By Wednesday Jazz was in a state of indecision. She tried her best to avoid Yves but it wasn’t easy. She swung wildly between telling herself that she did not want to get involved with him again and fighting the longing that she felt for him. She could think of nothing else. More than anything she needed to know if he remembered her. Jazz tried not to let her thoughts of him interfere with her work although it wasn’t easy. She caught Brandon, with whom she shared an office, looking at her speculatively from time to time. He even asked her once or twice if she was okay.
“Fine, just fine,” she replied, busying herself with her computer.
He wasn’t convinced. Something was bothering her but he didn’t want to pry. He hoped she’d tell him in her own good time. They’d become good friends and he found her extremely intelligent and efficient in business. Not surprising that she’d risen so high in the banking world. He wondered why it was that she wasn’t married. Surely she must have men chasing after her constantly. She had everything any man could want. She was beautiful and sexy, highly intelligent with a lovely personality. He was beginning to discover that she was not as hard-bitten and ruthless as other banking women he’d known. In fact, he suspected that underneath the professional exterior, she was soft and vulnerable. He really hoped that she’d meet a nice guy in Paris. If you couldn’t find love in the city of romance, where could you find it?
Felicity and Taylor went shopping on Wednesday morning and it was a re-run of the previous shopping trip they’d had together, except that this time Taylor was fawning over her like there was no tomorrow. Every shop they visited was regaled with the fact that Felicity was the daughter of Lord Delmere. Felicity found this highly embarrassing but Taylor could not be stopped.
As before, Taylor spent a fortune and Felicity wondered how she could possibly afford it. She figured Brandon must have bottomless pockets because, as far as she could gather, Taylor had not worked since her marriage, which was over twenty years ago. By midday, Felicity was exhausted and relieved when Taylor led the way to the Crillon Hotel for lunch.
“This is my treat,” Taylor insisted, grabbing the bill. “After all, I was the one who invited you to come shopping with me.”
“It’s too kind of you. Please let me share it at least.”
“No, no, no! You can return the compliment when you invite me to visit your estate in England,” Taylor gushed.
Felicity flushed a bright red and didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t the nerve to tell Taylor that there was no estate any more. It had all disappeared in death duties and taxes. She really didn’t know how she could get out of this.
She was relieved when they said goodbye. She admired Taylor enormously and was delighted to be her friend but honestly, she was exhausting. Felicity by now felt she hated shopping and didn’t think that she could survive another shopping trip with her. Still, she guessed that was the price she would have to pay if she wanted to be Taylor’s friend.
Ashling took her computer to Les Deux Magots on Wednesday. The silver-haired man was already there and smiled at her as she sat down. He had a devilish grin and somehow he reminded her of a song by Kris Kristofferson that she’d loved years ago, “The Silver-tongued Devil”. This would be her nickname for him. She copied what she’d written the day before on to her computer and continued recalling all that had happened since she’d arrived. The time flew by and she lost count of the coffees she consumed. It was the lunchtime crowd coming in that made her realise the time. She ordered a Greek salad today and when she’d finished, packed up her computer and smiled at the Silver-tongued Devil and her waiter Remy, who was delighted with the very generous tips that Ashling was leaving him. He guessed she was a foreigner. The French were measly with their tips!
On Friday, Remy greeted Ashling like an old friend and had her coffee before her before she even asked for it. The Silver-tongued Devil was there and so busy tapping away on his computer that he didn’t notice her come in. She guessed he was a writer. If so, then she was glad that it seemed to be going well for him today. She enjoyed writing her diary and was thinking that maybe she should try her hand at writing a novel. She left as the lunchtime crowd came in, waving goodbye to the Silver-tongued Devil as she left.
15
Sophie rang Ashling the week of the Hôtel de Ville party.
“I was thinking that you might like to bring the girls over to play with Pierre on Saturday morning and they can meet Nicole, who’ll be baby-sitting them that night.”
“That would be lovely.”
“Then we can head off to the hairdresser and beauty salon in peace,” Sophie added.
“Well, I hadn’t actually thought about going to a beauty salon. I usually wash my own hair too,” Ashling admitted.
“You do?”
Hearing the surprise in Sophie’s voice, Ashling quickly said, “Well, maybe I should go.”
“Absolutely,” Sophie replied, in a relieved voice. “This will be a very chic reception,” she explained gently, not wanting to intimidate Ashling but anxious for her to look as good as possible. “I’ve made an appointment with my coiffeuse, Odette. Would you like me to make an appointment for you too and maybe with the nail salon also?”
Looking at her short unmanicured nails, Ashling agreed quickly. In for a penny, in for a pound! Obviously French women pampered themselves as much as Americans, with their weekly manicures and pedicures. Well, when in Paris . . . do as the Parisiennes do, she told herself.
Arriving at Sophie’s on the Saturday morning, she met Nicole, who was a lovely young girl of eighteen. The girls took to her instantly and it was with a light heart that Ashling set off with Sophie for the salon. Cosette, Pierre’s nanny, would also be with the children so the two ladies had the day to themselves.
