Page 28 of Thirty Days in Paris

‘I’m meeting my oldest friend. We haven’t seen each other for over thirty years.’

Melissa looked astonished. ‘Thirty years?’

Juliet realised Melissa probably wasn’t even thirty herself. ‘It feels like five minutes.’

‘You’ll have a lot to catch up on. Hey, listen, if you’re free tomorrow evening, why don’t you come for a drink? We’re having a few people round.’

‘That would be lovely.’ Juliet was delighted by the invitation.

‘It’s nice to have someone next door who’s here for a while. Usually, people stay for a week at the most.’

‘That’s very kind of you. Can I bring anything?’

‘Oh no. Just yourself.’ Melissa looked pleased too. ‘Around seven?’

‘I’ll see you then.’

Wedged into the point where two streets converged, Pink Mama was, as its name suggested, spectacularly pink, with lush greenery spilling out of the windowsills and down the facade. Inside, a mismatched display of pictures and mirrors and plants were crammed onto the walls and floors in a blowsy and unashamed show of maximalism. Juliet loved it on sight for its lack of restraint and joie de vivre.

She wished more than anything that Izzy was here with her. It was just the sort of place she would love. As soon as she was back from South America, they would come here, to Paris. Izzy was a committed tourist and loved a souvenir – Juliet could already imagine her buying an Eiffel Tower key ring and a striped Breton top and a beret and begging to take a river trip along the Seine.

In that moment, Juliet suddenly missed her daughter’s energy and her wide-eyed love of everything life had to offer. When she was flagging, Izzy always lifted her spirits with her glass-half-full attitude. Juliet was pretty optimistic, but Izzy made everyone else look like Eeyore. This place was like her daughter come to life: youthful and exuberant, it brought a smile to everyone’s face as they walked in.

She made her way to the top floor, where the walls and roof were entirely made of glass, ivy-clad lanterns swinging from the rafters. Nathalie waved at her, a bottle of rosé already open. She jumped up, chic in a white tweed jacket and very wide palazzo pants, the glamorous antithesis of her working self.

‘You do not want to know what I had to do to get a table here,’ she laughed.

‘I love it,’ said Juliet. ‘It’s the prettiest restaurant I’ve ever been in. And look at you!’ She touched the white camellia on her lapel. ‘Très Coco Chanel.’

‘It’s my rebellion against always wearing black in the bar.’

Juliet made a face, indicating her own outfit. ‘I need your top shopping tips. I’ve got a whole bucket list of stuff I want. I threw out nearly all my wardrobe when we emptied the house. I want to start again.’

‘You don’t need to ask twice. Think of me as your personal shopping queen.’

‘Does your aunt still have her shop?’ Gigi must be old by now. Eighty perhaps?

Nathalie sighed. ‘I’m afraid Gigi passed away a few years ago. She was the reason I was able to open the bar. She left everything to me.’

Juliet touched her arm. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘She meant the world to me. But she would be so proud of what I have done. The song I named it after – she had that at her funeral. She was so into her jazz. Still going to festivals six months before she passed.’

The two of them sat down. Juliet had a full view of the sun-drenched room, with its wooden floor and the view out over the street, and the turquoise bar at the end.

Nathalie filled her glass and proposed a toast.

‘To renewed friendships. I have a feeling we are going to be very good for each other. And I think you’ve come back into my life for a reason.’

‘Oh?’

Nathalie made a tentative face. ‘I’ve got a proposition. Stop me right away if I’m being presumptuous – there is nothing more annoying than someone who thinks they have a great idea when actually it’s terrible – but …’ She trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

‘Go on.’

‘It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. And a few people have suggested it. I haven’t done anything about it because I wouldn’t have a clue where to start. Which is where you come in.’

Juliet reached out and put her hand over Nathalie’s. ‘I think I know what you’re going to say.’ She smiled. ‘A book. You want to write a book.’

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