Paris by Heart

by Nora James

  Paul slid his key into the keyhole and the door opened onto a reasonably good-sized entrance. It was organised: shelving, a table for keys and letters, a coat rack. It was charming, too, with a naive picture of farm animals on the wall, and colourful drawings of flowers and birds beautifully framed and grouped together. Elise smiled as she noticed that the pictures were all signed “Christine”, a couple with the letter “s” back to front.

  Paul’s daughter came running, lifting her elbows and knees so high that her sprint resembled more of a march. “Papà!”

  She threw her arms around Paul’s neck as he crouched to greet her. It was lovely to see the excitement in her eyes. The little girl then turned her attention to Elise, who smiled at her with true delight.

  “Qui c’est?” Christine asked and Elise understood the child wanted to know who she was.

  “A friend from work,” answered Paul.

  Christine rubbed her nose, then wrinkled it up. “C’est la dame du restaurant des hamburgers?”

  “Yes, she is the lady from the hamburger restaurant. She is going to have dinner with us. OK?”

  Christine nodded and scooted off, clearly oblivious to the complexities of adult relationships. Being five years old had its advantages.

  “Can I take your bag?”

  Just then Elise’s phone rang. She checked the caller’s identity and saw it was Steve again. She turned off the phone.

  “You can answer,” Paul said. “It’s no problem.”

  Elise smiled and handed him her bag. “It’s not important.”

  As Paul placed the bag on the hallway table a white-haired lady with a kind face appeared carrying a stack of toys. She rattled something off in French and then must have spotted Elise and stopped. “Oh, excusez-moi, vous avez de la compagnie!”

  “Monique says sorry, I have company. She hadn’t realised.”

  The older lady placed the toys in a bright wooden box under the table in the entrance, turned and offered her hand to Elise who shook it.

  “Monique, Elise.” Paul introduced them in a somewhat formal fashion.

  “Enchantée.” Elise was proud that she remembered the “pleased to meet you” formula, and Monique repeated the word, beaming.

  Again, the older woman rattled on about something to Paul, scuttled off and reappeared almost instantly with a light jacket and shiny handbag. “Bonne soirée!” With a glint in her eye she pulled the door shut behind her.

  “Did I scare her off?” Elise chuckled.

  “She said she had an appointment,” Paul offered, although Elise was sure that neither of them honestly believed the explanation.

  Elise followed Paul into the cosy living room. It was masculine, not a flower or frill in sight, and yet it was warm and tactile with velvet cushions and thick rugs. Elise felt comfortable there, so much so she wanted to curl up on the couch. That’s where Christine was with a ragdoll, busy twirling its hair around no doubt to give the woollen locks more style.

  “I can help you with that if you like,” Elise said in what she knew was broken French. Still, it was good to be able to communicate. Christine nodded and Elise sat next to her. She ran her fingers through the doll’s hair and platted it neatly.

  Christine’s eyes lit up. “Merci, Madame!”

  “You don’t have to call me Madame.” “This is Elise,” Paul said.

  The child giggled uncontrollably, rolling around on the sofa. It was an infectious laugh that puzzled Elise. “Does she think my name is strange?”

  Paul placed a hand on Elise’s shoulder, probably only to reassure her but it sent a shiver down her spine. “Non, her doll is called Elise, too,” he explained in his deep voice that had her vibrating inside. Elise smiled and had to remind herself not to rest her head against his strong, inviting chest as he sat next to her.

  Christine promptly climbed in his lap and looped her arm around his. She stared at Elise, abandoning her doll for a while. “She’s pretty, Papà, isn’t she?”

  He held the doll up high and examined its face. “You’re right. She is pretty.”

  Christine huffed. “Not that Elise. The lady Elise.”

  Paul smiled. “In that case you’re wrong. She’s not pretty. She’s very beautiful.”

