The Paris Affair

49 Christoph

September, 1972 – Paris

Christoph hated coming back to Paris. His work as a pianist brought him here a few weeks every year when he taught at the conservatory on the rue de Madrid. Everywhere he looked he saw Sylvie. In the streets. In the crowd. Crossing the road. He remembered that terrible morning when he found the apartment empty and was hauled off to fight in Russia. Paris reminded him of everything he’d lost.

But there were only two more days to go and, tonight, he was giving a concert. He felt buoyed by the thought that soon he’d be home, Daniel’s face lighting up when he walked through the door.

He glanced from the wings out on to the stage. The piano lid was open; a stool set back from the keys. The lights were so bright he couldn’t see the audience. It was time. He walked on. Applause thundered. He sat down, hands poised, waiting for silence, which came like a gift falling into his lap.

He loved this moment, just before he played. It held such promise. For twenty years now, he’d made the piano his life. He’d learned to live with losing Sylvie a second time. He hadn’t thought it would be possible, but Daniel’s arrival had made it so.

Christoph began to play ‘Gymnopédie No. 1’ by Erik Satie. He’d chosen this first piece because it reminded him of his son. It made him think of the first faltering steps Daniel had begun to take in the garden, of how he found every leaf and flower enchanting. Watching his son living so contentedly in each present moment inspired Christoph to do the same.

After the performance, he went to the bar, mingling with his students. Anything to put off returning to the hotel and being alone with his thoughts.

The room was full of people, sparkling and chatting. Christoph drifted outside to the courtyard. He heard footsteps behind him. The rustle of a long skirt. Then a voice spoke.

‘Christoph, is it really you?’

He wondered if the power of his memories had conjured her voice. He turned round expecting nothing to be there. But it was her. Older, greyer, more beautiful, a dress that fitted like a glove.

‘Sylvie,’ was all he could say. More an exhalation than a word.

She put her hand to her lips. ‘I’ve had the whole concert to get used to seeing you, but being in front of you now …’

‘You were there? In the concert hall?’

‘Yes.’ Her eyes shimmered with tears.

‘I kept looking for you in Rome, but there was no trace. I never expected to see you again.’

‘I saw the concert advertised and came on the spur of the moment. Perhaps I should have thought how you would feel …’

‘Seeing you is all I ever wanted,’ Christoph said.

Sylvie glanced round. More people had joined them in the courtyard.

‘There’s so much to talk to you about,’ she said. ‘I’m staying at the apartment. Would you come there with me? If you’re not doing anything later.’

Christoph thought of Hilde. She’d be expecting the usual evening phone call and a bedtime story for Daniel. He didn’t want to miss that.

‘I’d love to,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘Would you mind waiting here for me? Just half an hour. There’s something I need to do.’

‘I’ve waited ten years to see you again,’ Sylvie said. ‘Of course I don’t mind.’

The apartment building hadn’t changed. When visiting Paris, Christoph always made a point of walking past it, touching the key in his pocket, which he’d managed to keep hold of all these years, gazing at the dragons over the doorway. He could have stepped inside a hundred times, but being outside was painful enough.

Now he followed Sylvie into the courtyard and up the stairs, assailed by a thousand recollections.

Sylvie looked for the key in her bag. Her bracelets jangled on her wrist. She opened the door, but Christoph hovered on the threshold.

‘The last time I was here,’ he said, ‘the apartment was empty. I expected to find you, to start our new life together, but you’d gone. I don’t know if I can walk in there and not be overwhelmed by it all.’

‘Please, Christoph, I’m here now.’

Christoph shook his head. ‘It’s not just that. This is where I was seized and sent off to Russia. It was almost as if they knew I’d be here. I heard a noise at the door and thought it was you, but instead it was soldiers.’

Sylvie took him in her arms. Her hair brushed against his cheek; he inhaled her scent. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I thought I was doing the best thing, that you’d be safer without Jacques and me to save.’

Christoph held her close. There were no words for this. She was with him again. Surely he could overcome the trauma with her at his side.

