by Mandy Baggot
‘What do you mean which one? The one. First class to Goa... crab salad... It’s perfect – you’ll be perfect just in time for the Azores gig.’
‘Mum, I’m actually in France right now.’
There was silence and Ava looked to Julien who was doing his very best to concentrate on eating his lunch.
‘Ava, this is a terrible line.’
‘No, Mum, it’s not. I’m really in France.’
‘But you can’t be?’
‘Actually it’s not far on Eurostar these days.’
‘But… why?’
‘Debs invited me and I needed a break.’
‘But I was offering you a break in Goa.’
‘I’m going now. I’m in the middle of a rather tasty super falafel meal with quite an interesting Frenchman I met last night.’
‘Ava, this is silly—’
‘Bye, Mum.’ She ended the call and put her phone on the table, a breath rushing from her.
‘You are OK?’ Julien asked. ‘You are certain you would rather be in cold, snowy Paris than on a beach somewhere right now?’
She nodded. ‘I’m pretty sure Goa or the Azores doesn’t have falafel, or Camembert.’
‘But they have sunshine and palm trees,’ Julien added.
‘Seen one palm tree you’ve seen them all,’ she said with a shrug.
‘Unless you are a photographer with a good eye,’ Julien said.
‘How about instead of palm trees you try to make the Mona Lisa look a bit different?’ Ava suggested.
‘Well, Madonna, that sounds like another challenge, non?’
Ava held up her empty bottle of beer. ‘One more beer first?’
20
The Louvre
Just to the right of the museum there was a band playing Christmas music, all dressed up in sparkling red-and-white uniforms, a conductor waving his arms to keep them in time. A small crowd was watching, their hands around paper cups of coffee. Julien looked to Ava, watching her excitement grow as they walked towards the Pyramide du Louvre, the fountains gushing up cold water into the snowy air around the glass triangular structure at their centre.
‘It’s like something out of The Crystal Maze, Julien!’
As soon as she was far enough in front of him he held his camera up and snapped. She jumped up onto the ledge at the edge of the pool and for a second he thought she might run right into the water. But she stopped, bending to put her fingers in, just like with the pillars of the Panthéon it was as if she wanted to touch and feel, be part of it.
‘Julien!’ she called. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Every time she turned he had to drop the camera and pretend he wasn’t photographing her. Perhaps he should ask her permission. She might agree. It wasn’t the same as modelling. He wasn’t planning on exploiting her but... he did know how she felt. She had told him often enough and now, with her mother on the phone, it was even clearer. He slowed his pace. He should stop taking photos of her altogether. Then he wouldn’t be conflicted... but her delight in everything, seeing all these places with new eyes... it was an opportunity, like she had said, there was a possibility of possibilities.
‘Julien!’ Ava called again. ‘I’m sorry! I dropped your hat into the water!’
He laughed and carried on towards her.
* * *
‘This is more like how a museum is supposed to look, not like the crystal dome out there,’ Ava said as Julien led the way to an entrance away from the crowds.
The building was a creamy, biscuit colour, all arches and soft lines with dark grey roofs of different shapes – dome, rectangle and another Ava hadn’t quite decided about. Above every arch along the frontage was a statue overlooking the Square.
‘It is a pyramid,’ Julien said. ‘Not a dome.’
‘It’s too modern,’ Ava complained. ‘It doesn’t fit.’
‘It is art,’ Julien reminded her. ‘Not all art has to fit together. Inside the museum you will see all different kinds of pictures.’
‘I know that, but most people who come here just want to see the Mona Lisa, don’t they? It’s the most well known.’
‘You don’t have to know what every one of the exhibits is to enjoy them. That is one of the great beauties of art. What one person finds appealing, another will find—’
‘Awful?’
‘I was going to say not to their taste.’
‘And what is to your taste in the Louvre, Monsieur Fitoussi?’
‘I like the temporary exhibitions, the variety of this. Sometimes there are contemporary pieces, sometimes older work,’ he said. ‘There is a new one every few months.’
