One Christmas in Paris

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘Julien... it’s OK,’ Ava said. ‘I understand.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said it’s OK,’ she said. She moved her feet in the snow, crunching it underneath her soles. ‘From what you’ve told me about Lauren, she was a big part of your life. Losing someone like that... I can only imagine...’

  He nodded. ‘She was a big part of my life.’

  ‘Then... you had better tell me some more about her,’ Ava said.

  He smiled. ‘Really?’

  She nodded. ‘Really, Monsieur Fitoussi.’

  ‘Churros! Ava! Come on before Didier eats them all!’ Debs called from the stall a few feet ahead.

  ‘Ava,’ Julien said, catching her arm before she could move away, ‘there is something else you should know.’

  ‘You do like Coldplay, don’t you? You haven’t lied to me about that?’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, Madonna, I do like Coldplay.’ He wet his lips as he looked at her. ‘And you should know... I really do not have a girlfriend.’

  35

  ‘Have you been here before?’ Ava asked as they walked behind Debs and Didier, taking in the sights and sounds of the Christmas fair going on all around them.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Many times. It is something of a tradition.’ He breathed in the scent of sizzling sausage, caramelised onions and toffee-coated apples. ‘Didier and I and—’ He stopped talking, his sister’s name on his lips.

  ‘Lauren?’ Ava added. ‘Please, Julien, I meant it, I want to hear about her.’ She watched Didier and Debs pause by a stall selling silver jewellery. ‘I don’t have any brothers or sisters but that girl with the hair like a Yeti... she’s pretty much everything to me.’

  ‘Lauren liked to come here to buy Christmas presents for the family,’ Julien told her. ‘She bought a special brooch for my step-mother here once.’

  ‘Well, I hope she wasn’t a kleptomaniac magpie like Debs. If we don’t catch up to her and Didier, she’s going to have bought enough silver to reconstruct the Eiffel Tower.’

  ‘Ava, I want to have another exhibition of my work.’

  She stopped walking and turned to face him, her full attention right there.

  ‘I have this idea that I hope is going to help my family as well as a lot of other people.’

  She didn’t respond, as if waiting for him to give her more. What more was there yet? Just the spark of an idea, the hope that people would want to come, the frightening thought that he no longer had what it took, that the photographs he had sold in the past were the pinnacle of his career.

  ‘I want to raise money for the the Red Cross.’ He wet his lips. ‘Ava, I have been so angry with everyone.’ He breathed. ‘That needs to change.’

  He looked directly at her again then, watching for the reaction in those green eyes. She was just looking back at him, unspeaking, unmoving, barely breathing.

  ‘I want to celebrate Lauren’s life and the lives of all the others lost in the fire on Rue Auzenne and I want it to do some good. Raise money. Show the resilience we all need at this time.’

  Her hand was on his arm then. ‘You told me you were looking for a focus for your work.’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded.

  ‘And for your exhibition these would be photos you want to take, not photos other people have told you to take.’

  He nodded again. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then, all round, it’s a wonderful thing to do,’ Ava concluded.

  He felt as if someone had just filled his chest with helium... or hope. Could this really work? Without the photographs he had taken of her? There was no way he could ever use them now. Not after he had already broken her trust.

  ‘Do you have a photograph of her?’ Ava asked. ‘Of Lauren?’

  ‘Oui.’

  He slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans and drew out his phone. Tapping at the photo app, he found one of his favourites. Him and Lauren, a selfie from an ordinary Friday night out in their last summer together. Her long blonde hair shining in the sun, her wide smile and the sparkle of mischief in her eyes dominating the snap. He held it out to Ava who took the phone, looking to the screen.

  ‘She’s blonde,’ Ava said, shaking her head as she remembered thinking Diane at the market could be Lauren. This was more like the woman Julien had described. ‘And so beautiful.’

  He couldn’t bring himself to reply.

  ‘And she looks so happy.’

  ‘She was... almost all of the time.’

