Page 86 of Thirty Days in Paris

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, contemplating this subtle shift.

‘It’s funny, though,’ said Stuart. ‘This second-time-around malarkey. You kind of think they know stuff about you, but, of course, they don’t have a clue about all those little details that make you who you are.’

‘I guess that’s part of the fun. Discovering.’

‘I suppose so.’

One of their phones beeped and they both jumped.

‘That’s mine,’ said Stuart and picked his up. Juliet watched his face as he read his text, saw him smile and then answer. Her phone stayed balefully silent.

And then it beeped too.

She reached out a hand, casually, as if she didn’t care. Even though whatever it said meant more than anything in the world.

I’m so glad he is OK. Missing you very much. O x

She put it back down on the table with a sigh. Stuart was looking over at her.

‘For God’s sake, just book yourself a ticket for tomorrow,’ he said. ‘You can be back in Paris by lunchtime.’

41

Just before midday the next day, Juliet headed straight from her train into the Café Deux Gares, a few minutes’ walk from the Gare du Nord. She looked around at the tortoiseshell ceiling and the striking bold stripes on the banquette seating and breathed a sigh of relief. She was back, in Paris, where everything was just so and impossibly chic and everywhere you went there was something exciting to look at: a new idea, or a new take on an old idea. This was art deco a hundred years on, and she loved it.

She spotted Nathalie in the far corner and made her way over.

‘I’m so glad you’re back,’ said Nathalie as Juliet sat down in the seat opposite. ‘I had an awful feeling that was going to be it. That history was going to repeat itself.’

‘Me too. But only for a while. I mean, if it had been more serious, I would have stayed longer. Though there was a moment I had a bit of a wobble and thought we were mad to be apart. I mean, twenty-five years is a long time. You don’t just throw it away on a whim. But it’s kind of confirmed we’ve done the right thing. We’ll always be there for each other, but we have our own lives now.’

‘Good.’ Nathalie nodded. ‘Because you can’t put Olivier through that again. The disappearing act.’

‘No.’

‘Does he know you’re back?’

‘Not just yet.’ Juliet signalled to the waiter. ‘There’s a couple of things I want to organise first.’

‘Oh?’ Nathalie looked at her friend over the top of the outsized glasses she’d put on to read the menu.

Juliet gave an enigmatic smile. ‘You’ll be the first to know.’

‘What – even before him?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Anyway,’ said Nathalie. ‘Totally selfishly, I’m glad you’re here, because I started writing the introduction. It all came tumbling out – how I passed that empty building and had my vision. And how I heard that song – “She Cried Champagne” – and it all fell into place. I hope you’re going to be able to make sense of it.’

‘That’s literally my job.’

Nathalie pushed a piece of paper over to her.

‘Be brutal. I can take it.’

Juliet began to read, and as she did, she felt excitement deep in her belly, the feeling she had when she knew something was going to strike a chord. Molly was going to love Nathalie’s writing. It was bold and funny and passionate. The book was going to be the kind of empowering read that would inspire women everywhere.

‘You’re a natural,’ she told Nathalie. ‘This is so vivid. It’s as if I’m with you when I’m reading it.’

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