The French Promise

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Yes, I took the escalator by mistake and—’ She stopped talking as a throat was firmly cleared.

  She looked back to the assistant, who wasn’t masking the exasperation in his expression that they were talking to each other instead of paying attention to their task in the queue. She was taller than he’d first registered, with a generous mouth that widened into a surprisingly bright smile over even white teeth. Her skin, despite its deceptively light appearance, hinted that it would catch the sun easily. He finished signing his cheques and waited while the assistant set about all of his stamping, making funny little squiggles here and there before cash would be handed over.

  He was aware of the woman beside him.

  ‘Forgive me, I don’t understand you,’ she said. ‘Er, je ne comprends pas, monsieur,’ she explained politely. She shook her head with a rueful smile, glancing at Luc. ‘My French is woeful,’ she said, back into English.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ the clerk behind her desk murmured in colloquial French so that she wouldn’t understand.

  But Luc did and felt wounded by his attitude. He knew the French had a murky reputation when it came to serving people who spoke English.

  ‘Excuse me, what is your name?’ Luc rattled off in equally colloquial French.

  The clerk looked up, surprised. ‘It is Jean-Pierre, monsieur.’

  ‘Well, Jean-Pierre,’ he said, moving into rapid-fire French. ‘I’ve watched you serving this customer and I’m appalled at your attitude. She has explained to you that she cannot understand French well and I know you understand English perfectly well – or you would not be standing behind this counter – so why not do what American Express would expect you to do in this instance?’

  The man looked stung but Luc hadn’t finished. ‘I think you’re unsuited to serving the public, most of whom day in and day out I suspect are tourists on this level. Is this your usual position?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then you surprise me. Almost everyone coming to your counter is going to require you to understand English. Rather than adopt that sneer, why not impress by using your English? It is the language of business, Jean-Pierre, and you will never get on in tourism and hospitality if you think French alone will carry you through. What is your problem?’

  ‘My father was killed by the English in the war,’ he replied quietly.

  Luc was not moved.

  ‘And you think it’s her fault?’ Luc said, gesturing towards his female companion.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  Luc could tell the man didn’t really care.

  ‘Don’t apologise to me, Jean-Pierre, the apology is to your customer. Frankly, I just think you’re a rude bastard who should probably be working behind some government desk. Now speak to this woman in English respectfully or I’ll report you.’

  Luc turned to the woman. ‘I think you’ll find it very easy to understand this gentleman now,’ he said.

  She looked bewildered. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Pardon, mademoiselle. I’m Luke Ravens.’

  ‘Jane Aplin,’ she said, holding out her hand.

  ‘Enchanté, Mademoiselle Aplin,’ Luc said, and took her hand, bowing slightly over it. ‘I shall leave you with Jean-Pierre and my compliments on your beautiful perfume.’ He gave the man a firm glance and heard him respond to Miss Aplin in English. He smiled.

  ‘Er, thank you,’ she said, and then he returned to his own counter, took the franc’s being counted out and nodded to the person behind him in thanks for his patience.

  He was moving away, back towards the main part of the foyer again, aware that he had left Jenny for longer than he’d intended. Full of apology, he arrived back at the entrance but couldn’t see her immediately. He dodged several people to get to where he’d sat her down and the chair was now filled with a middle-aged, big-bosomed woman reading a magazine.

  ‘Parlez-vous francais, madame?’ he asked, perhaps sounding abrupt; certainly indignant.

  ‘Charlie?’ she said, bewildered, looking over at a man whose head was turned away from her and reading the International Herald Tribune.

  Luc didn’t wait. He moved into English. ‘Excuse me, please, did you see a girl who was sitting here? She’s fourteen.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘No, sweetheart, this seat was empty when I found it.’

  Luc’s insides seemed to roll. He turned and cast a hurried gaze around to all the guest chairs dotted around the area. Jenny was not to be seen. He ran to the security men – three on this floor. One had seen her earlier.

