Love From Paris

by Alexandra Potter

I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. I’m speechless.

  Literally. So I do the only thing I can do.

  I stick my wooden lollipop in the air.

  ‘On the back row, the lady with the—’ For a split second Harriet falters as she realises that the hand belongs to me and I see a puzzled, stricken, what-the-fuck-are-you-doing expression flash across her face. Before professionalism takes over.

  ‘Ten thousand euros.’

  Sweet Jesus.

  I feel a rush of panic at what I’ve just done. Ten thousand euros? I don’t have ten thousand euros! I have a crumpled ten-euro note in my purse and some loose change and—

  ‘Eleven thousand.’

  I jolt back. What the . . . ? It’s going even higher! That’s how many pounds? I start to do the exchange, then stop as it spirals upwards. The bidding is frantic. I really don’t need to know the exact figure. It’s a lot. Way more than I can afford.

  ‘Twelve thousand . . . Twelve thousand five hundred . . .’

  I don’t know what I was even thinking bidding in the first place, I must be out of my mind—

  You can tell him anything, for I promise he will keep all our secrets.

  My hand shoots up again.

  Fuck it, I’ve got credit cards.

  Harriet fires me another panicked look. She’s gone green.

  ‘Thirteen thousand euros to the lady at the back.’

  And so have I. I feel sick. Forget credit cards, I’ll have to try to take out a loan.

  ‘Do I hear any advances on the current bid of thirteen thousand euros? Ladies and gentlemen of the house . . . ?’

  Harriet seems desperate for someone else to bid against me but I hold my breath. Please let me be right. Please don’t let my hunch be wrong.

  ‘Thirteen thousand euros, going, going . . .’

  I’ve done it! It’s mine! I’m almost dizzy with a mixture of fear and relief and the sheer insanity of it all. But it’s for love, and love is a form of insanity.

  ‘Fifteen thousand euros to the gentleman on the phone in the corner!’

  What? I swivel round in my seat. Where did he come from? I strain forward, trying to see what gentleman she’s referring to. Then I spot him. A bespectacled man in a dark suit, he has a lawyerly air about him. A phone is pressed up against his ear and he’s relaying information into the mouthpiece. Fuck. He must be bidding for a client.

  ‘Do I hear sixteen thousand euros?’

  My heart is hammering in my chest. Thirteen thousand was crazy enough, but sixteen? I have no idea how I can get that kind of money. I’d have to remortgage the flat.

  ‘Going . . . going . . .’

  My mind is racing.

  Still, I can’t lose it. I can’t let this chance be gone for ever. I have to do this for Emmanuelle, for her daughter, for Jean-Paul—

  ‘Gone!’

  The sound of the gavel being hammered down snaps me back. What? No! I glance frantically at Harriet, but it’s too late. I’ve been outbid.

  And just like that, it’s over.

  36

  Afterwards I go to find Harriet. She’s in the room next door, where a lot of the smaller lots from the auction are being held on display. She looks all flushed and exhilarated, like a rock star coming offstage, and there is a large group of people clustered around her.

  Among the various faceless officials I recognise her boss, who’s congratulating her, and then there’s Xavier with Trixie and Felix. They both look like the cat that’s got the cream and well they might; the auction has raised a fortune.

  Snippets of French and English waft towards me.

  ‘. . . more successful than we could have ever imagined . . . huge revenues . . . highest price ever achieved . . .’

  A wave of unfairness rises up inside me but I push it down. Like I said, it’s over.

  ‘Ruby!’

  I hear Harriet call my name and see her making her excuses and charging towards me. Her ankle appears to have made a full recovery.

  ‘You were great, well done!’ I congratulate her before she can say anything. With any luck this might distract her.

  Er yeah, right.

  ‘What on earth were you doing in there!’ she hisses, her eyes saucer wide.

  Her best friend nearly spent ten grand on a stuffed toy. It’s going to take more than congratulations.

  ‘I can explain—’

  ‘I thought you’d lost your mind! Then I thought, perhaps she doesn’t realise what she’s doing, maybe she’s got her paddle confused with something else—’

  ‘You mean the wooden lollipop?’

