That Night In Paris

by Sandy Barker

  It was the first time I’d seen her flustered and I felt a modicum of pity for her.

  Tom drove us north for about ten minutes, past a gun shop, a post office and a hair salon, and turned off into a side street and parked. As soon as we stopped, he opened the door and Georgina practically leapt off the coach. Then, for the first time during the whole tour, Tom picked up the microphone.

  “Okay, guys. There’s a path just over there,” he said, pointing to his left, “and you’ll want to follow signs to the Lion of Lucerne. It’s a monument and it’s pretty amazing. Be back here in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.”

  There was loud silence as fifty-three people realised we had upset Mum and now Dad was in charge. When the moment ended, we shuffled off the coach, chastised and contrite, and walked en masse to the monument.

  Wow.

  It was a giant, intricate lion carved into the rockface. He’d been impaled and was dying, his face in anguish. The monument commemorated the Swiss Guards who had defended the French royal family and were massacred during the French Revolution in 1792. It was an incredible sculpture and very moving, leaving me a little breathless.

  As Tom had directed us, we went, we saw, and we took photos. Less than fifteen minutes later, we were all back on the coach—even Georgina, who looked a little paler than usual—and Tom drove us up into the mountains to our next overnight destination, Lauterbrunnen.

  Views of Lake Lucerne emerged and disappeared as we rounded bend after bend of the steep road. It was a magnificent sight, with teal water surrounded by what I will forever call “Swiss green” hills, and steep steel-grey mountains rising on all sides.

  Each minute we drove further into the heart of Switzerland revealed more incredible beauty. It was emotionally exhausting gasping for breath that much, and at that altitude I was in grave danger of hyperventilating.

  Lauterbrunnen pretty much put me over the edge.

  “Oh, my fucking God,” I said as we drove along the valley floor between two sheer cliff faces. Lou gave a quiet “Ahem” next to me. She didn’t swear and she certainly didn’t blaspheme, so I figured the combination of “fucking” and “God” was too much for her. I apologised—although it was an OMFG moment.

  The Swiss-green valley floor, with its pockets of leafy trees, undulated in a sequence of low hills. Giant mountains loomed either side, one casting half the valley into afternoon shadow. The narrow road wound among homes and shops, all textbook Swiss chalets in varying colours—chocolate brown, rusty brown and brilliant white. Window boxes spilled cascading flowers in vibrant splashes of red, yellow and pink, contrasting with wooden shutters in dusty green, white and natural wood. We passed a small paddock with the prettiest cows I’d ever seen, big brown eyes blinking placidly at us.

  “Scratch what I said before about Lucerne,” I said to Lou over my shoulder.

  “No kidding. This is … I don’t have the right words.”

  “I know, right. Sublime? Epic? Paradise?”

  “Those will do.”

  My phone beeped with a message notification. Alex:

  Okay. Thanks.

  My mouth flattened into a line and I showed the phone to Lou.

  “Oh, well, at least he got your apology.”

  “I guess so.” I was certain there was nothing more I could say to Alex, so I closed the message and put my phone in my bag. Besides, there were more pressing matters—like the view.

  Georgina looked a little brighter as she took up the microphone and I noticed that, like me, everyone sat up and shut up, giving her their full attention. “Okay,” she smiled brightly, and I wondered if she was doing the “fake it ’til you make it” thing. I’d done it myself many times, particularly when I was having a hard time and didn’t want to let on to my pupils. Teaching could be a soul-crushing job sometimes, and I knew from Sarah that managing a tour could be just as gruelling and thankless.

  “As you can see, Lauterbrunnen is quite spectacular.” “Spectacular” was a good word. I filed it away. “You will have noticed on the rooming sheet that there are more people in each room than we’ve had before, but the rooms are quite unique. I also managed to get us into top-floor rooms, which have these great skylights. The stargazing is quite something here.” Good on you, Georgina! Way to make a comeback, I thought, suddenly her biggest fan.