  ‘I thought her parents had picked her up,’ he said. Luc heard only accusation in the man’s words.

  ‘Do you want to leave a description? We could—’

  ‘No! I want to find her, not fill out forms,’ Luc growled and hurried away.

  He began randomly asking people if they’d seen Jenny, describing her clothes, height, hair. He knew he sounded desperate and all he got back were bewildered glances and shaking heads. Luc began to feel fear snaking about him, coiling itself around his gut and squeezing. She wouldn’t have moved, surely? Not after his warning. Even so, he pushed outside the doors and looked around the maddeningly busy intersection of L’Opera. Traffic horns and people’s laughter, cycles and even the chestnut roasters and sellers annoyed him. She could be anywhere. The coils in his belly constricted further. He pushed back into the American Express building, anger being quickly replaced by anxiety. As he entered, he caught sight of a familiar figure walking towards him.

  She stopped and people flowed around her. ‘Mr Ravens. I don’t think I thanked you properly.’

  His mind was scattering. ‘It was nothing,’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘You look worried. Is something wrong?’

  ‘Yes, my daughter. I can’t find her.’

  ‘Good grief. Where did you last see her?’

  ‘Right here,’ he said, pointing to the seat that was now filled by yet another weary tourist. ‘She wouldn’t have left this building, though. That’s what’s worrying me.’

  ‘Is your wife here too, should we—’

  ‘My wife is dead,’ he said, more bluntly than he meant to sound. ‘Jenny and I are travelling alone,’ he said, distracted. ‘Forgive me, I think I’d better alert security formally. She’s only fourteen.’

  ‘Yes, of course. In the meantime, let me help. Have you checked the women’s bathrooms?’

  He gave a sigh. ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Well, let me do that for you.’ She gave him a sympathetic but encouraging nod. ‘I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes. Please don’t worry. We’ll find her.’

  Luc nodded. He couldn’t even find a smile of thanks – not in all of his days had he ever felt as terrified as he did at that moment.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Jane glanced behind her at the handsome Frenchman she seemed destined to know. Her granny had always said until you’ve met someone three times, one shouldn’t share much more than polite conversation.

  She wondered, as she walked towards the ladies’ rest room, whether crossing paths with a man three times in the space of one hour constituted three meetings. She hoped it did. He was undeniably attractive in a rakish way. There was something intriguing about him. She’d felt it the moment they’d bumped into each other and then even more strongly when their gazes had met across the lobby. Good old-fashioned chemistry, her scientific father would have claimed: ‘We’re all just a pile of chemicals and molecules reacting with each other …’

  She’d stepped onto the escalator after bumping into him and told herself not to meet his gaze but her eyes had betrayed her, searching him out. And he had been watching her. Something intangible and mysterious had occurred between them that she liked to think transcended Granny’s rule of three. Unlike Granny, Jane liked to believe in fate … needed to believe in it.

  Luke Ravens, with his interesting name and bright blue eyes, seemed to reflect a well of sorrows and secrets. Jane had not come to Paris looking for r
omance; indeed, the last thing on her mind was men, but wasn’t it always the way … when you least expect something, it walks into your life. You see, it’s fate, she told herself.

  Jane pushed into the ladies’ room. It was busy with women gossiping, fixing their hair or touching up their lipstick. She knew it was vain but couldn’t help glancing at herself over the other heads in the mirror as she moved and was pleased to see her hair and make-up were in good order.

  ‘Has anyone seen a fourteen-year-old girl alone in here, please?’ she asked loudly.

  An older woman brushed past her to reach the washbasins; an American, she could tell from the bouffant hairdo. Every American woman wants to be Jackie Kennedy, Jane thought.

  The woman nudged her. ‘That stall down the end there has been closed for a while.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said and walked down the small corridor of toilet stalls. ‘Jenny? Is there anyone in here called Jenny?’ she called. She reached the end closet and tapped.

  ‘Who is that?’ came a small voice.

  Relief! ‘Jenny?’ She tapped softly again.