  Elise looked down to hide the heat in her cheeks. She wasn’t blushing from embarrassment though, not really. It was from the pure pleasure of being flattered in the most innocent way. “Merci, Christine. But you are the beautiful one.”

  The child grinned. “Can I sing you a song?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  Christine sang “Alouette, Gentille Alouette”. She didn’t hit all the right notes, but her voice was angelic all the same. It felt so nice, so comfortable, so right sitting there just the three of them on the soft velvet sofa. It was hard not to snuggle up to Paul and hold his and Christine’s hand. And it was impossible to imagine that in less than a month it would be over and Elise would probably never set foot here again.

  She didn’t want to think of that right now so she closed her eyes and concentrated on the song, resting her back against the couch.

  The time to be sad would come soon enough.

  ******

  The kitchen was tiny but as functional as they come with every inch, or rather centimetre, put to good use. Pots and herbs hung from racks attached to the ceiling, utensils were close at hand in handsome terracotta urns and the bench tops displayed all manner of spices in recycled glass jars with bright lids that must have been decorated by Christine the artist.

  Paul had peeled the potatoes and thrown them into cold, salted water which was now coming to the boil on the stove. He started on the meat filling, chopping up shallots the fast and furious way chefs do, and mixed in a finely sliced onion as well as a couple of anchovy fillets. “For oomph,” he explained. He minced up some beef he’d used for broth the previous day, adding some of the liquid to a spoonful of cornflower until it was exactly the right consistency.

  Elise watched him work the ingredients together in a pot over low heat, and then set the mixture aside. With a flick of the wrist he filled a small pot with milk and warmed it. She could tell how much he loved cooking from the mix of delight and concentration on his face, an expression that translated his passion. He was in his element and she found herself wondering if it was actually in his blood. “Have you always wanted to cook? Did anyone in particular inspire you?”

  “Yes and yes.” He flashed his pure white teeth at her and emptied the water from the boiled potatoes down the drain. “That’s what you get for asking two questions at a time. Come.” He gestured for her to approach. “The mash is all yours. I’d use this.” He handed her an old food mill with a wooden handle, one that looked like it might have belonged to his grandmother.

  Elise placed the mill above a large bowl and emptied some of the potatoes into it. She turned, but it was hard and she wondered if she ought to add a little liquid.

  Paul must have seen her glance over at the milk. “No, it’s too soon,” he said. “Here.”

  He stood behind her, so close she could feel his body heat. It was torture, not being able to kiss and hold him. It was torture for her and she wondered if it was for him, too.

  He pressed the potatoes down with a wooden spoon, held her right hand and turned the mill.

  “Slowly at first, slow and steady. Can you feel that heat rise?”

  She certainly could. There was a fire inside her, burning through her core. She drew a breath, dizzy from the spell he had cast on her. She so wanted to lean into him, but she resisted. What if Christine came running in? Elise vacillated for a moment.

  “Butter.”

  His hands moved up and down her arms as she stirred the mixture, watching the yellow solid turn to gold liquid. She became conscious of her heaving chest and found it increasingly hard to ignore the desire tingling in her belly. If they’d been alone she would have torn off his shirt, undone his pants and without hesitation left the potatoes to go cold and dry.
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  “And now the warm milk, un filet. Like this.” He poured it.

  “I see. A trickle.”

  She took over while Paul continued to titillate her senses. He kissed her neck ever so lightly, stopping and starting and stopping again until she could have begged him for more.

  The sound of rushed little footsteps brought them back to reality. Paul moved away and picked up a potato that had fallen on the floor while Elise concentrated on whisking the mixture until it was fluffy.

  “How’s my little princess?” Paul cleaned his hands on a tea towel and picked up his daughter.

  “J’ai faim.”

  “It will be ready very soon,” said Elise, not at all surprised that the child was hungry. “Did you like your show?”

  Christine nodded before twirling around like a ballerina. “The mice learned to dance today. Can you dance?”

