From Paris With Love

by Cox, Desiree

  Jean-Luc poured a pastis for himself, a martini for Odile and two small glasses of red wine which he handed to Isabelle and Christina. He chinked the glasses, “Tchin tchin” and they echoed the sentiment.

  “Now for music,” declared Jean-Luc and the sounds of Bob Marley filled the small room. He began to dance, moving well to the reggae music and pulling Odile in to dance with him. The girls watched, smiling, their enjoyment was infectious. For a moment, Isabelle remembered her previous worries that Jean-Luc and Odile would be boring. So far from it! They were the most entertaining ‘old’ people she had ever met. She grabbed Christina and joined in the dancing.

  A few minutes later the doorbell rang. Jean-Luc sprang off to answer it and a couple came in bearing more wine.

  “Voici Martine and Jacques” Jean-Luc introduced his friends and the girls received the customary kisses. They were getting used to the French way of greeting.

  Next came Dominique and Paul, quickly followed by Gerard and Marie-Frederique. Chantelle and Daniel were next to arrive. The girls looked at each other in despair – how would they ever remember all these names?

  The lounge seemed to have burst into life with the arrival of the friends and the resulting chatter. The small room was packed with people now and warming up quickly. Glasses clinked with each other. Calls of ‘santé’ rang out. The girls couldn’t help comparing the party here to the ones they had at home sometimes. Here there was none of the polite chatter whilst people stood around waiting for everyone as they would at home. No, everyone was up dancing, chatting and laughing straight away.

  Isabelle kept stealing a look towards the front door wondering when Etienne would arrive.

  Eventually her patience was rewarded. The doorbell sounded once more and realising everyone else was absorbed in the party, Isabelle opened it to find Etienne. He had changed and was wearing a striped blue and white shirt, open at the neck, with black jeans. He leaned forward to kiss her and she barely resisted the impulse to melt into his arms, accepting the customary formal kisses on the cheek instead, squashing the small sense of disappointmen.

  The party was in full swing, filled with chatter, music and laughter. Several of the couples danced casually along to the music, obviously all fans of the reggae music that Jean-Luc avidly enjoyed. The room grew hot and someone opened the doors onto the balcony inviting the night air in and exposing the beautiful vista of Paris dressed in her evening clothes.

  Soon Jean-Luc began making the crêpes. The girls watched fascinated as he deftly put the batter on the electric plate, swept it around with a palette knife and as it began to cook, he tossed it over. The first crêpe came to Isabelle, who chose ham and cheese. Christina’s followed and soon everyone was enjoying crêpes, washed down with wine. Jean-Luc kept tossing crêpes, making certain that everyone’s plates were filled. It was one of the most unusual parties Isabelle had ever been to, but it was wonderful! She was kept busy chatting to all their friends, many of whom wanted to practise their smattering of English on the girls. All wanted to know about London and the different traditions they had heard about. Every now and then Isabelle would glimpse Etienne looking at her and smile shyly at him. Whilst Jean-Luc was the life and soul of the party, Etienne seemed to be on the fringes, a quieter participant happy to observe others.

  The music changed to quainter French music which was softer and more romantic. Isabelle was sitting in the armchair, sipping her wine and observing everyone at the party. Suddenly she became aware of a dark head leaning over her. She looked up to see Etienne’s face close to hers, his eyes searching hers. In very careful English, he asked softly, “Will you dance with me please?”

  “Of course, I mean, bien sur!” whispered Isabelle. Gently Etienne took the wineglass from her hand and set it on the table, then reached back to take her hand. He pulled her into his arms and together they swayed to the music. It felt so right being in his arms, thought Isabelle, melting against him. She had danced with men before but this felt different, it felt good.

  “Bravo, Etienne!” called Jean-Luc and a couple others cheered and clapped.

  Etienne just smiled back and didn’t let go of Isabelle who was feeling quite embarrassed and trying to bury her face in his shirt.

  “So, Isabelle,” he asked reverting to French. “You have a boyfriend at home?”

