Christmas at Tiffany's

by Karen Swan

  She was baffled. Why did he keep sending her plants to grow in foreign cities? The message behind the grass she kind of got – green grass of home, a patch of countryside in the urban jungle and so on – but what were these? And if he wanted her to have flowers, why didn’t he just call Interflora?

  There was a postcard inside. It was divided into quarters and had pictures of a punk, a red double-decker, Nelson’s Column and the King’s Road sign on it. ‘Wish you were here,’ was written in huge red print across the middle.

  Smiling, she turned it over. It was a list. Another one.

  Visit Point Zero

  Acquire a Ladurée habit

  Call Claude on (33) 40 26 97

  Get invited to the ‘Dîner en Blanc’

  Go to the catacombs

  See The Kiss

  Get to London, no matter what!

  Henry xxx

  Some of it made sense on first reading. She’d already been to Point Zero. In fact, she passed it several times a day. It wasn’t an historical landmark, as it was in New York, but a geographical one: a bronze plaque on the ground in front of Notre Dame Cathedral and the point from which all distances from Paris were measured. Strike one, then.

  And sure, The Kiss – even she knew she had to see that. But ringing some random stranger and not even knowing why? Don’t say Henry was trying to set her up too. If Anouk mentioned drinks with Pierre and Guillaume one more time, she thought she might scream. And what was the Dîner en Blanc? Where were the catacombs – was he expecting her to go potholing in Paris? And as for acquiring a Ladurée habit? What did that mean – take orders and live a life of celibacy? Could she buy one on eBay?

  She shook her head and folded the list back into the bag of seeds, rolling the package down so that it lay flat at the bottom of her bag. There was no time to decipher Henry’s codes now. She needed to hit the streets. That party wasn’t going to throw itself.

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve done that to her!’ Kelly shouted crossly.

  ‘I had to. The condition was terrible,’ Anouk shot back. ‘It would have all broken off anyway in another few months. You cannot keep bleaching hair like that and expect—’

  ‘I expected a little support. I was the one to put her back together again, you know. Do you think it was easy? I was the one who sat with her while she cried and got drunk every night for two months . . .’

  Cassie looked up. That wasn’t how she remembered it. Hadn’t Kelly dragged her out – kicking and screaming most nights – and made her drink sugary cocktails till her head spun?

  ‘Well, she’s not that together. She’s still hung up on Luke and she looks completely miserable when she thinks I’m not looking.’ She looked at Cassie. ‘You do.’

  ‘At least I made her look like a better version of her. You’ve just made her look like you!’

  ‘And what’s so wrong with that?’

  ‘Stop it! Both of you,’ Cassie said, exasperated. She got up and started to pace about, a large glass of burgundy in her hand.

  ‘I can’t see you when you go over there,’ Kelly said.

  ‘Well, that’s probably a good thing,’ Cassie replied. ‘It’ll stop you both shouting for a minute.’

  Kelly and Anouk stared at her. She sighed wearily – and not just because she must have walked over ten miles location-hunting today. She was amazed at how little had changed since school. Those two could be separated by an ocean and still manage to have a shouting match. They were too similar, that was the problem.

  ‘Look, Kell. Anouk wasn’t trying to undo everything you’ve done for me,’ she said quietly, trying to referee.

  ‘No? She’s started from scratch. Made you into a completely different person.’

  ‘I was giving her options,’ Anouk interjected. ‘Things are different here.’

  ‘Different how?’

  There was a pause. ‘Gentler.’

  ‘Gentler! What does that mean?’ Kelly gasped dramatically. ‘Are you saying I made her look brassy? You think New York girls are brassy?’

  ‘Enough!’ Cassie cried again, this time coming to stand between them so that she was the only one they could see. ‘Look, Kell – what Anouk has done is not a rebuttal of everything you did. I like my hair like this, but who’s to say I’ll keep it like this? It’s just an experiment, that’s the point of this year, isn’t it? And I still wear my favourite black Bebe trousers and absolutely nothing will stop me carrying my Maddy bag, even though they wanted to give me a Dior one. And – dare I say it – I’m even beginning to miss my runs in the park, a bit.’

