by Caragh Bell
‘You should buy your bread in a bakery,’ said Lydia disapprovingly. ‘Support the little guy, not some huge company.’
‘Do I look like a girl who has enough hours in the day to do that? I have bugger all time, Lyd.’ She paused in front of the cakes. ‘Shall we treat ourselves to some pud? How about some éclairs?’
‘Sounds great.’
They wandered through the aisles, filling the trolley with goods ranging from pasta sauces to saucisson.
‘How’s Sam?’ asked Laura, joining a queue at the checkout.
‘Very stressed out. I’m worried about her to be honest.’ Lydia frowned. ‘She’s gutted about the hotel – the one I told you about? I suggested that she book one closer to home but she won’t budge. All I can do is send email after email on the off-chance that there’s a cancellation in the near future.’
‘She needs to face reality,’ said Laura practically.
‘You don’t have to tell me,” said Lydia. ‘There are plenty of lovely hotels all over Cork that she could book.’
‘Weddings are such hard work,’ observed Laura. ‘Kill me if I ever take the plunge.’
‘We can be old biddies forever.’
‘Biddies?’
‘Old spinsters. Living in a cottage.’
Laura laughed. ‘Kill me if that happens too.’
‘Bonjour,’ greeted the woman at the till.
They started emptying the trolley as she scanned at lightning speed. Lydia started packing the shopping bags, making sure to put fruit and fragile goods at the top.
‘So, you’re coming round for dinner, yeah?’ Laura handed her debit card to the woman.
‘Definitely. It’s been ages since we’ve had a night off together.’
‘Bring someone if you like. Anyone new on the scene since dear old Fabian was cast aside?’
Lydia shook her head innocently. ‘No one at all.’
Mathis flashed through her mind.
‘Help me carry these bags, Lyd.’ Laura balanced two on her arm. ‘It’s not far to the metro.’
Lydia picked up the remaining bag and winced. ‘Jesus, Laura. This is so heavy. What’s in it?’
‘Can you not hear the clinking? Lots of wine for us, my darling. We must celebrate our mutual night off.’
Mathis was sitting on a stack of vegetable crates when she arrived at the restaurant the next day.
‘Salut,’ he said warmly, inhaling a cigarette deeply.
‘Hi,’ answered Lydia, unwrapping her scarf. ‘Is Claudine around? I need to get paid.’
He blew a smoke ring. ‘She ’ees in zee kitchen.’
‘Thanks.’ She smiled and walked in the back door of the restaurant. He was so sexy. He even made smoking look sexy. She wondered if he was a good kisser …
Lydia! Stop it. You’ve just split up with Fabian!
Claudine was chopping parsley when she entered the kitchen. ‘Salut, Leed. You look tired.’
Lydia sighed. ‘I went to Laura’s last night for dinner. Big mistake. There were empty bottles everywhere this morning.’
‘Ah, I know ze feeling.’ Claudine looked at her in pity. ‘Laura ees crazy, non?’
‘A little bit!’ Lyd said with a smile. ‘Have we many bookings?’
‘Four or five.’
‘I’ll just set up.’
She walked into the restaurant and grabbed a stack of napkins. The glasses needed polishing and the cutlery was waiting in the drawer to be sorted.
She sighed. This job was starting to numb her brain. She was finding it increasingly difficult to drag herself in every day. She was starting to resent the mundaneness of it all – how each day was rolling into one.
She and Laura had discussed it the night before, halfway through their second bottle of red wine.
‘We should just leave!’ Laura had announced. ‘We’re too bloody good for the place.’
Easier said than done.
Laura had then opened up about her reasons for leaving home. How she was under too much pressure, how her parents expected her to do law and how she hated the idea.
‘Leaving was the best move I ever made,’ she’d admitted. ‘But now it’s so hard to go back.’
Lydia could relate to that. She was between two minds about returning to Ireland. It would need serious organisation.