  “No,” she sighed. “Well, at least, I did, but I don’t any more.”

  “Why not?”

  “He finished with me,” she admitted sheepishly. “We had only been going out a few months and he decided to move on to someone else. Not a problem really, I think I’m better off without him!”

  “He was very stupid,” whispered Etienne. “But I am pleased for me.”

  Isabelle felt ridiculously happy at his words. She wasn’t sure if she should let him know that she knew about his girlfriend. He might think it odd if she didn’t ask though.

  “And you?” she questioned softly.

  There was a long pause before he answered quietly. “No, I am alone. I had a girlfriend, a very special girl. Sadly she died in an accident two years ago. Now I am alone,” he explained simply and honestly.

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t really know what else to say.

  Etienne nodded. “Thank you. And now I have found you.” He pulled her closer to him, discouraging any further talking.

  It felt so right to be in his arms. The music finished and still they stood together until another tune began, a gentle French ballad.

  “This music is beautiful,” said Isabelle, listening intently to the lyrics and trying to translate them. “What is it called?”

  “It’s called ‘comme un arbre dans la ville’, it’s quite an old song by Maxime le forestier. It tells the story of someone feeling out of place as they are growing up, like a tree growing in concrete between buildings instead of in the open. It is pretty, no?”

  Isabelle agreed. “What sort of music do you like?”

  “I like all music. Probably this type of French folk music is my favourite. The lyrics mean something. I also like 10cc and reggae too. And you, Isabelle, what do you like?”

  “Roxy Music is my favourite. I like Blondie, Police and some country music. I also like Shakin’ Stevens.”

  “I like Roxy Music and Shakin’ Stevens is good to dance too.”

  He pulled her closer and together they danced in a comfortable silence.

  Another track started up, this one a little more animated and they moved into a different type of dancing. He didn’t seem willing to let her go and Isabelle was perfectly happy about that! She was oblivious to everyone else at the party. The sounds of the others had faded away.

  Others were up dancing now the music was livelier. Everyone was having a great time and Isabelle was pleased to see Christina laughing and having fun too. The room grew warmer and eventually Etienne stopped dancing and took Isabelle’s hand.

  “Enough. It’s so hot, let’s step out onto the balcony for some cool air, okay?” He led Isabelle out into the evening breeze and together they leaned against the balcony railing looking out across Paris. A million lights winked at them through the night. With Etienne’s arm draped around her shoulders, Isabelle felt sublimely content.

  “Paris is so beautiful, isn’t it?” she sighed, her eyes seeking out the distant twinkling lights of the City of Light.

  “Yes. But you are more beautiful to me,” Etienne whispered. Tenderly he turned her face towards him, brushed the hair from her forehead where it had clung damp from dancing and tilted her chin up. He seemed to seek approval from her as he looked into her eyes and she gazed back into his expressive chocolate eyes as his lips gently met hers. Isabelle felt her lips responding and her body moving closer to his as his arms came around her. They seemed to stay together for ages, his lips on her, his kisses sending butterflies fluttering through her.

  She leant her head against his shoulder and sighed softly.

  “What are you thinking?” probed Etienne.

 
“I’m thinking how perfect this is,” she replied. “I would just like to keep this moment just as it is for always!” To her surprise, she found she could find the words in French that she needed, although she had to think carefully.

  “Why keep this moment? There will be many more. It is only your first day in Paris!”

  “Mmmm, I know, but I don’t think it could get any better,” replied Isabelle.

  “Tomorrow I will show you Paris. Tomorrow will be wonderful too,” promised Etienne.

  “Are you coming with us tomorrow?” Isabelle was delighted.

  “Of course! Now I have found you I’m not going to waste a moment of your time here! I want to spend as much time as I can with you. I want to show you my Paris!”

