‘And the next and the next. That’s what Frenchmen are supposed to be like.’
‘Not Ludo,’ Maddy said hotly. ‘He’s not one of those typical Frenchmen, I just know it.’
‘Of course not,’ Leanne soothed. ‘There must be exceptions.’ She stopped, looking confused. ‘But what about you? Did you try to contact him?’
‘I had a card with the phone number of the restaurant. But it didn’t ring through. I tried several times, but then I realised they must have changed their number or something. I tried to look it up on that Minitel website they had in France then, but couldn’t find the name of the restaurant. So I gave up.’
‘Oh. Bad luck.’ Leanne picked up Bridget’s lead and clipped it to her collar. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Time for walkies.’
Bridget jumped on to the floor and wagged her tail, trotting to the door.
Maddy laughed. ‘She loves her walkies.’
Leanne opened the door. ‘Have you got the box with the poop bags?’
Maddy tucked it in to her handbag. ‘Right here. Never thought I’d go to Paris to scoop up dog poo from the pavement.’
‘No, but it’s the law here, so we have to do it. Just thank your lucky stars we don’t have a Great Dane.’
‘I don’t even want to think about that.’
When they were in the street, Maddy looked around. ‘It’s so quiet here. The traffic is just a distant murmur. Which way is Boulevard St Germain?’
‘Follow me.’ Leanne led the way down the street with Bridget trotting beside her.
Maddy followed, a poop bag at the ready, breathing in the soft Parisian air laden with coffee, fresh bread, petrol fumes and something else, particular to this beautiful city. If she had been dropped there blindfolded, she would have known it was Paris. She felt as if time was standing still and she was the young student rushing to lectures, books in hand, her whole life ahead of her. As they crossed the busy Boulevard St Germain and walked down the street on the other side, she knew she had to face Ludo soon and ask him the questions that had been troubling her for so long.
Bridget stopped to produce a few little turds and Maddy picked them up, her thoughts still far away, and deposited the plastic bag in the special bin nearby. ‘Quite neat, really,’ she remarked.
Leanne didn’t reply, her mind obviously on the confrontation ahead. She turned a corner and gazed at the street name on the plaque above her head. ‘This is it. Rue de Buci. Nice little street.’
‘Lovely.’ Maddy looked at the little restaurants lining the street, interspersed with small boutiques and coffee shops. ‘They play live jazz here in the evenings, I read in the guide book. We should have dinner here tonight.’
Leanne shivered despite the warm weather. ‘Please. I can’t think of dinner now.’
They walked down the street until Leanne stopped in front of a green door with a small shop window beside it. The sign over the shop said: ‘Hovden, Parfums du Nord en Provence.’
‘Parfums du Nord,’ Leanne whispered, Bridget’s lead slipping from her hand. ‘Does that mean perfumes from the north?’
Maddy picked up Bridget’s lead. ‘Yes. “Perfumes from the north in Provence” is the whole sentence.’
‘Oh.’ Leanne stood stock-still, staring at the sign. ‘Hovden,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve been there. When I was eight. My dad took me there to meet his family. Never forgot it. So beautiful and stark. It smelt of salt fish and seaweed and woodsmoke. The seagulls screeching above us. Little wooden houses. The fjords and mountains plunging into the sea. And my grandmother. Tall and strong like a pine tree. So proud but so gentle too.’ Leanne drew in a ragged breath and turned her attention to the display in the window. ‘Look at the little bottles and boxes. Such a beautiful design. Blue, like the fjords and then a deeper azure like the Mediterranean. And the font of the letters. Art deco with a modern twist. I wonder who made those?’
‘Only one way to find out,’ Maddy said.
‘I know.’ Leanne’s hand shook as she put it on the door handle. ‘This feels like a watershed moment in my life.’ She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Chapter Eighteen
Tiny bells tinkled as they entered the shop, where a light scent of lavender floated in the air. The shop was lined with shelves full of bottles in all colours of the rainbow, packages of soap and stacks of towels and tableware with Provençal designs. Maddy looked around. ‘How enchanting. Like coming in through a magic door to somewhere in the south.’
‘There’s no one here,’ Leanne whispered, looking around the empty store. ‘Let’s go.’
