by Jojo Moyes
‘That’s good,’ she says.
‘I think everything tastes good this morning,’ he says, and they exchange a look. He eats swiftly, more hungry than he has felt for ages, until he sees he has eaten more than his share, and slows, offering her a croissant, which she waves away. Outside church bells are chiming and a small dog yaps.
‘I have been thinking,’ he says, still chewing. ‘I have an idea for a new story. It is about a girl who makes lists for everything.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t write that,’ she says, giving him a sideways look. ‘Who would believe it?’
‘It’s a good story. She’s an amazing character. But she is a little too worried. She has to weigh up everything. The …’
‘Pros and cons. For and against.’
‘Pros and cons. I like this phrase.’
‘And what happens to her?’
‘I don’t know yet. Something knocks her out of her habits.’
‘Bouf!’ she exclaims.
He grins, licks crumbs from his fingers. ‘Yes. Bouf!’
‘You’ll have to make her very beautiful.’
‘I don’t need to make her beautiful. She is beautiful.’
‘And very sexy.’
‘You only have to see her dance on a bar to know it.’
He reaches across and feeds her a piece of croissant and, after a moment, they kiss. And then they kiss some more. And suddenly the croissants, the work and the train are forgotten.
Some time later Fabien pulls up in front of the hotel behind the Rue de Rivoli. The roads are quiet because it is Sunday. A few tourists stroll by, looking up to take pictures of the buildings. He is late for work, but the restaurant will have only a few customers now, regulars who come to sit with a dog and a newspaper, or tourists killing time until they are due to go home. But it will fill later, and by four o’clock it will be packed.
Behind him, he feels Nell release her arms from around his waist. She climbs off the seat and stands beside the bike. She pulls off the helmet and hands it to him. She peels his jacket from her shoulders and gives it back to him, so that she is standing there in her crumpled green dress.
She looks tired and untidy, and he wants to put his arms around her. ‘Will you be warm enough, without a coat?’ he says.
She tilts her head to one side. ‘Funnily enough, I’m not feeling the cold today.’
‘You sure you don’t want me to take you to the station? You will be OK getting there? You remember what I told you about the Métro station?’
‘You’re already late for work. I’ll find it.’
They gaze at each other. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her handbag dangling in front of her. Fabien finds he no longer knows what he wants to say. He takes off his helmet and rubs at his hair.
‘Well,’ she says.
He waits.
‘I’d better get my suitcase. If it’s still there.’ She twists her hands around the handbag strap.
‘You will be OK? With this Pete? You don’t want me to go in with you?’
‘Oh, I’m not worried about him.’ She screws up her nose, as if he is of no importance. He wants to kiss it.
And he cannot help himself. ‘So … Nell-from-England. Will I … see you again?’
‘I don’t know, Fabien-from-Paris. We don’t really know anything about each other. We might have nothing in common. And we live in different countries.’
‘This is true.’
‘Plus we had one perfect night in Paris. It would be a shame to spoil it.’
‘This is also true.’
‘And you are a busy man. You have a job and a whole book to write. And you do have to write it, you know. Quite quickly. I’m anxious to hear what happens to this girl.’
Something has happened to her face, some subtle change. She looks relaxed, happy, confident. He wonders at what can change in twenty-four hours. He wishes he knew what to say to her. He kicks at the pavement, wondering how a man who prides himself on being good with words can find himself without a single one. She glances behind her at the hotel.
‘This story of yours,’ she says suddenly. ‘I never asked. How does it end?’
His legs straddle the bike. He leans forward, his eyes not leaving hers, so that he is resting on the handlebars. ‘I have no idea.’
She raises her eyebrows.
He says, ‘I find that in the really interesting stories it is the characters themselves who decide.’
‘Let’s see what she decides, then.’ She reaches into her bag and pulls out her notebook, handing it to him. ‘Here. For your research. I don’t think I need it any more.’
He looks at it. Her address and telephone number are written on the first page. He tucks it carefully inside his jacket. She leans forward and kisses him again, one hand on his cheek.
‘So … we will see what happens,’ he says, as she steps back.
‘Yes. Yes, we will.’
They face each other on the empty pavement, and then, finally, when they can stand there no longer, he pulls on his helmet. With a roar of his engine and a wave of his hand, he rides off towards Rue de Rivoli.
