by Nora James
He could recall Elise’s grace, her angelic movements, ever so clearly. How he’d been drawn to her! It hadn’t been the slow, gentle discovery of a movement that pleased him, or a dimple he’d found cute. It had been like a fire sweeping through dry bush, immediately fierce and difficult to extinguish. He’d imagined her in his arms, had the sense that she was meant to be there with him. How wrong his instincts had been!
Suddenly the train’s horn sounded, indicating the end of the line, and an airport-style voice announced that they’d reached his destination. Paul realised he must have been thinking about Elise for quite some time. He shook himself. It annoyed him that he was drawn to the woman. He didn’t need her, didn’t want her. His life was perfect as it was and someone like her could only mess it up.
He followed the crowd to the escalators, climbing the moving steps to get home as fast as he could, and rose from the underground and up into the open air. The contrast between Paris and Ivry always struck him. Although Ivry bordered the capital, its character was vastly different, modern concrete towers dominating the landscape crammed in one after the other to house as many people as possible. At least it was a pleasant, balmy evening. He truly enjoyed the long summer days. It didn’t get dark until ten.
He would have much preferred to live in Paris itself, though. He would have loved for Christine to be in the posh quarters, the sixteenth arrondissement, or near the huge parklands of the Bois de Vincennes, in a fine nineteenth century building with parquetry floors and high ceilings. It was such a shame that he couldn’t afford it, certainly not since Nicole had squandered all their money.
He hurried up the main street, dropping a coin in a beggar’s hat along the way. The woman looked like she needed rehabilitation and she reminded him of Nicole. If only his ex-wife had given rehabilitation a try, but she’d never accepted that she needed it, never wanted to live without drink, even though she could see how it was affecting them. It had killed their relationship and their finances and still she resisted giving it up. She just needed to reduce the habit a bit, she’d said, didn’t want to turn into a pathetic teetotaller, couldn’t stand the idea of being the only one at a party without a glass of alcohol.
The gambling had come later, something she’d picked up while drinking. It had precipitated their fate. They’d fought and fought until, in the end, the toxic mix of gambling and guzzling alcoholic beverages had destroyed them.
He strode up to his building and opened the black metal door. The lift was stuck on the fourth floor again, so he took the stairs. Luckily his apartment was on the second floor, not too many steps to climb. He’d been a little disappointed when he’d first got it after separating from Nicole. He’d hoped for a view over the suburbs and out to Paris in the distance, but the higher floors were all taken. Now that he knew the lift was often broken he didn’t mind quite as much that it had turned out that way.
He reached the apartment and slid in his key. As the door opened, Christine came running toward him open-armed and his heart skipped a beat.
“Papà! Papà!”
He lifted her up and she kissed him on the cheek, her little arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
Having a daughter was wonderful. It made everything worthwhile—the working day, the hardship, the failed marriage and the broken heart that it had cost him. He didn’t mind any of it and would go through it all over again to have Christine.
“It’s so good to see you, Princess. How was your day?”
Christine shrugged. “Good.”
“She had a wonderful day.” Madame Marchand, the elderly lady from next door who minded Christine after school talked in a grandmotherly way, addressing Christine more than Paul. Having Madame Marchand at home during the day was the best arrangement Paul had found for his daughter after Nicole had walked out, much better than the child care centre, and he was grateful to the older woman for offering her services.
“Go on, Christine, tell your father about your day,” said the elderly nanny.
“I don’t remember it,” said Christine, eyes wide.
Paul chuckled. It was the same every night. He hoped that by the time she was seven or eight she’d be more capable of recounting the events that he’d missed out on, but at five years of age she couldn’t, or, he suspected, didn’t want to make what would be a huge effort for her.
Madame Marchand filled him in. “She did a beautiful finger painting. I spoke to the teacher who told me she was progressing well in reading. She can read “cat” and “dog” now, can’t you Christine? And one of the girls in her class turned six and brought in cake.”
“See, you did lots!” Paul hugged his daughter, burying his face in her neck, and blew a raspberry.
Christine’s laughter, bubbly and fresh, brought him more pleasure than the most sophisticated symphony. It was moments like these that Paul lived for.
Madame Marchand patted him on the back in a motherly way. “I’d better be off. You two have a nice dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Would you like to stay? Boeuf bourguignon tonight.” There was always enough food for three, and Paul knew the older woman sometimes felt lonely. Besides, he did too after Christine had gone to bed, and Madame Marchand’s company was pleasant.
She stayed every now and then, but tonight she shook her head. “I’m expecting a call from my daughter. In any case, you really ought to be spending time with someone your age, Paul. You cannot be perfectly happy without a partner. You may tell yourself that you can and for a while it might seem to be the case. But it can’t go on forever. I hope you’re not offended. You’re a dear friend, Paul, and that’s what friends do. They tell each other what needs to be said.”
He was taken aback for an instant, she’d never said anything like that to him, but he soon smiled. She was only trying to help. “I’m not offended, Madame Marchand. We’re doing fine on our own, though. All we need is each other, isn’t that right, Christine?”
The child nodded, beaming. “And Teddy, too” she yelled as she ran into her room.
