by Nora James
Julie placed her hand on Elise’s arm. “I think you may have been betrayed before. Am I wrong?” Her questioning eyes were unavoidable. There was no doubt that the woman was perceptive.
“You’re right”, acquiesced Elise. “My ex-husband, Steve. And that was only one of his problems.”
Julie let out a little sound of satisfaction, as if to say that it all made sense. She sipped her tea. “I told you Paul was an acquired taste. Once you’ve acquired the taste for something special there’s no turning back.” She glanced at Elise and seemed to hesitate for an instant. “Maybe you have fallen in love with him.”
Maybe I have, she thought, but didn’t dare say it.
They sat in silence for a little while and drank, both women pensive.
Suddenly Julie stood and crossed her arms. “Well, I’m angry with him. The Paul I know wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t lead you on while he was with Nicole. He wouldn’t deny it when you’d seen them kissing with your own eyes, as you said. And he certainly wouldn’t be getting back with that sorcière, uh, what is the word again?
“Witch.” Elise easily remembered the meaning of sorcière since it was the nickname Dominique had coined for Madame Delapaix.
“That’s right, the witch. She is bad news, very bad news. He has Christine to think about, too. I know children need to know their biological parents, but honestly, Christine deserves a better mother than Nicole. Paul’s not going to like it but he’s about to get a serve from me.”
Elise recalled how Paul sat slumped in the semi-darkness of the empty café the night before, looking like a lost little boy. “Please don’t be too hard on him. Life can be complicated.”
Despite everything that had happened and the pain she’d gone through, Elise still felt for Paul.
Something told her she always would.
******
The door to the kitchen swung open so fast that if anyone had been behind it they’d have lost their nose. Paul looked up from the fruit salad he was making while Michel stopped stirring the ratatouille he was cooking on the stove. They both froze as Julie appeared looking like a dragon with smoke pouring out of its nostrils. She certainly was fiery today.
Michel tossed the spoon he was holding into the sink. “Madame Brouard! We were not expecting you.”
The boss smiled politely. “Would you mind helping out the front for a while, Michel?”
Michel turned down the gas under the pot. “That can simmer now.”
As he disappeared through the door to the dining room without asking questions Paul noticed the curiosity in his co-worker’s expression. Then Julie turned to him and he gulped at the blaze in her eyes. He put down the knife he’d used to chop up summer fruits and wiped his hands on a tea towel.
“Everything’s fine,” he started. “We’ve had no problems with the café. I meant to call you yesterday, but, well, life got in the way. Anyhow, I’ve abandoned the idea of theme nights and I’ve been reading up on growing a business—I couldn’t sleep and read most of last night actually—and I have ideas about what we should do.”
“That’s not why I’m here.” She looked straight into his eyes. “You know that.”
He let out a sigh and turned away for an instant. “I suppose Elise contacted you.”
“She had to. She’s not teaching you English anymore and that was the condition on which her rent was reduced, the condition on which you were to manage this café might I add.”
He covered his eyes with his left hand. He’d been so worried about losing Elise that it hadn’t even crossed his mind that he might lose his job if she stopped giving him lessons. “I can find a replacement teacher. Or do the Sorbonne course. Whatever you want.”
Julie walked up to him and poked him lightly in the chest. “What I want is for you to tell me why on Earth you’ve taken Nicole back. She did you so much harm, Paul. And Christine, poor little darling. I watched you go through all that heartache with her. Your time is too precious to let someone so destructive into your lives again. You may not escape with minor injuries next time. And on top of everything else Elise is devastated. It mightn’t have been much to you those kisses that you shared, but she feels so utterly betrayed. I had high hopes for you and Elise. You seemed to be so right for one another.”
He took a step back, biting his lip. Julie wasn’t worried about the business. She was here as a friend, or a mother, to guide him through life, to protect him and Christine. He would have told anyone else that it was none of their business, to let him do his own thing, but Julie had been too good to him over the years, far too good, to coldly push her away.
“I told Elise I am not with my ex-wife and that’s the truth.”
“Elise says you were out with Nicole, kissing in public, and that she was all over you.”
“Yes, she was all over me. She kissed me. I had told her so many times to stop that evening. I didn’t want to make a big scene in front of Christine. I tried to push her back without making too much commotion. Elise mustn’t have seen me do that.”
Julie studied him. He felt like a strange insect being examined under a microscope by a scientist in search of a universal truth.
Finally she pronounced judgement. “I believe you. I know you. It won’t be as easy to convince Elise but you have to try. Go on, before you run out of chances. I’ll hold the fort for as long as you like. Take the day off if you need to. Don’t worry about anything else.”
Paul took off his apron and threw it on the bench top. “I can’t thank you enough, Julie.”
He rushed out without looking back, through the swinging door and up the stairs to Elise’s apartment. In front of her door he closed his eyes summoning every shred of positive thinking in him, and knocked. He waited for a few moments before knocking again.
The resounding silence echoed in his heart. Either she’d already left or she wasn’t answering. She had no way of knowing it was him, though. It could have been Julie again. He knocked one more time, checking his watch. It was only a quarter to eight, too early for her to have gone to her cooking class, but she might have gone for a walk beforehand, or to a bakery for morning croissants, or somewhere for breakfast. Or to a million other places.
