Page 54 of Midnight in Paris

‘True.’ He kissed her. ‘But still. This is our time, Soph. I really feel that.’

‘Don’t jinx it!’

He laughed, easily, confidently. ‘You, Sophie Gardner, have got to drop this paranoia. You’re with me now. Nothing could go wrong.’

‘Well now you’ve really done it,’ she said, grimacing. ‘Tempting fate.’

‘Ah, fate, do your worst. You’re no match for Tom Gardner.’

26

TWO WEEKS AGO

She looked for Will in the crowds of commuters waiting close to the platform as the train drew in to St Pancras, but couldn’t see him. But the minute she trudged out of the train, wheeling her little suitcase through the barrier, he was there, taking it from her and slipping an arm around her back. She leant into him, feeling some deep part of her start to relax. Because she was home.

They didn’t talk much on the way to the car. Reaching it, he opened the door for her and let her slide into her seat. As he closed the door, their eyes met through the window and he gave a small, worried smile. She smiled back – a tired, but hopefully reassuring one.

‘Thanks for driving,’ she said.

‘Knew you’d be tired.’

It was disorientating, coming back to earth, to reality. The space at her throat where the locket had been. Her job done. Had she done enough, she wondered? Had she really let him go?

Her whole body felt heavy against the car seat which she adjusted, feeling herself sink gratefully into a more restful pose. ‘Do you mind if I close my eyes for a bit?’ she asked Will.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It’s more than an hour ’til we get home.’

She drifted into a half-sleep, lulled by the car’s movement, and allowed herself to let go of full consciousness – half-dreaming, half-awake. She disappeared for a moment but came to abruptly when the car stopped at a traffic light.

She looked and saw Will watching her. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. Tired,’ she said. She studied the side of his face as he drove, his expression fixed, his eyes looking steadfastly ahead. What had it been like for him when she was away? Had he been able to relax and have a restful weekend despite everything? Or had he worried about her, how she’d feel in Paris on her own?

‘I’m glad to be back though,’ she said, touching his hand where it rested on the gear stick. ‘Obviously.’

His expression seemed to lighten. ‘Glad to hear it!’ he quipped, but she sensed that he genuinely was. She wondered what it felt like for him – trying to support her when she was mourning another man. A man she might well still be with, if things had turned out differently.

‘I love you, you know.’

‘I know,’ he said.

It was pitch-black. The street lights burned orange into the night and although there was a lot of traffic, it wasn’t enough to impede them. They moved forward at pace, and she lay her head back against the seat and watched the lights blur and merge in her vision as they streamed past. ‘Sorry,’ she said out of nowhere.

‘What for?’

She shrugged. ‘Everything.’

He put his hand briefly on her leg. ‘Idiot,’ he said.

She felt herself smile. ‘Yup,’ she agreed.

As more familiar sights and sounds came her way, she began to feel farther and farther away from her weekend in Paris. Asif on some level it had been a dream. This time yesterday, she’d been sitting on a bench with Tom. Now she was on her way home, with her fiancé at her side. Two different worlds. Two different lives.

They didn’t need to say anything else. To discuss the reason behind her words and his forgiveness. And she was glad. She shifted slightly and found her eyelids getting heavy. This time she didn’t wake up until they were home. He opened the car door for her as if she were an invalid. They walked to the front door and he let them both in. ‘Drink?’ he asked.

‘Straight to bed, I think.’

‘OK. You go up, I’ll be there in a minute,’ he said, setting her suitcase down in the hallway and making his way to the kitchen. Moments later she could hear the sound of running water, the clinking of cups being put away from the dishwasher.

---