The older woman watched the little girl disappear. “She’s doing so well. You need not worry about her.”
Grateful, Paul nodded. “It’s all thanks to you. Together we give her what she needs. I’m forever in your debt, Madame Marchand.”
“Nonsense! The pleasure’s all mine, Paul. And please, call me Monique. It’s about time. I know you like to keep your distance, after what happened with your wife, but I am not going to let you down.”
He drew a breath. Experience showed in the wise woman’s words. She had a way of getting to the heart of a problem and a quiet confidence, too. There was no way you could hide from her.
“In that case, thank you, Monique.”
Christine skipped back into the room with her teddy bear in hand and stopped next to Paul, wrapping her free arm around his leg. “Say goodbye to Madame Marchand, uh, Monique. Mamie Monique?”
Monique grinned. “I’d love to be called Mamie Monique.”
Christine rubbed her forehead, her little eyes narrowing. “Are you my grandma?”
“No, darling, but I could be, I’m old enough. And I’d like to be, so if you’re happy to call me Mamie I’d love that.”
The child nodded, grinning.
“OK then, we have a deal.” Monique hugged her and left, waving as she headed to the lift.
Paul took the icepack out of the food bag, placed it in the fridge and set about reheating the meal. But his mind wasn’t on his empty stomach and the pleasure he’d feel in filling it with the beef he’d stewed earlier at the Café des Amoureux. It was on what Madame Marchand—he corrected himself, Monique—had said. “You really ought to be spending time with women your age.”
Was she right? Could she be? He shook his head. He wasn’t ready for that, wouldn’t even consider it until Christine was older, much older. He couldn’t risk her getting attached to someone who might walk out on them again.
No, he didn’t want anyone else in his life. It
wasn’t worth the trouble.
Things were perfect just the way they were.
Chapter 5
Elise woke to the distant sound of traffic and laughter in the street. It took her an instant to figure out where she was. She looked at the chandelier above her, the black velvet bedcover, and sat up with a triumphant smile. It wasn’t a dream. She really was in Paris.
She checked her watch and gasped when she saw the time: it was twenty past ten! She never slept in that late, not even after a night out on the town. She’d managed to get through her first day without crashing and had kept going until the evening. It was the best thing to avoid jet-lag, she’d been told.
Now she’d gone and slept fifteen hours straight! She hadn’t even known she was capable of slumber that deep and lengthy. She felt like she’d wasted precious time, hours she could have spent discovering charming streets and memorable monuments, although deep down she knew she probably needed the rest.
She rubbed her face and climbed out of bed. At least she didn’t have to meet anyone or do anything in particular, not until that evening when she would be giving Julie her first English lesson. Perhaps she ought to prepare? Yes, that was a good idea. She’d look for a bookstore and buy an English grammar book and maybe even a textbook to help. Julie wasn’t a beginner so she would have to teach at a fairly sophisticated level, although if all Julie wanted was to build confidence then perhaps discussing current affairs might be the best way to go. Elise would try to find an English newspaper or magazine. It shouldn’t be too difficult with all the English speaking visitors to the city. Besides, she imagined you’d find just about everything in Paris.
She opened her window and took a breath of fresh air. It was shaping up to be a glorious summer day, a gentle blue sky and a comfortable warmth, nothing like the hammering heat of an Australian summer. The hustle and bustle of the street below beckoned her to join in the fun. Without thinking, she leaned out and felt the rays of the sun on her face. A man walking by glanced up at her, smiled cheekily and winked. She quickly hid behind the lace curtain, suddenly conscious of being in her sleepwear and she thought she heard him chuckle as he walked away, hands in his pockets.
She hurried into the tiny bathroom, which she mentally referred to as the wet cupboard, to prepare for the day. She showered quickly and slipped on a soft floral dress and a pair of sandals. Tinted moisturiser, a slick of lip gloss, a practical ponytail and she was ready to conquer Paris and all it had to offer.
She pulled the door to her studio shut and headed off, taking her time on the stairs, however, as she did not want to come nose to nose with Paul again. She stopped a couple of times and listened carefully for signs he might be heading her way. To her relief she made it down without an encounter and from his absence in the café as she glanced through the door, and the banging of pots and pans she could hear in the kitchen, she decided he was safely out of the way.
The café wasn’t too busy. It was too early for lunch and too late for breakfast. About a third of the tables were occupied and she noticed most patrons were simply drinking coffee. She could have done with one herself, as well as a delicious croissant if there were any left, but the thought of being served by Paul propelled her towards the street.
She reached for the brass door plate with the word “poussez” carved into it and prepared to push it but it was too late. “Bonjour Mademoiselle. You look like you are trying to hurry out. What is the rush?”
She turned to see Paul, in his impeccably pressed white shirt and black trousers, leaning over a table to clear away empty dishes. A lock of rebellious dark hair fell enticingly on his cheek, highlighting his strong jaw and those lips that seemed to be calling out to everything womanly in her body. She pinched her nose. Why did he have to be so good-looking? Why did she have to notice?
