Page 67 of Thirty Days in Paris

‘You ruined my life. You took away everything that meant something. I lost my friends, my job, the love of my life, my future, my confidence …’ She must not cry. ‘You sat there, next to Corinne, knowing you could have saved me.’

She would not cry, even though she felt as if she was on that sofa, the two Beauboises staring at her, about to sentence her. She remembered how helpless she had felt, even though she was innocent. She locked eyes with Jean Louis, staring at him, remembering how he had avoided looking at her. She wasn’t going to let him get away with it now.

She took in a deep breath and drew herself up. ‘But I was OK, because there are good people in the world. Good people who protected me and built me up again and restored my faith. And now I’m strong enough to come back and look you in the face and tell you what a coward you were.’

His fists were in a ball and his jaw was clenched and, for a moment, she felt afraid he might turn on her. But, to her surprise, he crumpled in front of her eyes.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I tried to forget what I had done to you. I told myself you were young and smart and beautiful and you would be OK. But when Charlotte grew up into a young woman, it hit me. I would have killed any man who did that to her.’ He shut his eyes, pressing his fingers over his lids as if to blindfold himself from the memories. ‘What do you want from me?’ he asked finally.

‘I don’t want anything,’ she replied. ‘I’ve said everything I need to. I can’t change the past. But I needed to lay some ghosts so I can have the future I want. It’s taken me this long to come back to Paris, to the city I fell in love with, because I couldn’t bear the memories.’

‘I am truly sorry.’ He looked up. ‘I thought of you often. I would have sent you money, but—’

‘Money?’ Juliet shook her head. ‘Money would have made no difference.’

There was silence for a moment. They stood, heads bowed as if in prayer, letting the wrongdoings of the past settle. Eventually, Juliet looked up.

‘I saw Corinne,’ she said. ‘In your office.’

He nodded. ‘It was thanks to you,’ he said. ‘That she got better. After you left, I made her go to the doctor. She was very ill, and it was you who saw that. You brought her back to me, the woman I loved.’ He sighed. ‘Still love.’ He looked at her. ‘Tell me – what happened to you. You seem happy. Strong. You look beautiful …’

Juliet held her head a little higher and put her shoulders back. She felt a gentle calm descend as something deep inside her unknotted itself. She was surprised to find that she was glad that Jean Louis and Corinne were still together, for it made what had happened worth it. If their marriage had crumbled, it would all have been for nothing.

She didn’t want to tell Jean Louis about her life. She didn’t want him any closer than he was now. All that mattered was that she didn’t have to live in the shadow of what had happened, the guilt mixed with regret and anger and despair, hating herself for her weakness, both of them for what they had done, and then not having the courage to defend herself. She had faced up to him, and suddenly, he was nothing.

She looked at her watch. ‘I only have half an hour. Would you show me the apartment?’

Her voice was crisp. It was clear this was now business. He understood the segue. That conversation was over.

‘Of course. This is a very special apartment – we don’t get them like this very often, in such a good location. It has been restored to the best specification. The underfloor heating, the recessed lighting, all the internet and wireless speakers.’

He had switched, seamlessly, from deep emotion to business mode. Juliet could only imagine his relief, that she hadn’t been bent on some hideous revenge, Fatal Attraction-style. It had never been about revenge. It had been about her self-respect.

As they moved through the apartment, Juliet had to admire how cleverly it had been done. All the mod cons hidden behind the period features. She imagined Corinne directing the renovation, demanding perfection. Would it be completely insane, to buy a flat here? After all, she felt more at home here than she had in London for a long time. Paris inspired her. It made her want to cook, eat, write, dance, love, laugh …

There was nothing wrong with looking.

33

Nathalie greeted her with strong coffee and a plum and almond cake she was recipe testing for the bar. She cut a huge slice and served it to Juliet with a spoonful of crème fraîche as she described her confrontation with Jean Louis.

‘It’s funny. It felt a bit like that scene in the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy pulls back the curtain and finds the little old man there. As soon as I confronted him, it stopped mattering. All the bad feelings melted away.’

They were sitting at the dining table by the French window in Nathalie’s apartment. Nathalie’s décor was restrained decadence: a leopard-skin chaise longue, art deco mirrors mixed in with iconic black-and-white photos, white high-gloss floorboards, potted palms and a whole wall of recipe books. Hundreds.

Outside, through the wrought iron of the balcony railings, fat grey pigeons danced among the chimney pots and a hotchpotch of roofs led all the way to the Sacré Coeur. It was the classic Parisian view, a different story in each dormer window – who lay under the eaves, sleeping, dreaming, waking up, making love?

‘You took control. Like they say, you owned it.’ Nathalie’s eyes narrowed. ‘But you were too kind to him. You should have made him suffer a bit more.’

‘There was no point. I had a moment of fun when he recognised me and wasn’t too sure what was going to happen.’ Juliet could laugh about it now.

‘It wasn’t supposed to be fun.’ Nathalie scowled. ‘I was there. I saw the damage he did. I lost a wonderful friend, and Olivier lost the love of his life …’ She frowned. ‘Have you heard from him yet?’

‘No.’ Juliet looked down at her phone. Every time she checked to see if she’d got a message from him, her disappointment grew less. Maybe she was getting used to the idea that she wouldn’t have Olivier back in her life? At least she’d been able to let him know the truth. It had been a nice fantasy. But perhaps a little too optimistic. ‘You know the best thing to come out of this?’

‘No?’

‘I’ve got my friendship with you back.’

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