Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2)

by Celia Kennedy

  He cast sad eyes upon me. “I think we both need to think about what we want out of the future.” He kissed the back of my hand and then squeezed it.

  “Okay.” I blew out a deep breath. I felt just as confused but decided to give him room to think about his future.

  I roamed the streets of Enclos-St-Laurent, lost in thought, wondering what to do.

  10:10 PM, Saturday, December 4

  Men in Tool Belts

  SUSPENDED ABOVE the city, we were in a holding pattern, waiting for a runway to clear so we could land. The pilot finally announced we were next in line. The strain of the last week was catching up with me. Each revolution over London perpetuated my state of anxiety and angst. I had gone to Aarhus hoping to discover I didn’t want the job, and that hadn’t happened. Instead, I found myself excited by the possibilities that Flytning Værktøj represented.

  They were pretty much what I had expected. Lots of work, decent pay, tremendous enthusiasm, and an unknown future. Not something I would have considered before now. Helping L’Oréal grow was exciting, but not enough, as it had once been.

  When I asked Aksel why he had undertaken this latest endeavor, he’d spoken passionately about painting. “It relaxes me, helps clear my mind so that I can think about other things, a different creative process. Artists have it the other way around. Their heads are filled with things they wish to create, but they don’t know how to or don’t have the money to make it a reality.”

  I confessed to having searched him on the Internet and found the blog.

  “Do you speak German? Did you read the blog?”

  When I said no to both, he’d filled in the gaps. “The blogger was an artist, a friend of my son’s. It was a fun interview, one I will never forget.” The word was had been repeated twice, so I hadn’t pushed for more.

  As for Sébastien, he had politely and succinctly responded to my emails since I last saw him, telling me he was fine, life was fine, Chantal was fine, work was fine. But not that we were fine. He was now my biggest reason for staying in Paris but had given me no hope that he wanted to be factored into the equation.

  In-depth trolling on the Internet had revealed nothing more. I had thought of asking Tiziana if she knew anything, but if she did, that would put her in the middle. I was desperate for distraction, so, once again, I was heading to Charlotte’s doorstep. Hillary and Marian would be there tomorrow. A houseful of people who loved me ought to do the trick. Shouldn’t it?

  Men in Bathrobes

  I knocked quietly on the front door. When Liam opened it, he was barely recognizable beneath his dark stubble, sloppy hair, and hunched exhaustion. He wrapped me in a drowsy hug and said, “Christ, I’m tired.”

  I waved to the cabbie, who’d insisted he wouldn’t leave until I was safely inside.

  “Hello to you.” I wheeled in my bag, pushed the door shut, and locked it. “Where’s Charlotte? Asleep?”

  He snorted as I heard the wail of a baby followed by tender clucking. “She’s feeding the wee little bastard.”

  I inhaled sharply. He looked at me with darkly shadowed eyes. “None of that. You came here voluntarily. Kathleen, we are utterly knackered. No commentaries.”

  I nodded, making a silent promise not to pass judgement.

  Charlotte, having heard me, made her way downstairs and looked at me anxiously, but when I assured her my woes could wait until morning, she gave me her son and led her husband upstairs, calling goodnight over her shoulder.

  A few minutes later, I was strolling the living room, cradling Sean, and loving every minute of it. As I took in his flushed face, contorting as he tried to decide what he wanted, I gave him a gentle talking to. “You need to give your parents a break. Yes, you do. I have never, not ever, seen your daddy as grumpy as he was tonight.” It was true.

  After putting the little boy in his bed, I schlepped my bag upstairs, rushed through my nighttime routine, and slid under the heavy duvet. Just as I fell asleep, I thought of Sébastien, curled on his side, and wished him a silent goodnight.

  That’s the way it was. He was the first thing I thought of in the morning and the last at night.

  Women Palaver

  “How serious are you about this job at “Flit-knee Vairk-toy?” Marian asked.

