven. Once upstairs, Avery waved away Juliet’s help and wiggled out of her jeans on her own.

  “Let me help you with your sweater,” Juliet insisted.

  “Okay,” Avery grumbled, “but I’ve almost figured out the trick to do it on my own, Ms. Busy Body.”

  A weary Avery allowed Juliet to pull back the covers so she could climb into bed.

  “Have a nap,” urged Juliet. “I’ll bring you back something for supper.”

  “Don’t,” Avery murmured. “I just want to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Would she sleep, Juliet wondered, or wake with nightmares? Was Avery starting to “isolate,” or did she simply need some time alone? Juliet couldn’t wait to put her questions to Finn.

  Thankfully, he was waiting at the curb in his MG when Juliet trudged downstairs and they quickly drove across the Seine to the Right Bank and onwards to the Rue Rambuteau in the 3rd Arrondissement.

  “First we go to Pain du Sucre, if you don’t mind,” he said, his eyes scanning for a place to park. “It’s a great bakery and I am on a mission.”

  Juliet looked down the straight little street that stood chock-a-block with pastry shops and small cafés on both sides. Pine Christmas garlands studded with rosy apples stretched above several windows jammed with every imaginable culinary temptation.

  “Mmmm...” Juliet moaned. “Forget dinner. Let’s just gorge on macaroons and chocolate éclairs.”

  Finn spotted a car pulling out and he swiftly guided the little MG to take its spot.

  “This place is already a zoo, but I promised Claudine I’d put in an order for her annual buche de Noël that she serves at her Christmas Eve party.”

  “They must be something special if you have to sign up a month ahead of time. A buche de Noël is one of those chocolate cakes that looks like a Yule log, right?”

  “Trust me, they’re so special that after December fifth, it’ll be chef-versus-chef battling it out on this street trying to get their orders honored,” he declared with a mock grim expression. “C’mon. Follow me!”

  The narrow thoroughfare was noisy and crowded as they made their way to Pain du Sucre, a storefront aglow with tiny lights and packed solid with shoppers. After waiting in line for fifteen minutes before Finn could place his order for pick-up on December 24th, he also purchased a small apple tart, glazed golden with caramelized sugar syrup on its top and perched on a platform of pastry so flaky, the sales woman took over a minute to carefully ease it into a box. As Finn waited for his change, he suggested they pick up a spinach quiche next door.

  “We can take our booty back to the barge and you can give me the details of what you think may be going on with Avery.”

  Grateful for Finn’s plan, Juliet nodded, and within ten minutes, they were parked near the quay that led down to the boat. Finn heated the quiche briefly in his toaster oven and served it with a small green salad.

  “I wish I had a real oven, but I’ve learned to live without one,” he said with a laugh, pointing to the small, electric appliance.

  “This salad dressing is delicious!” Juliet enthused, her mouth full of the first forkful of lettuce and arugula from her plate.

  “I just learned to make it this week,” he disclosed with a smug smile. ‘You like?”

  “I definitely like. Do you share your recipes?”

  “Only with people I like...” He gave her a steady glance across the sofa where they had taken up their usual positions, plates on laps. “I’ll text it to you later.”

  Juliet felt her cheeks flush but kept her eyes on her plate and kept chewing.

  After a moment’s silence, Finn proposed, “And now I want to watch your face when you tuck into this spinach-and-egg confection.”

  Juliet inserted her fork into the quiche and tasted her first bite, allowing her tongue to roll over the spinach laced with more crème fraiche than she wanted to think about. Savoring the wonderful mix of flavors, including a dash of nutmeg, she rolled her eyes in appreciation.

  “Oh... my... goodness,” she breathed. “There’s quiche, and then there’s this quiche! It’s heavenly.”

  Finn refilled her glass with liquid rubies. “And the wine? I bought you a bottle of a great Bordeaux—at least I remember it being pretty incredible.”

  “It’s fabulous.” She took a swallow and smiled at him. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “Maybe a little... I could tell on the phone how upset you were.”