  Isabelle felt a frisson of delight as she anticipated the next few days. She realised she was falling in love with Etienne – with someone she had barely met twenty four hours previously. And yet, she felt so strongly about him. In a way that she had never felt before for previous boyfriends. They hadn’t even come close! A tiny nagging thought niggled at the back of her mind, ‘and what will happen when you go home next Saturday?’ But she pushed it to the back. She would worry about that later in the week. For now, she was in Paris, in the arms of a wonderful Frenchman and she was in love!

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Seven

  Sunday dawned, fresh and sunny. The girls woke early, despite the late night as the party hadn’t finished until nearly 1am. It had only broken up then when one of their neighbours had complained about the music. Christina went with Jean-Luc to the boulangerie whilst Isabelle laid the table for Odile. They brought back fresh croissants and hurried to the table to eat them whilst they were still warm.

  The girls noticed that Jean-Luc and Odile ate their croissants differently to how they did at home in Sussex. Whilst they usually split their croissant and added butter and jam, they copied their hosts and broke off a bit at a time stuffing into their mouths and washing down with hot chocolate. They licked their buttery fingers and thought about how French they were becoming!

  “Today we see Paris!” exclaimed Jean-Luc. “And we have lunch in a restaurant. Our treat,” he added generously.

  Etienne arrived and after greeting everyone, he came across to Isabelle and tenderly kissed her on the lips.

  “Bonjour, Isabelle” he whispered, his voice full of unspoken promise.

  Isabelle felt her heart somersault again and the butterflies began coasting around her tummy again as she felt Etienne so close to her. She had begun to think that last evening had only happened in her dreams and not in reality. Christina grinned across at her conspiratorially. She had a boyfriend at home and was very pleased to see her sister happy again.

  Etienne took Isabelle’s hand and they all piled into Jean-Luc’s Renault for the journey into Paris. As they drove West towards the city centre, Jean-Luc explained how Sunday was the best day to visit Paris as the traffic was lighter. There may have been fewer cars on the road, but Jean-Luc still drove like a man possessed with very little regard for other road users.

  As they drove, Isabelle could feel Etienne nuzzling her neck, his arm draped around her shoulders. Odile and Jean-Luc didn’t seem to mind the show of affection – she thought for a moment how her parents would have reacted! She had always heard the French were much more accepting of passion and love than the stiff-upper-lipped British people.

  Conversation flowed between them all and Christina wondered at how swiftly she was beginning to understand what everyone was saying, although it often took a little longer to say what she wanted to as she was still mentally translating it in her mind before she spoke. Her French teacher would be so impressed when she went back to school!

  Soon they pulled up in a narrow cobbled street that didn’t seem to be anywhere near anything.

  “We go to Montmartre first,” said Jean-Luc. “Here is good to park and we walk up to the Butte.”

  Etienne and Isabelle walked hand-in-hand behind the others along the narrow cobbled street. It seemed quiet except for a small group of people queuing to buy their morning goods at a small boulangerie where a fine array of mouth-watering cakes were stacked on trays in the window.

  “Montmartre is my favourite part of Paris,” declared Etienne. “It has so much character and for me is it the heart of Paris. Many tourists prefer the 2e arondissement where you find the Louvre and the posh shops, or the 9e arondissement where you find the department stores. For me, it is Montmartre.”

  “What is so special about Montmartre?” asked Isabelle.

  “It is the heart of Paris where the artists still come. Today, Sunday, is the best time as you will see they all set up their easels on the Place du Tertre. Now they mainly try to get tourists to buy paintings or cardboard caricatures. Sometimes you will see a real artist. It is here that Salvador Dali, Monet and many others started out.

  “Montmartre means ‘mount of the martyrs’ because it was here that Saint Dennis was beheaded hundreds of years ago. They built a small chapel here called the Martyrium, then a church, then an abbey. And finally they built the Sacré Coeur here.”

  Isabelle listened intently. “You know a lot about Paris.”

  “I’ve lived here all my life and I love Paris. You must know about London?”

  “Not really, no. A little I guess. Have you ever been to London?”

  “Yes, once, a school trip. I liked London. Maybe I visit again some day?” He looked at her questioningly, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Maybe I come and visit you?”

