One Evening in Paris

by Nicolas Barreau

  Solène smiled. “Although we were so different, we really loved each other. Sometimes Mélanie would slip into my bed at night, and then I’d stroke her back until she fell asleep. My first experiences with boys were with the boys from the local lycée, and my little sister would stand behind the door, secretly watching us kissing. Sometimes, not often, we’d go to the Cinéma Paradis. Papa worked for the post office, but he never advanced very far, and we had very little money for amusements of that kind. We both loved movies—Mélanie even more than I. I saw the cinema as an opportunity to meet boys in secret, but for my sister those afternoons in the cinema were something immensely precious. She lost herself completely in the films, simply dreamed herself away.”

  Then Solène interrupted her story. “That sounds as if we were unhappy, but that’s not true. We had a lovely childhood. We felt completely secure. My parents often had money problems, but they never quarreled—or only rarely. You could always sense the deep affection they had for each other. ‘I’m always glad when your mother comes in the door,’ Papa once said to me. He suffered because he couldn’t offer Maman anything more than that dark ground-floor apartment, where in winter we sometimes only heated the living room and the kitchen to save money. But in her quiet, friendly way, Maman was contented. The only luxury she allowed herself was buying flowers. There were always flowers on our kitchen table: sunflowers, roses, gladioli, forget-me-nots, lilac—she particularly liked lilac. Everything was good.”

  She broke off for a moment and put the picture of the two girls carefully back on the dressing table.

  “But then—I’m not quite sure exactly when it happened—I began to feel cramped at home. I went away a lot, had boyfriends who lived in upmarket homes and could afford to be generous. I became dissatisfied. I would have liked to study singing, but instead I did an apprenticeship. Mélanie had just turned seventeen and was still at school. I was twenty, and swore that I was not going to waste my life in a gentlemen’s outfitters on the boulevard Raspail. I wanted to conquer the world.”

  “And then? What happened then?” I asked, and answered my own question. “Then along came Victor, the exchange student, and you fell head over heels in love with him.”

  “Then along came Victor, the exchange student, and my little sister fell head over heels in love with that good-looking fair-haired young man with the twinkling eyes. His lodgings were a few doors away. Mélanie met him one Sunday at a movie in the Cinéma Paradis. I had better things to do that day. The family of a friend of mine had invited me to spend the summer in their cottage at the seaside, and of course I couldn’t refuse that. And while I was turning the heads of the young men of Deauville, Mélanie struck up that fateful friendship in Paris.” Solène ran her fingers through her hair and gave a sad little laugh.

  “Victor just chanced to be sitting next to her in the cinema. They looked at each other, and it was love at first sight, as they say. My shy sister, who had never been in love before, who, like Princess Turandot, had rejected all her suitors—between you and me, there weren’t very many—gave her heart away without hesitation. They became inseparable, and Mélanie was deliriously happy. She idolized Victor, and whenever she mentioned him, her eyes took on a soft glow, they gleamed like candles. It was touching to watch them. I believe she would have gone to the end of the world with Victor.”

  “And then?” I asked breathlessly.

  “And then came the wicked sister,” replied Solène drily. It was meant to sound indifferent, but you could see she was having difficulty going on. She got up from her chair. went over to the minibar, and poured herself a scotch. “I think I need a drink. How about you?”

  I shook my head.

  Solène slowly took a couple of sips from the cut-glass tumbler and then leaned on the dressing table.

  “When I came back at the end of the summer, Mélanie introduced me to her boyfriend. He was really sweet, a regular sunny boy from California, and I must admit I was surprised that Mélanie had landed such an attractive guy.”

  She took another sip of her scotch.

  “Yeah, well … The rest is a very short story. We went to a little café in Saint-Germain, and I told them all about my vacation and my seaside experiences in my usual lively way. I laughed and joked; I flirted a little with my sister’s boyfriend. I can’t say that I had any particular aim in view. I was just being myself, do you see?”

  I nodded without a word. I could imagine the situation very clearly.

  “And then it happened, as it always happened when Mélanie and I went somewhere together. I attracted all the attention, and my little sister paled beside me like a little moon and gradually fell totally silent.”