There was a knock on the window. It was Charles from the local fromagerie.
‘Claudine!’ he yelled, balancing a box of cheese on his arm.
‘Je viens!’ called Claudine from the kitchen, grabbing her purse. Charles liked to be paid on the spot.
A week later, the receptionist of Hayfield Manor emailed Lydia saying that they had a cancellation for the middle of June. Lydia read the email twice and then hugged herself.
Miracles do happen.
With a beating heart, she rang Samantha immediately.
‘Sam! They have a cancellation for Saturday the twelfth of June.’
‘Next year?’ She sounded sleepy.
‘No, this June!’
Samantha gasped. ‘As in five months?’
‘Yeah!’ Lydia laughed. ‘Whirlwind or what?’
‘Impossible, it’s just impossible. I’ll never be ready. I mean, I don’t even have a dress. It’s just impossible.’
‘Look, Sam, ‘said Lydia gently. ‘It’ll be a few years before a summer date comes up again. Have a think about it and text me.’
‘Impossible!’ she shrieked.
Lydia hung up. Sam would come to her senses. How hard could it be to organise a wedding? All you needed was a dress, some champagne, a priest and two witnesses.
An hour later, her phone rang again. It was Sandra, Sam’s mother.
‘Lydia, I think we’ll go with this date. I have a young lady here who is convinced that we can’t do it, but I said we’ll all pitch in.’
‘Absolutely,’ affirmed Lydia. ‘Everything will come together in no time.’
‘I’ve made a list of the essentials and we can take it from there.’
‘Sure, sure – just tell me what to do.’
Sandra paused. ‘Well, the dress is the big thing. Sam doesn’t want to rush it – she thinks that she’ll panic-buy under such time pressure.’
‘Sarah went to London to get hers. We all went and made a weekend of it. Why don’t we pencil in a weekend soon? I could fly over and meet you.’
Sandra related this news to her daughter.
‘Yes, Lyd. I’m in,’ was the reply from the background.
‘Right, I’ll text people.’ Lydia grabbed a pen and started to write. ‘Sarah had a brilliant florist. Oh, and the string quartet she had were fab.’
‘Email her, will you, Lyd?’ Sandra was all business. ‘I’ll look into a band.’
‘Sure, I’ll get all the information. I’m pretty sure she kept a journal, a sort of file, of all her contacts.’
‘Wow, how organised!’ Sandra sounded impressed.
‘That’s Sarah,’ said Lydia. ‘Super-organised.’
‘Great, I’ll get going from our end. Everything else okay with you?’
Lydia paused. Things were like they always were. Get up, go to work, collect the tips, go home, and go to bed.
‘Everything is amazing,’ she said.
‘Mind yourself, darling. See you soon.’
The line went dead.
Lydia got to her feet and opened the flat window. The rooftops of Paris glinted in the evening sun. She was supposed to meet Laura at a café at eight. but she didn’t know if she felt like it. It would be the same old story. Glasses of wine, boy talk and stumbling home after midnight.
As if on cue, her phone buzzed.
See u for drink later. No excuses.
Lydia groaned. She had no choice. Wearily, she switched on the shower.
Maybe it would turn out to be a brilliant night. It was always the case with the nights you didn’t expect to be. Maybe tomorrow she would be delighted that she made the effort. Maybe …
Chapter 7
‘So, I snogged the face off him and we are definitely meeting again.’
Laura’s blonde hair shone in the candlelight. Her eyes were slightly made up with soft brown shades and her lips glistened with pink gloss. Her blue dress was fitted and fell just above the knee. Coupled with tights and high-heeled black boots, she looked a million dollars.
‘How did you end up kissing him?’ asked Lydia, intrigued.
‘He bought me a glass of bubbly and we started to talk. Then I pounced. I jolly well had to – otherwise he would have called a cab and disappeared. He was constantly checking his emails on his iPhone.’ She threw her eyes to heaven. ‘To look important, I suppose. You know these corporate types.’