Ashling was glad that Sophie was with her as the salon was a very swish place with gorgeous young stylists who sported kooky hairstyles and trendy black-and-white uniforms. Alone, she would have felt intimidated but as Sophie was obviously a cherished client they made a fuss of Ashling too.
Odette, who had dark hair with purple streaks and a band of bright pink in front, took Ashling in hand. She suggested taking all the weight away from her long curly hair and layering it, while still leaving the length. Ashling was relieved that she hadn’t suggested a space-age haircut like the one she sported herself and relaxed even more when Odette admired the lovely auburn hues in her hair. No purple or pink streaks then either, thank God! Sipping a camomile tea, she was amazed at the finished result. It was really lovely and much smarter than her old style.
“How lovely, chérie,” Sophie remarked, smiling. “You look much younger like this.”
Ashling had to agree with her.
They then went for a facial and make-up session. Ashling didn’t dare admit that she’d never had a facial before. That would have made her out to be a total peasant to these sophisticated women. She loved the feel of her skin afterwards and the make-up artist even managed to cover all her freckles. She was thrilled with the result. She knew she had never looked as good as this before.
Finally, when she went for a manicure the girl suggested that she put on gel nails. Ashling had never been able to grow her nails so, with Sophie’s encouragement, she succumbed. An hour later, with beautiful red toenails and long French-polished fingernails Ashling felt chic and groomed for the first time in her life. It surprised her how much she’d enjoyed all the pampering.
“You look wonderful, chérie,” Sophie smiled at her.
“I feel wonderful,” Ashling grinned back at her. “I must do this more often.”
“But of course. Every woman deserves to be pampered,” Sophie stated with conviction.
When they arrived back at Sophie’s, the reaction Ashling got from Nicole and the children made it all worthwhile.
“Mummy, you look beautiful,” Ciara cried, rushing up to her and hugging her knees.
“You look very pretty, madame,” Nicole said admiringly.
“Très jo
lie,” Pierre said shyly.
“Très jolie, Maman,” Orna repeated, determined to speak the French she was learning from Pierre. She parroted his every word.
“Thank you, my darlings,” Ashling said, pleased as punch with this reception.
Jazz was seated at her dressing table, feeling very apprehensive about the evening ahead. Although Yves had acted professionally towards her in the office all week, the chemistry between them was undeniable. Although they had found themselves alone once or twice he had never alluded to their previous relationship. She wondered if he was purposely ignoring it, and if so, why? Hard as she tried she couldn’t get him out of her mind. She knew it was crazy but she couldn’t help it. He had somehow relit the fire that she’d thought had been quenched all those years ago. She sighed as she put the finishing touches to her make-up, a mixture of dread and excitement filling her heart.
Ashling was dressed and ready when Kieran rushed in, running late as usual.
“Sorry, darling.” Pulling off his tie, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Wow! What have you done? You look sensational,” he cried, whistling like any building-site worker.
“You like it?” she asked him, twirling around to give him the full view.
“Like it? I love it,” he exclaimed, taking her in his arms.
“Careful, don’t mess my hair,” she cried, pushing him away. “And hurry up or we’ll be late. The car will be here for us in ten minutes.”
“Spoilsport,” he grinned, as he took the stairs two at a time.
Ashling chatted to Nicole as she waited for him.
“What are you studying?” she asked her.
“English and Anthropology. I did a TFFL course during the summer so I’m qualified to teach French to foreigners. If you have any friends who want to learn French, I would be happy to teach them,” the young girl replied. “And of course I will teach Orna and Ciara while I baby-sit,” she added, smiling. Ashling was delighted to hear this. She gave Nicole last-minute instructions and then it was time to go. She felt relaxed knowing that the girls were happy and in good hands.
They collected Jazz who was looking more stunning than ever in her silver metallic dress, her dark curls tumbling around her shoulders.
“I’ll be the envy of every man there tonight,” Kieran remarked, “with the two best-looking women in the room on my arms.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Ashling said with a laugh. “We’re in Paris now. You’ll be inundated with beautiful, chic women.”
“Well, I wouldn’t swap you for all of them,” he said, giving her a playful squeeze.
Jazz smiled at them, wishing she could have a relationship like theirs.
Felicity had been in a nervous state all day. She hadn’t slept a wink last night, so worried was she about the reception. She’d expressed her fears to Maxwell that morning but he just brushed them aside.
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine,” he said, kissing her goodbye as he left for work.
Honestly! Men are useless, she’d sighed as she stood surveying her wardrobe for the fifth time. She was in a flurry of indecision about what to wear. Taylor had been no help either. Felicity had thought that she’d show some interest – but when she’d rung her to ask her advice, she’d cut her off with a curt, “Darling, surely you can decide that for yourself. Sorry, have to go, just rushing out to the beauty parlour.” Felicity had felt like crying. She felt so alone. Eventually after much dithering, she opted for a black suit and her pearls. Black was always safe.
Now as she looked around the glittering crowd in the Hôtel de Ville, Felicity realised that she’d got it wrong yet again. She felt dowdy and plain beside all these chic, elegant women. Even Ashling was looking glamorous in an emerald green dress. And as for Jazz – well, she always looked fantastic but was even more fantastic tonight. Felicity sighed enviously, looking around for Taylor who appeared not to have arrived yet.