  I twizzled a strand of hair as I tried to find a way to explain my interest in it. “Okay, you know how Charlotte has an absurd memory and can remember every line from every movie?” I received three nods. I asked Hillary and Marian, “Do you have any tricks up your sleeves? Special talents? For example, can you sing really well and dream of being on stage. Or did you take years of piano lessons and want to play in a jazz ensemble?”

  Marian snorted. “I wish.” Hillary shook her head no.

  “Charlotte, do you have a paper and pen I can use? Or a pencil? Pencil would be better.” A minute later, I had a notepad and a pencil. “Okay, give me a few minutes.” I knew my drawing wouldn’t look great, but I had been drawing more and more, so, hopefully, it would look good enough to give some foundation to my past passion and explanation.

  I glanced back and forth between Charlotte and Sean, snuggled on her lap, and roughed out a decent portrait then hastily filled in some pertinent details. I held it up for them. “Ta da.”

  They squinted at the drawing. Marian reached for it. The three of them stared at it. Marian looked up and said, “You’re full of feckin’ surprises, aren’t you?”

  I snickered. “This one wasn’t meant to be a secret. My first love was art, but I chose to go down the path of something more practical, something that would pay the bills.”

  Hillary put the pieces together. “So, is that the reason for all the apartments and renovations? To do something creative?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “And that’s the reason that this job appeals to you? You’d be in a world where all your interests come together?” she prodded. I nodded again.

  The three mulled this in silence, passing the drawing I’d done back and forth.

  “So then, regarding Sébastien, that’s that?” Charlotte asked.

  “Oh, for feck’s sake, of course not.” Marian looked at me. “There are other companies out there that do something like this. Probably hundreds in Paris alone. Have you thought about that?”

  “I have, actually. There aren’t hundreds, but there are a few. And they aren’t knocking on my door.”

  “Well, you’re a smart girl. Figure it out. Find a company in or near Paris and sell your services. If feckin’ Flit-knee Vairk-toy wants you, maybe they will, too. I don’t know. What I do know is that there’s more to the story with Sébastien. Ask Tiziana what she knows.” I found Marian’s determination that Sébastien and I work things out sweet. Unlikely, but sweet.

  Charlotte weighed in. “I don’t know. I think, first, she needs to decide what she wants to do about Flit-knee Vairk-toy. If she’s really considering that job, she shouldn’t get his hopes up.”

  Sighing, I knew they were both right. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m not sure that Sébastien needs to be part of the decision-making process.”

  “Don’t be an eejit. Anyone just looking at the two of you knows you’re perfect for each other. He’s upset, and he’ll get over it. He’s overcome worse.”

  I cringed at her words, but she was right. Heaven help me, but I felt hopeful for the first time.

  Charlotte hesitantly changed the subject. “Kathleen, how did it feel to be in Aarhus?”

  I let out a deep sigh. That was easy to answer. “Awful. I can tell you it was beautiful outside, bright and sunny and really cold. What I saw of the city was from the window of an airplane or taxi. I thought I would wander around a little, but when it came to it, it was just too painful.”

  Marian squeezed my hand, and just when I thought she was going to bring up a group trip to Aarhus for visiting Mikkel’s grave, she surprised me. “I think we need to go shopping for knickers. Something absolutely mind-blowing, something Sébastien
couldn’t resist if you showed up on his doorstep wearing them—under a coat, of course.”

  I laughed. “Of course. ‘Cause lingerie’s going to solve my problems.”

  Marian suddenly looked quite crafty. “Three choices, my dear. Call Tiziana, talk about a trip to Aarhus, or go lingerie shopping.”

  As I looked at them, each wore an expression of cautious optimism. “Lingerie shopping it is!”

  Charlotte whooped and called for Liam. When he appeared, she said, “You’re on baby duty. We are going shopping.”

  I snorted when he asked, “Picking up something for dinner?”

  “Better! Knickers,” she provocatively replied.

  “Much better!” he added.

  Marian told him, “We’ll be late. We’re going to a wine bar after.”

  I added, “And before.”

  “I’m driving,” Hillary told him.