  “Oh my God,” I said. I could guess what was coming next. “She’s like a sun—everyone wants to be close to her” was how Allan Wood had described Solène.

  “After a while, Victor had eyes only for me. No matter how enchanted he had been by Mélanie, he was now smitten with her big sister, who seemed to be much more suited to him both in character and in age. He waylaid me on the way to the boulevard Raspail—he’d waited secretly for the opportunity to be with me—and he kissed me behind my sister’s back. ‘Come on, just one kiss,’ he said every time I laughingly turned him down. ‘No one will see. And you have such a lovely mouth, no one could resist it.’ And then later he said, ‘Come to California with me. The sun shines there all year round, and we’ll have a wonderful life together.’ He was very good-looking and had a wonderfully easy manner, which I began to like more and more. Then came the time when I stopped saying no.” Solène sighed and gazed into her glass.

  “Perhaps I might have been capable of putting a stop to the whole thing, but in those days I didn’t really understand. After all, I said to myself, I can’t help it if a man falls in love with me, even if he is my sister’s man. Who knows if Victor would have stayed with Mélanie if I’d behaved differently? But I was young and thoughtless, and the prospect of going to America with Victor made me cast all my reservations to the winds.”

  She looked at me and raised her hands in an apologetic gesture. “Good grief, who ever stays with their first love?” She shook her head. “I just hadn’t understood how serious it all was for Mélanie. She was only seventeen, after all.” Solène bit her lower lip.

  “One day, she walked in on us. It was awful, the most terrible experience of my life.” Solène faltered for a moment before going on. “For some minutes, she just stood in the doorway, completely pale, and neither of us dared speak a word. And then all of a sudden she just burst out screaming. She was totally hysterical. ‘My God, Solène, how could you do this to me? You’re my sister! You’re my sister!’ she kept on screaming. ‘You could have had anyone. Why did you have to take Victor away from me, why?’ And then she said the words that I still hear sometimes even today, and her dear, gentle voice was filled with hatred. ‘The only thing that’s important is that you get what you want; you don’t care about anything else,’ she said. ‘I never want to see you again, do you hear? Get out of my sight!’”

  “My God, that’s awful!” I murmured.

  “Yes, it was awful,” said Solène. “In the weeks that followed, Mélanie wouldn’t speak a single word to me; not when my parents tried to make peace between us; not when, for the last time before my flight to San Francisco, I went into her room and tried to say good-bye to her. She just sat at her desk and wouldn’t even turn around. It was as if she’d been turned to stone. I’d betrayed her; I’d hurt her deeply. She couldn’t forgive me.”

  I put my hand to my mouth and looked in anguish at the blond woman leaning on the dressing table, fighting to maintain her composure.

  “And later? Did you have any contact later on?” I finally asked.

  Solène nodded. “We saw each other on one single occasion—at our parents’ funeral. But that was not very pleasant.” She put her glass down.

  “When was that?”

  “About three years after I went to California. By then,
I was getting on in my career, I’d had my first big parts, success seemed to be falling into my lap, and I was so happy that I could give my parents that trip to the Côte d’Azur. I told you about that during our walk around the place Vendôme. Do you remember?” I nodded. How could I ever forget that walk?

  “And then my parents had the accident on the way to Saint-Tropez. They both died instantaneously. My mother’s sister was kind enough to let me know. The bodies had already been brought home. I flew to Paris. When Mélanie saw me at the funeral, she went completely wild. She screamed at me that I’d first taken her man away from her, and now her parents. I should just go away, because all I ever did was destroy everything.”

  “Oh my God, that’s totally absurd!” I exclaimed in shock. “That wasn’t your fault.”

  Solène wiped a tear from her cheek and gave me a hurt look. “And all I’d wanted to do was to give my parents their hearts’ desire.”

  “There’s no need to reproach yourself, Solène,” I assured her. “At least not where your parents are concerned. My goodness, that was just a tragic accident. No one can help that kind of thing.”

  Solène nodded, taking out her handkerchief.

