“Already sorted,” she said. “Got some at the bank yesterday.”
He found her a cab outside the station and, after the bags were in, she kissed him on the lips.
“Je suis scared,” she laughed.
He hugged her. “Don't worry, it's twenty minutes and the driver speaks good English. The hotel has your name and you'll just have to fill out the registration card.” They kissed again, this time prolonging the moment, before she straightened his tie, smiled at him and got into the back of the cab. As it pulled away, she looked round to see him getting into the taxi behind.
Looking out of the open window it didn't take her long to appreciate the city. Car drivers bleeped at each other as though there were a prize for who could be loudest and longest, while in the cafes along the boulevards and avenues, people leisurely sat drinking coffee and eating croissants nonchalantly watching the madness go by.
The buildings in the back streets near to the station largely consisted of six to eight-storey grand houses, most of them converted into apartments with balconies protected by black-metal balustrades and often furnished with plants and green foliage.
When her driver was stopped in traffic, making rude gestures out of the window, cursing the other road users, she became aware that the young men here felt no need to hide their macho desires. They certainly weren't scared to look, and one blew a kiss at her and started calling something out in French as she prayed for the traffic to move.
“Êtes-vous d'Angleterre?” asked the driver.
“Sorry, I'm not very good at French.”
“You are from England?”
“Oh, I live in England, but I'm American, from New York.”
“That man liked you. Said he would like your phone number.”
“I think my partner would not be happy,” she replied.
He laughed. “In Paris, having a boyfriend or a husband is not so much of, how you say, 'an issue'?”
Alex took the comment in the light-hearted manner in which it was delivered and she smiled back.
“You have been here before?” he asked, looking in the mirror.
“No, first time.”
“You'll like it,” he said.
“I think I will,” she replied, smelling the freshly-baked bread streaming towards her from the patisserie opposite.
After passing the impressive neo-classical temple La Madeleine, the city opened up into the wide expanse of the Place de La Concorde.
“Champs-Elysées," said the driver, pointing to the impressive promenade stretching from where she caught a glimpse of the Arc de Triomphe and the skyscrapers of the financial district behind. Where Nick most probably is, she thought.
The car carried on and turned to follow the River Seine. And she was awed by The Eiffel Tower's magnificent presence above the city. She had read that eminent Parisians hated it when it was first built, one so much that he lunched at the restaurant on the second floor because, he reasoned, it was one of the few places in the city where you couldn't see it.
The driver pointed out that they were now in the Avenue de New York. "We named it after you, especially for your visit," he laughed.
"Ha, and I saw the Rue de Londres earlier and that's where I live now, so the city really has made an effort."
"Just for you, mademoiselle, but no more than you deserve."
He was either flirting with her or working for a big tip and, since she both hoped and guessed it was the latter, she sorted through her bag to work out the euros she'd need to pay the fare with a generous gratuity. He seemed more than pleased with the notes she handed him. "Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle, and please enjoy your stay."
The doorman welcomed her in French and carried her bags to reception.
"Bonjour," she said self-consciously to the woman on reception. But her accent clearly sounded less authentic that she had hoped as the receptionist replied "Good day, madam."
"I'm Alex Anderson, staying with Nick Hensen?"
"Yes, she said, let me just find the reservation. Here it is, you are in the Eiffel Duplex, for two nights with extended check-in and stay. Please fill out the reservation card and I'll get someone to show you to the suite."
What are these notes actually worth? she wondered as she handed the porter some euros after he had shown her to the suite.
He'd opened the doors to reveal a terrace overlooking the Eiffel Tower and a panoramic view of the city. A white linen-clad table for two stood to one side of the terrace with a welcoming bottle of champagne, in a bucket with ice still frozen, showing that it had been recently delivered, and two crystal glasses on top.
Fuck it, Nick Hensen you have done well for yourself, she thought as she walked up the stairs to the accommodation above.
She went back to the terrace and, after a struggle, finally managed to open the champagne.
She took a glass back to the marbled bathroom, where she turned the taps on the deep-soak bath, added bubbles, and switched on the flat screen TV. When the bath was nearly full, she stripped, and got in to relax before Nick's return. She recognised her nerves in anticipation of what might follow.
After the water started to cool, she trimmed her pubic hair into a a perfect triangle, dried herself with the fluffy white towels and moisturised her legs. She then went to the bedroom where she dressed in a satin robe. She left it untied, as she laid on the bed and waited.
"I'm in here," she said as the door opened and he called her name. Part of her wanted to tie the robe but it was still open as he entered the room.
He looked at her. "You are so beautiful," he said.
"I think I've fallen for Paris," she said.
"Who's she?" he asked as he moved towards her and gently parting her robe further to reveal more of her luscious breasts.
"Oh, we were having some fun a little time ago, but I had to ask her to go as I don't do threesomes," she replied, undoing the belt on his trousers.
He grabbed her buttocks through the satin and the ticking sensation she felt as he his hands played with her rear while his tongue teased her nipples brought her close to orgasm far more quickly than she wanted.