  She crouched nearer to the screen. ‘I miss you. And I loved being in New York, I really did. It brought me back to life with its energy and ambition and . . . and can-do attitude. I mean, look at me – I’m working at Dior, the centre of the fashion universe! I couldn’t have done that fresh from the grouse moors, now, could I?’

  Kelly gave a small, appeased laugh. ‘You have come a long way, baby,’ she drawled.

  ‘Thanks to you,’ she said. She turned and grabbed Anouk off the arm of the chair and gathered her into her side. ‘Thanks to all of you. You’re all keeping me going and showing me new directions, and, yes, showing me different versions of me. I don’t know which one’s right yet, but we’re ticking off the options, right? And you know what, Nooks? You’re absolutely right about Luke. I am being a misery. He’s behaving like a child, and frankly I could do without it right now. If it’s got to be all or nothing, then . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘I guess it’s nothing.’

  She took a big glug of burgundy and smacked her lips together. She looked at the glass lovingly. ‘Besides, I’ve decided I’m going to embark on a deep love affair with French cuisine and wine instead. It’s much safer.’

  ‘Not for your thighs!’ Kelly shrieked. ‘Nooks, tell her!’

  Anouk chuckled before looking slyly at Kelly, allies again. ‘What did I tell you? Poor Guillaume isn’t getting a look-in.’

  ‘Oh, I hardly think Guillaume is crying himself to sleep each night,’ Cassie quipped.

  ‘He’s asked after you every time I’ve seen him.’

  ‘I’m sure he has,’ Cassie said, winking at Kelly. ‘I have a pulse.’

  ‘Tch, you may know about French beauty and style, chérie, but you still know nothing about French men,’ said Anouk.

  ‘Well, you can take it off the syllabus,’ Cassie said, patting her arm. ‘The only man I want to know about is Brett and how he’s gonna survive the wedding preparations.’ She looked back at the screen. ‘Has the haunted look come into his eyes yet?’

  ‘Cunning diversion!’ Kelly said, flicking her Vuitton leopard-print scarf at the screen. ‘And no, not even close. He’s loving it.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I think he made the wrong decision going into banking, you know.’

  ‘Wow, he’s a keeper, Kell! Gil had to read the date on our invitations just to know what day to turn up on.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it might have been better if he hadn’t bothered,’ Kelly said grimly.

  ‘So it’s all nearly sorted then?’ Anouk asked quickly, bringing the subject back round again.

  ‘Well, it was. But then Suzy’s news has thrown a spanner in the works. She’s not going to be able to fly after May, so we looked at bringing the date forward from June to end of May, but then we couldn’t get the venue we wanted . . . Then when I mentioned pushing the date back to sometime in July, after the baby’s born, she threw a total wobbler about wearing a bridesmaid’s dress so soon after the birth. She said she’d look like she’d eaten the vicar if she stood at the altar next to you two.’

  Anouk giggled.

  ‘So what’s the answer?’

  Kelly shrugged. ‘Well, we’ve decided that if Muhammad won’t come to the mountain . . .’

  A moment passed.

  ‘No!’ Cassie gasped. ‘You’re not having it in London?’

  ‘Well, not technically London. Gloucestershire. At West Meadows.’

  ‘Su
zy’s mother’s place?’ Anouk asked.

  ‘Exactly. It was our home from home whilst we were at school.’ She looked at Cassie. ‘Don’t you remember all those half-term holidays there, and weekend exeats?’

  Cassie nodded happily. Anouk had been able to hop on the train to get home, but she and Kelly had had long-haul flights to contend with, so they had always stayed with Suzy at West Meadows instead. ‘I think it makes perfect sense – if Brett’s happy with it.’

  ‘I think he’d get married on the moon if I wanted it, but either way, he knows how important it is to me for us all to be together.’

  ‘Dare I say it, but it sounds like it’s all under control, then?’ Anouk said encouragingly from her position on the arm of the sofa.