  ‘See!’ she gasps, shaking her head. ‘I knew you didn’t realise you were bidding, I should have explained the procedure . . .’

  Her incredulity and bewilderment suddenly turns to self-reproach and I feel a stab of regret. Oh god, this should be her moment of glory, I can’t spoil it, I can’t let her think she’s done anything wrong.

  ‘Harriet, I need to tell you something.’ I say firmly, cutting her off before she can go any further. I need to tell her about the letters. About Emmanuelle and Henry. About everything. ‘I’ve been wanting to tell you for ages, but I couldn’t.’

  She doesn’t flinch. ‘It’s OK, I know.’

  I’m thrown off course. ‘You know? But how?’

  ‘I called you this morning. Xavier answered.’

  Caught in a heavy fog of confusion, it takes a moment for it to clear and to realise what she’s going on about.

  ‘Oh god, you think me and Xavier—’

  But she doesn’t let me finish. ‘I knew from the beginning,’ she declares, talking over me. ‘I saw the attraction that first day at Madame Dumont’s apartment, I knew he liked you, but even though you were so upset over Jack, understandably of course, I thought you would be perfect for each other . . .’ It’s like a cork has been popped and it’s all coming pouring out.

  ‘. . . and then when I twisted my ankle I thought it would be the perfect opportunity for you two to spend some time together in the south of France, and now everything’s perfect as I’ve found Luc too—’ She finally draws breath, her face splitting into a huge smile. ‘So it’s a happy ending for both of us!’

  I look into her eyes, shining with the giddiness of a woman who’s fallen in love, and feel slightly dazed. And more than a little heartbroken.

  ‘I’m really happy for you, really I am, but it’s not a happy ending for me,’ I say finally, finding my voice, ‘me and Jack are over.’

  She looks confused. ‘But what about Xavier—?’

  ‘Harriet, there is no Xavier, nothing happened.’

  ‘But . . .’ Her face falls. This is not what she wanted to hear. ‘But I don’t understand . . .’

  I feel a sudden weariness. Oh god, when did everything get so complicated?

  ‘I’ll explain everything later, I promise, but first there’s something else, something really important—’

  ‘Magnifique!’

  We’re suddenly interrupted by a stout man who appears by Harriet’s side and, before I can say any more, he reaches for her hand and begins pumping it enthusiastically, uttering a shower of congratulations in French.

  Fuck.

  I have no idea who he is, but he looks like a very important person, and I watch helplessly as Harriet switches into professional mode and they begin a conversation.

  So now what do I do?

  Nothing, says a voice in my head. Go home Ruby. It’s over.

  And all at once I’m hit by a wave of resignation. Staying here is pointless. I’ve done everything I can do. Telling Harriet won’t make any difference. She’ll only be furious about the letters and as for the rest, is she really going to believe me? Is she going to put her job on the line for a hunch? I wouldn’t expect her to. No, I tried my best, and unfortunately my best wasn’t good enough. I need to just go home and draw a line under it.

  I turn to leave. I won’t say goodbye to Harriet – I don’t want to disturb
her any more than I have already – and start making my way out of the room. It’s still quite busy. Hopefully I can escape without having to speak to anyone, I muse, seeing Xavier in the corner with Trixie and Felix and taking a bit of a detour.

  ‘Pardon.’

  Not looking, I bump into someone. ‘Oops, sorry.’

  It’s an official and, as I begin apologising, he turns slightly and I notice he’s holding something.

  A teddy bear.

  Oh my god. My stomach lurches. It’s Franklin! Emmanuelle’s bear. The actual one I was just outbid on. Here in real life! Right next to me!

  For a split second I stand frozen, watching as he carefully removes it from the pedestal it’s been displayed on, in readiness for being packed and shipped to the new owner. My mind begins whirring.

  It’s not over yet.

  Without warning the official turns away, leaving the toy momentarily unattended, and I suddenly see my opportunity.

  I lunge for it.

