One Christmas in Paris

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ava, you need a professional,’ Rhoda dismissed.

  ‘Ava’s great at drawing,’ Debs commented.

  ‘Not so good at bubble writing though,’ she admitted with a smile.

  ‘I can help with this too,’ Didier piped up, cream from his coffee on his top lip.

  ‘You don’t draw,’ Rhoda stated, looking at Ava.

  ‘I do.’ All she could think of was the caricature she had done of her mother only a few days ago. ‘Cartoons mainly, but sometimes, I do something real.’

  ‘Well, we won’t want Mickey Mouse,’ Rhoda told her. ‘The people I work with have a very discerning taste.’

  ‘How about Pluto,’ Didier suggested. ‘Or maybe a large profile of Wreck It Ralph.’

  Rhoda screwed up her nose and opened her mouth.

  ‘He’s joking!’ Debs assured. ‘Totes joking, aren’t you, Dids?’

  Didier laughed. ‘I apologise, Mrs Rhinestone.’

  Ava froze as her mother’s nickname hit the air.

  ‘Devlin!’ Debs jumped in quickly. ‘Silly boy, it’s Mrs Devlin.’

  ‘But I thought—’ Didier began.

  ‘Anyway,’ Ava said far too loudly. ‘Didier and I will design the invitations then you will pass them out to all the contacts who have accepted and start to go through the “maybe” list. We need to get the invitation document to Julien’s father too and... shit,’ Ava said, slapping her hands to her forehead. ‘This isn’t going to work yet.’

  ‘What? Why not?’ Rhoda questioned. ‘And don’t swear like that, Ava. You’re not on the terraces at White Hart Lane now.’

  ‘Well, Julien’s booked this venue but with all the people you’ve got coming already, hopefully the families Julien is speaking to, plus Gerard’s contacts and the press and officials from the Red Cross, it’s never going to be big enough.’

  ‘Not having a venue is a pretty big thing,’ Debs remarked.

  ‘I know that,’ Ava said. ‘Didier, where in Paris can we accommodate up to say... five hundred people?’

  ‘And remember it is very close to Christmas, so try and think a little outside the box and preferably somewhere that will give it for free because it’s charity,’ Debs added.

  ‘Five hundred people,’ Didier said. He blew out a breath and elongated his body in the chair, hands clasping his shorn head. ‘I do not know.’

  ‘You must know somewhere,’ Rhoda scoffed. ‘You live here.’

  ‘Mum, please,’ Ava said.

  ‘Five hundred people... you are looking at a small concert hall,’ Didier stated. ‘Or perhaps a park.’

  ‘A park!’ Rhoda exclaimed. ‘In winter?! The kinds of clients I have do not want to spend their evening wrapped up in coats. They will be wearing cocktail dresses and eveningwear.’ She tapped into her iPad. ‘We must make the event black tie.’

  ‘A park,’ Ava said, her mind almost careering at motorway speed. Could they really make that happen?

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Debs asked her.

  Ava smiled. ‘I’m thinking I know the perfect venue... but I think we’re going to have to phone the council.’ She looked to Didier. ‘Is that a thing in Paris? The council? The people that run the city.’

  ‘Absolument,’ he answered, grinning. ‘And I have a friend there.’

  59

  Jardin des Tuileries

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ Julien stated. ‘Look anywhere, Madonna, except at me.’

  She laughed and ignored him, looking directly down the lens of his camera and pouting a little. She momentarily glanced to the left and took in the wintry scene of the garden. All around them people were walking through the park as the sun began to set, the glow from the streetlamps, together with the flashing Christmas displays on the neighbouring buildings providing an atmospheric scene.

  ‘You did spend too long performing in front of the camera. You are ruined,’ he announced, dropping his camera so it hung from his neck.

  ‘That is extremely rude,’ she announced, jumping down from the bench she had been sat on and stomping towards him.

  He put his hands in the air. ‘What? I am supposed to retreat? Be afraid of you just because you have that look on your face?’

  She stopped mere inches away from him. ‘What look?’

