From Paris With Love This Christmas

by Jules Wake

  He bowed his head, the churn of his stomach ramping up a notch.

  ‘She moved back in with her parents. Took to sticking pins in voodoo dolls of me. She’s never worked since. She’s ill.’

  ‘Ill?’

  ‘Severe depression.’ Acid swirled again. ‘Because of me.’

  Her hand crept onto his again. ‘But what if you hadn’t done it, set up the brewery? Wouldn’t you have been depressed? You said you couldn’t hack it.’

  He’d not thought of it like that. ‘I guess.’

  ‘I’m sorry that she’s not well,’ Siena leaned over to him, ‘but do you know what, I’ve learned something since I’ve been here, you can’t be dependent on other people for your own happiness. You have to be happy with yourself. You have to be responsible for yourself.’

  She meant well, but sunshine Siena had no idea of the depth of his guilt, or the realities of the real world. She’d be going home soon, back to her world insulated from the everyday problems of real life. A visit to Paris would probably speed up the process, make her realise what she was missing.

  ‘So you used the money to set up the brewery?’

  ‘What?’ Was that it? No more on Stacey.

  ‘The brewery. How did you set it up?’

  ‘Will’s family have owned the pub forever but it hadn’t been doing well. Between us we set up a company which owns both the pub and the brewery. He took over the pub, gave me the premises. We bought the kit together with a loan from the bank, secured on the pub. All a bit scary but,’ he tapped the table, ‘touch wood. So far, so good.’

  Every last penny he possessed rode on the success of both.

  Siena frowned; that seem to bother her more than his revelations about what a bastard he was. ‘I didn’t know you owned the pub too.’

  ‘The two operations are completely separate. I had absolutely nothing to do with Will hiring you. If you weren’t any good, he wouldn’t have kept you on.’

  The mulish tilt to her jaw dropped. ‘Hmm,’ she said taking another sip of beer. ‘This is growing on me.’

  ‘Want another?’ He laughed as she tried to find a diplomatic response. ‘Wine?’

  ‘Yes please. Red,’ she responded with alacrity. He laughed and headed to the bar.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Lisa. She had texted as Siena left the pub with Jason asking if she could pop round for an update on Siena’s visit to London.

  ‘Hand me another pin.’ Siena looked critically at the black dress which lay the length of the kitchen table. Yes, if she put a dart in under the bust on both sides, the black dress would fit Lisa perfectly.

  Lisa was having a wobble about wearing the pink dress to her Christmas do and had brought the black dress round for Siena to make one final alteration.

  ‘I’m going to go back to the drawing board. Ruth said to look at some of their other courses. They do merchandising, fashion journalism. All sorts of things I’d never even considered.’

  ‘Not going to give up then?’ Lisa teased.

  Siena looked up. ‘No, I am not.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘It might not happen next year or the year after but one day. I can’t bear the thought of not doing anything. It’s weird. I’ve never worked before in my life and now I have no idea what I used to do with my time all day.’

  Lisa put her hands on her hips and gave her a mock glare. ‘I’d swap places.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive. It’s hard work being the idle rich.’

  ‘I’d be willing to give it a go.’ Lisa refilled their glasses with the last of the bottle of Prosecco, she’d brought around along with Nanna’s sewing machine. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers. This is almost finished. Are you sure you don’t want to wear the pink?’

  ‘I do, but this looks better with my black shoes. Unless I strike lucky in a charity shop between now and next Saturday and find some pink shoes.’

  ‘I know exactly where I can get you some. Trust me and don’t ask any more questions. You will go to the ball in the pink dress.’

  Siena handed the dress to Lisa to try on. She jumped up and peered through the doorway to where Jason poured over the laptop. Her heart lurched. She’d seen a very different side to him this evening in the pub. Kind and strong. Looking out for everyone else, putting them before himself. She thought he’d been more than fair with Stacey although he was obviously still beating himself up about it.

  ‘How are you doing?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Almost there, thanks to you. It’s very generous. I’m not sure how I can repay you. Business class flights. Five star hotel.’ He looked bleak at the thought.

