Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
As I turned the key in the lock, I noticed a red envelope tucked under my door. Bending to pick it up, I saw that it was addressed to Miss Lane in a familiar script. Inside was an invitation.
You are cordially invited to dine at
I flipped the card over, but no more information was forthcoming.
I leaned against the doorjamb for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on.
That was the vacant building next door to the boulangerie, the one Hugo’s company owned and planned to convert, along with the bakery building, to create a larger hotel.
I couldn’t understand what it was all about.
I jerked myself out of my thoughts when I realised that it was nearly six o’clock.
I was still standing in the doorway dressed in jogging pants and sporting four-day-old hair.
Obviously I wasn’t going. Well, maybe I would show up but I wouldn’t stay long.
I’d just dress up so he’d know I had other plans.
I rushed into my little apartment, switched on the immersion for a hot shower and hung Nicole’s red dress in the bathroom to get the creases out.
By 7.15pm, I had finished drying my hair and was brushing the side parting to the left like Nicole had shown me.
I put on some red lipstick and pressed powder on my face with a puff.
A little dab of Chanel behind my ears and I was ready to go.
One last look in the mirror showed me a shapely woman with something approaching joie de vivre.
I was no longer a waitress watching the world go by – I was a waitress living her life and it felt good.
I realised I didn’t need to be like everybody else, I just needed to be me.
Madame Moreau was out at Sunday evening mass and Manu was over at a friend’s, so all was quiet as I stepped carefully down the stairs in my high heels.
I had wrapped a shawl around my shoulders, but I still had goosebumps, either from the chill or the anticipation.
I walked out of our door, locking it behind me, and took three steps to the left.
Number 20 was also a timber-framed building, and while I had passed the burgundy wooden door plenty of times, I’d never really noticed it before.
Now, the door was open, with a dark velvet curtain obscuring my view.
I pulled the curtain aside and peered into the dimly lit room.
Once my eyes adjusted, I could see a table at the far end of the room with a candelabrum lighting the corner.
Then I saw him, sitting patiently, wearing a suit and waiting for me to come in.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘Good evening to you, too,’ was the reply. ‘Would Mademoiselle care for a glass of champagne?’ He got up to pull out the other chair. ‘That is some dress,’ he added admiringly.
I felt slightly hypnotised by the whole thing.
It was ridiculously romantic and he looked simply ravishing in a black dinner jacket and white shirt.
I felt so flattered, but my integrity tugged at me like a persistent child.
I couldn’t let myself be swayed so easily.
A sweet female voice sang in hushed tones from a stereo in the corner, creating a seductive atmosphere.
‘You’re not going to change my mind with all of this, you know,’ I said, taking my seat.
‘I don’t doubt that.’
Something tugged at the back of mind and then I realised what it was.
‘I didn’t see your car outside.’
‘The Range Rover? No, I sold it,’ he said as he poured the champagne.
‘Oh.’ That was a bit weird. But then, the whole set-up was a bit weird and Hugo’s demeanour was at odds with the man I’d been fighting with. I noticed a silver cloche on the table and when he lifted it, I was surprised to see a pepperoni pizza.
‘Pizza?’
‘Bon appétit,’ he said.
‘Are you having some sort of episode?’
He laughed out loud at that and the sound made my defences crumble. It was like we were back at the vineyard, two people falling in love with each other.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I don’t know, you just seem really calm and happy.’
He looked down at the table and for a moment it seemed as though he was full of regret. But for what, exactly?
‘Why am I here, anyway? Do you want to rub my nose in it or something?’
‘Rub your nose in what?’
‘Ooh, I don’t know, the fact that you’re so rich you can just snap these kinds of places up and eradicate years of history so you can turn them into some sterile, money-making investment?’ I couldn’t believe I was arguing with him again. It seemed to happen on the turn of a sixpence.
‘Actually, if you’d let me explain…’ he began, but I was already getting up from my seat.
‘Hugo, I don’t want to argue with you, but this is hopeless.
We’re never going to agree and seeing you, like this, it’s just too hard.
We may as well cut our losses,’ I told him straight.
‘Thank you for dinner, though.’ I walked towards the door, but in the gloom, tripped over something hard and ended up splayed out on the floor.
‘Edith? Edith, are you OK?’ Hugo called out.
‘Oww!’ I groaned, as I held my arm up to assess the damage.
‘Hang on, I’m coming… Woah!’ Hugo shouted, as he landed in a rather ungainly fashion on top of me.
‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry,’ he began. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘It’s OK, I don’t think I quite broke all my bones with the first impact, so thanks for that,’ I said, panting under his weight. I could barely make out his features in the gloom, but I could feel his warm breath on my skin.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, in a deep voice.
I lifted my arm and reached up to touch his face.
We were both breathing heavily. Before I knew what was happening, my lips had betrayed me and met his, hungrily.
It was as though I had forgotten everything that had just happened and my mind was clear.
Everything was Hugo. His taste, his touch, the warmth of his body.