‘We have to stay,’ Maddy said sternly. ‘We’ve come all this way and now we have to find out—’
‘I’ll write to him. Or call the shop.’ Leanne started towards the door. ‘I can’t do this.’
‘You must.’
‘No. Let’s go. There’s nobody here anyway.’
But someone stirred in the doorway at the far end, and a tall silver-haired man dressed in a black polo neck and jeans poked his head out. ‘Je viens toute de suite,’ he said in heavily accented French and disappeared again.
Leanne gasped and grabbed a hold of Maddy. ‘It’s him.’
‘Are you sure?’
Her face white, Leanne nodded. ‘Yes. Oh God. I can’t—’ She backed away and tried to hide behind Maddy.
Maddy pulled her forward. ‘You must stay. I’m here. I won’t leave you.’
Leanne nodded. ‘Okay,’ she croaked, her eyes on the doorway.
They waited while they heard the man talk to someone. Then he said goodbye and emerged from behind the counter, smiling. ‘Sorry about that. What can I do for you?’
Maddy blinked. What an amazing man. At least six foot five with a lean body, that white hair and the most extraordinary eyes she had ever seen; blue-green, fringed with black lashes under thick dark brows. His handsome features bore an uncanny resemblance to Leanne’s, she noted during the seconds before he recognised his daughter. He stiffened and gasped.
They stared at each other for a loaded minute. Then the man spoke. ‘Leanne?’
‘Dad?’ she whispered, squeezing Maddy’s hand.
His face ashen, he took a step forward. ‘I… my God. I can’t—’ Tears welled up in his eyes. He reached out and touched Leanne’s cheek. ‘It’s really you?’
She pulled back. ‘Yes, it’s me, Dad.’
The man looked bewildered and pushed a shaking hand through his thick hair. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. It’s like a dream.’
‘Or a nightmare?’ Leanne said, a bitter tone in her voice.
‘I don’t know what you mean. I’ve tried to reach you so many times. But this is not the place to discuss this. Can we… can we go somewhere and talk?’
Leanne nodded. ‘Yes. That’s why I’m here. To talk.’ She stepped forward and glared at him. ‘And to ask why the hell you deserted your wife and daughter and wrecked my life.’
‘I… yes, that certainly has to be explained.’ He looked behind him. ‘I’ll get my assistant to mind the shop and close up.’ The man looked at Maddy. ‘Sorry. You must a friend of Leanne. I’m Erik Sandvik.’ He held out his hand.
‘Maddy Quinn,’ she said and shook his hand. Under normal circumstances, she would have smiled and cracked a joke, but the shock still lingering in his eyes stopped her. ‘Yes, I’m a friend,’ she added.
His smile was stiff. ‘Good. Excuse me for a moment.’ He disappeared through the door at the back and called for someone. A slim young woman with black hair appeared behind him.
‘This is Jeanne,’ he said. ‘She runs this shop for me. Jeanne, these ladies are… friends from Ireland.’
‘Bonjour,’ Jeanne said and smiled. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she continued in English.
‘Hi,’ Leanne and Maddy said in unison.
‘I’ll leave you to it, Jeanne. I’ll talk to you tomorrow before I leave for Nice.’
Jeanne smiled. ‘D’accord, Jan. A demain.’
&
nbsp; ‘Does everyone call you Jan Hovden?’ Leanne asked.
‘Jan Hovden is my business name. My friends call me Erik.’ He went to the door and held it open. ‘Let’s go to the bistro on the corner. It’ll be quiet so we can talk.’
They filed out into the street, where the evening sun warmed their backs as they walked to the bistro. Once settled in a corner of the quiet restaurant with a carafe of wine Erik had ordered, Leanne drank from her glass and put it down, facing her father.
‘So… what’s the story?’
He sighed and folded his hands on the table. ‘My story?’
Leanne leant forward. ‘And mine. And Mam’s.’
Erik cleared his throat and drank some wine. Then he looked back at Leanne. ‘I have a feeling you’ve been told some things that aren’t true. I want to tell you my side of this.’
‘Yeah, I bet,’ Leanne muttered bitterly. ‘This had better be good.’