Lydia smiled to herself. Laura’s latest conquest was a stockbroker with tons of money. He was in his forties and wore sharp suits. She had spotted him three weeks before at the bar and had made it her mission to meet him.
‘Is he married?’ Lydia sipped her wine and glanced at her friend.
Laura reddened. ‘No! I mean, I don’t think so.’
‘I’m not judging.’
‘No, I swear, he’s single. At least, that’s what he said.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m not bloody buying a house with him, so calm down.’
The street was bustling with passing Parisians on their way home from work. Hooting horns, music from car stereos, loud conversations, all added to the vibrancy and animation of the evening. Lydia was glad that she made the effort now. Going out with Laura was actually good fun. She was lively and outrageous and always had a story to tell.
‘Leed! Laura!’
They both turned around to see Mathis cycling towards them. He was wearing a navy bomber jacket to keep out the cold. He braked just next to their table and smiled broadly.
‘Are you under zee pees?’ he enquired pleasantly.
‘On the piss,’ corrected Laura, filling up her glass. ‘Yes, Mat. We most certainly are. Would you like to join us?’
Lydia blushed a deep red, earning her a quizzical look from her drinking companion.
‘Sure – why not?’ He parked his bike against the railing and pulled up a chair.
‘Wine?’ Laura beckoned at the waiter to bring another carafe.
‘Oui.’ He smiled again. ‘Oh Leedia, you look vairy cold.’ He reached out and rubbed her arm. ‘You should wear a coat. ’Ere, take mine.’
He draped his bomber jacket around her shoulders, lightly stroking her skin as he did so. Lydia shivered. He regarded her lazily.
Laura drained her glass of wine. ‘So you two, did you hear about Claudine?’
Mathis tore his eyes away. ‘Non, I deed not.’
Lydia shook her head wordlessly.
‘Well,’ commenced Laura, pulling herself up to her full height. ‘She is definitely shagging that delivery guy. You know, the guy with the vegetables?’
Mathis snorted. ‘No way! I don’t believe eet. Pascal? Not at all!’
‘She is,’ insisted Laura. ‘I saw them snogging out the back yesterday.’
Laura loved a good story and was no stranger to drama and hyperbole. She was an excellent waitress as she was friendly nd spoke flawless French. Any bit of scandal was like music to her ears. Claudine was married, so the idea that she was engaging in an extra-marital affair was exactly up her street.
‘Laura,’ said Lydia, raising an eyebrow, ‘you can’t say things like that. Are you sure?’
Laura put her hand on her heart. ‘One hundred per cent. They were really going at it, over by the crates of beer. I nearly dropped my tray.’
‘What eez zees, ‘going at eet’?’ Mathis looked confused.
‘It means they were, I don’t know, kissing?’ said Lydia, keeping her eyes cast down.
Mathis made an ‘oh’ sound.
‘Kissing?’ repeated Laura, scornfully. ‘Hardly! I’m pretty sure there was far more going on than that.’
Lydia could feel his eyes on her as she deliberately looked at the table. Since when had things become awkward between them? Mathis was just Mathis. The chef, albeit hunky chef, at work. Someone to have a bit of banter with – certainly not someone to fancy. How had things changed so rapidly?
He sipped his wine slowly, running his tongue along the rim of his glass. Lydia felt her lips part in response. He noticed and raised an eyebrow.
Laura babbled on for a few more minutes and then stopped, as if suddenly noticing the tension at the table.
‘Am I missing something?’ she asked bluntly. ‘You two are acting strangely.’
Lydia pulled herself together in an instant. ‘God, no. I’m fine. Just a bit zonked after work.’
Mathis knocked back his wine and got to his feet. ‘I must go,’ he announced. ‘You can keep my jacket, Leed. I don’t need eet.’
She pulled it off her shoulders immediately. ‘Gosh, no. You’ll freeze. Please take it back.’