  “Make it a proper bar. I want something besides wine.” Wine reminded me of France, and France reminded me of Sébastien, and I didn’t want to think about him right now.

  7:30 PM, Thursday, December 9

  French 75

  SITTING AT THE bar in Le Delly, I felt a bit suspect. Returning to the scene of the crime and all that. I had emailed Sébastien on Monday and asked him to meet me. He suggested tonight. I picked Le Delly, because I was hoping that going to a neighborhood bar, and one where we’d made some tender memories, would at least make our meeting feel lighter.

  Watching the door, I saw him the instant he walked in. He looked tired and downcast. When he looked my way, I gave him a nervous smile. “Hey,” I said.

  “Hello.” No kiss on each cheek or one cheek, no handshake or a poke in the eye. My stomach clenched tighter.

  Once the bartender had served us our drinks, I asked, “How are you?”

  “Tired. I have been traveling for work. I got home late last night.” He downed half his glass of wine.

  I sipped my cocktail, a French 75, hoping he would begin. He didn’t, so I took a deep breath and told him, “I went to Aarhus.”

  He stared straight ahead, and when he spoke, he surprised the shit out of me. “I know.”

  “What?”

  “Aksel told me you’d come.” He finally looked at me as he spoke.

  Okay, we’d come back to that.

  “Sébastien, I know you’re hurt, and I know you can’t say much, but can you tell me something, anything, to help me understand what happened between you and Aksel?”

  He shook his head, which shocked me. Still refusing to talk to me? Why meet me here, then?

  “Is it that you can’t or won’t?”

  He surprised me further when he said, “Chantal will be here soon. I invited her.” I was so confused that, when the bartender asked if we wanted another drink or food, I ordered in English. Sébastien requested another glass of wine and a menu then ordered grilled steak and fries. I ordered the same thing, my brain unable to select anything. Then Chantal arrived.

  She swept in as if all was perfect in the world, which made me wonder about her role in my conversation with Sébastien. “Kathleen, how are you? Busy at work? Papa has been working around the clock.”

  “We ordered dinner. Would you like something?” He handed her the menu.

  The bartender flirted with her as he took her order then disappeared to serve the masses.

  ***

  We moved to a table, where he and I pushed our food around on our plates while Chantal happily dominated the conversation. Gradually, she seemed to notice that, while we were answering her, we weren’t speaking to each other. She and I exchanged a worried look, and then she spoke softly to Sébastien. “Papa, you still haven’t told her?”

  He shook his head and placed his knife and fork down on his plate then turned to me. “Are you taking the job at Flytning Værktøj?”

  Chantal swiveled her gaze to me and said, “Of course not. She wouldn’t want to leave Paris or work for Thomas’s father.”

  Who was Thomas?

  “Are you taking the job?” he asked again, when I didn’t respond.

  “I haven’t decided. Who is Thomas?”

  Chantal answered without hesitation, “Thomas was my boyfriend.” She looked uncomfortable but determined to see it through. “Last year, over the holidays, we were out celebrating with friends. We drank way too much, and I got sick. While my friend helped me in the bathroom, Thomas left us, along with her date and some other girls. They also left behind our purses and coats. Everything was stolen.”

  So far, not a great story, but was it enough to make Sébastien and Aksel mortal enemies?

  “My friend and I decided to walk home. I stumbled and fell and ended up needing surgery. Thomas came to visit me in the hospital, and Papa overheard us fighting about the other girl and my stolen things. When he confronted Thomas, Thomas was frightened and left.”

  Sébastien finished the story. “Chantal and Thomas met while Aksel and I were in business together. Thomas was studying at the same school as Chantal, at my recommendation. They grew close and started dating. Aksel and I decided to keep our situation private from them, as it wasn’t their problem. But after Thomas went home from the hospital, he told Aksel that I had threatened him and blamed him for Chantal’s injury. Aksel called me, furious, and told me he was going to the police.”

  “But he didn’t?”