  Ava passed back the phone and as he took it from her she connected his free hand with hers. The warmth and sentiment kick-started a chain reaction inside him.

  ‘I will need help,’ he said quickly, trying to ignore the feelings cascading over his body like a shower set to scalding. ‘To decide on the photographs, to arrange the event... I thought you might like to use your artistic eye again... but I understand, if, after everything you feel you cannot...’

  ‘Oh, Monsieur Fitoussi, of course I’ll help,’ she responded, giving his hand a squeeze. ‘Just as long as I’m behind the lens and not in front of it.’ She smiled. ‘Seeing as Paris is the most photogenic city in the world. I’m sure you’ll have no problem conjuring up some great shots.’

  ‘Magique, Madonna?’

  ‘Just this once,’ she answered with a smile.

  ‘And perhaps some snail butter?’ he asked.

  ‘My life would be poorer without it,’ she replied. ‘Come on, let’s catch up with Debs and Didier before she gets to those snow globes over there.’ She dropped his hand and headed off.

  He watched her, bowling up to their friends, arms flying, snatching something from Debs’ hand and it was then he knew. He knew that really the only thing he wanted to photograph in Paris was her. And that now, more than ever, she was completely off limits.

  36

  Hotel Agincourt

  ‘These eggs Benedict are totes amazing,’ Debs announced, scooping up another forkful of egg and sauce, a little drizzling down her chin as she missed her mouth.

  They were in the corner of the dining room, next to the window with a view of Brasserie Du Bec across the street – the restaurant they had eaten in with Julien and Didier again last night. The Christmas fair had been so much fun. They had ridden the carousel, watched a winter-themed puppet show, drank spiced wine and ate churros. They had all added snippets of observations for Debs’ articles that she noted down or dictated into her phone. Then they had eaten a late dinner before departing just after Debs had tried to balance truffle chocolates on her face and ended up getting one stuck up her nose. They had all laughed so much. It was simple, relaxed, just so... Paris at Christmas. And later there would be more of that to come. Ava was meeting Julien to help him take photographs for his exhibition.

  ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ Debs asked. ‘Is it because of Julien’s sister?’

  ‘No,’ she answered.

  ‘It was a bit of a shock, wasn’t it?’

  Ava shrugged. It had been a shock, but Julien had been so apologetic last night. Lauren’s death had hit him so hard, how could she not forgive him? You couldn’t be mad at someone who was still mourning.

  She was hungry but it was Goa Day. Her mother was on her mind and when her mother was on her mind the only other thing in her head space was calorie counting. Maybe she should have gone to Goa. The Azores client would have taken one look at her and put her straight back on the plane. She would have done what her mother had wanted and not had to face the dreaded camera. Christmas was coming and although she hated the low-calorie version Rhoda knocked up she always went through with it. Because you didn’t leave your mother alone on Christmas Day no matter how much she blighted your life. But she didn’t know if she could take another silent Christmas this year. She’d had one of those the year she first skipped out on modelling and it had taken until the next one for a thaw to begin.

  She reached into her bag and picked out her phone. Looking at the black screen she realised she was too scared to actually swit
ch it on. She knew what would be there. Another five text messages from her mother and a couple of voicemails. Rhoda still wouldn’t have given up hope that Ava would ‘come to her senses’ until the boarding gate closed. She put the phone on the table.

  ‘You don’t mind doing this, do you?’ Debs asked. ‘Because say if you do. This is my problem really and I know you think I’m totes nuts but—’

  ‘Debs, we’re in this together, remember,’ Ava stated.

  ‘I would do it myself but if Gary’s at it with her then he might have mentioned me... Well, probably not I suppose because why would you mention your step-daughter when you’re in the middle of shagging someone who isn’t your step-daughter’s mother... that would kill the passion, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Just a bit,’ Ava agreed.

  ‘Unless he has a fetish... which I don’t want to even consider, but seeing as I apparently do not know this man at all...’ Debs ended the sentence with a high-pitched sob.

