From Paris With Love

by Cox, Desiree

  “My favourite colour is blue, although I never wear blue. My favourite place is Normandy because I love the sea, like you. Although I also love the mountains and I like skiing. I haven’t been able to ski since the accident but I hope to again one day. I think Paris is a beautiful city, but one day I want to move away and live in the countryside or by the seaside. I want to get married and have children one day, not yet. I think life is too short to spend at work all the time. I like music and going to concerts. I don’t really like reading very much. I’m not interested in politics either although I like to know what is going on in the world and I watch the news on television. I like going out with friends although I also like to spend time alone, I think it is important.”

  For a few moments they lay comfortably in silence.

  “So now, tell me, what makes you laugh and what makes you cry?” asked Etienne.

  “What makes me laugh,” mused Isabelle. “I guess good jokes and amusing stories make me laugh, things that are genuinely funny. I don’t like comedians very much, I don’t usually find them funny. I think children make me laugh sometimes, they do such strange things and they are so innocent. Having fun with friends makes me laugh too.”

  She thought for a moment. “The things that make me cry – that’s harder. I don’t like it when people are unkind to animals, or young children. They take advantage and that’s cruel. Sad stories and films make me cry sometimes. I think leaving you will make me cry too,” she added softly.

  “You should not cry for something that is so special,” said Etienne. “You should only cry for the things you cannot have or those you have lost. You will not be losing me.”

  She nodded. “Your turn.”

  “I like comedies, jokes, funny stories, funny people. I like to laugh, I think it’s important. In life it is too easy to be sad. And losing people makes me cry, realising you will never see them again or talk to them. I think that is very sad and very difficult” he added softly. And Isabelle knew he was thinking about the girlfriend he had lost. She squeezed his hand gently.

  For a few moments, they lay there in each other’s arms quietly. Then Etienne sat up and reached into the wicker basket.

  “Now I know that in England you have teatime which means that around 4 o’clock you drink tea and you eat cake.”

  “Well, sometimes, yes,” admitted Isabelle. “How did you know that?”

  “I asked a friend who has an English friend. And I thought we would have an English tea!”

  He produced two cups from the basket, a flask, two pastries and two serviettes.

  “Voila! English tea,” he said with a flourish as he poured the contents of the flask into the two cups and handed one to Isabelle. “Cheers!”

  Isabelle took the cup and peered in at the dark liquid. She laughed.

  Etienne looked puzzled. “Why are you laughing? It is tea n’est-ce pas?”

  “Well, yes, it is tea,” she wasn’t quite sure how to tell him.

  “But?” he prompted.

  “We normally drink tea with milk,” she laughed.

  “With milk?” he looked horrified. “But when we drink tea, which isn’t often, we do not have milk in it!”

  She sipped the tea and grimaced inwardly. “It’s delicious! I will make sure to drink tea black and with no milk in future!” she announced.

  He looked pleased and sipped in his own tea, quite obviously wishing it was coffee. He passed her a pastry and she bit into it. Delicious, the French certainly knew how to make pastries, she thought.

  “This is lovely, Etienne,” she said and she meant it, thinking of the effort he had gone to for her.

  When the pastries were eaten and the tea finished, they packed everything away in the wicker basket.

  “Come, you are chilly,” noticed Etienne. “It is getting colder. Autumn is here.” Isabelle felt a shiver run through her and realised it was less to do with the cold air and more to do with the short amount of time they had left. Like Autumn and her old man, time was running out for them. They got to their feet, folded the blanket and made their way back through the park to where they had left the car.

  “And now we will continue to our next stop,” said Etienne. “It is a surprise” he stated seeing the unspoken question in Isabelle’s eyes.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Seventeen

  September 1980

  Isabelle sat back watching the approach to Paris and recognising some of the sights they had seen last Sunday. Already she was beginning to feel she knew Paris. Soon they were approaching the Left Bank.