  After that it all happens so fast it’s almost a blur. One moment I’m standing there, the next minute I’m snatching the bear up with both hands, a shutter-burst of random thoughts firing through my mind: me sitting next to him on Emmanuelle’s chaise . . . snippets from Henry’s letter – ‘He is to keep you company in my absence. Do you like him my love? I have named him Franklin, after my president, and he has a smile as big as mine when I see you’ . . . the sewing kit on her dressing table with the needle and thread . . . ‘I have found him to be a very good listener’ . . .

  He’s surprisingly heavy and my fingers clutch at his soft, furry ears. What did Emmanuelle tell him? What secrets did she share? I hear Harriet again at the auction: ‘There is the appearance of some minor repair stitching on the back seam’ . . . I pull out the nail scissors that I’ve brought with me, an image of Emmanuelle’s return train ticket to Paris flashing up in my mind. She went to Paris to find someone – and to hide something.

  Adrenalin is pumping so hard through my veins I feel as if I’m going to explode. Only a few seconds have passed. No one has noticed. The official is still turned away, doing something. Everyone else is busy chatting. My heart thudding loudly in my ears, I focus back on the toy. Along part of the seam, the shade of thread that’s been used to repair the back is slightly different to the original.

  It’s all in the details. Remember, Paris is all about the details.

  I plunge the blade into the fur and begin trying to snip at the seam. Oh god, come on, come on. It’s stitched so tightly. This seamstress wanted to make sure it never came accidentally undone. I’ve been trying to be careful, but now I stab my scissors harder, attacking the neat row of darning. I don’t want to damage it, but I have to look inside. I just have to—

  There, finally, I’ve made a hole! I wiggle my fingers in—

  ‘Argh!’

  A loud shriek catapults me back into real time. Immediately I spot the official. Having turned back round and caught me seemingly attacking a valuable antique, he’s now screaming the place down. Even worse, he’s screaming in French and I don’t understand what he’s saying. Something that, I know later, I’m going to be really grateful for.

  ‘Ruby! Christ almighty, have you gone mad?’

  Harriet’s voice. A man’s hand. Someone is grabbing me, trying to pull the bear away from me. But now my fingers are deep inside the straw filling and it’s falling all over the floor. Shit, I can’t feel anything, it’s not there, I’ve screwed up, I’ve screwed up big time.

  Determination kicks in. It has to be there, it has to be . . .

  Emmanuelle’s letter to Henry flashes into my mind:

  I confess I have a secret and it is one I must tell you, share with you.

  It’s the only note from Emmanuelle I’ve ever found. She wanted to tell him that she was having his child, but she didn’t get to send it. She didn’t get to tell him. Instead she had to leave Paris before the outbreak of the war. Pregnant and unmarried, she had to give birth in secret and give the baby away. But she never officially gave her up for adoption. She never lost hope that one day she would be reunited with Henry.

  There’s lots more shouting in French, and then in English: ‘Madam, security have been called, they will be here any moment, you are to be placed under arrest for criminal damage . . .’

  She kept the only proof she had of their daughter, she hid it, she put it somewhere safe in case Henry ever came back, she put it somewhere they could keep their secrets—

  ‘Madam! Release your hand!’

  Suddenly, deep inside the bear, my thumb and index finger brush against something. It’s a piece of paper. I grasp it.

  ‘Look!’ As the bear is finally snatched away from me, the document comes away in my fingers. In all the chaos I feel a wave of relief to see it hasn’t torn.

  I hear a cacophony of ‘Qu’est-ce que c’est?’ above which a loud American voice that I recognise as Trixie’s is yelling, ‘Arrest that crazy bitch!’

  I see Xavier standing just across from me, and I can tell instantly by his expression he doesn’t think I’m crazy at all. I unfold it. Bulletin de Naissance, it says. It’s all in French, but I see the names. It’s enough.

  I pass it to him just as the security guards make an appearance, and he reads it, his face solemn. So there was something priceless hidden in the apartment, but it’s much more valuable than any Picasso.

  ‘It’s a birth certificate.’ His voice is clear and authoritative, and the room falls suddenly silent. ‘It would appear Emmanuelle Renoir had a daughter before she married Monsieur Dumont.’