Eventually greed got the better of her. "I need to go now, Nick," she whispered. He thrust into her and they came together in an outburst of desire.
Chapter twenty-one: Night terrors.
They spent the rest of the weekend exploring the city by day and each other by night. They grew tired of neither.
On Saturday, they battled the crowds at the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa. She remarked that the most famous artwork in the world was smaller than she expected and asked him what it was that made it so special.
“Depends how you view her and from what perspective. Sometimes she seems happy and sometimes she seems sad.” He paused. “A bit like you, “looking at her for reaction.
She looked back, saying nothing, but thought that sometimes this man whom she barely knew was too smart for his own good.
After the museum they sat in the sun by the Seine and watched the tourist boats pass by. Opposite was the Notre Dame, resplendent in the bright sun. She read in the Paris guide book she had bought that the cathedral dated back as far as the 12th century.
She leant across and kissed him. “Thanks for inviting me.” He put his hand inside her shirt to caress her back and then embraced her tightly.
In the evening he had booked dinner and a show, at her request, at the Moulin Rouge. But before they went in, he insisted that she have her portrait sketched by one of the many artists who plied for business from tourists in the Place du Tertre.
"Every newcomer to Paris has to have their portrait done," he told her. "Or you won't come back," making up his own version of Rome's Trevi Fountain legend.
Then, when she'd finally agreed, he teased her. "Nose not quite right," watching the artist at work as she sat there self-consciously on a small seat in front of the easel. "Ears a bit big too," he laughed.
"Shut the fuck up, Nick. Or I'll get him to sketch your manhood fo
r which we will get a discount in materials used."
"That is so below the belt, Alex!"
"You are right there," she grinned.
The artist seem unperturbed by their banter and carried on with her portrait. The finished work did her justice and she looked very nearly as beautiful on paper as she did in real life. He showed Alex the result and she thanked him – "Merci, I'm flattered" - before he scrolled it up and handed it to Nick. "Very beautiful lady," he said in the best English he had.
"You bastard," she said as they walked hand in hand to a cafe where they sat outside and he introduced her to pastis, a liquorice-tasting drink which he told her had kept brilliant but nearly mad Parisian writers and artists the right side of insanity throughout history, just as gin had fortified the spirits of the money-makers of London.
"Acquired taste, I think," she remarked, pouring more water into the mixture in her glass.
In the Moulin Rouge, she playfully covered Nick's eyes as a string of sexy, scantily-clad women danced on stage. "Can't believe I brought you here," she said. "It's only because I saw the movie."
"The food's good," he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin.
"Don't pretend the highlight is the food, Nicholas."
That night back at the hotel both were tired from their hectic day but that didn't stop them enjoying each other once again before they both faded into at exhausted and contented slumber. Alex's last thought before she slept was that everything seemed just like a dream.
But it was her nightmare that woke Nick while the cracks in the curtains showed little light. First he was aware of her murmuring then she became louder and started to turn frantically.
She was becoming more and more distressed while Nick debated whether to wake her. Before he had time to decide she was yelling words that he could not make out. Then she lashed out at him, hitting him below the eye, before jolting upwards, shaking and crying frenziedly.
He grabbed hold of her. "Alex...Alex..it's just a dream, darling," hugging her tight. She sobbed on his shoulder and he felt her tears trickling down his back. "What was it?"
A more tormented face he had never seen before in life or in pictures as he looked at her. The agony she showed in that moment would stay etched in his mind for ever.
"Did I hit you?" she asked.
"Yes, I think I'm going to have a real shiner in the morning," he smiled as he lifted her face up.
"I'm so sorry, Nick."
"What was it?"
She seemed to be wondering whether to tell him something, her mouth opening as though she was about to talk, but then, after she had calmed down, she rested her elbow on the pillows and leaned her head on her hand, still looking at him.
She inserted her index finger into her mouth as though making a lock for the secrets she was not prepared – at that time, anyway – to reveal.
He brushed her hair away from her face and caressed the side of her face. "You can tell me, Alex."
"It was nothing. I was just fighting someone in my nightmare and it seemed so real that I thought the attacker was here... and I struck out."
She rubbed her eyes and, as she recovered further from whatever had traumatised her, she pecked him on the lips and asked him to hold her tight. She turned round from him and he cuddled up to her back, her long legs entangled in his.
"You can sue me if you want," she murmured.
In the morning Nick examined his eye in the bathroom mirror and the results of her nightmare were clearly evident, if not bad enough to suggest he'd been involved in any serious brawl. "Shit, Alex, what is it with you?" he thought as he rubbed some of her moisturiser over the small bruise and accompanying scratch.
She came to the bathroom naked and hugged him from behind. "I'm so sorry," she said. "Although I was asleep, it seemed so real."
He turned round to embrace her. "I think they call them night terrors. Question is why why you have them. Did something bad happen to you, Alex?"
She said nothing and after a long silence he decided he didn't want to press her. "Come on, our last day here, we've got things to do – and if anyone asks why I have a black eye I won't hesitate to tell them that I was attacked by my partner in the middle of the night."