  “That’s what Aunt Lucie said, as well. She called me and said Mélanie had had a nervous breakdown. And that she was sure she hadn’t meant those harsh words. Later, I heard that Mélanie had moved to somewhere near Le Pouldu, where our aunt lived. She obviously couldn’t stand living in Paris anymore. She’d been living with our parents when the accident happened.”

  “And then?”

  Solène shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “Nothing. I’ve heard nothing from Mélanie ever again. I’ve tried to respect her wishes. But I’ve never stopped missing her.”

  Twenty-eight

  Solène came toward me and fell into her chair, exhausted. You could see what turmoil she was in.

  “The affair with Victor isn’t exactly the most glorious chapter in my life. I don’t really like talking about it,” she said, burying her face in her hands. Then she looked up again. “I wish I could undo it, but unfortunately that’s impossible. How often I’ve cursed the day I took up with Victor. All I would have had to do was say no. It would have been so simple.” She sat up and folded her hands. “Believe me, Alain, if I could turn back the clock, I would.”

  “What became of Victor then?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Shortly after we arrived in San Francisco, I lost sight of him. And then I moved on myself.” She stroked the arm of the chair with her fingers. “For me, it wasn’t such a big deal—I just felt attracted to him.”

  “Like to me?” I asked.

  Solène’s face turned a delicate shade of pink. “Yes … perhaps. I do like you; I liked you from the start. What can I do?” She gave me a bright look despite her weepy eyes and tried to lighten the heavy atmosphere that had fallen over the room like a raven’s wing. “You must surely have noticed? But this time, I suppose I have no chance.”

  She smiled, and I smiled, too. Then I became serious.

  “I like you, too, Solène, a lot, in fact. I told you so yesterday evening on the terrace. That was a wonderful moment. I’m as unlikely to forget it as you are.”

  “And it’s precisely that moment that may possibly turn out to be your nemesis.”

  I nodded and rubbed my forehead.

  “Mélanie loves me and I love her,” I replied unhappily. “I really love her, more than anything in the world. And the idea that she believes that the worst moment of her life was repeating itself is tearing my heart apart.” I looked at Solène. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner that she was your sister?”

  Solène looked at me helplessly. “The idea never occurred to me, Alain. Why should it? That time on the place Vendôme, you told me you had fallen in love with a woman, but you never mentioned her name. Then there were the paparazzi and all the newspaper stories, and the woman in the red coat disappeared. But I knew nothing about that at first, and at the beginning even you didn’t see any connection between our arrival and Mélanie’s disappearance. Then Allan told me later on that you were looking for his daughter, Méla—and that was the first time I heard the name Mélanie. And yes, I admit that when Méla turned out to be the wrong Mélanie, I had some doubts for a moment. But the last I’d heard of my sister was that she was living in Brittany. Why should I have assumed that my sister was your Mélanie? It seemed totally unlikely to me. I mean, what an idiotic coincidence! I return to Paris after ten years and my sister has just fallen in love with a man that I could also like.” She smiled wistfully. Then she reached for my hand.

  “Believe me, Alain, I had no clue. And if I did, it was only a wisp of a clue. I certainly didn’t want to pull the wool over your eyes. It was only when you told me about the two letters and that she always sat in that row when she went to the Cinéma Paradis that it dawned on me that it was Mélanie. You’ve just got to believe me.” Her voice sounded despondent.

  “It’s all right, Solène,” I said. “Of course I believe you. It’s just tough luck that your paths crossed in the Cinéma Paradis. For the second time. But at least the whole thing makes sense to me now.”

  For a long time, we sat there in silence. I sat back in my chair, and my gaze fell on the golden scrolls on the clock on the mantelpiece. It was ten past four. I was incredibly tired, and yet not tired at all, and as I fell into a strange state of lethargy of the kind you probably feel when you’ve passed the point of no return, I ran through the whole story once again, with all its strange twists and turns, all its coincidences, some of which ultimately were not coincidences.

  Cleverer men than I have tried to answer the question of what is fate and what is chance. Was it chance or fate that the sight of a striking young woman in a red coat touched my heart so deeply that I fell in love with her? Was it fate or chance that her sister was standing outside the Cinéma Paradis just one day later?