  ‘Well, it would be,’ Kelly said, rolling her eyes, ‘if we could get her ladyship to decide whether she’s going to be a blonde or brunette bridesmaid.’ She squinted through the screen at Cassie. ‘You realize you’re holding up the entire wedding with your schizophrenia – there are colours to be decided upon and themes to be arrived at. Suzy’s going to hit the roof if I don’t come back to her with a decision soon.’ She threw her arms in the air dramatically. ‘Honestly, with me getting married and her pregnant – we’re women on the edge, I tell you. Women. On. The. Edge.’

  Anouk tucked her legs under her, and cupped her cheek in one hand. The burgundy had brought a pale flush to her cheeks and a languid smile to her lips. A cigarette was perched between the fingers of her left hand.

  ‘God, I’m glad that’s over and done with,’ Cassie sighed, hugging her knees up to her chin and pulling her jumper – a moth-eaten gardening one of Gil’s that always hung from the hook in the boot room – down over them. ‘I guess it means Paris Cassie is now officially “go”. Kelly’s in the loop, so you needn’t rein yourself in any more.’

  ‘Trust me, I wasn’t,’ Anouk smiled, her eyes flicking with satisfaction over her protegée.

  ‘Oh? So that’s it for the surprises, then? You’ve shown me everything there is to being a Parisienne?’

  ‘Superficially,’ Anouk shrugged, taking a deep drag of her cigarette.

  Cassie narrowed her eyes. ‘What does that mean? That I’m still just a tourist?’

  ‘Well, you don’t want to hear it, so . . .’

  Cassie put her hand up, instantly alert to the ‘great unmentionable’ that their differing attitudes to men had become. ‘Oh, I see! Right, well, I don’t! Enough of the man talk.’

  Anouk sighed. ‘It is the big difference. If you want to know what it is like to live here, you have to know how to love here. I can make you brunette, get you a job at Dior, put you in lingerie and swap your maquillage for a skincare regime, but if you do not understand the French attitude to love, then you are still just somebody who comes here to climb the Eiffel Tower.’

  Cassie rolled her eyes. ‘You are so hung up on love.’

  Anouk let her arm dangle down. ‘But that’s precisely my point,’ she said, piercing her with an intense stare. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Well, neither am I. I’ve sworn off it.’

  Anouk shook her head. ‘No. You are trying too hard, trying to outrun it. Trying not to ring Luke, trying not to say Gil’s name . . .’

  ‘They’re not the same thing. I didn’t love Luke – don’t love Luke. He just made me happy at a time when I was very unhappy.’

  ‘And I could introduce you to some people here who would do the same for you.’

  ‘But I don’t want to bounce from one man to the next, Nooks. That’s not who I am. I can’t keep letting people in and then watch them walking away from me.’

  ‘You’re not getting any younger, Cass.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘Besides, you’re the one who does the walking.’

  There was a brief silence.

  ‘You make it sound like I leave without a backward glance,’ Cassie said quietly. ‘As though I’m not hurt too.’

  ‘I know you’re hurt. That’s why I want you to learn how not to be.’

  ‘And how do you learn that, exactly? Anaesthetic to the heart?’

  ‘Practice. Experience. Entering into the relationship with no expectation of Happy Ever After. Just a fond goodbye, somewhere down the line.’

  ‘That’s what it is to be Parisian, huh?’

  Anouk smiled.

  ‘Hmmm, I think I prefer Henry’s version – and God knows, between becoming a nun and pot-holing, that’s saying something.’

  ‘Becoming a nun?’ Anouk echoed, arching an eyebrow. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Cassie refilled her glass. ‘He’s sent me another list. Some more flowers seeds too. I’ve got them growing next to the coriander, by the way, so don’t throw them out.’

  ‘Henry’s sent you a list for Paris? This I have to see. As if an Englishman could give you a better idea of the city than me.’ She stubbed her cigarette out and held out her hand. ‘Show it to me.’

  Cassie sighed. ‘God, you’re all so territorial. Kelly was exactly the same.’ She got up and fished it out of her bag. ‘Tell me it makes sense to you, because I feel like I’m reading the cryptic clues in The Times crossword.’

  She handed it over and Anouk scanned it. ‘Point Zero . . . Ladurée . . . Claude . . .’ She looked up. ‘Who is Claude?’