He began kissing my collarbone and as my head lay back against the cold cement floor, I eventually came to my senses.
‘Wait, sorry, I can’t,’ was all I could manage, as I broke away from him and scrambled to my feet.
‘No, I shouldn’t have— Hang on, I haven’t had a chance to tell you!
’ he pleaded, but I was already out on the street and opening the door to the bakery.
I ran up the stairs and let myself into my apartment, leaning against the door behind me as I tried to catch my breath.
My lips curled into a smile despite my best efforts to resist the attraction between us.
I simply couldn’t trust myself around him anymore.
I was already making great plans to avoid him in future, when I heard him calling my name out on the street.
‘Edith, please, we need to talk!’ he shouted.
I stood motionless for a moment. I realised that Madame Moreau was right. I was afraid. My feelings for him were overwhelming and it frightened me to death.
‘Will you come down, please?’ he asked again
I moved towards the window, which I opened wide.
‘You’ll have to speak to me from there,’ I said, trying to arrange my features into that of a mature woman in control of her senses.
‘And have the whole street listen in?’
I just shrugged.
‘Fine, have it your way, Miss Lane. What I was trying to tell you, if you had given me half a chance, is that Madame Moreau will not lose the bakery.’
He stood awaiting my response, but I just leaned on the window frame, staring at him agape.
‘You’ll catch flies doing that, you know.’
‘I’m coming down,’ I called, and almost did myself another injury taking the stairs at speed. I ran out into the lamplit street and saw him there, casual as anything, leaning against a lamppost.
‘What did you say?’ I panted.
‘I said, the bakery will not close. I’ve cleared Madame Moreau’s debts with the bank so she won’t have to sell.’
‘You’ve cleared her debts. You personally?’
He nodded.
‘But how?’
‘I sold my apartment in Paris.’
‘I don’t understand. Why would you do that?’ The enormity of what he was saying was almost too much to take in.
‘To settle an old family debt,’ he said, looking up at the building as though it held some kind of personal resonance.
I was still confused and my expression confirmed it.
‘It was something my mother said,’ he began to explain. ‘At first I wasn’t sure – her memory is … she suffers from Alzheimer’s.’
‘Oh, Hugo, I’m so sorry,’ I said, my hand instinctively reaching for his and gripping it tight. I had some idea of what he must be going through.
‘But I did some research,’ he went on, ‘and I found some old archives of newspapers, and it turns out she was right. Madame Moreau’s mother was sheltering with the baker who lived here, Pierre Moreau. She was discovered by the Nazis and taken?—’
‘Yes, I know, Madame Moreau told me.’
‘Well, what she doesn’t know is that it was my great-great uncle who betrayed them.’
I shook my head in disbelief.
‘No one in the family had ever spoken about it before now. I think the shame and the guilt they felt must have kept them silent. I don’t know how or why my mother remembered, but I knew I had an opportunity to put the ghosts of the past to rest.’
My whole body shivered. Little did he realise the significance of what he was saying.
‘The hotel group pulled out when they couldn’t get the bakery, so I’ve taken ownership of Number 20. Or rather, I’ve inherited it from my mother. I’ll run through the details with Madame Moreau tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you tonight.’
I struggled to take it all in.
‘Look, I know it’s a lot, but I realised that we only get a short amount of time in this life and I don’t want to spend another second of it in Paris working for my father. I want to live closer to my mother and spend as much time as I can with her now.’
I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair at the back of his neck.
‘You’re mad, you know that?’
‘Takes one to know one, I suppose,’ he smiled.
I was still holding his hand and now he reached for my other one.
‘So, that just leaves the small matter of where you and I stand, now.’ He took a step closer.
I held my breath for a moment, before easing my hands out of his.
‘Nothing would make me happier than to fall into your arms and let myself go, but I can’t, Hugo.’ I began to walk away.
‘Why not?’
I hesitated before turning back to face him.
‘Because I’m better on my own. I know how to do this life – the one where dreams don’t come true and love isn’t some kind of fairy-tale ending.’ I was angry, I was upset, I was on the verge of tears. I wasn’t sure if saving the bakery could just magically save us. Or me.
‘I understand,’ he said, nodding. ‘If we both keep toughing out our way through life, maybe we can avoid getting hurt.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’
‘Is it not?’ he asked.
For one terrifying yet longed-for moment, it felt as though he could see right through me, past the mask I wore to protect myself and maintain some kind of composure. I was so scared of letting myself love again. What if my heart was too broken?
‘Look, Hugo, what you’re offering … hang on, I don’t even know what you’re offering!’
‘Honestly, I don’t have much to offer anymore. Just myself. And this old building, I suppose,’ he said, looking back at Number 20. ‘But that’s not the point. The point is, I know that love means risking your heart, but it’s not a risk if the guy standing in front of you feels how I feel.’
Something gave way inside my heart and like a wave rushing to shore, I rushed into his arms. I kissed him without holding anything back. All of the fear and doubt that had made a home in my heart released as I felt his strong arms pull me closer.