Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
I was humming an old Julie London tune, ‘I’m in the Mood for Love’, as I walked along Rue Solferino to see Nicole at the salon.
I looked up at the beautiful sandstone buildings, as the sunlight glinted off wrought-iron balconies festooned with flower boxes.
Oh, to live in an apartment with those floor-to-ceiling windows!
I was lost in a daydream of polished wooden floors and billowing white curtains and almost walked past the salon entirely.
I’d brought some treats as well as some good news, and to my surprise I saw Johnny through the window and it felt like fate.
‘Perfect timing!’ I said, as I greeted both him and Nicole. I handed her the bag of pastries.
‘Guess who’s looking to hire an historian?’
They both stared at me blankly.
‘Geoff Harding, he’s a local tour guide.’
‘O-kay,’ said Johnny, stubbornly refusing to connect the dots.
‘He’s completely overrun with tours at the moment and he’s looking for someone who not only knows about history,’ I paused for dramatic effect, ‘but is also able to entertain a crowd!’
My smile was beaming strongly enough to power every streetlight in Compiègne. Johnny’s was not.
‘Mais, c’est geniale, what a perfect opportunity!’ Nicole agreed.
‘Who said I needed a job?’ Johnny said in a tone that left me in no doubt. I had totally put my foot in it.
‘I … um, well, nobody really. It’s just, I went on one of his tours…’
Nicole began speaking to Johnny so quickly in French that I had no idea what was going on. They kept the volume low, but the guttural emphasis on each syllable made it clear that this was an argument.
‘He’s really lovely,’ I added, though they were no longer listening to me. ‘I’ll just, yeah, I’ll just get back to work,’ I said sheepishly and left without them even noticing.
I wasn’t singing on the way back, that was for sure. I realised too late that I should have told Nicole first, let her tell Johnny herself. Or better yet, I should’ve just stayed out of it. Trying to help people wasn’t such a straightforward business after all.
* * *
After a long, stressful afternoon of worrying about whether I’d just messed up my friendship with Johnny and Nicole, I began closing up for the evening and spotted someone getting out of a Range Rover across the street. I did a second take when I realised it was him. Hugo.
‘Bonsoir,’ he said.
‘Bonsoir.’ My smile was proof enough that I was happy to see him. He looked ridiculously handsome in a crisp white shirt and chinos. And that tan. I had to bite my lip to remind myself that I wasn’t imagining him and this was, in fact, happening.
‘I was just in the neighbourhood – actually, scratch that. I wasn’t in the neighbourhood at all. I had a meeting in Paris today and thought I’d swing by on the off-chance you might be free for dinner.’
It was the kind of line that could sweep a girl off her feet and I was well and truly swept. Still, I knew how to play the game. I checked my watch and considered for a moment.
‘I guess I’m free,’ I said and watched as he smiled a knowing smile.
‘Right, OK, good. Shall we?’
‘Oh, I should change first, right?’ I asked, looking down at my breton top and jeans.
‘Personally, I wouldn’t change a thing…’
I rolled my eyes playfully.
‘I’ll be down in five,’ I said.
All of the women’s magazines had me believing that going from ‘day to night’ would be a significant part of my adult life, and reading all of those articles had finally paid off!
I had to think fast. I slipped off my ballet pumps and found the only pair of heels I’d brought with me – a pair of black, open-toed boots.
There was no time to change my top and I couldn’t find any jewellery to jazz it up, so I threw on a red neck scarf that Nicole had given me to tie up my hair.
I sprayed myself liberally with perfume and loosened my hair from the clip I wore at work.
I combed my fingers through it as I stumbled into the bathroom and found some red lipstick.
A quick lick of mascara on my eyes later and I was done – day to night accomplished!
I threw my black jacket over my shoulder and locked the door to the bakery.
Hugo was standing with the passenger door open and gave me a nod of appreciation.
‘So, where are you taking me?’ I asked, once he’d got in and turned the key in the ignition.
‘It’s a surprise.’
Twenty-five minutes later, we arrived at our destination. A long driveway lined with cypress trees led up to what, at first, looked like a weathered old barn. But as we got closer, I could see lights strung over a trellis outside, with tables set for dinner.
‘What is this place?’ I asked, surprised and relieved that we weren’t going to a posh restaurant.
‘It’s an old vineyard. A friend of mine took it over last year,’ he explained, turning the wheel and deftly slotting the car into a space. He was out of the car and around to my door before I had time to open it. ‘Allow me,’ he said, holding it open for me.
‘You’re setting a dangerous precedent here,’ I said.
‘I’ll take the risk.’
I felt like I was already a bit tipsy. Was this actually happening? To me, Edith Lane, terrible map-reader and average waitress?
‘Jean, comment ?a va?’ Hugo said, shaking his friend’s hand as they walked into the barn, which I now saw was a winery.
‘Eh, mon ami, content de te voir,’ Jean replied. ‘And you have brought a guest?’
‘Oh, bonsoir,’ I greeted him with a kiss on each cheek. ‘This place is beautiful.’ I could see inside to the rows and rows of oak barrels and a small bar at the front for tastings.
‘Merci, Mademoiselle,’ he said.
We sat at a table that overlooked the vineyard below, sloping away southwards and now shimmering under the moonlight.
Although it was still early spring, it was lovely to be outside in the night air, listening to the crackle of wood logs burning in a small chiminea.
There were sheepskin rugs on the seats and blankets to stave off any chill.
The other tables were filled with couples and groups of friends, their light conversation providing the perfect soundtrack.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere like this,’ I said.
‘It is quite special.’
Oh, boy, he brought me to a special place. This meant something. Butterflies crashed into each other in my stomach. A waiter came and poured some wine, which Hugo, of course, refused.