It was the first time he had referred to her as his "partner" and it made her feel even closer to a man she had at first determined to reject. "Shall I order us some breakfast for the terrace?"
"Yep, I'm going in the shower," he said, patting her rear.
Shorty afterwards, she still in her robe, him in jeans and T-shirt, they ate pastries and fruit on the terrace with the city's mighty metal structure towering above them. "It doesn't have emotions, does it?" she said, looking up at the construction.
"No, must have seen a lot in its time, but just stands there all day, every day, impassive to what goes on below."
"I envy it," she said.
It had gone midday before they were both ready to see some more of the city and Nick arranged a car for later to take their bags to the station in time for the return journey home, freeing them up to walk around at leisure.
They took the metro to the Arc De Triomphe and climbed the steps to the top of the world-famous monument. The views were magnificent and Alex, with her hair blowing in the light breeze, looked around her excitedly as he pointed out the landmarks. Then they walked along the Champs-Élysées hand in hand, stopping only so she could browse the shops.
At the end of the avenue, they dodged the traffic – “The cars just don't stop!” she complained as they crossed the Place de la Concorde into the Tuileries garden. There they sat by the side of a fountain and looked back at the Arc from where they had walked.
“That would have shed a few pounds,” she commented.
Nick laid back down on the grass and she flopped down beside him before resting her head on his firm stomach. “Not that you need to lose any pounds,” she complimented him.
“Don't want to go home,” she told him..
“Me neither.”
“Been good, apart from when I hit you,” she said, looking round to check on his face. “Oh dear, still there,” she added, trying to contain a giggle.
He looked back disapprovingly while caressing the back of her neck. “I know I'm not meant to say this so earlier in our relationship, but I really do love you, Alex Anderson.”
“You don't know me,” she warned him gently.
“I do know you, I just don't know about you,” he replied with a rather piercing look into her beautiful eyes.
“Come on, let's see Paris while we've got the chance,” she said, squeezing his side and getting up to brush the grass from her skinny lime jeans.
They walked for miles through boulevards, avenues and back streets, stopping every so often to sit outside a cafe to people watch. They laughed at their attempts to order in French and when Nick's egg mayo baguette arrived as a tuna salad, Alex broke into tears of laughter. “I did say oeuf” he remonstrated.
“Why don't you go and explain in your fluent French?” she asked, her sides aching.
Only the impending departure of the train to London and their increasingly weary legs forced them to admit it was time to make their way to the Gare du Nord.
Neither had a clue where they were but they found an empty taxi stand. After pressing several buttons and waiting patiently, wondering if any car was going to turn up, a white Mercedes with a Taxi Parisian sign on its roof finally came into view.
At St Pancras, Christos was waiting diligently at the end of the platform as the train pulled in. “What happened to you, boss?” he said, looking at his eye. Alex squirmed. “Accident with a door, mate, it'll be gone tomorrow.”
In the car he asked where he should take them and the couple talked quickly in hushed tones before Nick told him, “My place, please, Christos.”
In his Park Lane apartment they sat listening to jazz and talked about Paris. “It went so quickly,” she rued. “I could have stayed for a month or two. The hotel was fantastic and the
city, well, I know we we did just hit the tourist trails but for a taster it was perfect. And, of course the company wasn't bad.”
“You'll stay here tonight?” he asked.
“Let's see,” she said, drinking a red wine as jazz played in the background.
“Wynton Marsalis?”
“My, you are a jazz geek, young lady.”
“Used to put this on in New York. I had a tiny one-bedder in Brooklyn. The only reason I rented it was because it was quite high up and had a balcony – which was almost as big as the apartment and certainly more appealing. So on Sundays I used to put him on vinyl and hear that beautiful sound with the crackles from the record. Could sit there all day listening to the music and reading the paper or a book.”
“No boyfriends?”
“Of course. But Sunday was my day. And that's how I liked to spend it. Better than sex, or at least better than sex with the guys I was dating at the time,” she smiled as she recalled them.
“And what were you doing for work?”
“At the time I was doing business studies and statistics. I got by with the help of grants and family handouts, and then I got a job at the Financial Data Organisation. Hence Anderson Financial Support.”
He squeezed her leg. “I'm just going for a cigarette. You stay here and listen to the music and reminisce.”
While he was gone she turned on her phone. The first text message in her list was from Kerry. “Hope you had a great time, babe, tell me all about it tomorrow, x”
The second was from 'Unknown'. “You do know that Nick has slept with his last two PA's, don't you?”
She rushed to the bathroom, locked the door and sat on the closed seat of the toilet to read the message again. This time she was more astonished and angry than tearful although she still had to splash her face with water before going back to the lounge.
He was sitting on the sofa and she took a deep breath before sitting next to him.
Why shouldn't he have slept with his last two PA's, she thought. And she was after all already aware of his past with Olivia by her remark after the races. But Katherine?
“So what have you got on for the week?” she asked him.
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