Chapter 7
At breakfast the next day, I inadvertently catch Jasper’s eye and quickly avert my gaze.
He’s sitting at the next table over with Igor and Katya, who are taking photos of their food and each other.
The next time I sneak a peek his way, he pulls a face and gestures towards the influencer couple, who are now tangled in a steamy embrace, as if all the world is a stage and they’re in the middle of a pivotal performance.
It’s beautiful to witness two people who are so infatuated with each other that the rest of the world blurs, but it’s not as beautiful when it’s almost everyone on board and you’re a discarded bride who suddenly feels rather unlovable.
I smile at Jasper in solidarity as I ball up my napkin and ready myself to leave the dining carriage when Sabrina approaches.
There’s a sort of giddiness to her movements, like she’s had some good news.
Ah! ‘Did you hear from your boyfriend then?’
Sabrina nods, her face breaking into a wide smile. ‘I did!’ She takes her phone out and shows me a message from him that reads:
Boss man gave his approval. Can’t wait to see you!
‘He’s checking flight prices as we speak.
Unfortunately, we’ll be paying a premium since it’s Christmas time and so last minute but none of that matters, as long as we get to see each other.
’ Sabrina closes the message and flicks through screenshots of their video call.
‘Look at his adorable face! I hope to convince him while he’s here to give up his sous chef position in the Caribbean and apply for a kitchen role on the Winter Wonderland Express.
Staff changeover is high and even if he has to start a bit lower than sous chef, he can work his way up. ’
‘It sounds like a good plan to me.’ It’s romantic, the way they’ve found each other but still live nomadic lives with Sabrina crisscrossing Europe by train while he’s cheffing on a luxury yacht on the Caribbean Sea.
I’m itching to explore Paris. The city of lights, of love, is one of my favourite places in the world. No matter what you’re suffering – a dead husband, heartbreak, humiliation, ennui – it’s the cure. At least I hope so.
Princess arrives in a cloud of headache-inducing perfume and instructs me in her usual bossy way to grab my handbag and meet her outside on the platform to go through the checkpoint together.
Sabrina launches into an account of her Christmas plans with her boyfriend, which includes showing Princess a range of photos of him.
‘He’s very cute, but why does he wear sunglasses inside?
I will never understand your generation. ’
Sabrina laughs. ‘I’m sure it’s so he can sneak naps and no one is any the wiser.’
‘So he’s clever too. I like him already. I’m thrilled for you, darling, love really does make the world go around. I hope we’ll get to meet him in Lapland.’
‘I hope so too. We’ll be staying in a hostel close by so we can definitely meet up.’
I say my goodbyes and return to my cabin.
I packed a cute little beret to wear, Parisian clichés be damned.
After slipping the hat on, I wrap myself in a fluffy woolly striped scarf and slide on my gloves.
As an afterthought, I shove a pocket travel guide into my handbag.
I’ve been to Paris many times due to its proximity to Britain, but there’s always more to discover.
Outside, Princess and I get through the customs checkpoint into the fresh Parisian air. I inhale like it’s a tincture for my soul. If you’re going to be sad and jilted, you may as well be sad and jilted in Paris.
I gaze towards the street, searching for the driver Princess has arranged, as she’s distracted rummaging in her oversized handbag for her phone.
‘Where on earth did I put it?’ A car pulls up to the curb and a man lifts his hand to wave.
It’s an old beat-up runabout; surely that’s not to Princess’s standard.
Part of me thinks it would be funny if she turned out to be the sort of person who has oodles of money because she’s frugal to the extreme and only splurges on fashion. Somehow, I don’t think that’s the case.
‘Darling, wait.’ She places her hand on my arm to halt me. ‘Jasper’s not here yet.’
‘Jasper’s coming with us?’ Why does my voice betray me so and come out high pitched, almost gargled?
‘Yes.’ Princess does the duck-lips pout as if pleased with herself. ‘The more the merrier, wouldn’t you agree?’
I pause, debating the idea. Jasper is sweet, isn’t he?
So why then does my mind scream no? It’s not a crime I’m attracted to the guy.
Really, that’s all surface level anyway, not a big deal in the scheme of things.
It’s not as if I need to shout about that from the rooftops.
Still, I feel a prickly sensation at the idea of being stuck with him all day.
As if I’m not quite in control of the motherboard as I usually am.
‘Ah – yes, of course. More the merrier!’