  ‘The one where you try to make your beautiful eyes move from perfect circles to angry lines,’ he began. ‘Then your lips come down and you pretend to be mad.’

  ‘I’m not pretending anything,’ Ava stated. ‘You insulted my modelling skills.’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘Did so.’

  ‘I was simply saying that photography this way is different to what you are accustomed to.’

  ‘Maybe, but this was my idea.’ She held aloft the piece of white card in her hands. ‘And you have to admit it was genius.’

  She watched him read the words again, and the same thing that had happened the first time happened again. He looked a mix of sad and joyful, his emotions written all over his face but none of them daring to spill. She watched a sigh leave him.

  ‘I just hope it is enough,’ he stated. ‘To be special enough that people will want to buy the photographs.’

  ‘Listen, my mother is charging people two hundred euro each to attend. If you are someone who has that sort of money you are going to be buying photographs. I mean it’s going to look great on their social media profiles and a few thousand euros is a drop in the ocean for sheiks and professional footballers.’

  ‘You are right,’ he agreed. ‘It is just I suppose I do not want to think that the photographs are to be bought to enhance somebody’s public image. I always hope they are bought because they mean something to someone.’

  ‘Oh, Monsieur Fitoussi, in this case you must make an exception. When we’re talking about raising a lot of money for charity and getting everyone to remember Lauren, I don’t think beggars can be choosers.’ She pushed the placard towards him. ‘You hold the sign up.’

  ‘I am no model,’ he insisted, holding onto his camera.

  ‘I agree,’ Ava said, making a grab for the camera. ‘The bone structure is pleasing but you slouch a little sometimes.’

  ‘Really, Madonna? I slouch?’ he asked, moving the camera away from her.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ she responded, laughing.

  ‘Well, you are not the perfect muse I first thought,’ Julien told her. ‘Why can you not be like the Mona Lisa, just look into the mid-distance, that enigmatic expression on your face?’

  ‘For one because I’m not wearing something medieval and rather drab and two...’ She pulled the camera towards her, forcing him to move with it. ‘Because when you’re taking my photograph I can’t help but remember last night,’ she breathed. ‘And all I can think of is you and me, wearing nothing but a Mona Lisa smile.’

  He moved his face a little closer to hers, dark eyes heavy just below the edge of his woollen hat. ‘Is that so?’

  She nodded. ‘It’s very distracting,’ she continued. ‘And, I’d go as far to say that it is you who has ruined me for modelling, Monsieur Fitoussi, not the other cameramen with their SLRs and MTFs.’

  ‘I have ruined you,’ he said as a statement.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, swallowing, as his gaze grew even more intense.

  ‘What should I do about your accusation?’ he inquired.

  ‘Well...’ she began, his lips only a fraction of an inch away from hers.

  Before they could touch, Ava’s phone erupted from the pocket of her jeans and she drew it out, checking the screen. Debs.

  ‘Hello,’ she greeted.

  ‘Bonsoir!’ came Didier’s voice.

  ‘Oh, wow, I wasn’t expecting that,’ Ava said in reply.

  Julien furrowed his brow and tilted his head as if expecting an explanation.

  ‘Surprise!’ Didier continued.

  ‘I get that it’s you now,’ Ava answered, backing a step away from Julien.

  ‘I have good news,’ D
idier stated.

  ‘You do,’ Ava said, almost in a whisper as she bent her head away from Julien.

  ‘We have a new venue!’ the Frenchman informed.

  Straightaway Ava’s heart was singing and she closed her eyes, silently thanking Didier, his friend at the council or whatever Christmas miracle workers had fixed this.

  ‘We have... I really don’t know what to say,’ Ava stated.

  ‘You are forever in my debt?’ Didier suggested.

  ‘Let’s not go too far,’ Ava said. ‘Or perhaps Debs can pay up for me.’

  ‘We have already talked of this,’ Didier answered.

  She could tell he was grinning. ‘Not a word then, like we said.’

  ‘Absolutement,’ Didier said. ‘Three thousand per cent.’