‘Please, come in,’ she said. ‘I hope I can make you understand I never meant to hurt you.’

He followed her down the hallway; it still smelled the same. His memory flashed back to that morning, his voice echoing in the empty rooms, and later the soldiers dragging him out. He caught hold of Sylvie’s hand, reassuring himself of her presence, and squeezed it tight.

He tried to push the past from his mind, entering the little kitchen and observing the differences that time had made to the apartment. She’d pushed the table up against the wall. A new kettle stood on the counter. The oven and fridge had been replaced, but apart from that it looked much the same. Lisette opened the fridge and took out a jug of lemonade. She sprinkled some lavender on top.

‘I went to the Tuileries today and picked some when no one was looking.’

Her voice was soothing. She was here, right in front of him. She fetched some ice and poured the lemonade, the ice cubes clinking against the sides of the glass. That’s when he noticed the gold ring on her finger. It caught the light, and his heart stilled.

‘You’re married,’ he said.

She twisted the ring. ‘Yes. Ten years now.’

‘So much time has passed,’ Christoph said. ‘I was angry with myself for years for not staying with you and Jacques in the apartment that night.’

Sylvie moved her glass aside and took his hand. ‘You bought us time by going back to the hotel. Jacques and I made it to the border because of you. I left because I wanted to protect you. I wanted you to survive.’

‘What happened?’

‘We managed for several weeks, but then I got caught. Soldiers searched the village where we hid, rounding people up. I created a diversion and Jacques managed to slip away. But I wasn’t quick enough. I was sent to a camp with Jews and political prisoners, all awaiting transport to Drancy.’

Christoph gripped her hand. ‘That’s why your name was on the list of those who were murdered.’

‘Yes,’ Sylvie said. ‘But Jacques came back to rescue me. He’d met up with the rest of his family who were preparing to cross the border to Swizerland. His grandmother was very ill with a fever. When she heard what I’d done to help Jacques, she insisted on paying the French guards and taking my place. She was the Sylvie Dubois who got taken to Drancy and died of typhoid, while I escaped with Jacques and his family. I owe her my life.’

‘What a brave woman,’ Christoph said. He stared at Sylvie. It was incredible how close she’d come to death.

‘And you? How did you survive?’

‘The thought of you kept me going in Russia. But when I found out that Lotte had been murdered, and later that you had died, I didn’t know how to carry on. Your words inspired me and I went back to study the piano. I have a son, Daniel, who came like a miracle to us after years of trying. I travel, teach, give concerts, I go home, see my wife and child. I live. But I haven’t felt alive. There was always a void where you should have been. Your absence seemed cruel and wasteful.’

‘I never stopped loving you,’ Sylvie said, her eyes shining with tears. ‘Even when I got married, there was always the shadow of you in the background.’

‘Who did you marry?’

‘Can’t you guess?’

Christoph thought for a moment. Of course, it made sense, but it still pained his heart. ‘Jacques,’ he said.

‘We’d been through so much together,’ Sylvie said. ‘He kept asking me to marry him. That day I saw you in Rome and found out you were married, I ran out of reasons to say no.’

‘I’m glad you found someone to love you.’

‘I think he did once,’ she said. ‘We’d been through so much; it formed a bond that Jacques mistook for love. For me, marrying him was a chance at happiness with a man I cared for deeply.’ She twisted the ring on her finger. ‘We opened a restaurant together in Nice, but we never had children. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t bear the thought of bringing life into the world in case there was ever a war again. Our relationship buckled under the strain. Jacques realized he wasn’t really in love with me. Apart from running the restaurant, we live separate lives now. We still care for one another, but we know that there is nothing but friendship between us now.’

After that, there was nothing more to say. Christoph met Sylvie’s eyes and found that nothing had changed. Or rather, if it had, it was only to make her less hesitant, more certain of her feelings for him.

‘Sylvie …’ he whispered.