  ‘Yes,’ the speaker said tremulously.

  ‘Jenny, this is Jane. Um, your father is frantic outside.’

  ‘I knew he would be. I’m sorry.’

  Jane thought she heard the girl sniff. ‘Don’t worry. Are you okay?’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  Jane blinked. She tapped again. ‘Jenny, can you let me in? Don’t be frightened. I’m a friend,’ she said. ‘Your dad asked me to check in here for you.’

  She heard the lock click and the door opened gently. Jane had anticipated a long-legged blonde in little white socks and sensible buckle-up shoes. What she saw was a petite girl in a short swing jacket, miniskirt and leggings, all perfectly clashing in the style of the new era where colour was king. The child possessed knowing dark-blue eyes and hair the colour of night. She looked like a miniature Elizabeth Taylor with a heart-shaped face and small, neat lips. But her gaze was red and her cheeks tear-stained; she looked frightened.

  ‘Hello,’ Jane began with a gentle smile.

  Jenny mumbled something.

  Jane stepped into the stall and closed the door.

  ‘What’s wrong? You looked so scared.’

  ‘I’m bleeding …’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Jane said, understanding immediately. ‘First time?’

  Jenny nodded.

  Jane smiled, lifting the girl’s chin. ‘Listen to me. You have nothing to fear. It happens to all of us girls.’

  ‘I know. But no one’s really explained it.’

  Jane smiled gently. ‘It may not feel like it but this is a time for celebration – congratulations … No more tears or worry.’

  ‘My mother’s dead. We never had that conversation so all I know is from school friends.’

  Jane felt instantly sad for her. ‘Well, how about I take you to the chemist and I’ll answer every question you have. Does that sound all right to you?’

  Jenny nodded. Jane left her to wash her face and dashed outside to where Luc waited, looking ashen.

  ‘I’ve found her,’ she said and instinctively took his hand and squeezed it. ‘Please stop worrying. It was a crisis moment.’ She gave him a sympathetic look. ‘I’ll explain.’

  The two security men standing with him looked relieved too. ‘I’m glad she’s safe, sir.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Luc said, distracted, eyes only for Jane. ‘She’s in the bathroom?’ he asked.

  ‘Luke?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Before you say anything else, please listen to me. This is not really my business but I do know what it is to be a youngster like Jenny and frightened.’

  ‘Frightened? What’s happened?’ His voice had taken an even sharper tone.

  She gave him a reassuring glance. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. She just needs another woman right now.’ She squeezed his hand again, barely realising she still held it. ‘It’s a significant moment for a young woman.’ Jane looked down, feeling suddenly awkward. ‘Forgive me, but she mentioned her mother didn’t have a chance to explain about these things and I guess right now she’s scared.’

  He stared at her. She waited but it was obvious he was lost for words, so she continued. ‘Don’t be too tough on her. She didn’t know what else to do.’

  Now he looked stricken; his shoulders sagged.

  Jane glanced over and could see Jenny approaching.

  When Luc let go of her hand she felt the loss of its warmth and strength keenly, admonishing herself for enjoying his touch. She watched them embrace, noticing how his long reach stretched around his child and hugged her close; no words were necessary and she smiled softly, remembering a time when her father had held her tightly like that. He had smelt of pipe tobacco and his tweed waistcoat had scratched softly against her cheek. That was the last time she’d seen him. She’d just turned fourteen the previous day; they were living in London and that day had also been the one when her parents packed her and her brother off to live in Scotland with relatives, and the same day her father had gone off to join his unit. They had not wanted the children anywhere near the inevitable war zone that London was surely to become.

  Luc and Jenny were turning towards her. She gave them a smile. ‘How are you feeling?’

  Her young charge sighed. ‘Not so great.’

  ‘Come on, Jenny,’ she said, ‘let me lead you into a whole new world.’

  A rubber hot water bottle brought instant comfort to Jenny as she snuggled down into bed.