  Typical Jason, she realised. Worrying about money but never for himself. When was the last time anyone had looked after him? She wanted to cross the room and smooth away the lines around his downturned mouth. The thought of raising her fingers to touch his mouth, set off a strange fluttering low in her belly.

  ‘I’ll have to pay you back somehow.’

  She wrenched her gaze from his lower lip, trying to focus on what he was saying.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Pay you back.’

  ‘You can make coffee in the mornings.’ She held up the cafetière with a wink. ‘And clean it out every day.’

  ‘What proper coffee?’

  She nodded and raised her eyebrows. ‘Reneging on the deal already.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘When do we fly?’

  ‘Fly? Where are you two off to?’ Lisa looked intrigued.

  Siena jumped up and gave her a big hug.

  ‘What?’ Lisa glanced between the two of them. ‘You’re not going home are you?’

  ‘No.’

  Jason folded his arms, reminding her of Will as he leaned against the dresser, and grinned broadly. ‘We’re going to Paris.’

  ‘The City of Lights,’ she said at exactly the same moment as Lisa said, ‘City of Love.’

  Chapter 18

  Travelling with Siena was a lesson in luxury and efficiency. At Heathrow’s Terminal 4 there was no queue at the Business Class check-in.

  The last flight he’d taken, from Luton to Zante had been a nightmare of delays, cramped seats and drunken passengers. Being in the business class lounge was definitely more like it.

  ‘Would you mind grabbing me a glass of champagne?’ asked Siena, giving the wine list a quick glance. ‘Number three, please. I’m going to see if there’s any chance of a manicure at the spa while we’re here.’

  Before he could answer she’d gone, leaving her Louis Vuitton cabin bag with him. Luckily he still had the good leather bag from his city days and the one Hugo Boss suit he hadn’t stored in his mum’s, so he didn’t completely feel like Siena’s county bumpkin cousin. The minute business was over he’d be back in his jeans.

  He took a seat. He felt as if he were in a New York loft rather than an airport. With a disbelieving shake of his head, he picked up The Times, complimentary of course, and drank his coffee glancing idly at the pages and looking round every now and then.

  Things had changed since he’d last travelled business class. What the hell was an Oxygen bar?

  ‘What do you think?’ She held out shiny red nails. ‘Holiday Holly Berry.’

  ‘Very nice.’ They did actually look rather stylish, although he’d chew on glass before he’d admit that out loud to anyone.

  ‘You’re so English.’ She teased and her eyes lit on the empty champagne glass.

  ‘Sorry, I’ll get you another. I was worried it might go flat.’

  ‘A likely tale. Don’t worry I’ll go and get one. Want another?’

  What the hell, it wasn’t as if he got to do this every day. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’

  She returned with two sparkling flutes of straw coloured wine.

  ‘So what time’s our meeting?’ she asked taking a sip, holding the flute at the stem. It was a rather nice champagne.
/>   ‘Nervous?’

  ‘How did you know?’ she asked. So much for trying to appear cool, calm and collected.

  ‘Because that’s about the ninth time you’ve asked.’

  ‘It’s at ten thirty. I know that. We should have plenty of time. I know that. The plane lands at eight thirty. I know that. I can’t help it. I’ve never ever been to a business meeting before.’ Siena’s face fell, worried lines creasing her face and she flung out one hand in front of her, slopping champagne over her glass with the other. ‘Do you think the nails are a bit frivolous? Too party girl. Shall I go and get a more neutral colour?’

  ‘Siena. Calm down. It’s fine.’

  ‘Why did Will have to book another appointment?’

  Jason patted her knee. ‘Because it made sense to make the most of our time. We couldn’t get a flight back on the same day anyway. I’d make the most of it. Think of it as a holiday. Over the next few weeks the pub is going to get really busy. Think of me. Totally at your mercy in Paris. I’m a bit apprehensive. Promise me there’ll be no shops involved.’

  He didn’t trust the wicked smile that curved her lips or the mischievous expression heightened by the two dimples that appeared on her face.