  It was certainly not chance that I took a walk around the place Vendôme with Solène and was moved enough to take her in my arms when she told me about her parents’ death, but it was certainly fateful, because it led to an embarrassing paparazzi photo in a newspaper that by chance fell into the hands of a young woman who had previously been struck by fate. A young woman in love who, far from Paris, was staying with her aunt in a place called Le Pouldu and was now convinced that the worst moment of her life was repeating itself.

  On the other hand, something I had thought to be a coincidence at first, two things simply happening at the same time without any deeper meaning, had not been the case. Solène Avril had come to Paris and Mélanie had not turned up for our date. I hadn’t seen any connection. Yet Mélanie had deliberately pulled out, and I now knew the reason why.

  I didn’t know if it was chance or fate that led to Mélanie standing there on the terrace of the Georges at the exact moment that Solène put her arms around me, but in any case, this innocent and yet not totally unintentional embrace was, for her, renewed proof that a man she loved had once more fallen for the charms of her sister. Upset and deeply disappointed, she had run off, and then given me an enigmatic and—it now became clear to me—resigned smile as, in a spontaneous gesture, she held her hand up to the window of the train.

  Solène was the first to recover the power of speech. “We must find her, Alain,” she said. “Nothing is lost yet. We must find Mélanie and explain everything to her.”

  I nodded slowly. Only now was my mind, overwhelmed as it was by impressions and images, beginning to see that there was now hope once more, that the chances of reaching the goal I desired so much had never been so good.

  “At least I have a name at last—that will make things much easier.” With a smile, I remembered playing the detective on the rue de Bourgogne. Now that it was out of the question that Mélanie had another man, it seemed all the stranger that she had disappeared into the building with the chestnut tree. In any case, the name Avril had not appeared on any of the nameplates.

  “Méla
nie Avril,” I said, trying the name out. “That sounds so delightfully light. It makes you think of a spring day in Paris. The rain is bouncing from the cobbles, and then the heavens clear again, the sun is reflected in the puddles, and people are all in a good mood.…”

  “Oh, Alain, you are truly hopeless. Mélanie’s name isn’t Avril. It’s Fontaine. Just like mine. Solène Avril is my stage name.”

  “Oh,” I said sheepishly. And then added a not very eloquent “Oh, I see!” I should really have realized that Avril was a stage name; everyone knows that lots of actors take on a catchy name.

  Solène smiled. “Yes, my dear. That’s the way it is in show business. My first name isn’t Solène, either.… It’s all made up.”

  “And what’s your real name?”

  “Marie. But that was far too unspectacular for me. And little Marie from the ground-floor flat in Saint-Germain no longer existed, anyway. So I just reinvented myself.” She grinned. “I hope I haven’t destroyed all your illusions now.”

  “Not at all.” I waved dismissively. “Fontaine’s a very nice surname, too.”

  And I meant what I said. I really did like the name. The only problem I had with the new surname was that hundreds of Parisians were named Fontaine. It was one of the commonest French surnames, even if, regrettably, no one in the building on the rue de Bourgogne had been named Fontaine. Even my resourceful friend Robert would have had to put all the students in his faculty to work to comb through the Paris phone book. That is, if Mélanie Fontaine was actually in a phone book. Perhaps, like so many people today, she only had a cell phone. Although I found it easier to imagine her with an old black Bakelite telephone to her ear than a smartphone. Searching for a Mélanie Fontaine was not exactly going to be a piece of cake.

  Solène seemed to have read my thoughts. “Don’t worry, Alain,” she said. “If necessary, I’ll find her through my aunt. Mélanie was there, as you said, just a little while ago. I’m sure Aunt Lucie will have her address.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Although Aunt Lucie did remarry after my uncle died. I hope the name will come back to me.” She sighed in comic desperation. “Don’t be afraid—I’ll get hold of it somehow, even if I have to get on a train and go to Le Pouldu. Perhaps I should do that anyway. My family’s not that big, after all.”