  “No. Nor did Thomas. Instead of taking any responsibility for Chantal, he simply ended their relationship. Both of them behaved contemptibly.”

  While I had no way of knowing what Aksel was really capable of, nothing he had done toward me indicated he was as bad as the picture they were painting. But then again, why would I disbelieve them? “Your concern at the fashion show was because you thought what, exactly?”

  “Chérie, sometimes one does not think. One reacts.”

  One word that changed the world. “Chérie.” I leaned across the table and kissed him.

  2:00 PM, Saturday, December 11

  All that Glitters

  “LIFE IS SO much better with you in it.” Sébastien sounded as happy as I was.

  We were watching a quartet play music on a small stage in the Galeries Lafayette, where Christmas and Paris came together in splendor. I nodded, hoping my eyes conveyed what words could not.

  After leaving the massive store, we walked down Rue Royale. It was twilight as we wandered through the Jardin des Champs-Élysées. On both sides of the path leading through the garden, trees were wrapped in white lights and the Arc de Triomphe glowed in the far distance.

  “It’s beautiful. Could we sit for a little while?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he replied.

  We walked not too far along the path flanked by benches and trees before we found a vacant spot. He draped his arm around me, pulling me close. “For warmth.” He grinned down at me. “And also, so that I can believe you are really here with me.”

  “I am really here.” Absolutely happy, I contemplated how much my life had changed since September. I offered my lips to him. He immediately answered my request.

  As we sat, our conversation wandered from topic to topic. I learned that he had been accepted into Fontainebleau to study his MBA, had wanted to attend École des Hautes Etudes Commerciales de Paris but had made do with attending the highly respected École Superieure de Gestion, specializing in business management.

  “Why ESG then?” I asked, feeling quite surprised.

  “Gisella was pregnant with Chantal. Fortunately, going to school in France is not too expensive, but even so…”

  I squeezed his hand. “I didn’t even think of that. I should have. If you don’t mind, I would like to know more about Gisella.”

  He stared into the distance, as if searching through stacks of memories and deciding which ones were interesting. “She was a painter, actually. That is where Chantal gets her creative abilities.” He described her as a gentle soul whom he’d met when he was a young teen. He kept the stories brief and the number f
ew, but when he spoke, there was a wistfulness, a sadness.

  “I’m sorry you lost her,” I offered when he had been silent a while.

  “Thank you, chérie. She was, first and foremost, my friend, and I miss her still. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

  I nudged him. “How could it?” After all, I knew I would miss Mikkel forever, and we had barely the history Sébastien had shared with Gisella. “You can talk about her, if you like.”

  He looked at me calmly and said, “Thank you. Most are uncomfortable with it.”

  I kissed his cheek and then changed the subject. “All right. What’s next?”

  “Food!”

  “Perfect.”

  His eyes held a challenge. “Then, Hôtel de Ville, Gare Montparnasse. We can ice skate and enjoy a beautiful evening view of the Eiffel Tower.”

  I flashed him an encouraging smile, teasing, “And then?”

  “It would be ungentlemanly of me to answer.”

  Playing it coy, I uttered, “Oh,” and then quickly switched my train of thought. “Before I forget, are you available to go to the Christmas market tomorrow?”

  “Mais oui, if we aren’t too sore.” I’m sure my face registered shock, because he laughed out loud. “From the ice skating, chérie.”

  I burst into laughter as I blushed. I was utterly embarrassed by where my imagination had taken me. “Oh, that!” I managed to say between bouts of laughter.

  ***

  Once we’d returned to Sébastien’s apartment, neither too sore nor too tired, Sébastien’s jaw dropped when I appeared, wearing only my fur coat and my recently purchased knickers. He bolted from the couch where, five minutes before, he had been half-asleep in front of the fire. He ran his hands over the fur, slowly untying the belt. A glimpse of my bare flesh had him whispering, “Mon Dieu!”

  ***

  I felt him dozing off, so I wiggled my shoulder beneath where his head rested. He didn’t move. “Are you asleep?” I whispered.