  ‘These are Parisian shops, darling,’ she purred. ‘Surely you need to do some Christmas shopping? I’m going to do some.’ She’d decided to buy presents for Lisa, Will, Al and Marcus. And wrap them herself.

  He let out a huff. ‘If we have to do shops, you have to help me choose something for my mum and my sisters. I never know what to get them. I was hoping to avoid it all together by not going home for Christmas.’

  ‘What will you do instead? You can’t be on your own.’ Although even in a house full of people you could still be on your own.

  ‘I’ll go to the pub. Will opens for drinks only, most of the village come and then when he’s kicked everyone out, whoever’s working sits down to a proper turkey dinner with all the trimmings and then we play Trivial Pursuit all afternoon.’

  ‘That sounds fun.’ The timetable for Christmas at the Chateau was driven by protocol and endless formal meals in the dining room. Not so fun. She was realising there was a lot more to Christmas … and a lot more to life.

  On the flight Jason reverted to small boy mode, wanting to press the buttons, see what all the controls did and most of all try out the mechanism that turned the luxurious business class seats into proper beds.

  ‘Stop it.’ Siena giggled at this wide-eyed un-Jason-like enthusiasm.

  ‘Go on. You could pretend you need a little nap.’

  ‘But I don’t and neither do you. We’ve only been up a few hours.’

  ‘A power nap then. All good business people have power naps. Richard Branson, Donald Trump. Now that you’re going to be a business woman.’

  ‘I’m not in their league. Now behave.’ She groaned as the air hostess approached.

  ‘Can I help?’ she asked indicating the call button above Jason’s head, which had lit up.

  ‘No, I’m sorry.’ Siena glanced at Jason. ‘He’s got an obsessive compulsive disorder about buttons and switches.’

  With a deadpan expression the air hostess nodded. ‘We get that a lot. Although not normally on this particular flight. This is a replacement aircraft, usually used for intercontinental flights. You struck lucky today.’ With barely a wink, she switched off the light and moved down the cabin.

  In the cab, Siena took charge. It was nice to be the one who knew what she was doing for a change. Over the last couple of weeks with so many firsts, she’d made a fool of herself a gazillion, as Lisa would say, times. Their meeting with the distributor was off the Boulevard de Magenta in the 10th arrondissement near the Gare de l’Est, and she made it clear to the driver that she knew her way around.

  ‘What’s an arrondissement?’ asked Jason, grabbing the armrest as the taxi pulled off like a stunt man in a Bond film.

  ‘Paris is divided into twenty arrondissement. They’re administrative municipalities. Number one is right in the centre of Paris on the Seine. From there, the remaining areas spiral out like a snail shell to circle the city.’

  ‘Sounds confusing.’

  ‘Not as confusing as London. It’s quite logical and the street signs usually have a roman numeral to tell you which arrondissement it is. You always know where you are.’

  ‘Christ. Is it always like this?’ Jason inclined his head towards the traffic chaos outside the cab window.

  ‘It’s rush hour, although the Périphérique is always hell.’

  The Lefoute et Fils’ offices were on a busy tree-lined boulevard, its nearest neighbours a couple of opticians, a pharmacy and a men’s clothing store. Siena had been down here a few times before but there was nothing memorable about it apart from the rather pretty Eglise Saint-Laurent across the way.

  ‘There it is. Those big wooden doors.’

  Jason paid the taxi driver and she got out, buttoning up her coat. Hopefully her faithful Stella McCartney top and Joseph trousers would look stylish enough, even if they weren’t standard office wear.

  She looked around with interest once they arrived at the first floor reception. The offices were typical of the grand apartments in this part of Paris with their high ceilings and huge arched wooden doors. Everything felt very formal as the young man at the desk took their names and in stilted English invited them to sit down.

  Jason fiddled with his phone while they waited and suddenly gave an exclamation of disgust.

  ‘Damn! I forgot to get my phone set up for roaming abroad. It doesn’t work.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Siena reassured him. ‘Mine does. You can use it if you need to.’

  ‘Thanks Miss Jet-set.’ He nudged her with his knee, a teasing note in his voice. ‘I bet it was like that from birth.’