  She wasn’t going to mention the fact that there was a possibility Francine would remember them both from the boutique. Instead, Ava reached across the table and stabbed at Debs’ eggs with her fork, pinching some and putting it into her mouth. ‘It’s fine. It’s going to be easy.’ She put the fork back down and pulled Debs’ shiny notepad and fluffy pen towards her.

  Debs nodded, dabbing at her eyes with a serviette. ‘So, last night was fun. You and Julien seemed to be getting on well.’

  Ava nodded. ‘He still likes Coldplay, he doesn’t have a girlfriend and we can be friends again.’

  ‘Just friends?’ Debs queried.

  She nodded, not looking up from the notepad. Even as the pen hit the paper and she tried to concentrate, she couldn’t stop recalling how Julien had looked last night. Those lithe limb-hugging jeans, the shirt that skimmed his body, his rich dark hair, and how intense his eyes became when he was listening deeply.

  ‘What am I saying?’ Debs asked. ‘You’re about to bust into the office of a woman who is probably cheating with my step-dad. Men just can’t be trusted as anything more than friends.’

  ‘Not even Didier?’ Ava countered. ‘I thought you were giving him the benefit of the doubt.’

  Debs blushed and picked up her cup of tea. ‘He’s totes sweet.’

  ‘And good-looking,’ Ava added.

  ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,’ Debs stated. ‘Classic reversal technique to try and throw me off the scent of something going on with you and Julien.’

  ‘Nothing’s going on,’ Ava stated. ‘Friends.’ She hadn’t given him the picture.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Debs asked, looking to the notepad.

  Ava looked too. She had just sketched a caricature of her mother, giant earrings hanging from ear lobes, teeth set in an overbite she didn’t have any more thanks to the Croatian dentist, hair like the creamy quiff of a Mr Whippy.

  ‘You’re drawing again,’ Debs stated like Ava had discovered a cure for the common cold. ‘First Julien, now your mother.’

  Ava put down the pen.

  ‘It’s very good,’ Debs said, pulling the notebook towards her. ‘But I’m not sure I want you to draw me.’

  Ava smiled. ‘Why don’t I draw Francine?’

  Debs passed the book back across the table. ‘She might have a teeny tiny waist but she has quite a blunt chin. Totes emphasise that.’

  37

  Cosmos Protection offices

  For the second time since they had been in Paris, Ava and Debs stood outside the Cosmos Protection offices. It was freezing today, too cold for snow and Ava was actually relishing getting inside the building for a little warm relief.

  ‘So, you know where her office is?’ Debs said, binoculars to her face.

  ‘Yes.’ They had looked on the website, and Debs had somehow found schematics for the building when it was renovated. ‘Francine is on the third floor.’

  ‘It looked like they all had names on the doors of the offices if the Christmas party 2014 photos are still reliable... but if it’s open-plan now?’

  ‘I ask... in my best French.’

  ‘No!’ Debs exclaimed. ‘Play dumb.’

  ‘As I said... my best French.’

  Ava was still very much believing that Francine had said something other than ‘Gary’ in the boutique. It could be any number of things. Barry – someone else’s husband she was cheating with – Larry – ditto or a cute Christmas lamb – marry – maybe Francine was getting married. It would explain the expensive dress shop. But what if her fiancé was Debs’ step-dad?

  ‘I just want this all to be over... one way or the other… I need to concentrate on getting my writing career back on track. I can’t have a family crisis right now – things are bad enough.’ Debs sucked in a breath. ‘That sounds totes selfish, doesn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ Ava stated. ‘Of course it doesn’t.’ She steeled herself, standing up straight and looking at the entrance of the building. ‘Right, give me the parcel and remind me what I’m looking for.’

  Debs handed over the small box, brightly wrapped in gold and red paper. ‘Anything at all that looks suspicious. I will make a telephone call for her to come down to reception as soon as you’re in the building, so you’re going to have to be quick. Check her emails, poke around in her drawers and her handbag. If she’s having an affair then there’s going to be evidence somewhere.’