  “That would be wonderful!” breathed Isabelle. “But I don’t live in London! I live near Brighton on the South Coast. It’s not far from London though,” she added hurriedly.

  “Brighton?” questioned Etienne. “It is by the sea, n’est-ce pas? “

  Isabelle nodded.

  “You are very lucky to live by the sea. I love the sea, there is something so wild and special about it. You have always lived there?”

  “Yes, always. It is a great place to live. I love the sea too, walking along the beach, sailing, swimming in the sea. I guess I am lucky. But then you’re lucky to live, here, in Paris!” and Isabelle swept her arm out gesturing around here.

  As they turned the corner, the real life of Montmartre greeted them. The cacophony of chatter buzzed around them. The smells of crêpes mingled with newly baked croissants and freshly brewed coffee wafted in the air. The cobbled street led to the famous Place du Tertre. The souvenir shops spilled onto the pavements with their racks of bright postcards. A selection of posters, paintings and all manner of art competed for space on the narrow pavement. Tourists were flocking to the square made famous by painters of yesteryear and now occupied by today’s artists wearing overalls and clasping palettes, authentically mimicking the past. They wandered around the easels hand in hand. Every now and then an artist would come up to Christina or Isabelle asking to paint them or cut their silhouette. Each time they declined politely, the artist would shrug and move onto the next tourist.

  Numerous cafes and restaurants vied for table space under brightly coloured awnings on the crowded pavements. Many of the tables were occupied by people watchers, drinking a leisurely coffee and observing life in the square. Isabelle drank it all in, thinking what a wonderful place it was and how unique. She had visited London on many occasions but couldn’t think of anywhere that was quite so special. London always seemed so stately, so majestic and so grown-up. Paris was young, mischievous and bohemian. She wanted to capture this place and moment in time forever.

  Isabelle took out her camera and took a couple of photos of the square, the artists, the narrow streets and restaurants. Christina reached for the camera.

  “I’ll take a photo of you and Etienne,” she offered.

  They chose a backdrop of the artists and Etienne draped his arm casually around Isabelle’s shoulder. Every movement of his seemed to be so French, so fluid, so casual she thought.

  “Smile,” beamed Christi
na and clicked the camera shutter. Isabelle hoped the picture was good – she knew she would never forget this moment, this place or Etienne, but a photo would be something to treasure for always.

  From the Place du Tertre they wandered down a little alleyway and at the end they were confronted by the white walls of the Basilica of the Sacré Coeur standing majestically on the butte of Montmartre. Throngs of people gathered on the steps to the cathedral or around the entrance. It was Sunday so Isabelle assumed some had been to service.

  Given how busy it was, they decided not to go inside. Instead they stood at the edge of the terrace and looked across at Paris spread beneath them.

  “I hadn’t realised how high we are,” commented Isabelle thoughtfully.

  “Yes, from here you have one of the best views of Paris. Especially on a clear day like today.” Etienne moved closer to her, his head next to hers and his hand outstretched to the right. “Look over there, you can see the Eiffel Tower. See how the Seine runs through the city?” He pointed out other landmarks to her and Christina.

  As they wandered down the many steps leading from the Sacré Coeur through the pretty gardens to the square at the foot, they were entertained by different musicians. Some played the guitar and sang. Others sang to a music player. One musician played the accordion. On several steps, street vendors were displaying their wares on brightly coloured blankets keen to attract the tourists and their money. The whole place seemed to be alive.

  “Sunday is the best day to come here. People come here for all sorts of reasons –for the Sacré Coeur, for the artists, for lunch in the restaurants or just to spend time here on the steps,” explained Etienne. “This time of year is one of the best to visit Paris. In August everyone leaves the city to go to the sea and it is hot and deserted. In the winter there are only a few people who venture out. September and May are the best times in Paris.”

  Isabelle could imagine that. One day she would like to live in Paris, somewhere near here. One day she would go out to the local boulangerie to buy croissants for her breakfast. One day she would spend her Sunday mornings here on the steps of the Sacré Coeur.