He returned to the kitchen, the lump in his throat so big he could have sworn he’d swallowed a golf ball. He found Julie with Michel, sitting at the table, smiling and chatting as they peeled potatoes.
Julie stood up. “That was quick. Too quick.”
Paul nodded. “She’s gone.”
Julie dropped her knife and put her arms around him. He placed his head on her shoulder, grateful for her motherly support, but then he pulled back.
“Maybe it’s a good thing,” he said. “Maybe it’s better this way. Yes, it was meant to be. Those madeleines I baked this morning?”
“In the cupboard,” said Michel, pointing to where he’d put the cakes.
Paul pulled out the container and placed it under his arm, and then slipped the small notepad that lay on the counter into his pocket.
Michel frowned. “Excuse me, I write my shopping lists on that.”
Paul ignored his co-worker, turned on his heels and headed for the door.
Julie’s eyes widened. “Where are you going with those cakes?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Paul didn’t have the time to explain. He swung open the door and hurried out. He had something important to do, something that couldn’t wait one second longer.
His happiness depended on it.
Chapter 19
The stallholders were still bringing out their wares when Paul arrived at the flower markets just a couple of minutes after eight. One seemed to be more organised than the others, with many rows of bright daisies, dahlias and cyclamens already on display. There were buckets of roses, too, shiny containers full of white, pink and yellow long-stemmed beauties, but Paul had to have red. His feelings for Elise were not meek or reserved and nothing told of passion more than a deep red rose.
&n
bsp; The shopkeeper, a woman in her fifties, appeared carrying a tray of garden ornaments. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for red roses.”
The lady pointed to a large container inside the shop. “How many, Monsieur? Half a dozen?”
“Well, it’s for a woman I want to be with more than anything in the world.”
“In that case, I’d recommend twenty four or more if your budget permits. What shall I write on the card?”
“Actually I had something a little different in mind. May I sit here for a few minutes? It will be easier if I show you.”
The lady gestured to a couple of chairs around her potting bench. “Please, be my guest. I’m all ears when it comes to romance.”
******
Elise glanced at Dominique and held back a chuckle as Madame Delapaix banged her scrawny fist on the table. Her moods hadn’t improved over the term of the course and now it was nearing the end Elise had given up hope that they ever would. Instead, she and Dominique had taken to placing bets on how many times the old witch or sorcière, as they’d become accustomed to calling her, would throw a tantrum. Banging her fist on the table was one, thought Elise.
Dominique wriggled her finger from side to side to say that it wasn’t. She leaned over and whispered in her friend’s ear. “Non, she didn’t yell. It doesn’t count.”
“Ah, non, ça suffit!” shouted the teacher glaring at Dominique.
“It counts now,” said Elise with glee.
Dominique purposely dropped a spoon on the floor and crouched to pick it up, hiding her face behind the table as she did. “Oh, no, that’s enough,” she said, repeating Madame Delapaix’s sentence in English and mimicking the authoritarian woman’s tone in the process.
“I win,” whispered Elise. When she looked down at Dominique she saw her friend was rummaging through her handbag. Elise figured it was probably for a piece of chewing gum—Dominique couldn’t seem to get through a lesson with Madame Delapaix anymore without chewing on something to lessen her frustration.
There was a knock at the door, a welcome distraction as the teacher turned her attention to it. When it opened a man hiding behind a huge floral arrangement, a giant ball of roses, entered. It was so big it hid his body from view and it seemed the massive and somewhat formal looking bouquet of flowers was walking on legs. As Elise studied it more closely she saw that the red roses were interspersed with little cakes and neatly folded pieces of paper.
Elise called her friend. “Dominique, get up. You have to see this.”
The entire class watched as the bouquet made its way to Madame Delapaix’s desk. The teacher’s face transformed, her expression softening so much that for a rare moment she actually looked kind.
“Incroyable!” Dominique exclaimed with obvious disbelief. “She’s doing eyes at him like Bambi.”
“Making eyes,” said Elise. “And yes, she is. He must be handsome.”
Elise looked down at the pair of long, slender but muscular legs in black pants beneath the enormous ball of roses and felt there was something strangely familiar about them. But how could she know the delivery man? Impossible, unless…
The mysterious man spoke. “Madame Delapaix?”
There was no mistaking the deep, smooth-as-chocolate voice. Elise held onto the table, steadying herself as the room spun around her.
“Ooh, the lucky devil has a lover!” Dominique chuckled. “I never would have guessed. Do you think it’s him or is this guy just the delivery man? Come on, I want to see his face now!” She looked at Elise but the amusement in her gaze soon turned to concern. “Are you all right, Elise?”
She wasn’t. She could barely breathe. “It’s Paul,” she blurted out.
“Excuse me? Paul? Non! He’s giving the witch flowers? But why?”
“Don’t ask me. I’m as puzzled as you are, Dominique.”