‘Please, go ahead,’ he said, when I shook my head in solidarity.
‘Well, maybe just one glass, I do have to get up at six.’
‘Ah yes, the bakery, how’s it going?’
His cool blue eyes fixed on me and I suddenly felt the need to make my life sound far more interesting than it was.
‘Oh, you know, it’s just a day job. I’m more interested in pursuing my music.’
Oh, why had I said that?
‘That’s amazing. Any performances coming up? I have to say I really enjoyed the last one.’
Quelle merde, as the French would say.
‘Um, yeah, I might do a session with Johnny’s band at Nostalgie,’ I said, digging deeper and deeper into a hole of lies. What was I saying? If nothing else, I was the last person Johnny would want to speak to right now, let alone sing with. Mercifully, the food arrived.
‘Bon appétit,’ Jean said, placing two giant white plates on the table followed by a small pot. When he lifted the lid, the aroma that wafted towards us was rich and hearty.
‘Do you like Coq au Vin?’ Hugo asked, as he spooned the delicious-looking chicken onto my plate.
‘I’m not sure I’ve tried it.’
I placed my napkin on my lap and waited for him to serve himself before tasting.
‘Bon appétit,’ he echoed Jean.
The taste was divine. Chicken braised in wine with pearl onions, mushrooms and some salty bacon. The French did simple ingredients so well. There was a basket of bread on the table and Hugo began tearing some up and dipping it in the sauce, a brave move with a white shirt.
‘Thanks for bringing me here,’ I said, after savouring the first few mouthfuls of our meal. ‘It’s magical.’
‘I had a feeling you’d like it,’ he said.
I began to wonder what kind of photographer he was, to be driving a car like that and eating in hilltop vineyards.
‘What is it?’ he asked, when he caught me looking at him.
‘I’m just trying to figure you out, I suppose. On the one hand, you seem to live this glamorous life, but on the other, you look happy with simple things.’
‘Can’t I enjoy both?’
I nodded in agreement. Perhaps I’d put my foot in it. He was entitled to live whatever way he wanted. I finished my glass of wine and accepted another from the waiter. I was really out of practice at this dating thing.
‘Sorry, that came across a bit rude,’ he said, pushing his plate aside and placing his napkin on the table.
‘My life is full of contradictions. Like you, I have a passion for the more creative side of things, in my case, photography; but also like you, I have a day job. A boring, soul-sucking, day job.’ He drained his glass of water.
‘It just pays a bit more than your bakery,’ he said, with a wink.
‘I didn’t mean to sound nosy, it’s none of my business really.’
‘No,’ he said, reaching across the table and taking my hand. ‘I’m glad you’re interested. Because I’m interested in you.’
Woah! An actual man actually stating his intentions. It was all too much. I was far more used to guys hiding their emotions, disguising their feelings and only revealing a crumb of their true selves after a few pints. So I decided to do what I did best in these kinds of situations. I babbled.
‘Did you know that Compiègne has a really rich history? I went on a tour with Geoff, one of the customers from the bakery, he’s English.
Like you! Anyway, he was saying I should get a bike and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.
I used to love cycling and it would be really handy here, if I’m staying, to have a bike.
But not like a regular bike; one of those vintage ones, you know? Maybe with a basket!’
Again, I was saved by the arrival of dessert.
‘Cherry clafoutis with a light Chantilly cream,’ Jean announced and the other diners broke into spontaneous applause. I had almost forgotten there were other people dining alongside us. I tucked into the soft, spongy cake and almost forgot what I’d been talking about.
‘So, you are staying then?’
Was I? I suppose I was. Who was I kidding, of course I was! If living in Compiègne meant more nights like this…
‘For the time being,’ I replied. Now who was playing hard to get? ‘I like its old-world charm.’
‘Ah, well, if it’s old-world charm you’re after, you might like these.’
Hugo took out his phone and brought his chair a little closer to mine.
‘This is a project I’ve been working on,’ he explained, as he pulled up some photos of vintage-style shopfronts.
‘Oh wow, these are gorgeous!’ A cobalt-blue shopfront popped out from the screen. ‘Oh cool, it’s a record shop, Johnny would love that.’
His timid smile betrayed how much this project really meant to him.
‘And this,’ he said, scrolling down to reveal a faded pink-and-gold window with puppets inside.
‘A puppet shop?’ I asked, bemused that such a thing existed.
‘Yes! The owner has been making puppets, mechanical toys and music boxes since the seventies. It’s a seventeenth-century building, the last of its kind in Paris.’
‘So, are you going to exhibit your photographs?’ I asked, attempting to get my head back out of the clouds.
‘What I’d really like is to put them all in a book, but I haven’t approached any publishers yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know. Fear, I suppose. Anyway, I’m not finished yet.’
‘What made you begin?’
‘I think I wanted to capture the history before it disappears.’
I thought about the old films I watched with Mum and how I too was trying to hang on to something from the past. A sense of old-fashioned values, belonging and community.
‘This one’s my favourite, I think,’ he said, showing me a photograph of a beautiful wooden shopfront painted in a soft grey with a faded sign on top that said ‘Fabrique de Chapeau’. ‘It’s a bookshop,’ he explained, ‘and when the owner was renovating he uncovered the old sign.’
‘Oh, it’s beautiful,’ I said, in a longing tone.
‘What is it?’
‘I just, I’d love to see it.’
‘I can take you sometime, if you like.’
Our eyes met, followed very swiftly by our lips. Kissing him was like walking into a wildflower meadow on a warm summer’s day. I felt like my heart was shining from the inside out, twinkling like the fairy lights around us.
‘Ahem,’ Jean said, as he began to clear our plates.
‘You still have terrible timing, Jean,’ Hugo joked, before ordering coffees.