34
Nancy and Olivia emerged from their hotel and got into the taxi the receptionist had ordered.
‘This traffic is horrendous,’ Olivia said as the driver made his way slowly through the rush hour. ‘It wasn’t like this when we lived here.’
‘That’s why I allowed plenty of time. We’ll arrive well before Hans, I’m sure,’ Nancy said, trying to hide any trace of the nervousness she was currently feeling. She’d woken at a ridiculously early hour this morning, convinced that Hans had turned into a miserable old man who was just after her money. Olivia’s negativity about the whole exercise had obviously seeped into her subconscious.
‘At least the weather is good,’ she added, looking up at the patches of blue sky between the fast-moving clouds.
‘I’m taking a detour to get you there faster,’ the driver told them in French as he turned down a narrow side street.
‘I recognise this road,’ Olivia said. ‘Can you turn left at the corner, please,’ she asked.
‘That’s in the wrong direction, madame,’ the driver said.
‘I know, but we used to live around here. I’d like to see a few familiar landmarks on the way.’
The driver shrugged and did as she asked.
‘The bookshop,’ Nancy said, recognising the steep steps up the front door of a shop. ‘What is it now? I can’t read that.’
‘A tattoo parlour,’ Olivia grinned. ‘Inflicting pain on its customers in a slightly different way to Madame Dubois. Rue de la Dordogne next, please.’
The driver took another couple of turns until they were climbing up the familiar steep, narrow street. Nancy’s shoulders started aching, remembering the heavy suitcase she’d carried up there that first day.
‘They’ve repainted number 27,’ she said as the driver pulled over to let another car pass. ‘That deep blue front door looks far more welcoming than that awful sludge brown colour.’
‘Shall we ask him to stop so we can see if anyone’s in?’
‘No, that’s enough reminiscing for one day.’ Nancy was impatient to get to the café just in case Hans had had a similar idea about arriving early.
Olivia raised her eyebrows. ‘I thought that was the whole point of this trip.’
‘In a way.’
‘Anywhere else?’ the driver asked.
‘No, thank you,’ Nancy said.
He navigated back to the main road.
Ten minutes later, Nancy and Olivia were standing on the footpath that ran past the cafe in the Bois de Boulogne, where Hans used to meet Nancy after work.
Olivia took charge. ‘Here’s the plan: We’ll watch the cafe from over there.’
She pointed to a wooded area opposite the cafe. ‘When we see Hans arrive, we’ll be able to see where he sits. You will go up to his table. I will continue to watch what’s going on from a distance. If you put your shoulder bag on your left shoulder, I’ll know you want rescuing.
‘But I always put my shoulder bag on my left shoulder.’
‘Ok. Your right shoulder, then.’
‘You’re taking this far too seriously. I’m sure I won’t need help.’
‘He might not be the man you remember.’
Nancy laughed. ‘I can guarantee he won’t be the strapping 24-year-old who swept me off my feet.’
‘You know what I mean. It could still be someone pretending to be him.’
Nancy sighed. ‘Alright then. How will you help exactly?’
‘It depends on what’s happening. My instincts are usually good. I scared off that man who tried to rob the mini-market around the corner from my house a few weeks ago.’
‘Woe betide any man who tries to get between you and your Petit Chablis. Anyway, Hans and I always used to go for a walk after we had a drink. He might want to do that.’
‘I’ll follow behind at a discrete distance.’
Nothing about Olivia was discrete normally, so this could be worth seeing or hopefully not seeing.
They were by the clump of trees now. Olivia led Nancy into the undergrowth. ‘We’ve got a good view from here.’
Nancy looked across at the cafe. It hadn’t changed much over the years. It might be painted a slightly different shade of green, but it still had tables dotted around in front of it, shaded by red and white umbrellas advertising beer. There was no sign of anyone who looked even vaguely like Hans.
Olivia looked at her watch. ’T minus 10. I can’t remember, was he punctual?’
‘Always,’ Nancy said. Hans had only kept her waiting once on that fateful day when he disappeared. She hoped he was on time today because Olivia’s edginess was becoming infectious. She was regretting accepting her offer of support.
A brown-haired man with a stick and a slight limp walked up to the cafe and dropped into a seat at the nearest table, obviously relieved to be able to sit down.
‘Is that him?’ Olivia asked.
‘Not unless he’s shrunk.’
‘People do you know.’
‘Not eight inches. That man is barely 5ft 6.’
‘He’s got a good head of hair.’
‘You mean he’s got a good wig maker. There is no way a man of his age has hair that thick. And how has it got darker? Hans was always a natural blonde.’
‘He might be dying it now.’
A woman joined the man at the table. They could hear them speaking in fluent French.
Not Hans, then. Nancy breathed a sigh of relief.
‘What about him?’ Olivia nudged Nancy and looked to the left of the cafe.
Nancy saw a man walking around the corner of the cafe. White hair. Clean shaven. Tall. Something about the way he carried himself reminded her of Hans.
He sat at the table they always used to sit at if it was free. Her heart started racing. ‘I think it is him,’ she whispered to Olivia.
‘He doesn’t look too threatening. Still want to talk to him? We can walk away if you don’t.’
‘I’ve not come all this way to bottle out. Wish me luck.’
Olivia held her back. ‘Look around in case there’s someone about to pounce on you.’
‘What are you suggesting? That a criminal gang has forced him to sit there to lure me out into the open, like some wild animal they want to trap.’
‘You mock, but it could happen.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake.’ Nancy removed Olivia’s hand from her shoulder and strode purposefully towards the cafe.
As she got nearer to the table, Nancy took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Calm down! You’re behaving like a lovesick teenager. Hans will explain exactly what happened in 1964. You will listen, assess how plausible his story is, you might hug and exchange a few pleasantries, then go your separate ways. Except, despite her inner voice’s advice, she didn’t want him to go. How can you possibly know that? When he starts talking, you might decide to look for an excuse to leave as soon as possible.
The man looked up. ‘Nancy?’
The years had been kind to him. Despite the paler, more wrinkled skin, he still had that same mischievous look in his blue eyes that had drawn her to him the first day they met. She slipped into the seat opposite him.
‘Thank you for coming to Paris,’ he said. ‘It is wonderful to see you again. May I?’ he asked, slipping his hand across the table and taking her hand in his.
She smiled back. He lifted her hand and gently kissed it. The touch of his lips on her fingers sent jolts through her body in places that hadn’t felt that sensation for a long, long time. Nice to know those parts of you still work.
‘It’s lovely to see you too,’ she said.
They gazed at one another in silence for what seemed like hours. A polite cough broke the spell.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt Monsieur, Madame, but would you like a drink?’