  “So, when you get off the coach, the reps will lead the way into the chalet and show you to your rooms. Dinner tonight is in the dining hall and tomorrow is a coach-free day, so if you’re not doing any of the excursions, have a great day exploring. The reps can give you some tips if you’re not sure what to do. Okay, so, I’ll see you later.”

  We didn’t know it then, but we wouldn’t see her again until it was time to leave Lauterbrunnen the day after next.

  “I feel awful about before. Poor Georgina,” said Lou as we gathered our things and waited to get off the coach.

  “Yes, me too.” I decided to seek her out and see if she was all right, teacher to tour manager. I figured, at the very least, we had “controlling a wayward mob” in common.

  When I stepped off the coach, I slung my bag onto my shoulder and stretched my arms up above my head. It had been a long day. Right as I indulged myself in a wide and very loud yawn, I heard a voice say, “Hello, Catherine.”

  My mouth shut as though my puppeteer had closed her hand, and I spun in the direction of the voice.

  Oh. My. Fucking. God.

  “Jean-Luc!” It came out as a squeak.

  Chapter 15

  My mouth dropped open again and hung in a loose variation of an O. I must have looked fabulous.

  He moved closer, as people from the tour group parted around us like I was Moses. He took my hands in his and looked down at me with the kind of look film heroines dream of. “Hi,” he said, his mouth stretching into a spectacular grin.

  “Hi,” I coughed out, quickly taking in the lived-in jeans and grey T-shirt draped perfectly from his perfect body. Jean-Luc. In Switzerland. I could not have been more surprised if Alex was standing there—or Scott. And how had it happened? I had so many questions.

  Before I could ask any of them, Dani poked her head between us. “Hello, lovebirds.” Lovebirds? Mental note: kill Dani. “Cat, I hope you’ll forgive us for interfering, but …” She shrugged. It was hardly an apology and it was a monumental interference. Mental note: Really, kill Dani.

  “So, how did you …?” I was baffled.

  Jean-Luc took over explaining. I was glad, because Dani’s coy looks and ambiguous gesturing weren’t doing the trick. “I contacted Dani to ask where your next stop was after Venice. I wanted to see you again.”

  All right, that makes sense. Did it, though? I had about half a second before I was expected to say something, and I spent all of it trying to remember how we’d left things in Rome. I certainly hadn’t said, “Hey, come to Switzerland and surprise me.” Maybe that was why they were called surprises.

  The thing was, I was elated, thrilled, over the moon to see him, but at the same time my stomach was twisting into knots. I did the only thing I could do with all those expectant eyes on me. I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him. I swore I heard another “Aww” from Dani. My life was turning into an episode of Ellen.

  When I stepped back from the hug, Dani and Jaelee were edging away, and Lou ran over and gave me a quick squeeze. “Have a wonderful time!” she whispered in my ear. Wait, what? Where are they going? What’s happening? I was bewildered, having no idea what had been planned without me.

  Tom did me the favour of bringing my case over and placed it on the ground next to me with a smile. “Thank you, Tom,” I heard myself say.

  “This must be …” said Jean-Luc. I faced him, a frown nestled between my brows.

  “Confusing,” I said, finishing the thought.

  “Yes. Je suis désolé. I asked Dani to keep this a secret. I wanted to surprise you.” His smile had vanished and he looked like he might be regretting the whole “surprise Cat
in Switzerland” thing. My head was trying to make sense of everything, but my heart just wanted to scrub that look off his face—tout de suite!

  “No, I’m sorry. It’s a wonderful surprise. The other night, saying goodbye … it was all so rushed. This? This is good … it’s wonderful that you’re here.”

  “Really? I know it is …” he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and I could see him searching for the word in English. It was presumptuous, that’s what it was, but I doubted he was going to come up with that word in English and I certainly wasn’t going to supply it. “… presumptuous,” he said, eventually. So he didn’t need the English teacher’s help after all.

  “A little, but it’s all right. It’s good.” I grabbed his hand to doubly—triply—reassure him. “Really.”

  “So, let me get your luggage. We are staying just a little way down, closer to town.”

  Wait, what?

  “Sorry, you got us a room?” Now that was presumptuous, and I didn’t know how I felt about it. Actually, yes, I did. I was quite cross.