  “Now we look for a parking place,” said Etienne. Quickly he spotted one and skilfully manoeuvred the car into the place. Isabelle wished her parking skills were as good – she had yet to pass her driving test and certainly couldn’t park like he did!

  There seemed to be fewer tourists today strolling along the wide boulevard along the Seine than there had been on Sunday, thought Isabelle, although it was early evening now and soon twilight would begin to fall. It felt so right walking along with Etienne, she thought, his arm around her shoulders, her arm around his waist.

  “I thought we could go on a boat trip, if you would like?” asked Etienne. “It is a lovely way to see Paris. And very romantic, of course!”

  Isabelle smiled at him, “I would love to. It sounds perfect.”

  They waited at the kiosk near the Pont Neuf to buy their tickets and then boarded the wide bateau, taking seats at the front so they would have the perfect view.

  Soon the boat was pushing away from the quay and moving slowly out into the silver-grey waters of the Seine.

  “This is the best time to see Paris,” said Etienne. “I hope we have timed it just right so you will see the lights of Paris.”

  As they headed East, Etienne pointed out the various sights in the gathering gloom of early evening.

  “Over there is the rich quarter of Paris. It is the Rue de Rivoli where there are designer shops,” he said disdainfully and Isabelle realised it was not really his favourite part. “Then we have the Jardins des Tuilleries with the famous Louvre art gallery.”

  They passed under a bridge and as the light grew darker, Etienne pulled Isabelle close. Forgetting the tourist sights, he kissed her. For several minutes after the bateau had emerged from the bridge, Isabelle did not notice what was on either bank of the Seine. She felt a shiver run down her spine as Etienne kissed her tenderly, his lips probing hers, his arms clasping her tight. The rest of Paris had stopped existing for her. It was just Etienne and herself now.

  They passed under the ornate Pont Alexandre III and observed the traffic hurtling along the right bank. It seemed strange to Isabelle to see people hurrying about their daily lives whilst she and Etienne seemed to be in another world completely. It was almost like watching a film seeing the cars tear along the road, cyclists pedalling furiously and people hurrying along the pavements on their way home. She and Etienne seemed to be suspended in another world, a parallel universe.

  “You know, Isabelle” whispered Etienne, any pretence at showing her the sights of Paris forgotten. “I think I am falling in love with you.”

  Isabelle felt her hear thumping in her chest, a lump seemed to form in her throat making any speech almost impossible. She looked up at him. His soft brown eyes stared down at her filled with love and she knew she was in love with him too.

  “I think I love you too, Etienne,” she whispered.

  He kissed her again tenderly and then drew away slightly. “So we love each other, Isabelle. Je t’aime.”

  Her eyes sought his and in answer to her unspoken question, he said, “Do not worry, ma Belle, I am not like other Frenchmen – I will love you passionately, but I will not forget you quickly!” he teased.

  She smiled, hoping that he meant what he said, hoping that what they had would last beyond next weekend, though not daring to think beyond Saturday for now.

  The bateau was beginning to turn as it rounded the island of Liberty just p
ast the Eiffel Tower. Lights twinkled on either bank as Paris began to prepare for evening.

  “Now, Isabelle, on the way back you must pay attention,” said Etienne mockingly stern. “You wanted to see Paris from the river and you have already missed half of it!” He kissed her again and then pointed out the palais de Chaillot on the right bank, the pont d’Iena leading across to the Eiffel Tower.

  To Isabelle, the statuesque iron monument looming out of the darkness seemed to stand representative of the romance of Paris, city of light and to Isabelle, city of love, its grey summit stretching towards the sky and seeming to promise the world. She sighed and leaned back into Etienne’s arms as the boat slid through the silent black waters wending west along the Seine.

  As the bateau docked back at the quayside on the Ile de la Cite, Isabelle thought that in some ways the hour-long voyage had seemed like a blink of an eye. In other ways it had seemed like a lifetime. When they had left, the last vestiges of daylight were lingering. Now it was dark and the transition from day to night seemed to echo the transition of their relationship into love. She knew she would never forget the magic of the boat ride along the Seine, although she admitted she had seen very little of Paris!