  When they had finished their meal, he rose to brew two espressos while she carried their plates to the sink with its straight-on view of the Eiffel Tower. She could no longer deny that she would dearly miss not only the good food, but also the incredible surroundings and the wonderful sense of warmth and compatibility she’d experienced on Finn’s barge.

  “Here you go,” he said, pouring the steaming brew from his glass coffee pot into demitasse cups. “I know it’s sacrilegious, but want some hot milk?”

  She nodded, and then took a sip of the coffee and closed her eyes, savoring its delicious taste and aroma.

  “Ah... but wait!” he chided her. “You must have a bite of this first!” He fed her a forkful of the apple confection he’d called tarte tartin with a dollop of whipped cream.

  Obediently, she chewed and swallowed and then slowly shook her head.

  “You know, don’t you,” she murmured, “that you’re driving me crazy? How am I going to eat all my meals at my desk after this?”

  Finn raised an eyebrow and then surprised her by removing her coffee cup from her hand. He set it on the counter near his coffeepot and leaned toward her. When their lips met, Juliet imagined she tasted deliciously of apple and cinnamon and sweet cream, just as he did.

  “I want you to promise me you’ll never eat at your desk again,” he said softly, “unless it’s a truffle or two that I air express from Pain du Sucre...”

  “Or,” she murmured, “just send me a tarte tartin...”

  Their kiss deepened and Finn’s arms pulled her against the length of him. Juliet’s mind flew in all directions, mostly with flashes of Jed, and then Kim’s pretty face in the family photo at the Air Force Academy on Finn’s graduation day. But finally, everything faded in the wake of Finn’s nuzzling her ear and then cupping her face in his hands to return to kissing her, producing electric sensations from their two bodies pressed hard against each other.

  “Do you have any idea how luscious you are?” he muttered, “And I don’t just mean how you taste.”

  His arms lowered and his hands slid below her waist, pressing her derriere firmly so her pelvis melded with his own, his long legs pressing against hers so tightly, she
could feel his arousal.

  “Oh, Finn... are we being crazy? I’m leaving and you’re mar—”

  “I know!” he said, his tone fierce, pulling back to look her in the eye. “Not very honorable of me, but I couldn’t fight it anymore.”

  “Whatever ‘it’ is, that makes two of us,” she acknowledged while willing herself to move half a step away. She reached out and laid a hand lightly on each of his broad shoulders, thrusting out her lower lip in a mock scowl. “All what’s going through my head right now is how I dread going home, and how I just want to curl up and—”

  Finn mirrored her actions, taking hold of her shoulders as well. Stopping her words, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers once more.

  “I just want to curl up with you—and I should tell you, you must be part of my ‘cure’ because I haven’t felt like this in about four years.”

  She glanced down at his waistline, unable to repress a knowing smile. “Feel like what?” she said with mock innocence.

  He pulled her roughly to him once more. “Like this,” he said emphatically, pressing her close so she had no doubt as to what he meant. Then he held her more gently and sprinkled tiny kisses on the top of her head before he took a step back. “But I suppose you’re right about keeping our cool.”

  Regretting her own step back before she took it, Juliet nodded her agreement.

  “You suppose right, flyboy,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I’m not sure I’ve ever felt quite like this, but we each have got very complicated lives right now, agreed?”

  “That would be an understatement.” He dropped his hands by his sides. “I am probably the definition of ‘not fit for combat duty.’”

  “By that do you mean having a close connection with someone of the female persuasion?”

  “I don’t trust myself,” he said in a low voice. “I feel so much better, now, but I don’t know if I’m truly coming out of the tunnel. Until I do know, I don’t want to make your life even more complicated.”

  “Ditto,” she said with a sad smile. “My tunnel is this damn situation with my family and my job.” She reached out and squeezed both his hands, wishing silently she could draw him back into the embrace that had felt so wonderful. Instead she let go and said, “Hey! We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we? And besides, we’re supposed to be talking about Avery. I saw so clearly today what a very tenuous state she’s in and you’re the only person I know who probably understands what she’s going through.”