Page 34 of Thirty Days in Paris

‘He’ll have some stunning millennial girlfriend. He won’t be interested in me.’

Nathalie sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, scowling. ‘I didn’t have you down as a coward. I’m disappointed.’

‘I’m not a coward. I’m just realistic. It’s better to leave the past where it is.’

‘Well, I’ll go and find him, then. Tell him you’re here. Then he can decide if he wants to get in touch.’

‘No!’ Juliet panicked at the thought; she knew Nathalie wasn’t joking. That she would make it her mission. The only way to stop that juggernaut was to agree. ‘OK. I’ll think about it.’

‘Just call into the shop and say hello. Casually.’ Nathalie laughed. ‘Buy a book. Then take it from there. You’ll know, straight away.’

The idea that she could walk into his bookshop and he might be there was overwhelming.

‘I can’t!’

Nathalie gave an impatient huff. ‘What have you got to lose?’

‘My dignity?’ She couldn’t bear the possibility of a look of horror on his face.

Nathalie gave her a stern stare. ‘Don’t be a pussy.’

‘I need to think about it. And figure out, you know, the right outfit.’

‘No, no, no – if you think about it, you’ll never do it. And you look perfect. Trust me, you won’t find anything better. Just muss your hair up a little.’ Nathalie reached out and tousled her bob. ‘Touch up your lipstick, then kiss the back of your hand to tone it down. Maybe one more button undone? Work it, baby.’

It was as if they were twenty again, Nathalie directing her, urging her on.

Juliet felt a pulse start up inside her she hadn’t felt for a long time. It spread a ripple of warmth into the very core of her; a secret thrill. Images of bare skin on bare skin flashed into her mind. She pressed her legs together in an attempt to be chaste, but her thoughts wandered to places they hadn’t been for a long time.

‘Are you OK?’ asked Nathalie. ‘Do you want some water?’

‘I’m fine,’ said Juliet, trying not to laugh. ‘Shall we get the bill?’

She needed to be alone with her thoughts, and the newfound discovery that Olivier was not so very far away. Of course she was going to go and find him, but she needed to go at her own pace, not Nathalie’s bull-in-a-china-shop full-speed-ahead gallop.

In the bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror and tried to see herself through Olivier’s eyes. Would he recognise her, after all this time? Would he forgive her, for what she had done? She got out her red lipstick and applied it, a little hesitant, then did as Nathalie had directed and kissed the back of her hand. She stared at the imprint on her skin for a moment, then washed her hands.

If she didn’t go now, she never would.

She ran down the stairs of the restaurant and began to walk towards the 10th. Would it feel the same? The chemistry between them? That syrupy, narcotic pull she had never felt with anyone else? She was going to find out, at last. The moment she had dreamed of so many times was about to become a reality.

18

The Ingénue

Can there be anything more intense, more perfect than being plunged into a Parisian love affair?

It’s as if the city sets couples up for her own amusement, matching the people she feels are right for each other, making sure they stumble across one another, somehow, somewhere, in her cobbled streets, and then sets them loose to gaze at each other, to hold hands, to share long, lingering kisses that are the envy of anyone passing. Players on her stage, against a magical backdrop.

Olivier and I parted outside the Beauboises’ house at two o’clock that morning.

‘Can we meet tomorrow?’ he asked, sparing me the agony of wondering all night if he would want to see me again.

‘Oui,’ I said, without hesitating, forgetting to play it cool. I didn’t see the point. I wasn’t going to pretend.

‘I can show you more of Paris.’ He looked down at my boots. ‘You have more comfortable shoes?’

I laughed. ‘I do.’ I had almost forgotten how much my feet were hurting.

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