Maddy squirmed. The tension between this man and his daughter almost made the air crackle. They didn’t need her now. She pushed her glass away and scooped Bridget into her arms. ‘Look, I’ll take Bridget for a walk in the Jardin de Luxembourg, and then I’ll get back to the hotel.’
Leanne nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll call you later. Thanks for coming with me.’
Erik pulled out Maddy’s chair and patted Bridget. ‘Nice to meet you, Maddy.’
‘And you, Erik.’ Their eyes met. Maddy felt an undercurrent of something between them – an odd attraction or connection. She couldn’t quite detect what it was, but it was there, like a light breeze on her skin that made her shiver. Then it was gone as he turned away. She walked out into the street, the sunlight blinding her for a moment, making her momentarily light-headed. She put the dog down on the pavement. ‘What happened there?’ she said out loud.
Bridget wagged her tail and barked.
Maddy laughed and looked up at the blue sky. ‘You’re right. Who cares? It’s a lovely evening and I’m free. For a while.’
* * *
After a pleasant walk in the Luxembourg Gardens, Maddy returned to the hotel and settled Bridget on her cushion with a bowl of water and her favourite toy. After a quick visit to the bathroom and a glance in the mirror, she ventured out again in search of dinner, leaving Bridget asleep in her room. A little apprehensive about dining alone in a Parisian restaurant, she studied the menus and peered into windows but found nothing that appealed to her. Not actually hungry yet, she decided to take a walk on Pont des Arts, a pedestrian bridge that links the Institut de France and the central square of the Louvre on the other side of the Seine. As her feet pounded the wooden planks she stopped to linger at the railings for a moment, looking at the panorama of beautiful buildings that lined the blue water of the river, with Notre Dame just visible in the distance. The sun was dipping in the blue sky, and pink clouds floated over the towers of the ancient cathedral.
She and Ludo had stood there the day before her departure, his arms around her, talking about the future and when they would meet again. The railings were no longer weighed down by the myriad of padlocks lovers from all over the world used to hang there. They had all been removed by the mairie, as they were a threat to both the old railings and the river. Now there was only the odd one defying the law. She and Ludo hadn’t bothered with a padlock; they knew they’d never forget each other. And she never did. But what about him? Had he remembered? Maddy suddenly felt an urge to find out. As soon as possible.
She continued her way to the other side, crossed the square and emerged on Rue de Rivoli, headed to the metro station and bought a ticket. She knew which line would take her to the Hotel de Ville stop, where she would get off and walk up that long street toward the Marais and the little back street where she would find Ludo’s restaurant. Easy, peasy, she said to herself as she walked, smiling at the memory of her younger self wobbling on the cobblestones on her way to be introduced to Ludo’s uncle. But now, the cobblestones had been replaced by proper pavers, the streets had been cleaned up, buildings restored and luxury shops moved in. The Marais had lost its seedy charm and was now annoyingly trendy and chic. Maddy only noted this in passing, her mind on a reunion that could end in tears.
What am I doing? she asked herself as she drew nearer to her destination. What will I find? She stopped for a moment, staring into a shop window without seeing its contents. Go back now, before it’s too late, she said to herself. Then she shook her head. You’ve come all this way, why chicken out at the last moment? She pulled herself together and walked on, finding the street within minutes. And there it was. The restaurant.
She stopped and stared at the sign. The name had changed. It was now called La Pomme de Pin, according to the red sign, with ‘cuisine Provençal’ in smaller letters. He must have changed the name of the restaurant – and the cuisine. She checked the time on her watch. Seven-thirty. It would be quiet before the evening rush. A good time to seek out Ludo. He wouldn’t be that busy yet. She pushed the door open and entered the cosy restaurant, her hands clammy, her mouth dry and her heart hammering in her chest.
Chapter Nineteen
Inside, she stood for a while getting used to the dim light, studying the décor of rough white walls, rustic furniture and red-and-white-checked tablecloths. There was a seductive smell of herbs, garlic and other spices in the air, and she was suddenly ravenous, despite her jittery nerves. Only a few of the tables were occupied, and a smiling waiter showed her to a table by the window.
‘I haven’t reserved,’ Maddy said.
‘That’s fine,’ he replied. ‘We don’t take reservations here. Everyone’s welcome until we’re full. Are you English?’