Chapter Fourteen
Nell is still smiling as she walks into the hotel. The receptionist is still behind her shiny desk. She wonders if the woman has a home or just sleeps there, on her feet, behind the desk, like giraffes do. She realizes she should be embarrassed, turning up in last night’s dress without her coat, but she cannot do anything but smile.
‘Good morning, Mademoiselle.’
‘Good morning.’
‘I trust you had a good evening?’
‘Lovely,’ she says. ‘Thank you. Paris is … so much more fun than I could ever have imagined.’
The woman nods to herself, and gives Nell a small grin. ‘I am very happy to hear that.’
Nell takes a deep breath and looks over to the stairs. This is the bit she is dreading. For all her brave words to Fabien, she is not looking forward to Pete’s accusations, or to his fury. She has wondered, privately, whether he will have done something horrible to her suitcase. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to do such a thing, but you never knew. She stands there, bracing herself to go up to room forty-two.
‘Can I help you with anything, Mademoiselle?’
She turns her head and smiles. ‘Oh. No. I’m – I just have to go up and speak to my friend. He may … be a little cross that I did not include him in last night’s plans.’
‘I am sorry to tell you he is not here.’
‘No?’
‘A rule of the hotel. I realized after you left that we cannot have someone using the room who is not the person who booked it. And the room was in your name. So Louis had to ask him to leave.’
‘Louis?’
She nods towards the porter, a man who is the size of two back-to-back sofas standing upright. He is pushing a small trolley loaded with suitcases. As he hears his name, he gives a small salute.
‘So my friend did not stay in my room?’
‘No. We sent him to the youth hostel. I’m afraid he was not very happy.’
‘Oh!’ Nell’s hand has clapped over her mouth. She is trying not to laugh.
‘I apologize, Mademoiselle, if this causes you any problems. But he was not on the original booking, and he did not arrive with you so … once you were gone … It was a matter of security.’ Nell notices the receptionist’s mouth is also twitching. ‘A rule of the hotel.’
‘A rule of the hotel. Quite. It’s very important to stick to hotel rules,’ says Nell. ‘Well. Um. Thank you very much.’
‘Your key.’ The receptionist hands it to her.
‘Thank you.’
‘I hope you enjoyed your stay with us.’
‘Oh, I did.’ Nell stands in front of her and has to fight the urge to hug the woman. ‘Thank you so much. Your hotel could not have been … nicer.’
‘That is very good to hear, Madame,’ says the receptionist, and finally, she turns back to her papers.
Nell is walking up the stairs slowly. She has just turned on her phone and the messages are pinging through, one by one, the later ones with lots of capital letters and exclamation marks. Most she barely reads before she deletes them. There is no point in spoiling her good mood.
But the last one arrived at ten a.m. that morning, from Magda.
Are you okay? We are all desperate for news. Pete sent Trish a really weird text last night and we can’t work out what’s going on.
Nell pauses outside room forty-two, her key in her hand, listening to the bells pealing across Paris and the sound of French people talking in the reception area below. She breathes in the smell of polish and coffee and the scent of her own grubby Saturday-night clothes. She stands for a moment, and remembers, and a smile breaks over her face. She types a text:
I had the best weekend away EVER.
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Red for Revenge
Fanny Blake
Two women, one man: code red for revenge …
Maggie is married with two grown-up children.
Her twenty-five year-old marriage
to Phil has lost its sparkle.
Carla is widowed. She understands life is short
so she lives it to the full. But is her new romance
all that it seems?
When the two women meet in the beauty salon,
they soon find they have more in common
than the colour of their nails.
The discovery that they are sharing the same
man is shocking. How will Phil be taught
a lesson or two he won’t forget?
Orion
Pictures Or It
Didn’t Happen
Sophie Hannah
Would you trust a complete stranger?
After Chloe and her daughter Freya are rescued
from disaster by a man who seems too good to be
true, Chloe decides she must find him to thank him.
But instead of meeting her knight in shining armour,
she comes across a woman called Nadine Caspian
who warns her to stay well away from him. The man
is dangerous, Nadine claims, and a compulsive liar.
Chloe knows that the sensible choice would be
to walk away, but she is too curious. What could
Nadine have meant? And can Chloe find out the truth
without putting herself and her daughter in danger?
Hodder & Stoughton
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THE BEGINNING
Let the convers
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PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published 2014
Copyright © Jojo Moyes, 2014
The moral right of the author has been asserted
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