  “No, well, yes, but not a room. I rented an apartment. There are two rooms.” Those beautiful green eyes with their flecks of gold and brown looked down at me. What could I say but yes? We had separate rooms. And if I could keep my libido in check and not crawl into his bed in the middle of the night, it would all be fine and dandy.

  ***

  “Here we are,” he said, leading us into an incredible apartment. I made a beeline for a giant picture window which had a view of the valley.

  “Oh, my God, this view!”

  He laughed and disappeared with my case—probably to put it in my room. “It’s the sole reason I chose this place,” he called.

  “Airbnb?”

  “Yes.” He came back into the room. “Actually, there was one other thing. Come with me.” He took my hand and my heart leapt to my throat. Was he taking me to his bedroom? Was I about to be seduced? Because if so, it wasn’t going to take much. “Here, look at this.”

  Right, I was officially seduced.

  It was a giant, free-standing, white porcelain bathtub, and it stood by another picture window. I nearly burst into tears.

  “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve bathed without standing in someone else’s shower water?” I asked rhetorically. I made my way over to it and stroked it lovingly.

  He chuckled from where he leant against the doorframe. “I thought you might like that.”

  I turned to face him and perched on the edge. “Is that so?”

  “Oui.”

  “You don’t really get extra points for thinking a woman—one who’s been travelling on a bus and staying in campsites—would swoon over a bath, especially one like this.” I deliberately said “bus” for effect.

  He raised one eyebrow. Could he always do that? It was becoming a fun little game I was playing with myself—Jean-Luc then vs Jean-Luc now.

  “So, you have some choices.”

  “Oh, now I get choices?” I teased.

  He pretended to scowl at me. “You have some choices,” he repeated. I sat up straight and nodded along, taking it all very seriously. In truth, I was content just to stare at him, learning the features that belonged to the man.

  “You can take a bath and relax. I can bring you some wine. Or we can drink the wine together on the balcony—”

  “There’s a balcony?”

  “But of course.” How could I have doubted there was a balcony?

  “Or, if you’re hungry, I bought some food I will cook for dinner.”

  I looked at my watch. “A very early dinner.” It was 4:00pm.

  “Yes. But we could pretend we are eighty years old.”

  “Hah! That was pretty funny.” He smiled. “So, I’m not going to lie, the bathtub is calling me, but you’ve come all this way, and there’s that.” I turned my head to indicate the view. “So, I think I would like to start with option number two, please.”

  “Parfait.” That crinkly-eyed smile made my lady parts stand to attention. Down, girls.

  “I do want to freshen up a bit, though. I’ve been on the coach all day. I might change, actually.”

  “Of course. I put your luggage in the main bedroom.”

  “Oh, thank you.” He was giving me the master bedroom?

  “I will get the wine and meet you outside.” He left.

  I patted the edge of the tub and whispered to it, “I will see you very soon, my lovely.” As I passed through the living area, Jean-Luc was busy in the sleek but tiny kitchen, putting together a platter of nibbles. I gave him a smile, which he returned.

  Seeing him there like that was a tiny glimpse into a “what if” that was both jarring and appealing. If we lived together, we could have drinks on the balcony every day. If we had a balcony, that is.

  I turned down a short hallway and came to two side-by-side bedrooms. The master bedroom had a California king bed—wider than it was long—and the other bedroom had two single beds pushed against opposite walls. A small overnight bag sat on one bed. I tried to imagine Jean-Luc, who was at least six-foot-one, lying on the bed with his feet dangling over the edge. I should have this room, I thought. I’d talk to him about it later.

  I unzipped my case and pulled out my toiletries bag, my makeup case, a clean pair of knickers and a fresh top. When I got back to the living area, Jean-Luc was no longer in the kitchen and I could see the back of his head on the balcony through one of the windows. I’d be quick, but I really did feel a little stale after such a long journey.