  “A little.” Elise twirled around on command, hoping that her body would recall the ballet lessons she’d had when she was barely older than Christine. “When I was your age I wanted to be a ballerina.”

  The little girl’s eyes popped with true wonder the way only children’s do. “Me too!” She examined Elise closely. “Why do you speak funny?”

  “Elle est australienne.” Paul put his daughter down. The minute her feet touched the ground she ran away, like a wind-up toy that had been rearing to go. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be sorry. She’s adorable.”

  “Your French is really very good.” He took a step towards her and stood so close she could smell the sweetness of his breath. “And that accent of yours drives me crazy. The way you say your ‘t’s.” He moaned. “So soft.”

  She chuckled. She looked into his eyes and let herself go, irresistibly drawn to his velvet lips. She placed a hand on his chest and leaned forward and…Christine came in dragging a giant toy mouse behind her.

  Elise saw the child’s expression transform from blissful ignorance to questioning curiosity. She had to say something and fast. “Your papà has dirt in his eye. There. All gone.”

  She brushed the imaginary grit off Paul’s eyelid and got back to work, concentrating as hard as she could on her mash. She hadn’t realised how much children interrupted the flow of adult interaction—she’d heard about it but hadn’t experienced it—and yet somehow she didn’t mind. Christine was Paul’s flesh and blood, his world, his everything and that only made Elise want to know her, too. And she truly was an adorable little girl.

  Still, it would be nice once she was tucked into bed. In the meantime they’d all tuck into the delicious dinner she and Paul were preparing, the three of them sitting elbow to elbow around his unpretentious kitchen table and Elise couldn’t help but think of them as a close-knit family of three.

  If only that were true, then she’d be the happiest woman in the world.

  ******

  Paul tiptoed out of Christine’s bedroom, leaving the door open just a crack so that the light from the corridor shone through in a beam of comfort.

  “She says she’s too big for a night light but she still wakes,” he explained, sitting next to Elise on the couch with a sigh of contentment.

  “You’re such a good father.” Elise was utterly charmed by it, as if Paul hadn’t already seduced her enough.

  He slipped his hand over hers and now that Christine was asleep Elise gave in to her desire to lean against Paul’s chest and nestled up to him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the head. She didn’t want to move, could have stayed there forever. It felt so right, as if the stars had guided her to this man who was made for her.

  He buried his face in her neck and hair. “You smell like roses in the morning dew.”

  They kissed, this time without a five year old peeking at them, and it was better than ever. His lips were soft, his arms pure strength and it only took an instant for him to start the fire in her.

  He stood, scooped her up in his arms and, as she chuckled with delight as quietly as she could, he made his way to the bedroom, carrying her over the threshold as if she were his bride.

  “I thought we’d pick up where we left off.” He placed her on the bed, sitting next to her. “If you want to, of course.”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d like more in the whole world.” She unbuttoned his shirt and slid her hand against his smooth chest.

  “No buttons on this.” He slipped Elise’s top over her head with a smile. “There was a reason for Julie’s health scare after all. It was so I could get this right.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. All we have to do is be ourselves.”

  He followed the outline of her body with his fingers, touching her ever so lightly before rubbing the small of her back with his thumb. Then he lifted her thighs gently off the bed and drew her closer and his magic turned her into an open flower. She closed her eyes and heard the sound of a thousand violins and she knew that he needn’t have worried at all.

  He could only get this right.

  Chapter 23

  Elise bit her lip as she stood in front of the class. The tingling in her belly and the strange but exhilarating sense that she was truly alive had nothing to do with the certificate Madame Delapaix was about to hand her, and everything to do with the fleeting images of Paul that kept crossing her mind: Paul as he swept the hair off her cheek, Paul whose lips parted as they approached hers, Paul who lay beside her a hand on her thigh in a state of bliss the way he had most nights for the past three weeks.

  “Mademoiselle Elise Reid!”