  Ava ended the call and slipped the phone back into her jeans before turning back to Julien. She smiled. ‘Now, where were we?’

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I was ruining you and you were pretending to be mad about it.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Ava answered. ‘So, for your punishment you must come to dinner with me tonight.’

  He shook his head. ‘I regret to tell you this, Madonna, but that is like saying to an alcoholic that he must bathe in red wine.’

  ‘A restaurant of my choosing,’ she added.

  ‘O-K,’ he said a little tentatively.

  ‘And no camera,’ she said.

  She watched his fingers curl around the gadget like it was a comfort blanket he could not do without.

  ‘Sounding a little trickier now?’ she asked.

  ‘Non,’ he insisted. ‘This can be done.’

  She nodded. ‘Good. Right. We had better get some more work done before we lose the atmospheric light completely,’ Ava said, taking the placard from under his arm and heading towards one of the marble statues.

  ‘Madonna,’ Julien called. ‘You are starting to talk like a photographer. Perhaps all is not lost!’

  60

  Hotel Agincourt

  ‘I can’t believe how much you and Didier have done in one day.’

  Ava had just listened to Debs reeling off numerous jobs they had ticked off the list for Julien’s exhibition. She had always known her best friend was something of a dynamo, but it seemed she had been working harder than the employees of Argos on a Christmas Eve.

  ‘I phoned all the main newspapers and lifestyle magazines in the city and every single one of them agreed to advertise the event tomorrow or the next day depending on what space they have.’ Debs stabbed at her notepad with a glittery pen Ava hadn’t seen before. ‘Those that didn’t have publications out soon enough were going to put something on their website. Between me, Didier and your mum, we finalised the invitation using the design you did and got that doing the rounds too.’

  ‘And we have the venue,’ Ava breathed.

  ‘We totes have the venue,’ Debs said.

  ‘I guess we need to think about marquees and drinks and nuts or something. Will people really give that stuff for free?’ Ava inquired. ‘I’m finding out my event-planning skills are seriously lacking.’

  ‘I started on that but your mum seemed to think her guests would be expecting champagne so...’

  ‘Ugh! Seriously! I mean I know she’s done a lot and they are all rich list but if we can’t get things for free then—’

  ‘Ava,’ Debs said. ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘How can I not? The event is only a few days away and it means so much to Julien... it means so much to me now.’ Her stomach was skitting around like a kitten chasing after a ball of wool.

  ‘So,’ Debs began. ‘On that note... you and Julien.’

  ‘Can I counter that with you and Didier before I have to answer?’

  ‘Absolutely, doubly not. We talked about that before, but with you... I think things have changed.’

  Ava knew her reddening cheeks gave her away immediately.

  ‘Ava, I haven’t seen you like this about anyone before.’

  It was true. What was the point in trying to deny it? She had never felt the way she felt about Julien with anyone before.

  ‘I think,’ she started, ‘I think, even though it’s been such a short time of getting to know each other.’ She sighed. ‘I think... no, I don’t think... I know... I’m in love with him.’

  ‘Goodness!’ Debs said, slapping both her hands to her own cheeks. ‘I totes didn’t actually think you were going to say that.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘No... I don’t know... I just don’t think I’ve ever known you be in love before.’

  Ava nodded, turning her attention to her own reflection in the mirror, smoothing her hands over the midnight blue skater dress with a scalloped sequinned embellishment at the neckline giving her curves in all the right places. ‘You’re right. Because I never have been.’

  ‘Oh, Ava, I’m caught between being completely, utterly thrilled for you and being totally two hundred per cent scared to death for you.’

  ‘Because of what he’s been through? Because of this exhibition being so intense?’ Ava asked, turning back to her friend.

  ‘No,’ Debs said. ‘Because he lives in France and you... don’t.’

  Ava shrugged. She had put that out of her mind since the moment she started falling for him. Nothing would ever work if you spent every minute analysing it. ‘There’s a tunnel now, we came over through it.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘How do I look?’ Ava asked, smiling at Debs.