Paul clicked his tongue and mumbled something in French far too fast for her to understand. She was right, he was grumpy again and she wondered for an instant if she irritated him without fail or if he was always like that.
It didn’t matter, the result was the same—whenever their paths crossed he was in a foul mood. She’d have to steer clear of him, if only because she didn’t want to feel drawn to him. She didn’t want to feel attracted to anyone, let alone someone with Paul’s arrogance and moodiness.
Luckily, he quickly disappeared in the back room and Elise decided to leave before he had a chance to return. She felt her shoulders relax as she walked out into the street, a sure sign she could do without someone like Paul in her life. She remembered Julie’s words about going up and down without looking at Paul and chuckled at the memory of the misunderstanding. She’d have to do more of that and avoid looking at Paul altogether.
She strolled up the street and turned left. Soon she found herself in front of the fountain Saint Michel, with its clear waters full of coins. Above it, the Archangel brandished a sword ready to slay the Devil at his feet under the watchful gaze of two magnificent winged bronze dragons. She wondered whether the dragons belonged to the Archangel or Satan. And what was it that people wished for when they threw in their spare coins? Fame? Fortune? Or a lifetime companion who’d love and cherish them forever?
What would she wish for? Right now, a cup of coffee. She glanced around. There were cafés at every corner so she crossed and sat on a cane chair outside the one nearest to her. A young waiter came over, smiling politely.
“Un café, s’il-vous-plait.”
He must have detected her accent as he answered in English. “Certainly, Madam. Anything else?”
“I’m not yet ready for lunch. Is it too late for a croissant?”
“Not at all, Madam. Most people do not have lunch before thirteen hours in Paris.”
She rubbed her chin as she converted the twenty four hour clock. “Oh, yes, 1pm.”
The waiter returned within seconds and placed the golden moon-shaped pastry before her. It was nice to be served quickly, with a smile and without fear of snide remarks. She was glad she’d decided not to eat at the Café des Amoureux this morning, glad she’d hurried out before Paul had had a chance to return.
She took a bite and the croissant, soft and buttery, nearly melted on her tongue. Sitting there on the terrasse, eating and watching the chic Parisians walk by with their priceless designer handbags and their tailored jackets, and the not-so-chic ones in trendy torn jeans and cool black T-shirts, was her idea of Heaven—at least until her phone rang.
Who would be calling her in Paris? She rummaged through her bag and saw that somebody was calling her from a private number. She answered and, to her dismay, her ex-husband screamed into her ear.
“Who’s the money waster now, huh? You had to go to Paris, didn’t you?”
Elise’s blood boiled. It was bad enough that he’d refused to travel while they were together, but now that they were apart and he’d shacked up with an unscrupulous young woman with tousled hair and miniskirts and no qualms about taking a married man, Elise certainly wasn’t going to let him control her.
“It’s none of your business where I am and what I do with my money. You don’t own me. You don’t have a say in what I do. In fact, you were not supposed to know I was here. How did you find out?” She couldn’t imagine who would have told him. Her friends and family knew how difficult Steve had become since their marriage had broken down and none of them would have betrayed her.
“You don’t have much imagination, do you? All it takes is banging on your door at two in the morning a few times and the neighbours will tell me anything. She even let it slip that you’re at that cooking place you were going on about.”
Elise sighed. Poor old Jan next door didn’t deserve Steve. Nobody deserved him. “So that’s what you’ve been doing? Waking up the elderly neighbours? You should be ashamed of yourself, and you should be in bed, Steve, sleeping for a change. What do you want?”
“Well, seeing as you’re full of money now, traipsing the world and so on, I figure you can help me out with this new inves
tment plan.”
“You had the same amount I did when we divorced. If you’ve squandered all your money on your new girlfriend, that’s your problem.”
“Actually, she’s out of the picture. A real piece of work, that one.”
“I can tell you’re devastated.”
“I thanked her. She did me a favour, really. She wasn’t right for me. So I thought I owed it to you to give you a call, let you know I’m free. In fact, I can fly over there if you’re feeling lonely. All you have to do is buy me a ticket.”
Elise let out a sound of disbelief that must have dissuaded Steve from pursuing that angle. He quickly changed the subject. “So would you at least guarantor a loan for me?”
Determined to get the message through, Elise shook her head as she answered. “No, no and no. You’re not in my life anymore.”
He was truly exasperating and she didn’t care in the least that he was free again. He never knew when to give up. He hadn’t always been like that. When they’d first met he’d been utterly charming and she’d found herself under his spell until she’d realised he was charming with anything in a skirt. When she’d confronted him about his nights out, the money disappearing from her account and the perfume she didn’t wear on his collar, it had been a turning point in their relationship.
He huffed. “I am in your life whether you want it or not. I’ll ring you day and night until you say yes.”
“If you do that I’ll take out a restraining order. And if you bother my neighbours again, I’ll make sure they go to the police, too.”
“The police? Don’t be ridiculous! We’re family.”
She couldn’t believe it. They were not related by law, they were divorced, and as far as her heart was concerned, there was no room in it for Steve. She took a deep breath.
“Family we are not. Besides, you never acted like we were. It’s just a shame you didn’t show your true colours until we were married.”