  Etienne took her hand and together they disembarked. For a while they strolled along the Ile de la Cite, past the Notre Dame cathedral, illuminated against the night sky. The steep aged walls plunged down towards the river disappearing beneath the black surface of the Seine.

  “Did you know that it is here that Paris was founded?” asked Etienne. “The first people lived here on the Ile de la Cite and Notre Dame stands on the place of the first church. Did you know that Saint Genevieve is the patron saint of Paris?”

  Isabelle shook her head.

  “Well the legend goes that she was a peasant girl who became a nun because she wanted to devote her life to God. It is said that she saved Paris from the Huns of Attila by leading a prayer marathon. They built an abbey in her memory, not very far from here in the Latin Quarter. Today it is the Pantheon.”

  “You really love Paris and its history, don’t you?” asked Isabelle, intrigued by his profound knowledge of the city.

  Etienne shrugged. “Yes, I guess so. I have always lived her and I love the city. Do you find it boring?”

  “No, not at all!” she quickly reassured him. “It’s just unusual. I think it’s actually really wonderful. I wish I knew as much about London, or even Brighton, as you do about Paris. It’s such a beautiful city.”

  Etienne nodded. “Yes, it is a beautiful city. And you, my Isabelle, are beautiful too.”

  Arm in arm, they strolled across the Petit Pont towards the Left Bank. The Latin Quarter was a vibrant splash of lights and noise, laughter and chatter mingling with music vibrating through the streets.

  “Are you hungry?” asked Etienne

  Isabelle nodded. “A little” she admitted. Although she was surprised she felt hungry after the tea and pastries.

  “I am going to take you to my favourite restaurant here for dinner. It is not big and it is not posh, but I like it and I think you will too.”

  “I’m sure I will,” agreed Isabelle.

  They meandered slowly through the lively narrow streets, drinking in the sights and sounds of the student quarter.

  Outside a blue shuttered restaurant, Etienne stopped and opened the door for Isabelle.

  “Here we are,” he said, leading her through. Inside the restaurant was small and cosy. Red and white gingham table clothes dressed each table. Candles in bottles decked in wax seemed to be the main source of light in the restaurant and already most of the tables were full of diners tucking into their evening meal.

  Etienne headed for the empty table in the corner, pulling out the chair for Isabelle before seating himself opposite.

  “What would you like to eat?” he asked. “Or would you like me to order for you?”

  “Yes, please,” replied Isabelle. “You know what is best here and I like anything!”

  Etienne ordered pâté de campagne to start with, followed by duck à l’orange. He also requested a glass of red wine for them both. The patron returned with the two full glasses and a basket of bread.

  “To us,” Etienne said, chinking his glass with Isabelle’s.

  “To us,” she echoed.

  For a moment, Isabelle thought about how grown-up this was. She had never been out to dinner before with a boyfriend and this was so special. Particularly being in Paris. She wished some of her school friends could see her now! She couldn’t wait to tell them about this and of course, Christina. And then she realised she probably wouldn’t tell them about it at all – this was her special memory, her time with Etienne, something that would remain just with her.

  The first course was served quickly. The rough pâté de campagne was delicious with the crusty French baguette and Isabelle tucked in hungrily. French food was so delicious!

  The canard arrived with a pungent orange sauce and small mound of creamy puréed potato. Isabelle wasn’t sure she had ever eaten duck before, but this was so succulent and tasty she would definitely choose duck again, given the option.

  They finished off with camembert and more crusty French bread, lingering and taking their time. Their hands rested on the table, fingers entwined. Reluctant to leave the restaurant as it would mean their evening was nearly over.

  Finally, they had finished. Etienne paid for their dinner and arm in arm they left the restaurant, emerging into the chilly velvet darkness of the Parisian evening. Full of good food, they wandered slowly through the narrow streets back towards the car.