Jazz and the men were whisked away by Yves to meet some other bankers and Sophie was off somewhere meeting with old friends.
“You look wonderful,” Felicity said shyly, as she greeted Ashling. “What have you done to your hair? It’s lovely.”
“Do you really think so?” Ashling blushed and patted her hair, surprised and pleased with the compliment. Maybe she’s not so bad when she’s away from that dreadful Taylor, Ashling thought, feeling sorry for Felicity who was obviously nervous and uncomfortable.
“How are you settling in?” she asked her. “Have you been out to see the sights yet?”
“Oh, no,” Felicity replied. “The only sights I’ve seen are the boutiques on the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. I went shopping there twice with Taylor. What an experience!” She laughed nervously and Ashling joined in.
“Aren’t they dreadfully pricey?”
“Unimaginable!” Felicity exclaimed. “I needn’t tell you, I didn’t buy very much but Taylor almost cleaned them out!”
She’s quite pretty when she smiles, Ashling thought. She also realised that Felicity’s very upper-class English accent was genuine and not put-on, as she’d suspected when she’d first met her.
“Unfortunately, I haven’t a word of French so I wouldn’t have the confidence to go out and about on my own,” Felicity admitted, as she accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
“Yes, I imagine that would be a huge drawback,” Ashling sympathised, as she also took a glass from the handsome young man.
“To tell you the truth, I’m pretty homesick for England. I don’t know how I’ll survive the next year here.” She couldn’t stop the wobble in her voice and was terrified she might start to cry.
Ashling heard it and her soft heart melted as she wondered how she’d cope if she was in Felicity’s situation.
“Have you considered learning French?” she asked.
“Goodness no! I did study it at boarding-school but was hopeless at it. I’m sure I’d be useless at it now too.”
“Nonsense! You’re older now and besides you now have the benefit of living in France. You should give it another go. You’ll never know till you try. Look, my baby-sitter teaches French and she’s a lovely sweet girl. Why don’t I give her your phone number? You can always pack it in if it doesn’t work.”
“Does she speak English?” Felicity asked nervously.
“Perfectly. Trust me, you’ll get on fine and even a smattering of French will help you enormously here.” She smiled confidently at the other woman.
“I’m very grateful,” said Felicity, as she wrote her number for Ashling.
Ashling felt very sorry for her. She had absolutely no self-confidence whatsoever. Without thinking, she continued, “Look, I’m planning on taking the open-top tourist bus around the city next Tuesday while the girls are at school. Why don’t you come with me?”
Felicity’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that would be lovely. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”
“Of course not, it’ll be nice to have company,” Ashling assured her. “I’ll give you a call to arrange a time to meet.”
At that moment Taylor arrived beside them. She was a vision in purple silk, diamonds sparkling on her ears, neck, wrist and at least six fingers. She dazzled.
“What are you planning?” she queried, air-kissing Felicity and giving Ashling a brief nod.
“Ashling has kindly invited me to join her on one of those open-topped buses next Tuesday, to see all the famous Paris sights,” Felicity told her excitedly.
“Oh my God,” Taylor drawled, “how dreadfully touristy and naff!”
Felicity’s face fell. Of course, Taylor was right. It was a very naff thing to do.
“I was going to ask you to come shopping with me next Tuesday,” Taylor informed her as she hailed a waiter imperiously.
“S-s-sorry, Taylor, but I’ve pr-pr-promised Ashling,” Felicity stammered. “Maybe some other day?”
Ashling saw the patronising look Taylor gave Felicity and felt like slapping her face. Supercilious bitch, she thought.
>
In fact, Taylor had had no intention of going shopping again with Felicity. She had found her a drag the previous week when they’d gone shopping together. Felicity hadn’t bought a single thing. I ask you – a woman who doesn’t like shopping! Taylor hadn’t thought the species existed. And although Felicity was an aristocrat she was incredibly boring. However, she could overlook that because of who Felicity was. Lord Delmere’s daughter!
“Oh my goodness, there’s the American ambassador and his wife!” Taylor cried out. “I must go and say hello.” She strutted off, practically knocking people to the floor in her haste.
Felicity looked after her dolefully. “Oh, dear, I think I’ve upset her.”
“She’ll get over it,” Ashling snorted. God, what an obnoxious woman the American was!
Jazz was completely unaware of the interest she was arousing in the men she met. They were gallant and charming but none of them held a candle to Yves.
She was aware of his presence every moment and, when they were separated occasionally, she could catch him glancing at her from across the room. It was as if an electric current connected them. His touch on her back or arm set her pulse racing and her desire for him overwhelmed her. She had not felt this alive since the last time she’d been with him, sixteen years before. She knew now with a certainty that she had no future with Hans. He had never aroused these feelings in her. She was nervously apprehensive yet wildly excited at the same time. She knew that it could come to nothing. After all, he was happily married to Sophie. Of course, she thought ruefully, he had been happily married to someone else the first time she’d met him and it hadn’t stopped him then!
A Year Like No Other Page 9