  Cassie shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  ‘Dîner en . . . Dîner en Blanc! How does he expect you to get on to that?’

  Cassie’s eyes widened in panic. ‘Why? What is it? Please tell me it’s just a restaurant with a crazy waiting list?’

  Anouk tutted. ‘You should be so lucky! The White Picnic, it is a secret thing – no one knows who are the organizers and the members are secret. You can only get on to it by invitation.’

  ‘Then how will I get invited if I don’t know who to ask?’

  Anouk shrugged. ‘The catacombs – oh, great, explore the dark underground tunnels while you’re in the City of Light,’ she said sarcastically. ‘The Kiss – mmm, predictable.’ She let the list flutter to her lap and looked at Cassie, satisfied. ‘I much prefer my version of Paris. Get you looking right and introduce you to a sexy man.’ She smiled and lit another cigarette.

  Cassie picked up the list and scanned it again. The Manhattan list had been such fun. This didn’t seem quite so . . .

  ‘I wonder who Claude is?’ Anouk mused, her eyes slitted in concentration. She regarded Cassie slyly. ‘Maybe Henry is setting you up on a date with him. He thinks you need some fun, too.’

  Cassie closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘It’s a goddamn conspiracy.’

  She heard the digital notes of numbers being punched into the phone and opened her eyes in alarm. Anouk immediately handed the phone to her. ‘You speak to him, or I will.’

  ‘Who? Henry?’ The long dial tone pulsed slowly in her ear.

  ‘Claude.’

  ‘Allo?’ The voice was abrasive, and his pick-up was more of a shout than a greeting. Cassie gulped down her fright.

  ‘Allo?’

  ‘Uh . . . Hi! Is that, uh . . . Claude?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘My name’s Cassie.’ She bit her lip in mortification. She couldn’t believe Anouk had done this to her. She’d had no intention of ringing some stranger for a blind date. ‘I’m in Paris. Henry Sallyford asked me . . . to call you.’

  A long moment passed. ‘Henri?’

  ‘Yes. Did he . . . did he tell you I would call?’ Please, at least say he’d done that.

  Another moment stretched out. ‘Yes, yes, I remember . . . I’m just checking my diary.’ He sounded hassled. Cassie heard the sound of pages being flicked. ‘Okay . . . come over Saturday, eleven o’clock. We’ll do lunch. You have my address?’

  ‘Uh . . . uh . . .’ Cassie reached round wildly for a pen, not because she wanted to have lunch with this man – they hadn’t even said “how are you?” to each other – but she was in the middle of it now, and she didn’t want to be rude.

  He dictated
his address, somewhere in the middle of Saint-Germain-des-Prés.

  ‘Okay, Saturday then,’ he said. ‘Don’t be late.’ And he hung up.

  Anouk stared at her as – stunned – she put down the receiver.

  ‘So?’ Anouk was leaning towards her curiously.

  ‘Well, if that was a taster for the French seduction technique, I think it might be easier to learn the rules of disengagement than I thought.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cassie returned the bike to the nearest Vélib rack and shuffled slowly down the street. It was narrow and quiet, with contemporary art galleries, minimalist furniture boutiques and rococo antiques shops. She was supposed to have been here forty minutes ago, but she’d overslept. Pierre and Guillaume had taken her and Anouk (‘just as a sociable four,’ Anouk had protested) to a burlesque club in the Marais the night before, and it had been past two in the morning before her head had hit the pillow.

  Cycling in the cold and hooking up with a random stranger was absolutely the last thing she felt like, and it was only because Anouk had hidden Henry’s list, which had Claude’s phone number on it, that she had made it here at all. What she really wanted to do was lie in bed and groan and have someone silently hook her up to a saline drip, run her a hot bath and finish with a full-body massage. In fact, she’d nearly wept as she heard Anouk book her slot at the Hammam.

  She checked the address again and sighed crossly. Where was the goddamn door? She wasn’t that hungover, surely. She could still count. All she needed was to find number thirteen, but the house numbers seemed to jump from eleven to fifteen.

  An elderly man in a navy overcoat and trilby walked past on the opposite pavement, a bagged baguette under one arm and the paper in his other hand. She tried her best to run over.