  In the beautiful bathroom, I brushed my teeth and splashed water on my face, then dabbed on some moisturiser and reapplied my makeup. I’m not one of those women who likes full coverage, so it was just a bit of concealer under my eyes—I may have had nine hours’ sleep the night before, but the bags from all the other late nights were stubbornly still in place—some cream blush, and some sheer raspberry-red lip gloss. I finished by tidying up my brows with a little brush.

  I spritzed some leave-in conditioner into my hair and smoothed down the fly-aways, and before I changed into my clean knickers and top, I wet one of the fluffy washcloths and performed a quick spruce up of the important bits—you know what I mean. When I was presentable, I returned to my room to put everything away. My phone beeped on my way out and I went back for it.

  Sarah:

  He kissed you! That’s amazing. I want to know everything. Call me soon. S x

  She had no idea. I would call her later.

  There was also a message from Dani:

  I hope you’re not mad. Have a great time. Dani, Jaelee and Louise xxx

  And one from Lou:

  The Love Bus!!! :D

  I smiled to myself. I loved my girls.

  I put my phone on silent and left the room. When I stepped onto the balcony, I didn’t know which was more spectacular, the view or the man. All right, I did. It was Jean-Luc.

  He sat in one of two canvas deckchairs, his legs stretched out casually in front of him. He held a glass of white wine, condensation forming on the outside. It was still quite warm out, low twenties, I guessed. I sat down in the other chair and it nearly swallowed me up.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, telling me I hadn’t quite pulled off the incredibly tricky act of sitting down.

  “Yes.” I wriggled into a more comfortable position, deciding that our balcony would have better chairs.

  “Here,” he said, handing me a glass of wine. “I brought this from home.” He clinked the rim of his glass gently against mine and we each took sips, our eyes meeting over the top of our glasses. We’d done that in Paris, I recalled.

  God, his eyes. I am a goner.

  I liked the wine; it was almost floral. “It’s delicious.” I took another sip and let it roll around on my tongue.

  “Oh, you like it? I hoped you would. My brother-in-law, he makes it.”

  “Cecile’s husband?”

  “Well, his brother, Victor. He has a little winery just outside of Lyon. Actuall
y, if I can, I go there for harvest.”

  “You pick the grapes?”

  “We all do. Cecile, Louis, me—even my father will come sometimes. Victor has friends who come too. We pick the grapes in the day—it breaks my back, this work, but it is good, you know, to work like that, on the land with my bare hands.” I smiled, enjoying his exaggerated description of grape picking.

  “Then after dark, we gather around a big table in the house, and we eat simple food—bread, cheese, olives, some meat, like this.” He indicated the tray of antipasti sitting on the low table between us. “Only much more, because we are very hungry after working all day.”

  “Of course.” He was describing a scene remarkably close to the one I’d imagined—the one where I met his family.

  “Then we sleep—wherever we can—on the sofa, on the floor, in the loft. Some people bring tents. And after we wake up, we have a large breakfast and do it all again.”

  “It sounds amazing.” It did—I wasn’t just being polite.

  “And we do the stomping.”

  “You stomp the grapes?” The thought was delightful.

  “Yes, it is very messy work and it feels strange, but I like it. And because the picking is done, it is a little celebration. Like a dance in the grapes.” He grinned. I grinned back.

  “I’ve always wanted to do that, the stomping.”

  “You should come. You missed harvest this year. It was last month, but perhaps next year, yes?”

  “I’d love it.”

  “Good, we have a date.” He raised his glass to me and took a sip.

  Perhaps he was teasing me, I wasn’t sure. And I wasn’t one to make plans for the following month, let alone the following year, but right then I wanted nothing more than to go to a little winery somewhere in the middle of France and stomp grapes with Jean-Luc.

  Maybe I am falling for him. Or, I’m madly in lust and just need to get him out of my system.

  I let my two minds bicker in the background while I cut off a slice of cheese, laid it on a cracker, then popped it in my mouth. I washed it down with some wine and leant back to take in the view. I could feel my heartbeat slowing down. I breathed in the mountain air, the scent of grass and sunshine and maybe a hint of bovine animal, making me feel a little heady. I suppose it could have been the wine, or the man next to me.