Page 48 of Thirty Days in Paris

He waited until Charlotte and Hugo were eating their fromage frais, then came to stand near me. I felt myself redden with panic. My hands were shaking as I brushed away the breadcrumbs. He spoke in a low voice so the children couldn’t hear. In English, so they couldn’t understand – they were picking up more and more from me, but not enough to comprehend an adult conversation.

‘Juliet. I must apologise to you.’

I plunged my hands into the hot water in the sink, keeping my head down. I couldn’t look at him.

‘I behaved very badly,’ he went on.

‘It was my fault,’ I stuttered. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Non.’ His tone was forceful. The children looked up in alarm. ‘It’s OK,’ he said to them. ‘Finissez!’ He pointed at their plates with a smile, then turned back to me. ‘I have no excuse,’ he said, sotto voce. ‘For a moment, I was mad. Too much wine maybe, but that is no excuse. Please forgive me.’

I looked up, managing to meet his gaze. He looked mortified.

‘I don’t know what I was thinking,’ I said.

‘You must not blame yourself.’ He frowned. ‘Please forgive me and please pretend that nothing happened. All that matters is that you are happy here.’

I set the plates I was washing carefully on the draining board. I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure he should take the blame, for it was me who had stepped over the line, but for the time being it seemed the easiest way out of the predicament.

‘You will stay, won’t you?’ His tone was urgent.

‘Of course.’

He shut his eyes for a moment, clearly overwhelmed with the relief.

‘It will never happen again,’ he said. ‘I promise. And thank you. The children love you so much. And Corinne too …’

‘Corinne?’

‘She sees you like a daughter.’

I was surprised. I didn’t think she viewed me as much more than an extra pair of hands. Yes, she had moments of kindness, and she’d definitely been trying to win me round earlier today, but I didn’t think she cared that much. Nevertheless, I felt sick at what I’d done. What effect would it have on her, if she knew how I’d thrown myself at her husband? Imagine if she had walked in and seen our little display? I felt queasy again.

I pulled the plug out of the sink and watched the water start to drain.

‘OK. Let’s pretend nothing happened,’ I said to him with a bright smile, sounding more Mary Poppins than ever.

He nodded. ‘Thank you.’ I had never heard so much gratitude in someone’s voice.

As I started to dry the dishes, I felt calmer, the torture I’d been putting myself through fading. We were both grown-up enough to put what had happened behind us. What a relief, I thought, shuddering to think how things could have ended had we not kept our heads.

We’d put everything behind us and all would be well.

The next morning, I had dropped Hugo and Charlotte at school. I was going to go back to the house and tidy the kitchen, then distract myself by heading to one of the big art galleries. I had loved art at school and had always wanted to see Monet’s lilies. I was determined to educate myself first-hand and get some culture. Not be the sort of person who only knew great works of art from the postcards stuck on their bedroom wall.

I was about to push on the door into the courtyard when someone came up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder.

‘Juliet.’

I jumped. A residue of guilt still clung to me and I was braced for confrontation. I turned and looked straight into the stricken face of Olivier. He looked terrible, as if he hadn’t slept.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I had to come and find you. I couldn’t just let it go. I need to understand. Why?’

I stared at him. ‘Why?’

He put his hands up. ‘Where were you?’

‘Where were you?’ I asked. ‘I waited. Until nearly nine o’clock.’

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