Page 25 of Thirty Days in Paris

A judicious finger wag usually stopped the big two in their tracks if they were being naughty. They wanted to behave, but the arrival of Arthur had turned their world upside down somewhat, and they were always pushing, looking for attention from their mum. Unfortunately, they got the wrong sort when they played up, and often everyone ended up in tears.

‘Still, it is not easy for her.’ Jean Louis paused for a moment, choosing his words, not wanting to be disloyal, perhaps. ‘Corinne has always been a career woman. She’s very talented.’ He waved his hand around the room. ‘This is all her.’

The room really was like something out of a magazine. Nothing matched, yet everything went together. I couldn’t imagine having the courage to mix the things she had: a yellow sofa with black-and-white-striped silk cushions; modern art next to old-fashioned oil paintings; huge flower arrangements in oriental vases. If I’d done it, it would just look a mess.

‘She’s really good.’

‘Yes. But interior design is hard and the clients are demanding. I don’t think she is ready to go back to work.’

‘But if she wants to … ?’

‘Yes, I know.’ He looked troubled, though. ‘I don’t want her to risk her reputation. It is a fickle business. Word gets around.’

I hadn’t thought of that. I could only imagine the cut-throat competitiveness of the Parisian interior design scene.

‘I guess you need to be tough.’

‘You do. And Corinne is very vulnerable, though she won’t admit it. Arthur was a difficult birth. The first few months were very hard. He did not sleep.’

‘He does now.’ Arthur had settled down for me tonight without a murmur, all squidgy and warm in his little romper suit.

‘Yes. Now. But she is still very tired. I am worried.’ He paused. ‘Would you keep an eye on her for me? If something troubles you …’

‘Of course.’

I was touched by his concern. But he was right to be worried. Corinne was on edge a lot of the time: she was jumpy, and her clothes might be immaculate, but her nails were bitten to the quick. She didn’t eat much, just drank a lot of black coffee and smoked a lot of cigarettes.

‘Thank you. Now we have you, maybe it will all be OK.’ He raised his glass to me. ‘You have changed our lives.’

I squirmed a bit, overwhelmed, not used to being appreciated. We didn’t really do compliments in my family.

‘I love being here,’ I told him. ‘I love Paris. I love the children and your home.’

‘If there is anything wrong ever, please say.’ His eyes were burning pretty intensely. I could see flecks of copper in them, glinting in the lamplight. ‘I’d do anything to keep you.’

‘Everything’s fine,’ I assured him. ‘I’m very happy. Très, très heureuse.’

My words were heartfelt. In just a few days, I had experienced more than I ever had in Worcester. I was speaking French, not quite like a native, but I was making myself understood. Every morsel of food was out of this world, from the morning croissant to the last nibble of cheese. I’d got clothes that made me feel like I’d stepped out of French Vogue. And tomorrow I was going out with Nathalie. My stomach flipped at the possibilities that might bring.

I would stay here forever if I could.

15

Juliet was jolted out of her sleep by her phone ringing the next morning. She peered at the screen: Stuart. Immediately, she thought something must have happened to one of the children, so she grabbed it. It was a knee-jerk reaction, from over twenty years of mothering, to assume a crisis. ‘Hello?’

‘Hey.’ His voice was relaxed, so she fell back on the pillows, relieved. After so many years together, she could tell straight away if something was wrong or not. ‘Just thought I’d see how things are going in gay Paree?’

She flipped her phone onto speaker so she could look at the time. Eight-thirty. Damn. She was going to miss her morning run because she wanted to go to the market early. She couldn’t admit that to Stuart, she thought, smiling. He would crow if he thought she was getting into running. But there was a big difference between looking after yourself and becoming obsessed.

‘Oh, that’s nice. Um … good.’ Her voice sounded husky with sleep.

‘Have I woken you up?’ He knew her so well.

She cleared her throat, feeling guilty at being caught out. Then realised she had no reason to feel guilty, or lie about the fact she was still in bed. ‘Yes. I pulled a nuit blanche.’

‘Eh?’

‘French for an all-nighter. Well, nearly an all-nighter. I got to bed at three o’clock.’

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