‘But what’s your favourite?’
He smiled. ‘I do not know yet. Last time I came here I fell in love with an oil painting of a dog. Before that it was a landscape of lavender fields in pastels. To have a favourite would be to shut out the opportunity to fall in love with something else.’
She shivered at his words. ‘I’m a bit cold.’
‘Come,’ Julien said, taking hold of her hand. ‘The entrance isn’t far.’
She hesitated, his touch a surprise, his skin warm against hers. He had taken hold of her just like that, without thought, without a hidden agenda, just to connect them. It was nice.
‘I’m sorry about your hat,’ Ava said through juddering teeth.
‘Do not worry, I have others.’
She quickened her pace to match his and ducked her head against the flurrying snow.
* * *
‘Do you think she’s beautiful?’ Ava asked, leaning over to her right, hands on her thighs for balance, squinting at the Mona Lisa.
‘Do you think she is beautiful?’
‘I’m asking you.’
‘And I am asking you.’
‘You first... if you can see properly past the guy with the longest selfie stick in the world.’
‘Yes, I think she is beautiful,’ he answered.
‘Why?’
‘Because she is perfect,’ Julien replied.
‘Perfect?’ She squinted again at what she thought was quite an ordinary-looking woman dressed in nothing more than sackcloth.
‘Although you say you do not like modelling, you are looking at her with a model’s eye,’ Julien told her.
‘I’m not,’ Ava insisted.
‘No?’ Julien asked. ‘You are not thinking… her smile is not wide enough? Or maybe her hair is not helped by Elnett? Or perhaps the clothes she is wearing are not exciting enough?’
‘All right,’ Ava said, nudging him. ‘You had me pegged at Elnett.’
‘But, look at it again,’ Julien encouraged. ‘It is beautiful in its simplicity. No airbrushing, no filter.’
Ava stared at the woman with the long dark hair and half-smile. So her hands might look like they were encased in latex gloves and scarily she had no eyebrows, but there was something about her that drew you into the picture. What was she thinking when she sat to be painted? There was no way she would have known that hundreds of years later people would come from all over the world to gaze at her.
‘I used to draw,’ Ava said absentmindedly.
‘You did?’
‘A bit.’
‘Landscapes? Portraits?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Cartoons mainly or caricatures. I used to draw our teachers at school.’ She smiled, remembering a pretty good drawing she’d done of Mr Morton.
‘And you did not want to follow this up in your career?’
‘No, I mean they were just doodles really.’
‘But you enjoyed this?’
‘Yes, but I don’t draw them any more.’
‘Why not?
She shrugged. She didn’t have an answer for that one.
‘There are lots of careers you can have with a talent for drawing,’ Julien told her. ‘Take Didier. He is a graphic designer.’
‘He is?’
Julien nodded. ‘But there are other ways. Illustrators for books and work for
movies. Designing the sets, creating the storyboards. It is not always about creating a picture to hang on the wall.’
‘I never really thought it was an option for me.’ She looked at the painting in front of her. A memory spiked at her. She had spent every spare minute of her sixteen-year-old life working on art – her GCSE coursework. Lessons, lunch breaks, long into the night, wanting it to be perfect. Wanting to show her teacher, the examiners, the whole world that she was something other than her mother’s protégé. She had thought if everyone saw... if her mother saw... that there was another career path open for her, something she truly enjoyed, something she was completely passionate about, that things would change. But, despite getting an A*, despite her teacher recommending her for an art foundation course, there was only one option open. Doing what Rhoda told her to do. These last few years she’d managed to avoid modelling, but she hadn’t really put her foot down. She’d let her mother think she’d go back to it eventually and maybe by doing so she’d left herself half-believing it too. Even though she didn’t want it – wasn’t good enough anyway – she’d allowed it to stop her from thinking about what she really did want.
‘She is another Madonna,’ Julien commented as Ava finally stepped back.
