Page 47 of Thirty Days in Paris

‘It is up to us,’ he said. ‘To make new beginnings.’

She wiped away another tear, nodding, trying not to read too much into what he was saying. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, wondering if he felt as close to her as she felt to him, as if they could rewind and go back, to the time when they had meant the world to each other, when every second together had been pure joy.

For a moment, she thought he might lean in to kiss her. It was the perfect opportunity, high up above the city, for him to take her in his arms. She stopped breathing, waiting, hoping, too scared to make the first move.

Then he turned away to look back out at the view and the moment was gone.

24

The Ingénue

I spent all day between blissful sleep and wretched wakefulness, until five o’clock came around. The Beauboises needed me on a Sunday night more than any other night, for it marked the change between downtime and routine, and it was my job to make sure everything was ready for the week ahead and to get the children into bed early. It wasn’t in me to let Corinne down as I knew she found this time of day the hardest, so I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

During the endless hours of self-flagellation, I had come to the conclusion that running away was not the answer. I would not let what had happened shatter my dreams. One thing I did know: I was still in love with Paris. I didn’t want to leave. I still had so much to discover. I had begun to feel confident in this beautiful city, to speak her language, to adapt to her ways. Fleeing back to Worcester was the coward’s way: if I did that, I would revert back to my old self, any dream of being chic and sophisticated evaporating.

And I didn’t want to leave Nathalie. She was the first person I had met in my life who made me the best version of myself. With a friend like her, I could do anything. I knew that she would be there to help me cope with losing Olivier, that she would help me deal with the crushing disappointment I was feeling and give me hope. She would shore me up and rebuild my confidence.

I was going to stay, for now.

I felt nervous about facing Jean Louis, though. I couldn’t be sure what his reaction to me would be. I decided I would be my usual self and pretend nothing had happened. I would keep out of his way as much as I could to avoid any awkwardness and make sure I was never alone with him. I couldn’t think of another way of handling it. With any luck, he would do the same. I felt ashamed of what I – we – had done, but I knew I couldn’t undo it. I wasn’t going to blame anything or anyone but myself, but I had learned a lesson: self-pity and Sauternes were a deadly combination.

Charlotte and Hugo came running to me when I walked into the kitchen.

‘Juliet! Juliet!’ they cried, tugging at me.

Corinne smiled over at us. ‘I never get such a greeting.’

I smiled, awkward, for it was true. They never seemed to clamour for her attention the way they did for mine. I guessed it was because I was a novelty.

‘Go and wash your hands,’ I told them, and I began to make jambon-beurre for their tea.

Corinne looked at me appraisingly.

‘You look much better.’ She nodded her approval. ‘You slept most of the day?’

‘Yes. Thank you. I feel fine now.’

‘And you are more happy?’

I wasn’t sure I’d ever be happy again. ‘I guess.’ I busied myself washing some tomatoes.

‘Bravo,’ said Corinne. ‘You do not need a bad French boy. They will never make you content.’

‘C’est vrai,’ I agreed.

I looked up to see Jean Louis standing in the doorway.

‘Bonne soirée, Juliet.’ His smile was tentative.

‘Bonne soirée.’ I smiled back at him, not missing a beat as I turned away to cut more bread.

Thankfully, Charlotte and Hugo rushed back in at that point and sat down at the tiny kitchen table. I sat down to eat with the children. I couldn’t face eating with Corinne and Jean Louis tonight. From now on, I would keep my distance and be professional. Au pair might technically mean being an equal, but I needed to be one step away and not consider myself on a par with them.

I hoped Jean Louis felt the same and would keep out of my way, and eventually we could just pretend it had never happened. But he stayed in the kitchen until Corinne decided to go and give Arthur his bath. I was tipping out little pots of Petits Filous onto the children’s plates, ready to be sprinkled with sugar. He was pouring himself a glass of wine. He held up the bottle to me.

‘Un verre?’

I shook my head. I couldn’t face wine. I didn’t trust what it did to me.

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