Page 91 of Lessons in Life

‘Oh, really? Oh, well, if you were able to take a great big jumbo across to Australia…’ Lisa glanced across at Kamran for confirmation ‘…then a little two-seater across to Paris must be chicken feed for you?’

‘Well, they are very different.’ Kamran’s hands, on the steering wheel of the Evoque, were strong, dependable, in control and Lisa began to relax. ‘And actually, the plane we have at the moment is a four-seater.’

‘So, I’m assuming we’ll be strapped into some sort of parachute? You know, just in case?’

‘Er, ’fraid not.’ Kamran smiled.

‘No?’ Lisa exhaled. ‘Lola said there would be.’

‘Lola?’

‘My ten-year-old granddaughter.’

‘If it makes you feel any better, the plane itself does have a sort of parachute.’

‘Really? Goodness.’ That did make her feel – marginally – better. ‘How long’s the flight?’

‘If we can get a good take-off slot, we should be able to land at Orly airport before 6p.m. and then it’s just 25K or so inle taxito Montmartre. A lovely meal at the restaurant and then I’ll have you safely back on English soil in the early hours. We’re lucky, it’s perfect flying weather – it’s not often we can get up in January.’

‘So, what happens if the weather suddenly changes and we’re buffeted about on clouds?’ Lisa hugged the car’s seat belt. ‘Or it starts snowing…’

‘It’s cold and clear – but not so cold that the wings will ice up and drop off.’

‘Oh, thanks for that.’ Lisa wished she were back on the sofa with Roger Rabbit, watching a catch-up ofCoronation Street.

‘I’m sorry, that was just me teasing.’ Kamran smiled across at her. ‘I promise you, Lisa, I wouldn’t be setting off myself if I thought there was any danger. Really. Just relax.’

Twenty minutes later they’d parked the car, walked over to a rather snazzy little plane (‘a Cirrus SR 22T’, Lisa would later report back to the girls) and Kamran was doing the checks in preparation for take-off.

* * *

‘You OK?’ Kamran executed what, even with her eyes closed in terror, Lisa could tell was a perfectly smooth take-off from the tiny airfield. Nothing like the smaller version of the tarmac runway at Manchester airport she’d been expecting. The order from the disembodied woman instructing:‘Pull up, pull up, terrain, terrain’had her actually clutching onto Kamran’s arm, but he simply smiled, saying, ‘Sorry, should have warned you she always says that,’ before patting her arm in response. She opened one eye. ‘I need to concentrate,’ he said, ‘so just plug yourself into some music—’ he handed over headphones ‘—and enjoy the flight. Once we get to the restaurant, I want to find out everything about you, Lisa.’

He smiled again and Lisa had a sudden need to lean over and touch his face; trace the contour of his cheek, his mouth. She sat on her hands and as he turned back to the wheel – joystick thingy? – Lisa turned slightly in his direction. From under not fully closed eyes, she took in the rest of the man: tall, but not excessively so, slim, toned (from exercise in whatever form with the pink-leotarded beauty at the gym?) and really quite stunning.

Did finding out about her mean he was interested in her? Or was this a ruse to find out what Fabian’s plans were for the white house?

‘When does the duty free come round?’ Lisa smiled weakly. ‘I’m out of gin at home.’

* * *

Two hours later, and after an experience she’d now decided she’d be happy to repeat on the return journey, Lisa felt her ears pop as Kamran made his descent onto the private tarmac at Orly airport. Fifteen minutes later, they’d made their way through Customs and were inle taxi.

Heading into Montmartre, it soon became obvious to Lisa that Kamran knew the area well and loved the place, waxing lyrical about the buildings and restaurants but particularly its artists. ‘It became a place of refuge for artists such as Van Gogh, Picasso and Dali,’ he explained. ‘And nowadays, the Bohemian neighbourhood is one of the most-visited areas in Paris and home to some of the best restaurants in the capital.’

‘You’re obviously knowledgeable about both art and food.’ Lisa smiled, staring out at the early evening night life.

‘I love both. And Montmartre is one of my favourite places in the whole world.’ He pointed a finger. ‘The Chevalier de la Barre, and the Sacré-Coeur. The Square Nadar offers a great resting place after climbing up those hundreds of steps… and a great view of the Eiffel Tower. There you go, just visible now, see? We couldn’t have picked a better evening.’

‘So, whose restaurant is it we’re going to? In Montmartre?’ Lisa turned back from the window where she’d been taking in the famous landmarks.

‘My cousin Khadija’s. She’s married to a Parisian; lived here for years. It’s their second place: this one is French Asian fusion, reflecting both their heritages… Hang on, we’re here, I think. Yes, this is it.’

There were a good twenty minutes of welcome: introductions all round and handshaking as well as Gallic kissing on both cheeks followed by a tour of the restaurant and the kitchens. Here, many chefs, all dressed in black, heads down and working shoulder to shoulder, were fully occupied with food preparation.

‘I’ve seated you here, Kamran.’ Khadija smiled, leading them back into the restaurant itself. ‘Best table in the house. We need to show you what we can do if Zain is going to have any chance with you back in Yorkshire.’

‘Who’s Zain?’ Lisa asked, once Khadija had moved off to welcome more guests.

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