  “Before we go home, I will take you along the Champs Elysées and to Montmartre, so you can see Paris by night,” explained Etienne as he pulled out into the stream of headlights heading west along the boulevard.

  Soon they were approaching the Place de la Concorde where the stone obelisk lit up the night and the dancing fountains sparkled. As they continued along the Champs Elysées, Etienne took one hand off the steering wheel to rest on Isabelle’s thigh and she held it loosely in hers.

  The Champs Elysées was alive with lights and action. On both sides of the famous boulevard, there was something to see and to marvel at. The trees seemed to be lit with a thousand twinkling light and before them the Arc de Triomphe stood triumphantly, a monument to the French people.

  “It is beautiful, Paris by night, n’est-ce pas?” asked Etienne softly.

  “Yes,” breathed Isabelle. “It is very beautiful. It seems so different to the daytime, less hectic and yet just as exciting.”

  Etienne drove past the Madeleine to the North of the Champs Elysées . He pointed out the majestic building built in the style of a roman temple with huge white pillars supporting an ornate roof.

  “That is the Madeleine. It is a famous church dedicated to Mary Magdalene, although it was originally designed as a temple to acknowledge the glory of Napoleon and his army. I think it is a beautiful building.”

  Isabelle nodded as she looked out at the tall stone pillars appearing a brilliant white against the night sky and she tried to decipher the Latin inscription carved into the stone.

  All around her the Paris night was alive with a thousand lights and so many beautiful things to look at and enjoy. She sat back in her seat, her fingers entwined around Etienne and sighed happily.

  “I think you like, Paris, n’est-ce pas?” smiled Etienne.

  “Yes, I love Paris!” Isabelle replied emphatically. “It is the most beautiful, most romantic and most magical city in the world!”

  “Ah, but how can you say that when you have not yet seen Montmartre by night?” he teased her.

  “Are we going to Montmartre?”

  “Yes, I promised I would take you there. And we are nearly there.” He pointed out of the window and through the cracks between the houses, Isabelle glimpsed the famous white dome of the Sacré Coeur above them.

  “Now we will park near here and we will take the funicular up to Montmartre. I w
ant you to see the Place du Tertre by night.”

  Isabelle and Etienne crowded into the small funicular car that ascended the steep side of the stone steps. As the car gathered pace, the view of Paris by night beneath them appeared spread out like a picture postcard.

  Hand in hand they wandered along the cobbled street to the Place du Tertre. Isabelle was surprised to see that it was still busy although it was nearly 10pm! Artists were still painting at their easels, or snipping portraits of willing tourists out of black card. The atmosphere was alive with the distinctive sounds, smells and sights of the Montmartre evening.

  “Come, we will have a crêpe,” said Etienne, tugging Isabelle by the hand toward a counter where a rugged man with a creased face in a peak cap and apron was selling crêpes.

  “What flavour do you want?” asked Etienne.

  “Chocolate please!” Isabelle was amazed that she could even think of eating again so soon after her delicious dinner, but the aroma of the crêpes cooking was so enticing.

  Etienne turned to the street vendor. “Alors, Monsieur, un crêpe chocolat et un crêpe marron, s’il vous plait?”

  Each crêpe was wrapped in a paper napkin and handed to them. They tucked in quickly, savouring each mouthful as they wandered amongst the artists.

  “So you like Montmartre, ma Belle?”

  “I love Montmartre,” replied Isabelle. “One day I will come and live in Paris and come here often.”

  “That is a lovely dream,” agreed Etienne. “And I hope it will come true. For us both!”

  With their arms around each other, they left the busy square and headed down the many steps leading from the Butte back down to the car. Every now and then Etienne would pause to point out some distant lit monument to Isabelle or to kiss her.

  Finally they were back at the car.

  “And now it is time to go home,” said Etienne as he started the engine.

  “It has been so special. I don’t want the evening ever to end!” exclaimed Isabelle.

  “It is late. However, it doesn’t have to end if you don’t want it too,” replied Etienne softly.