  ‘OK.’ She wasn’t OK really. She was worried someone was going to catch her in drawers and handbags and the gendarmerie were going to take a very dim view of it. This was, on the face of it, completely insane. But after breakfast she had had her best friend in floods of tears because Sue had found a number of euro purchases on Gary’s credit card. Sue knew the password to the account. Sue also knew these items weren’t attributable to the usual overnights in Toulouse or the airport restaurant – but they were all French.

  Even if the name ‘Gary’ hadn’t been spoken in the boutique, something was off. Confronted with the credit card information, busting into Francine’s office had seemed like the only logical thing to do.

  Ava swallowed. ‘And if she comes back and I’m still there?’

  ‘You’ve set the ring tone for my number to the theme from Star Wars, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you have actually turned it on?’

  ‘Yes, two voicemails from my mother I refuse to listen to.’

  ‘Then as soon as Francine leaves reception to go back upstairs I’ll call you and you’ll totes get a Darth Vader sense of urgency.’

  ‘OK,’ Ava said, taking another breath and rocking up and down onto her tip-toes. ‘But, just say, she comes back and I’m still there.’

  ‘That’s why you have the parcel,’ Debs reminded. ‘But please don’t give it away unless you absolutely have to. I really want to try that grow-your-own-rainbow kit.’

  ‘OK,’ Ava said. ‘I think I’m ready.’

  ‘OK,’ Debs said, a shaky breath leaving her lips. ‘Thank you so much, Ava, for doing this.’

  ‘Please say that again, with bail money in your hand, if all this goes wrong.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  Clutching the box to her chest, Ava prepared to cross the street.

  * * *

  Her plan was to say absolutely nothing unless she had to. She had considered borrowing a helmet from the back of a line of mopeds parked just outside and refusing to remove it while she carried the highly confidential, not-to-be-opened-by-anyone-else package up to the third floor, but then she thought better of it. Knowing her luck, a woman refusing to remove headwear would spark a security alert.

  This was just a role to play. Exactly like a modelling role. She was a delivery girl. Tasked with the job of getting this private package to Francine personally. She just had to slip into that part. Give it the right attitude. No one at the insurance office would ever suspect what she was really doing.

  She pushed open the glass door and was hit by the emptiness of the recept
ion area. There was a Christmas tree to her right, but no lights, no decorations, just a bare tree in a pot. She almost felt sorry for it. Delivery girl. She looked to the pristine white desk in front of her and behind it two immaculately presented women oozing Parisian office chic. They looked efficient as they typed away on keyboards that barely made a sound, they would be able to smell her fake story a mile off. Eyes shooting left she picked out the elevator. That’s where she was heading.

  Stepping confidently forward she stopped at the sound of someone’s voice. ‘Pardon, Mademoiselle.’

  Why hadn’t she had the foresight to slip her earphones in before she entered the offices? She could have continued walking, nodding her head to inaudible music and making for the lift. Instead she was stood still, caught between running for the stairs and facing someone she didn’t really want to speak to.

  Ava waved a hand. She could pretend she was mute. Had only heard the voice because of the vibration in the air. She walked a few steps more, willing the lift not to be up on the fifth floor. Perhaps someone was on their way down... but not Francine just yet, not until she was halfway to the third level... but someone who would force the lift doors open just when she needed them.

  ‘Madame,’ the receptionist called again.

  She wasn’t stopping. Not now. Not for anything or anyone. She waved again then sprinted past the elevator and through the door that had a sign of a stick man going up some stairs.

  Receptionists didn’t run, did they? Ava was quite sure, in all her twenty-four years, she had never seen a receptionist run. But, just to be sure, she ran. Taking the stairs two at a time and hoping, when Debs’ call came through that Francine didn’t decide to be health-conscious and not use the lift.

  Powering up the steps she stopped when she got to a door indicating it was the third-floor entrance. This was it. Francine’s level. It was time to be the delivery girl/private investigator.