Madame Delapaix opened her arms, ready to receive the gigantic bouquet. Instead, Paul handed her a single madeleine. “For you, baked with a smile and good humour, the way all food should be prepared. And the way lessons should be taught.”
Laughter poured out of the students. Paul faced the class and once they’d calmed down he spoke again. “I have a very important message for Miss Elise Reid. Please, Elise.”
Elise couldn’t believe her eyes. She wanted to say no, wanted to stay angry at Paul, but every fibre of her being was drawn to the gorgeous man with caring eyes who stood before her and the entire class at the risk of being ridiculed. Could she and Paul sort out their problems? Would he stay away from Nicole? Could Elise ever trust him? The questions crossed her mind briefly but they flew away like butterflies in the wind, overridden by the tingle in her belly at the very sight of Paul.
Besides, Dominique shoved her in his direction before Elise had much time to find the answers for which she was searching. “Hurry up, that thing must be heavy. And I’m hungry. I want a madeleine.”
An instant later Elise found herself in the middle of the classroom, all eyes on her, and there was only one thing to do, the one thing she really wanted if she listened to her heart instead of the voice of reason in her head, and that was to go to Paul.
As she walked up to him she felt like a bride heading to the altar, eager eyes watching from the church pews. She blinked and saw Paul, more handsome than ever in a tuxedo, and herself in flowing white chiffon. Yes, deep down it was what she dreamed of, the fairytale ending, the happily-ever-after. Wasn’t it what every woman wanted? Probably every man, too, at some stage. If only life were that simple!
Paul held out his offering. “These are for you. I thought of you when I baked each and every cake, and when I chose each rose, but then I think of you all the time.”
She took the arrangement, losing her footing a little under its weight. Paul came to the rescue, his hands under hers and she gasped at his touch. She gazed into his eyes, those warm, tender eyes and felt an irresistible longing for his lips. He must have known for he suddenly leaned over and kissed her until her head spun.
Everyone in the class clapped and cheered, everyone except Madame Delapaix who stomped her foot repeatedly. “Order! Enough! Take that monstrosity and leave my classroom right now, Monsieur.” Her lips curling down with disdain, the elderly teacher threw her pretty shell-shaped madeleine into the waste paper basket.
“Boo!” Dominique shouted and other students joined in.
Elise immediately led Paul to the door, although more from the desire to be alone with him than a need to obey the old witch. In the corridor, Paul rested the flowers on the stone floor. “We might have to eat the cakes to make it a little easier to carry,” he said, smiling.
“Yes, it’s awfully big. It must have cost you a fortune. One rose would have been enough. There must be seventy or eighty in this.”
“You don’t like it?”
She squeezed his arm. “I love it. I really do.”
He placed his strong hands on Elise’s waist and she gulped at the sensation his touch sent through her body, from the tips of her fingers to her stomach, her belly and beyond. It was electricity of the sweetest kind, the magic of the body that happened when two people desired each other above and beyond all else to the point where their whole world was reduced to the perception of their own urgent longing. The only thing better than that was the magic of the heart and with Paul she had that, too.
“What are the numbers on the little pieces of paper?” Elise asked once she’d recovered.
“A message for you. Like a join-the-dots puzzle, you know? You have those in Australia?”
“We do,” she said, still grinning with delight. She tore herself away from Paul and plucked number one off the bouquet. It said “I”. She had to look harder through the flowers for number two. She found it tucked away down the bottom of the arrangement. It said “only”. Number three was easy to spot, it was right in the middle of the flowers. She opened it and read the word “have”. She diligently followed the notes one by one, opening them each
time with a sense of discovery, until she’d completed Paul’s message in full.
She read it aloud. “I only have eyes for you and have thought of no one else since I met you. Please trust me, forgive me, love me.”
“Can you?” Paul asked. “I haven’t been Nicole’s lover for years. She keeps trying with me, though, and I’ve told her to stop. I didn’t want to make a big scene with her in public—especially not in front of Christine. That’s the truth. Do you believe me?”
She studied his face, his beautiful, almond shaped eyes filled with worry as if his life depended on her answer, and decided to quickly put him out of his misery. She knew that he might hurt her—there were no guarantees in love, and it required a giant leap of faith at times—but she’d come to see that it was the only way to live. The alternative was the boring safety of self-sufficiency and she knew that a life of solitude was far from the most fulfilling existence she could have. Besides, her gut told her that Paul was sincere.
She nodded. “I do. I believe you.”
“Thank you,” gushed Paul, his smooth hand caressing her neck.
This time it was Elise who leaned forward and, pulling him close, gently pressed her lips to his. Her heart raced as she tasted him. She hoped he could feel in her embrace just how much she’d missed him and how she needed him now. When she finished with Paul she took a step back and, elated, wondered if joy had replaced the blood running through her veins. She noticed he seemed a little breathless, too, and she thought with satisfaction and a tiny bit of pride that she must have had as much effect on him as he had on her.
“I suppose I should let you return to your lesson,” he managed after a while. “I can take the flowers back to the café if you like, or carry them to your apartment and leave them in front of your door. They will be all right. They have some water in there.” He pointed to the foam in which they were planted.