‘You are sure?’ His brown eyes were warm.
‘I’m sure.’ She handed it to him with a smile. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘Au revoir.’ He hopped on his bike and cycled away into the stream of cars.
Laura beckoned at the waiter to refill the carafe yet again. Then she leaned forward and looked Lydia square in the eye.
‘Now, missy, what the hell is going on?’
Chapter 8
Springtime in Manhattan was a sight to behold. The trees of Central Park were budding with new life. The mornings grew brighter and the walkways filled up with joggers, rollerbladers and cyclists. Al fresco dining became the norm once more, with people sitting out in the crisp bright days, sipping coffee and eating bagels. Luca’s favourite hotdog stand had reopened for business, having been closed during the heavy snows of the New York winter.
He walked through Greenwich Village, whistling the last tune he had heard on the radio that morning. He was pretty sure it was some dorky boyband, but he couldn’t get it out of his head. Life was going so well at the moment. They had set a date for the wedding: the fourteenth of July, Bastille Day. Charlotte’s family were delighted; her father was dying for grandchildren and reminded Luca of that fact as often as possible.
He made a face. That was not in his plans for a long time. He had a life to live; he sure as hell wasn’t going to tie himself down with a kid when he could be white-water rafting down the Colorado or going on safari in Kenya. Frank du Maurier could wait a little longer.
‘Hey, Luca!’
He swung around to see Tyler Trenton, his best friend from school, walking towards him. His red hair seemed longer than normal and his freckled face was smiling broadly.
‘Hey, Ty,’ he greeted him, warmly. ‘Long time no see, buddy.’
‘Hey, Jacob. Nice threads.’ He surveyed Luca’s grey suit. ‘You going to a funeral?’
Luca grinned. ‘No, I’m going to work.’
‘You?’ Tyler looked incredulous. ‘I can’t see you actually working and being serious.’
‘You got time for a coffee?’ Luca pointed at a tiny café, over by the gallery. ‘It’s been so long.’
‘Sure.’ Tyler fell into step beside him. ‘That Charlotte takes up all your time, huh?’
Luca nodded. ‘She sure does, but hey, she’s worth it.’
They sat at a small table outside the main door. The café was busy with New Yorkers, sipping Colombian roast and eating pancakes and syrup.
A pretty Asian waitress appeared and handed them a menu. Luca smiled at her and she blushed.
‘Cut it out, Jacob,’ ordered Tyler, good-naturedly. ‘You are taken. Leave some for the rest of us.’
Luca ignored him and ordered a black coffee. Tyler did the same and they settled back in their chairs.
‘So, what you been up to? ‘ enquired Luca, observing his friend. ‘The last time I saw you was at that party on Staten.’
‘Shit, for real?’ Tyler looked puzzled. ‘That was months ago. I was pretty wasted so I don’t really remember much.’
‘Yeah, we hung out and then you di
sappeared with that Venezuelan babe.’
‘Oh yeah, Tamara – she was hot.’
‘She sure was.’
‘Do you miss it, Luca? All the ladies? All the choice? I still can’t believe you’re getting hitched.’
Luca smiled at the waitress again as she placed a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him. ‘Nah,’ he answered. ‘Not really. I mean, Charlotte is the whole package. She’s hot, she’s fun and she’s super-intelligent.’
‘Sounds like that girl you were sweet on before – that Irish chick – what was she called?’
Luca froze. Shut up, Ty.
‘What was it? Lola? Lily?’
‘Lydia,’ answered Luca, bleakly. ‘Her name was Lydia.’
Her image filled his mind immediately; he could almost smell her perfume …
Thousands of thoughts flashed through his head in an instant: the first time he saw her, the texture of her skin, their tree, her lifeless body on the ski slope, eating croissants with honey in the hotel bed, the mole on her thigh, her laugh, the quotes she loved to stick on her wall, her eyes, her lilting voice …