Page 70 of Thirty Days in Paris

‘And there’s no one else?’

‘Lots of nearlys. But somehow I don’t have the heart for anything serious. And I relish my freedom. I live between Paris and London. Being unattached makes it easier.’

‘Easier to chat up women on the train?’ She was teasing.

‘You looked interesting. I wanted to know what you were writing.’

‘Ha!’ She thought about the envelope with her story inside. ‘I was trying to get something out of my system, that’s all.’

‘So did it work?’

She looked down at the amber depths of her drink. Was Olivier out of her system? She didn’t know. She looked at Paul. He was very appealing, in a clean-cut, silver-fox kind of way. He had a good sense of humour and seemed refreshingly honest. And he’d been nothing but kind to her all evening.

‘I guess so.’

Maybe Paul was the answer? Not long-term. He’d said himself he didn’t want anything serious. She could tell he found her attractive, by the sparkle in his eyes, the teasing tone in his voice that had a certain warmth. What would Nathalie do? she wondered. Devour him, probably, she thought with a smile. Send him away with his head spinning.

‘So what now?’ He swirled the last drops of his drink, then threw it back and put the glass down on the table.

‘Now now?’

‘Yeah.’ He held her gaze. ‘Another drink. Or … ?’ He nodded towards the door. She felt a pulse inside her, thrumming like a bass note. The invitation was pretty clear. They were two hundred yards from her apartment. In ten minutes, she could be pulling her sweater over her head, letting him see her body, praying the light from the chandelier was kind to her, feeling the touch of unfamiliar fingers on her skin.

She swallowed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think I’m ready.’

There was only a small pause.

‘I totally understand,’ he said. ‘I just want to say, I’ve really enjoyed your company. But there’s something you should know.’ He leaned forward. ‘Whoever he is …’ He paused for a moment, choosing his words. ‘He’s not out of your system.’

She looked at him, startled, as he put a fifty-euro note down on the table and stood up.

‘Keep in touch, Juliet. You know where I am.’ He kissed the first two fingers of his right hand and held them out to her. And then he walked away, out of the bar, and the door closed behind him.

The barman came over and discreetly took his glass away. ‘Un autre?’

She sat back in the comfort of the velvet chair. She knew happiness wasn’t found at the bottom of a glass, but sometimes you needed something to blur the edges. And she thought she preferred the buzz in here to the emptiness of her apartment, just for now.

‘Pourquoi pas?’

He winked at her. ‘Why not?’

She watched as he walked back to the bar. She felt a text buzz through the leather of her bag. She felt the Pavlovian leap of hope and hated herself for it. She wanted to sit on her hands to stop her from grabbing the phone. If she was going to enjoy her drink, she had to put herself out of her misery.

It was from Nathalie, asking how her evening had gone.

Very nice. Just on my way home. Alone!

She knew that was the detail her friend wanted.

Juliet sighed and dropped the phone back in her bag. Took the cool, frosted glass from the barman. Let the Campari-soaked whisky roll around on her tongue. Prayed she looked like a sophisticated woman of the world enjoying a nightcap and not a tragic figure drowning her sorrows in the corner. Remembered the lyrics of Melody Gardot, singing ‘Baby I’m a Fool’. Resisted the urge to text Olivier, even though every atom in her body was urging her to.

35

Juliet ran twice around the Tuileries the next morning. She had to force herself to get out of bed. It would have been too easy to stay under the duvet and wallow. She felt brittle and fragile and vulnerable. Filled with unanswered questions and uncertainty. She had texted Paul first thing, to say thank you for a lovely evening and for being so kind and understanding. He hadn’t replied yet and she wondered if she was being ghosted, if despite his apparent chivalry he hadn’t taken kindly to her rejection. She wanted to text Stuart to see how his date had gone, but part of her didn’t want to know. So a mood-boosting jog seemed the best way to shake herself out of her low mood.

She got back at eleven and sat down at her laptop to check her messages before she clambered into the bath. There was an email from Molly.

Hi Juliet, this sounds right up my rue! I’m looking for books with a strong, adventurous female at their heart, and Nathalie looks like a total inspiration. What I’d need from you is a fairly detailed proposal. Would you be able to have it for me before Christmas? I know that’s tight, but I like to strike while the iron’s hot when something grabs me. Let me know. Molly x

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