‘There he is!’ Princess waves at Jasper, who jogs over. Great, he’s athletic too like some striking buff Norse God. If you’re into gods like that. Which I’m not.
‘ Bonjour , bonjour ,’ he says, his breath coming out in puffs of foggy air. ‘Are we ready to explore the best of Paris?’
‘ Oui, mon amour! ’ Princess says, letting out a fluttery little laugh and lightly touching his shoulder. As Princess warned, she’s an incorrigible flirt and no one is off limits.
I give Jasper a curt nod. I mean, how curt can a nod be? But in the slight tilt of my head, I hope to convey that I’m averse to his charms. His charismatic nature affects me not.
‘Here’s the car.’ Princess points to a black limo with windows tinted so darkly that it’s impossible to see in. She must sense my thoughts because she says, ‘Tinted, bullet-proof glass.’
‘Are we in danger?’ Maybe Princess is some kind of mafiosa boss. I narrow my eyes and take in her bling. Today she’s dripping in diamonds and swathed in gold chains. She never did tell me what line of work she was in, only that she’s self-made.
‘No, darling, but imagine if we were! What a story we’d have to tell.’
I have to find out. I can’t just willingly, obliviously, step into a fancy stretched limo with the head of a powerful mafia family, can I? ‘What did you say you did for a living again, Princess?’ I make my voice light.
‘Assassin. But don’t worry, I’m retired. Come now, darlings.’
Walked into that one. Damn it.
The stretched limo is the kind of car that celebrities travel in, and so out of the norm for me I can barely wait to tour Paris in such luxury.
The driver opens the door for us. We barrel in, delighted to find chilled bottles of Taittinger. ‘First stop. Le Tour Eiffel!’ Princess takes charge and pours the champagne, and the bubbles revolt, scaling the side of the glass.
‘Not wanting to be the fun police or anything but isn’t it a little too early for this?’ I ask. ‘All I’ve done since we boarded is drink to excess. I’m worried my blood stream now operates purely as an alcohol stream.’
Jasper laughs, as if I’m truly funny, and the sound is melodic, beautiful.
It’s quite captivating, I force myself to look away from him.
The thing is, I wasn’t actually making a joke.
Usually, I am the fun police, the boring one, who counts her drinks and makes sure there’s no hangover on the horizon.
Here, I’ve been knocking back festively named drinks like they’re going out of style – probably a numbing device; I have just lost my husband after all…
‘Maybe you’re right.’ Princess nods. ‘We’ll have mimosas, we’ve got a long day ahead of us.’ She presses a button on the door panel. A hidden compartment opens outwards to reveal a mini fridge full of soft drinks, sparkling water and juice.
She dollops a whisper of orange juice into our champagne glasses.
Mimosas duly mixed, we clink glasses and relax back into the plush seats, falling quiet as we admire the view of Paris as we get closer to the city centre itself.
The city is dressed in its finery for the festive season.
There are Christmas trees dotted here and there, and each shopfront is luxuriously decorated.
While our driver battles early morning traffic, I press my face against the glass until my breath fogs up the incredible view – chic cafés on every corner with striped rattan chairs that face the street.
Historic buildings and beautiful architecture.
A lithe woman wears a long caramel-coloured coat and knee-high boots, looking like a fashion icon as she walks her tiny dog.
Could I live in Paris? It’s a dream worth contemplating.
Perhaps I’ll crunch the numbers and do some research into the cost of living in a metropolis like this.
My chest tightens. Am I really moving on already, making future plans, just like that? The fairytale Christmas winter wonderland wedding, the man of my dreams, gone like a puff of smoke. The pain catches me unawares, as if it’s been lurking, waiting for me to remember.
‘How are you, Aubrey?’ Jasper asks as Princess flirts up a storm with the driver through the partition. ‘We didn’t get to speak at breakfast.’
‘I’m good.’ There’s such sincerity in Jasper’s eyes I wish that I’d been honest from the get-go about the Miles fiasco, not that anyone actually listens to my protestations.
‘I’m considering where I’ll go after this trip.
I haven’t lived in Paris before, only ever had flying visits. Could this be my new home for a while?’
He lifts a shoulder. ‘Why not. Paris has it all. Where else have you called home?’
‘Southeast Asia mainly. There’s a huge digital nomad contingent there and the cost of living is so affordable. My favourite country is Indonesia. There are so many islands to explore and who doesn’t want to live in a tropical paradise?’