He moved towards her, closer and closer until his lips found hers. The years melted away. Desire came back, stronger, raw and more intense. The life he’d lived without her disappeared until there was only this: Christoph and Sylvie.

‘Where are you staying?’ Sylvie asked.

He lay in bed with her, her head resting on his shoulder, both of them spent after making love. The touch of her body against his was a pleasure he’d never expected to feel again.

‘Just a small hotel,’ Christoph said, running his hand along her shoulder blade.

‘When do you have to leave?’

‘The day after tomorrow. And you?’

‘Next week. I’m here doing research for our restaurant. Jacques prefers to stay in Nice with his mistress. I come every year.’

Christoph propped himself up to look at her. ‘Why did you come and find me now, after all this time?’

‘I haven’t been well,’ Sylvie said, taking a moment before continuing. ‘I had breast cancer last year. It’s all right, I’m fine now, but when I was in the hospital I decided that if I got well, I had to find you.’

‘I’m glad you did.’ He caught sight of a black-and-white photograph tucked under the mirror. ‘My goodness, is that you?’

Sylvie glanced over and blushed. ‘Yes.’

Christoph got out of bed and fetched the photo. ‘ Sylvie, 1942 . That’s when we met. You look beautiful. Who took it?’

Sylvie frowned. ‘Oh, someone from Maxim’s, I think. You can have it if you like.’

Christoph snuggled back under the covers, marvelling at the photograph. ‘I’ll keep it here. That way no-one will find it. Because I’ll be coming back, won’t I, Sylvie?’

Sylvie smiled. ‘Who knows? Do you want to come back?’

Christoph nodded and took her in his arms. ‘You know I do.’ She was here. His. He didn’t want to let her go.

The next day, Paris belonged to Christoph and Sylvie. They were free to go anywhere, sit anywhere, kiss anywhere. He walked arm in arm with her, past Le Meurice, half expecting to see faces full of scorn. But he wasn’t a soldier in uniform any more; he was just the same as everyone else. They reached the corner of the street and both turned to each other at the same moment, a burst of laughter at the craziness of it all. Then he pulled her close, in a deep, never-ending kiss.

Later, they sat in a café near the Sacré-C?ur.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Christoph said. ‘That night you left, a man came and arrested me in the apartment. He was there at the dinner too.’

Sylvie sipped her wine. ‘What man?’

‘He looked like that friend of your fiancé’s, the one I was so jealous about. He seemed to know who you were.’

Sylvie smiled briefly and fiddled with the scarf around her neck. ‘Impossible. It can’t have been the same person.’

Christoph nodded. ‘I suppose not, it’d make no sense.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘So, you left France with Jacques,’ he continued. ‘And then what?’

Sylvie stirred her coffee. ‘I worked all over Europe until Jacques and I got married. We opened the restaurant in 1962.’

‘Tell me more,’ Christoph said, taking her hand. ‘I want to picture your life. There are twenty years between the night I last saw you and that time in Rome.’

Sylvie frowned. ‘All those years. I can’t bear to think about them.’ She pulled her cardigan tight around her chest.

‘Then tell me about the restaurant. Is it successful? Do you like living in the south of France?’

‘The restaurant’s doing well. I like being by the sea.’ She frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Christoph. The gap of time between us is too big to fill. Can we just pretend it doesn’t exist?’

Christoph nodded. Perhaps it was best to leave those years unspoken.

They finished their coffee and went into the street. The wind blew and lifted Sylvie’s scarf into the air. Christoph caught it and wound it back around her shoulders.

‘I can’t let you go again,’ he said. ‘I meant what I said about coming back to Paris.’

‘But we’re married to other people.’

‘I know.’ He didn’t want to think about that. Not yet.

Sylvie linked arms with him as they took the steep steps down the hill.

‘Would it be so wrong to meet once in a while?’ he said.

‘Maybe not. Can’t we just savour this moment and see what happens?’

Christoph nodded. She was here. Her body against his, the day only half over and a night still to come. For now, that would have to be enough.