  There are a few audible gasps, and as the security guards reach me, I twirl round to face everyone, relief, triumph and exhaustion all washing over me. And in a trembling voice, I hear myself saying what I’ve wanted to say ever since I went to Provence:

  ‘Madame Dumont has an heir, and she’s still alive.’

  37

  After that, all hell breaks loose.

  It’s like dropping a bomb. My revelation sends a shockwave around the room. Everything is thrown into confusion. There’s a babble of voices. Tons of questions. And an outburst from Trixie, who unleashes a tirade of expletives at an ashen-faced Felix and is led off by security, still swearing and clutching her yapping fluffball.

  Amid the huge commotion a few of us move into a side room where it’s quieter. Xavier, Felix, Harriet and her boss, and a few officials from the auction house. We all look slightly dazed. I glance anxiously at Harriet. I don’t know what this means for the auction and I’m fearful of how she’ll react, but for now she’s preoccupied by examining the Steiff bear, which has been brought in with us.

  I walk over to try to explain, which is when I see she’s found something else, hidden deep inside.

  It’s a letter.

  My heart skips a beat. Standing across from her, I watch as she carefully dusts off the straw from the envelope. I recognise Emmanuelle’s handwriting. It’s addressed simply to ‘Henry’.

  Harriet turns it over slowly in her fingers, then turns and holds it out to me. I stand motionlessly, a look passing between us, then she smiles. ‘I think you should read it, Ruby.’

  There’s lots to explain, but there’ll be time for that later. Now, there’s something much more important.

  ‘Tout le monde . . . Everyone!’

  Having got people’s attention, Harriet quickly says something in French and everyone turns to look at me. There’s a murmuring of surprise and a palpable buzz of excitement as they wait expectantly.

  Nervously I look down at the envelope in my hands. It’s still sealed. Carefully running my finger along the edge of the flap, I open it and pull out the letter. My breath catches in my throat as I see Emmanuelle’s neat handwriting filling the pages.

  Here it is. The answer I’ve been looking for. The end to the mystery.

  I swallow hard, trying to steady my voice, and begin to read aloud:

  Dearest H,

  Finally after such a long and t
errible wait, the war is over and I have come back to Paris in the hope that I can find you and we can be reunited.

  Oh Henry, so much has happened since we last saw each other. So many lives have been lost. So many terrible things. So much heartache and sadness. Yet amongst all this has been an exquisite joy. We have a child, Henry, a little girl. Please don’t be angry with me for not telling you. I discovered I was pregnant after we had rowed and I was so scared and confused. When I received your letter I finally found the courage to write to you, but it was too late, war was upon us and I was forced to flee Paris with my secret.

  Do you know how many times I have wished I had finished that letter? How many times I have wished I had posted it before I fled? How many nights I have lain awake and wished I had defied my father and written to you when we finally reached the South? Too many to count my darling. More than the stars in the sky. Yet, if what you said in your last letter to me is true, you had already left the city and my letter would never have found you at the bookshop.

  I named our daughter Grace after your mother, for when she was born she looked just like the photograph you once showed me of her. Oh, she was so beautiful, Henry. She has your eyes. I gave her the locket you gave me so she will always have a reminder of her papa.

  You see, I couldn’t keep her, Henry. I had been forced to conceal my pregnancy and I gave birth in secret. It broke my heart to give her away, but I left her in the safe care of the convent in the knowledge that she would be well looked after. My plan was never for her to be given away for adoption, my hope was always that after the war we would be able to return to Paris and for the three of us to be a family.

  Oh, but who knew the war would last so long? Who knew there would be so many hardships and so much devastation? Many years have passed and now she is with a good family who love her, yet despite all odds the hope has always remained that one day we will be reunited with our daughter.

  So I waited, Henry. Despite what you thought, I did not give in to my family’s pressure to wed Monsieur Dumont. How could I, when it was always you Henry. Always you that I loved. Always you who I dreamed of a future with, together with our daughter. I waited for the war to be over so I could come back to Paris to find you and finally answer your question: Yes. A thousand times Yes. I have dreamed of smothering your face and lips in an eternity of yesses.