Page 20 of Midnight in Paris

‘“He”?’

‘Ah, it is always a “he”,’ said the woman. ‘All they want these days is red lips, come-to-bed eyes. They cannot stomach a woman who looks intelligent, interesting.’

Sophie laughed. ‘I’ll pass it on,’ she said, glancing sideways at Tom.

They were silent for a minute. Around them the crowd of tourists ebbed and flowed, always at least twenty of them packed in to view the tiny painting.

‘I do think she’s beautiful, for the record,’ Sophie added, turning to the woman again. ‘But it’s something else about her that makes me keep coming back. I think… she looks kind of wise. Like she knows something.’

The woman nodded. ‘I’m sure it is true.’

Tom chuckled quietly in her ear. ‘She looks kind of wise,’ he joked.

‘Well, she does! Like she can look right through me.’

She felt the buzz of her mobile in her pocket and put her hand to it, knowing without looking that it would be a text message from Will, asking how it was going, whether she was OK. She’d ring him later when things were quieter. She couldn’t be the person who broke the rules and started talking loudly in an art gallery.

She saw Tom looking at her. ‘Will?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Sorry,’ she said, not really knowing why.

‘I want to ask you something,’ she said quietly later over a glass of rosé at an outdoor cafe.

He leant back, his eyes amused, looking at her steadily. ‘Fire away.’

‘Did I ruin it?’ she asked, amazed that she’d finally got the words out.

‘Ruin what?’

She took a deep breath, not sure whether he was being kind or whether he genuinely didn’t know what she meant. ‘Ruin us.’

He shook his head softly. ‘You couldn’t.’

‘But I wasted all that time being… well, fucking miserable, for want of a better word. The baby stuff.’

‘You weren’t that bad.’

‘I was! And I made you miserable too!’

Another shake of the head. ‘You didn’t, Soph. And even if you had, it wasn’t your fault.’

‘I didn’t know. If I’d known…’

‘Neither of us knew.’

She swilled the wine in her glass. ‘Kind of feels like it was my fault.’

‘All of it?’

‘Some of it at least. I was so focused on myself, I didn’t noticeyou. And maybe if I had…’ She took an enormous, shuddering breath. ‘Maybe if I had, things would have turned out differently.’

His hand moved towards hers over the table’s wine-ringed top. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘None of it was your fault.’

‘Not intentionally, no. But I’d do it differently if I could,’ she said. ‘If I could go back…’

He looked at her, eyes glistening. ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘If I could go back, I’d make sure I’d never have to leave you.’

9

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