  The snappy voice brought Elise back to reality and she realised that the teacher must have been holding out the certificate for some time. She took the piece of paper, nodding her thanks, and returned to her seat to the students’ applause.

  “And that is the last of the certificates for this term,” announced Madame Delapaix.

  “Bravo!” yelled Dominique and the witch shot her a look of reprimand.

  Elise sat with her coveted qualifications and examined the gold writing on the white and page. She thought she’d feel so thrilled about it. It was what she wanted, the very reason she’d come to France, yet it filled her with sadness.

  Dominique frowned. “What’s wrong? I thought you would be jumping up and down with joy. You can frame that on the wall of your café in Perth and charge double for everything now, right?”

  “You’re right. It’s great.”

  “All good things must come to an end. Don’t worry, I will write to you. We are traditional with some things but we do have email in France.”

  Elise forced a smile. “I know. And I’ll write back.”

  Dominique crossed her arms. “It is not me you will miss, is it?”

  Elise’s lips twisted before curling into a sincere smile. “I will miss you. Maybe not just you.”

  The teacher banged her hand on the desk. “Quiet! Are you going to be painful until the very last minute of the course?”

  Dominique shook her head and stood. “Certainly not, Madame.” She tugged at Elise’s sleeve. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Life is too short and you have somewhere much better to spend your time.”

  Before the women reached the door there was a knock on it. Madame Delapaix marched to it, pushing Elise and Dominique aside, and threw it open. Elise flinched as she recognised the all too familiar silhouette.

  “What is it?” asked Dominique.

  Elise let out a sigh of dismay. “That’s Steve, my ex.”

  “I’m looking for Elise Reid,” he said, hands on hips. “And here she is, walking straight into my arms!”

  “Please take her away forever,” grumbled old Madame Delapaix.

  Steve chuckled. “Hey! How did you guess? That’s exactly why I’m here.”

  “No chance,” said Elise crossing her arms.

  “That’s enough disruption to this class. Outside, all of you! Now!”

  Steve took a step back and the old woman shoved Elise and Dominique into the corridor, quickly
closing the door behind them.

  Elise felt her stomach muscles contract anxiously. “What the hell are you doing here, Steve?”

  “What a welcome! You used to say I never did anything romantic. I’ve come all the way to Paris for you and this is how you treat me! I even borrowed the money for my fare.”

  “I didn’t ask you to come here.”

  “What do you expect? You weren’t taking any of my phone calls. Come to papa, baby.”

  He reached for Elise’s waist but she slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch me.”

  He pretended to claw. “Miaow! I like that.”

  Dominique put her arm around Elise. “It’s perfectly clear Elise doesn’t want you.”

  Steve’s cheeks flushed with anger. “I don’t remember talking to you.”

  Elise linked her arm with Dominique’s. “Come on, Dominique. Let’s go.”

  The women made their way down the corridor, hoping that Steve would leave them alone, but he followed, still talking to Elise.

  “Hey? Hey! You look hot from behind, baby!”

  “Why did you ever go for this guy?” Dominique asked, leaning close to Elise so Steve wouldn’t hear.

  “I know it’s hard to believe but he used to have a charming side. And I was young. The worst of him’s definitely come out since I left him.”

  “I love you, Elise! Come on, do you want me to beg? We can be a great team together, sharing our love, pooling our strengths, sharing our assets…That plan I was telling you about—”

  Elise had had more than enough. She spun around. “I do not love you and that isn’t going to change. You’re only here because you were dumped again and you think getting your hands on my share of the money will make your problems go away. I don’t know what investment scheme you’ve been conned into, and you are trying to drag me into, but whether it’s a rare tree plantation or a new mine of rainbow-coloured diamonds this time there’s no money here for you, Steve. I’m opening a café so I can earn a living for myself and I’ll have to borrow a sizeable amount to add to what little money I have to start the business. I don’t have a cent to spare.”