‘What?’
‘Mona,’ he said. ‘It is a shortening of Madonna in Italian.’
‘Is it?’ Ava asked. ‘You know what my mother would say? “This one is missing a little lipstick and a conical bra.”’
‘And in my opinion she is all the better for that.’
Ava nodded. ‘I agree completely.’
21
Hotel Agincourt
After the Mona Lisa they had looked at a temporary exhibition by Hubert Robert. According to the information and Julien, the artist was best known for his landscapes and picturesque depictions of ruins. Ava had spent as much time watching Julien looking at the paintings as she had observing them herself. She liked the way he stood in front of them, took a deep breath and then stilled as if he was standing in front of a person, waiting for them to start a conversation. It was like he was giving them space to breathe, to tell him their story. There weren’t many times in her life when she had been given space to breathe. Instead of always worrying about standing up straight and keeping her neckline fluid perhaps she should have thought about standing up for herself and discovering what she wanted from life.
Now, as it neared five p.m. they had arrived back at Ava’s hotel, the streets busy as people navigated the city on their way home from work. It was continuing to snow and she was still cold, her Converse damp as she stamped her feet into the growing layer of white on the pavement. Over the beeps of taxis and mopeds the sound of carol singers filled the crisp air. The fragrance of peppermint, candy and fir cones emanated from the fabric of every building.
She smiled at Julien. ‘Thank you for today,’ Ava said. ‘It was fun.’
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘It was fun.’
‘Did you get some good photographs?’ she asked. ‘Maybe one to sell for the price of a small country?’
He swallowed. ‘Maybe. Who knows what people will like this season?’ He smiled. ‘It is a bit like fashion, no?’
‘Madonna Lisa has done all right for herself,’ she answered.
A silence descended and Ava didn’t know what to do. What was protocol for saying goodbye to someone you hadn’t known yesterday but had spent the whole day sharing perfect moments with? Someone you might not necessarily see ever again? Was it two kisses on the cheek in France or one? His eyes were on her. He didn’t have hat hair. Leo would never have even considered wearing a hat no matter how cold the air. She shuddered. Why was she thinking about Leo?
‘I should let you go in out of the cold,’ Julien said.
‘Yes, I should do that,’ she said. ‘Try and dry my shoes out before Debs takes me clubbing again.’ She took a hand from the pocket of her coat and was about to hold it out to him when he leant forward and kissed first one cheek and then the other. Each touch warmed her entire face and she was blushing by the time he stepped back.
‘À bientôt, Madonna.’
‘À bientôt, Julien.’
She swallowed. She didn’t want him to go. How ridiculous was that? Of course he had to go. They were just two people who had sparred over dinner and spent the day sightseeing because Debs was too hungover to do anything with her.
‘Goodbye,’ he said, waving a hand and smiling.
‘Goodbye,’ she repeated, watching him turn. He was walking away now and that’s what casual acquaintances did.
His dark coat and his even darker hair were getting speckled with snow as he moved down the street against a backdrop of flashing gold and crimson bulbs on the buildings and flickering headlights on the street. Today had been the best day she’d had in so long... Paris, France, Camembert, falafels, the Mona Lisa... and someone genuinely nice to share it all with.
‘Julien!’ She shouted above the street sounds, moving forward a few steps and almost colliding with someone dressed as a fairy. Had he heard her? She looked down the road, still chasing his form with her gaze. He turned around and she took that as her cue to catch up with him, muttering apologies as she went against the flow of walkers.
She was out of breath by the time she stopped in front of him. ‘Sorry… you probably have loads of better things to do but... I was just wondering… if you might like to do this again.’ Her teeth started to chatter. ‘If it’s a no, just say it quick before I turn into an ice sculpture.’
‘You want to see more sights?’ Julien inquired.
She thought about it for a second and then answered. ‘No, I actually just want to watch you take photographs. I need more convincing of this magic you talk about.’