  ‘Beautiful.’

  ‘Good,’ Ava said. ‘Because tonight is going to go one of two ways.’ She sighed. ‘He’s either going to fully embrace it or go running up the boulevard.’ She picked up her handbag. ‘OK, I think I’m ready.’

  Debs smiled. ‘Oh, not quite.’ She stepped towards the nightstand at the side of her bed and picked something off the top of it. She held the items out to Ava who instinctively opened her hand.

  ‘Christmas baubles,’ Debs said. ‘Earrings, to match your dress.’

  Ava looked at her palm to see (thankfully) small blue hanging earrings that did complement what she was wearing. She slipped them one by one into her ears. ‘Thanks, Debs.’

  61

  Montmartre

  Julien stood outside on the pavement just a few yards from the Sacré-Coeur, blowing hot air on his hands. He checked his watch again then looked up and down the cobbled street for any sign of Ava. Despite the chill in the air and the frost on tables outside where no one was foolish enough to sit tonight the atmosphere was warm – helped by the strings of Christmas lights wound around Juliette balconies or hanging from street lamps and awnings.

  He had spoken to his father before leaving tonight. Gerard had confirmed he could make the time for the photo shoot with the other families who had lost relatives in the fire. There were two families who had declined to take part and Julien understood. It was only just over twelve months ago. It was still too hard for some, just like it had been for him until very recently. Gerard had also told him how scores of his clients would be attending, how he was paying for several people from his own company to come, and asking if he could donate anything else to ensure the night ran smoothly. It all somehow seemed to be coming together.

  And then he noticed a taxi slowing down. It stopped just a few yards away and the door opened, Ava stepping out. His insides turned to mush as he looked at her, long boots on her legs, a blue dress that skirted her knees and those blond spikes as cute as ever to him. He drew in a breath, then stepped towards her.

  * * *

  ‘Merci beaucoup,’ Ava said, paying the taxi driver and including a small tip for him managing to get her here only a few minutes late and without too much road rage.

  She shut the cab door and took a step further onto the pavement, breathing in the air of this district – wine, cheese, a soupçon of ginger spice and maybe a touch of artists’ oils. And then she saw Julien. His tall frame, that typically French wavy dark hair, his hands in the pockets of h
is coat, black jeans and brown leather shoes. He was nothing like the other men she had dated, in any way at all. Physically, emotionally, everything about him was different. Everything about him was perfect. Even the imperfect bits. She released a sigh of contentment and smiled at him.

  ‘Monsieur Fitoussi,’ she greeted.

  ‘Madonna.’

  ‘Am I a little late?’ she asked, stepping up to him. ‘Or are you a little early because you couldn’t wait to see me?’

  He smiled. ‘I was early of course.’

  ‘And that is the right answer,’ she stated, slipping her arm through his.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Julien asked her.

  ‘Not far,’ she answered.

  ‘Do I know it?’ he inquired.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘It’s somewhere I saw when we were here together before.’

  ‘And you did not show me at the time? Madonna!’

  She smiled, resting her head against his shoulder and enjoying how it felt.

  ‘So, the photos we took today...’ he began.

  ‘Yes?’ She lifted her head up, turning to look at him.

  ‘They are good,’ he stated.

  ‘Good?’

  ‘More than good,’ he said again, smiling. ‘They are very good.’

  She smiled. ‘I knew they would be.’

  ‘So much confidence,’ Julien stated. ‘For someone who came to Paris with very little.’

  Ava smiled at him, raising one eyebrow. ‘Ah, but this isn’t about me, Monsieur Fitoussi. You are the star of this show. Everyone is going to be focussed on you.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed with a heavy sigh. ‘And I really wish that they could just look at the photographs and I could hide in a corner.’

  ‘Hey,’ she said, stopping in her tracks and halting him too. ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘Quoi?’ he asked.

  ‘You have to think of this as just another exhibition,’ Ava reminded him. ‘Otherwise it gets... overwhelming.’

  ‘This you tell me,’ he stated, his breath visible in the air.