‘No. Irish.’
He grinned at her. ‘Ah, Irish. You’re very welcome, pretty Irish lady. You come from a beautiful country.’
‘Thank you.’
He handed her a menu. ‘The special tonight is l'onglet aux échalottes avec le petit gratin dauphinoise with a special sauce by our chef.’
‘Sounds lovely.’
‘I’ll let you look at everything else and come back when you’ve decided. Anything to drink?’
‘A small carafe of rosé, please.’
‘Toute de suite, madame.’
He was about to leave, but Maddy stopped him. ‘Just another little thing,’ she said, butterflies whirling in her stomach. ‘Would it be possible to see the owner of this restaurant? Ludovic Montrouge?’
His eyes widened. ‘Ludovic Montrouge? But that is not the name of the owner.’
Maddy stared at him. ‘What? But… I mean… Ludo was supposed to take over this restaurant. Are you sure he isn’t here?’
‘I’m certain.’
What about his uncle?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know him either. I have only worked here a few years. But I can ask the chef. He’s also the owner. Bought the restaurant about fifteen years ago. Then it was called—’
‘Les Deux Toques,’ Maddy cut in. ‘I know.’
‘You were here then?’
‘Yes. A long time ago. When I was a student.’
‘I see.’ He nodded and smiled. ‘Must have been different then.’
‘Yes,’ Maddy said in barely a whisper. ‘Very different.’
‘I’ll ask the owner if he can see you after your meal. He might be able to help you.’
‘Oh yes,’ Maddy said, her voice shaking. ‘Thank you. That would be—’
But the waiter had disappeared to get her order, leaving her sitting there staring into space, her stomach in a knot. Ludo, she thought. What happened to you?
Maddy fiddled with the menu, trying to come to terms with what the waiter had told her. Feeling the need for some Dutch courage, she downed a glass of the wine when it arrived, and nibbled on bread while she waited for her order. The restaurant was filling up with customers, and suddenly all the waiters ran around trying to keep up. Her grilled steak with potato gratin arrived with the sauce in a sauceboat and she dug in, the aftershock of what she had learne
d making her ravenous. Nerves always made her hungry, and this was no exception. Nobody paid much attention to her other than a quick glance. A woman eating alone in a restaurant was a common sight, she realised, as she saw others in the same situation here and there in the restaurant. Women must have had a much better deal in France.
When she had finished, the waiter came back and took her plate, asking if she wanted anything else. ‘A dessert or coffee?’
Maddy shook her head. ‘No thanks. I’ll just finish the wine.’
‘Right, madame. I will tell Chef that you want to speak to him. He’ll have time to talk to you as soon as the rush is over.’
‘Thank you.’
Maddy didn’t have to wait long. Little by little, things calmed down and guests started to leave. A man in a chef’s hat appeared behind the reception area and walked to her table.
‘Madame, er—’
Maddy stood up and held out her hand. ‘Please, call me Maddy.’
They shook hands and sat. The chef, a middle-aged man with dark hair and kind eyes, smiled at her. ‘So, you want to know about the previous owner of this restaurant?’ he asked in accented but fluent English.
Maddy nodded, her hands suddenly clammy. ‘Yes. Do you know where he is?’
‘You’re a friend of his?’
She nodded. ‘I knew his nephew. A long time ago. We… lost touch. But now I’m in Paris, I thought I’d look him up.’
‘I see.’ He paused. ‘I don’t know that much about him. I bought this restaurant from his uncle. Ludovic, the nephew, never owned this place. He left a few years before it was sold.’
‘A few years?’ Maddy tried to calculate how many years had passed since then. ‘But if you bought it fifteen years ago, Ludo must never have realised his plans,’ she said, as if to herself.
‘Plans?’ the chef said.
‘Yes. He was going into business with his uncle after he finished training as a chef.’
‘Oh. I didn’t know this. I met the nephew only once, just before the sale went through. He was in town to help his uncle with the sale and other things. The uncle was very ill then. Had been for a long time. He leased the restaurant to someone who ran it as a pizzeria for a few years.’
The Road Trip_A feel-good romantic comedy that will make you laugh out loud! Page 13