He nodded, a smile on his lips. ‘The problem with magic, Madonna, is that it has to be believed in before it lets itself be seen.’
‘Who are you, Mr Fitoussi? Walt Disney?’
‘The most famous cartoonist of all, no?’
She blushed then watched as he smiled, unable to stop herself from looking back into those raisin-coloured eyes.
‘Tomorrow?’ she questioned.
‘You do not have places to go with Debs?’
She did. In the morning. Stalking Francine and hoping to God she didn’t see Gary.
‘Sorry, you’re busy aren’t you? And I’ve been an interruption rather than a help and you’re far too polite to say anything.’
He smiled, shaking his head. ‘No, not at all. I am meeting someone in the morning so...’
‘Lauren?’ Ava asked.
He nodded. ‘But... um... we could... meet maybe after lunch?’
‘Great!’ Ava said, clapping her cold hands together.
‘But you most promise me one thing, Ava,’ Julien said.
‘What?’
He pointed at her feet. ‘Much better shoes and a hat.’ He reached out and touched her hair, gently brushing a few snowflakes from the blonde spikes. Her breath caught in her chest and she dropped her eyes from his, taking a step back.
‘Tomorrow, then? Say two o’clock? Where?’ she asked.
‘The Sacré-Coeur,’ he suggested. ‘You will like it there. There are real artists not photographer wannabes.’
She waved a hand. ‘À bientôt, Julien.’
‘À bientôt, Madonna.’
22
Ava’s fingers were still numb as she fumbled with the key card. She was just about to try for the third time to get it into the slot when the door was whisked open and there was Debs, full make-up on her face, long purple and green bauble earrings in her ears and just a Fair Isle jumper covering the rest of her.
‘Please tell me that isn’t a dress,’ Ava said, stepping into the room. ‘It’s about minus four degrees outside. If it is a dress you’re definitely going to need seventy-denier tights.’
‘It isn’t a dress, silly, I’m just starting to get ready for dinner. Then we’re going to an event. I did text you.’
‘I
didn’t get it.’
As Ava continued into the room her eyes were drawn to sparkling, foil garlands that now hung all around their room. There was a miniature Christmas tree on the desk and a furry snowman. It was like a team of Christmas window dressers had been in and arranged everything like a display at Selfridges.
‘What’s happened?’ Ava asked, plumping down on the bed and taking her bag off her shoulder.
‘Do you like it? I felt better this afternoon so I went for a little mooch around and got the decorations. It makes the room so much cosier, doesn’t it?’
‘If you like Christmas kitsch.’
‘And I totes do,’ Debs said, laughing.
‘You didn’t go anywhere near Gary’s Paris office did you?’
‘No.’
‘And you didn’t phone up the Paris office and pretend you were someone who needed access to this Francine’s diary, did you?’
‘Well...’ Debs began, looking a little sheepish.
‘Tell me you didn’t!’
‘I didn’t but… Mum called and she’d just spoken to Gary in “Toulouse” so I phoned the Toulouse office...’
‘Oh, Debs...’
‘What? I had to and—’ Debs stopped, catching a sob in her throat.
‘Oh, Debs, what is it?’ Ava asked, standing up and moving close to Debs, taking hold of her hands.
‘He wasn’t there.’
‘He wasn’t there?’ Now she was worried. Perhaps Debs was right about all this. Her stomach started needling her, the French cheese and falafel moving around like they were being mixed by a KitchenAid. She didn’t want this to happen to her friend again. And Sue. Poor, lovely, surrogate mother, Sue.
‘They said he was in a meeting,’ Debs said, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper.
The mixing in her stomach abated slightly. ‘He was in a meeting?’ Ava clarified. ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it? Because that means he’s in Toulouse.’ Ava looked at Debs. ‘Doesn’t it?’
‘No, don’t be stupid. They’re obviously lying for him. I rang seconds, seconds, after Mum put the phone down to me. You don’t just put the phone down to your wife and leap into a boardroom.’