Page 87 of Thirty Days in Paris

Nathalie clapped her hands with joy. ‘Do you think we’re in with a chance? Do you think Molly will like it?’

‘I can’t say for sure,’ said Juliet. ‘But if she doesn’t bite, there will be others. I’m going to start collating everything this week. We should have a proposal ready to send by the end of the month.’

‘That’s when you’re due to leave,’ said Nathalie. ‘The end of your thirty days. I feel bad I’ve made you work.’

‘It’s not work,’ said Juliet. ‘Not really. I’ve loved it.’

‘That’s how I feel. About the bar. What do they say, do something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life?’

‘Exactly.’

They ordered coffee and pastries from the waiter.

Nathalie tapped her fingers on the table to get Juliet’s attention.

‘I think we should do something on your last night. Maybe I can throw a party at the bar, so you can say goodbye to everyone.’

Juliet folded up Nathalie’s piece of paper and put it in her bag. She wouldn’t look her friend in the eye.

‘Maybe.’

‘You’re being a very dark horse.’

‘Maybe.’

Nathalie threw a packet of sugar at her. ‘Man, you’re annoying.’

‘Yep.’ Juliet gave the waiter a dazzling smile as he put her coffee down. ‘It’s my prerogative, as your best friend.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Nathalie. ‘I know your secret. It’s written all over your face, so it won’t be any surprise.’

Juliet gave a little shrug and sipped the foam of her cappuccino. But the decision she’d made was probably the most thrilling thing she’d ever done in her life.

It wasn’t revenge. She didn’t need revenge, she realised, because as someone once told her, revenge was behaving better. But she couldn’t pretend not to enjoy the look on Jean Louis’ face when she went back into his office. She took a taxi, because she had a lot to do and the past few days had been wearing.

‘I’d like to know,’ she told him, ‘if the apartment you showed me is still available. And if so, I’d like to buy it.’

He raised his eyebrows. She could tell he wasn’t sure if she was winding him up.

‘I have proof of funds,’ she told him. ‘And anything else you need.’

‘Well,’ he said. ‘That’s very exciting. Welcome back to Paris. I’m sure you will be very happy there.’

‘I know I will,’ she said. ‘It’s perfect for me. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.’

His face was impassive. He had aged very well, observed Juliet, still handsome and distinguished. And then he smiled, and she remembered the man she had liked so much, before it went wrong, the thoughtful husband and father and boss, and how kind he had been to her, and how he had taught her so much about wine and food and life. Everyone makes mistakes, she thought. Everyone does something once in their life that fills them with regret.

‘I’m very pleased,’ he told her. ‘And, of course, if there is anything I can do to help, in your new life in Paris, just ask me.’

Afterwards, she walked down to the river. She felt elated, almost unable to believe what she had done. It felt concomitantly reckless and logical, and she veered between feeling a bubble of hysteria and telling herself all the reasons it was a good idea.

She stood on the bridge as a stiff breeze hurtled up the river, bringing with it the promise of icy rain, but she didn’t care. She thought of all the times she had crossed over the Seine, from the Right Bank to Left and back again. That first Sunday, when Jean Louis had taken her for lunch. The day she had met Olivier for their first date, and he’d rollerbladed towards her. Cycling over it only a couple of weeks before, her heart filled with joy at being with him again.

She dug about in the inside pocket of her handbag. Her wedding ring was still there. It had been there all the time. For a moment, she was tempted to throw it into the air, watch as it spiralled downwards, spinning, spinning, until it fell into the murky green, almost the colour of water lilies. But something stopped her. She wasn’t walking away from a marriage she wanted to forget. She didn’t need to throw the ring away as a symbol of her freedom. Her time with Stuart was part of who she was, and she valued it. She would always remember it with fondness. So she tucked the ring back in her bag, thinking she could give it to Izzy, who might even use it for herself one day. Repurposing old jewellery was all the rage, and the ring would bring her luck. If Izzy had a marriage even half as good as theirs had been, she would be all right.

As Juliet turned to walk back up towards the Louvre, her phone rang. Jean Louis’ office. Her stomach swooped. She prayed he wasn’t going to tell her the purchase was off.

‘Hello?’

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