  ‘Don’t be silly Jason.’ She poked her tongue out at him. ‘I didn’t get my first phone until I was at least eighteen months old.’

  Their shared laughter was cut short when, with a grand flourish, the double wooden doors to Monsieur Lefoute’s office were opened and he invited them in. Her fears evaporated and she swallowed a giggle, immediately looking down at his feet to see if he wore spats. Short and portly, he carried the waxed Poirot-style moustache off, with a dash of old-fashioned villain. At any moment she expected him to start twirling the pocket watch and chain he had tucked in his waistcoat.

  Siena sneaked a look at Jason. His expression had never been so grave and controlled. Then she caught sight of the way he’d sucked in that full lower lip of his, as if trying not to laugh.

  ‘Bonjour, Monsieur Landon and Mademoiselle Browne-Martin. Welcome to Paris.’

  The meeting had been going for thirty minutes and seemed to be progressing nicely, as far as she knew. Everyone was still nodding and smiling. Jason had been doing a lot of talking. Siena kept quiet; he didn’t really need her. It appeared that Monsieur Lefoute, when he wanted, had a perfect command of English. They were close to finishing, with a clear agreement seeming to be on the table when the phone on the leather topped desk near the window rang.

  ‘Excuse me, I must take this call.’ He answered the phone and began a conversation in French. ‘Gustave, thank you. Yes they’re here now. I’ll be tying him into an exclusive deal.’ There was a pause. ‘No, on the least favourable terms we can offer. He’s English. He won’t know that every distributor in France is looking for a rustic English brewer after that film star idiot started a trend for English beer.’

  Lefoute rattled on in French, his back to them.

  Siena leaned towards Jason and whispered quickly. ‘Don’t agree to anything today. Tell him you have another meeting with another distributor.’ She nodded towards Lefoute with a quick frown.

  Jason nodded without demur or query.

  When Lefoute returned to the table, he beamed. ‘Sorry about the interruption. I’m happy we have an agreement. It is our standard contract, which we have with all of our suppliers. The paperwork can be provided tod
ay. It can be signed before you leave Paris and we save lots of trouble with lawyers and signatures here and there.’

  Without any prompting, Jason put his hands together in a considered pose. ‘I do have several other meetings in Paris in the next two days. However, my legal representative and French colleague, Miss Browne-Martin, will be happy to read any documentation you have to hand.’ Jason emphasised the French pronunciation of Martin.

  His absolute faith sparked a small glow of gratitude.

  ‘You are French?’ Lefoute paled as he turned to Siena.

  ‘Oui, Monsieur.’ She maintained her grave expression.

  ‘Apologies, I did not realise. You live in Paris?’

  ‘Not at the moment. My family lives in Bresançon.’

  ‘I have relatives there. Whereabouts?’

  ‘Just outside. Le Chateau Descourts.’

  The Frenchman paled even further. ‘You are related to Monsieur Harvieu?’

  ‘Oui, il est mon beau-père.’

  Siena didn’t think it was possible for him to get any paler.

  ‘I missed quite a bit in translation back there,’ said Jason as they sat in the back of a cab headed for their hotel.

  ‘Lefoute was trying to tie you into an exclusive deal at the lowest possible terms when apparently English beer is suddenly all the rage and there are distributors who would bite your hand off for an authentic boutique British beer.’

  ‘And the last bit?’

  Damn, Jason was too astute for his own good.

  ‘Exchanging small talk.’

  Jason narrowed his eyes.

  ‘His family comes from a small village near the town where my mother lives. Look there’s the Eiffel Tower.’

  They pulled up outside the five star hotel, the Arc de Triomphe clearly visible down the busy boulevard and climbed the stairs into the hotel lobby.

  ‘This is nice, I’ve not been here before.’ She nudged Jason as they crossed the marble tiled floor into an astonishing atrium lobby which was at least six storeys tall. A vast circular dome of glass high above them lit the airy room which, with its stone façades, made you feel as if you were outdoors, except for that distinctive hotel lobby hush.