  ‘Jane’s lovely, isn’t she, Dad?’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes she is,’ he agreed.

  ‘She’s so elegant. Can you take her out for a meal or buy her something as a thank you?’ she said, her words drifting off as she floated into welcome sleep. The painkillers were working.

  Luc kissed his daughter’s head, made sure she was tucked in and left a note for her to ring reception if she needed him; they’d find him. He locked her in their room and walked downstairs to where Jane Aplin waited in the main lobby. He could see her from a distance and was struck by her graceful posture; her tall, willowy figure sat straight-backed and with her hands crossed neatly in her lap. He shook his head, realising how lucky he was that he’d bumped into this woman; what would he have done without her help today? She’d taken Jenny under her wing and explained all that he could not, bought her all the items his daughter required and then made puffing noises of disgust at his offer to reimburse her. She had accompanied them back to the hotel and then locked Luc out of their room. It was a secret world to him but he owed her, especially as she’d managed to make a friend of Jenny without really trying.

  She must have sensed his arrival because she turned without warning and caught him staring but gave him a wide smile that made him feel warm inside as she stood.

  ‘Is she settled?’

  ‘Already asleep.’

  ‘Good. First day’s always the worst.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll trust you on that.’

  There was a pause and suddenly he sensed they were both feeling awkward.

  ‘Well,’ they said together, then both laughed.

  ‘I’m glad all’s well, Luke. And it’s time I got on with my day,’ she said brightly. She put her hand out to shake his in farewell and he noticed her long fingers sporting no rings. ‘It’s been so lovely meeting you both. And don’t worry, Jenny knows what to do now – she’ll be fine by Friday.’

  ‘Do you have to rush off?’

  ‘Er …’ She looked hesitant but he sensed she wanted to stay.

  ‘I’m sure we could both use a strong cup of coffee.’

  ‘That would be nice, I admit.’

  ‘Please, let me buy you a late lunch in thanks for all your help.’

  ‘Coffee’s fine, Luke.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s enough time, though.’

  ‘For what?’ she asked, looking perplexed.

  ‘For me to teach you how to say my name
correctly,’ he grinned.

  He was wrong. Jane learnt how to say his name in moments.

  ‘You have a good ear,’ he said, as their coffee was served.

  ‘I was good at languages at school. I’m just lazy, I think. Besides, that man at American Express annoyed me so I refused to speak French.’

  He laughed, realising she’d duped them. He moved into French. ‘You can speak my language?’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied sardonically.

  He shook his head, amused, and raised his cup. ‘À la vôtre.’

  ‘No, let’s drink to Jenny. What a milestone.’ She shook her head. ‘Now your worries are just beginning!’

  Luc nodded ruefully. ‘To Jenny,’ he said and sipped, loving the taste of strongly brewed French coffee again. He ignored the separate jug of milk but noted that Jane added plenty. He’d ordered a flaky croissant for each of them to tide them over until their salads came. The smell alone of the freshly baked pastry and the coffee was heady and full of the poignancy of his youth.

  ‘You look sad,’ she remarked.

  ‘I was lost in memories,’ he admitted.

  ‘Sorry, this must be a difficult time for you.’

  ‘No, I was actually thinking about when I was a teenager and coffee was plentiful, then came the war and I left France to live in England – a place that didn’t really drink coffee and then off to Australia, where I think only tea is drunk.’ He sipped again with genuine pleasure. ‘I hadn’t realised how much I’ve missed this.’

  ‘Is this the first time back to Paris for you?’

  He nodded. ‘Last here in ‘44.’

  Her eyes widened over her cup. ‘When the city was liberated, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Lisette – that’s Jenny’s mother – and I were part of the Resistance network and … oh, look, it’s such a long story.’ He shrugged, embarrassed.

  ‘I’d like to hear it.’

  Their gazes connected in a new way. He was sure he wasn’t imagining the current that was leaping back and forth between them. Luc immediately felt guilty. He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you what perfume you wear. It’s intoxicating.’