Midnight in Paris

Prologue

PROLOGUE

TWO WEEKS AGO

Sophie leant on the cool stone of the bridge, her toes flexed, lifting her a little higher so that below she could see the water froth and whirl. She tried not to think about whether he would come.

The Seine continued at a rapid pace, the peaks and troughs of its surface thrown into light and shadow by the sun’s rays, which sprinkled it like glitter. A boat passed, packed with tourists leaning against the railings, photographing the view, taking selfies. Their clothes were a riot of colour against the turquoise-brown water, and their chatter broke through the other sounds of Paris – the buzz and growl of traffic, the hum of pedestrians, the fizz and whorl of the passing river – then drifted away on the wind.

It was busier than it had been the first time they’d stood here, but other than that the view had barely changed in the years that stretched between then and now – the sandstone buildings topped with grey tiles, the majestic lines of windows gazing down on the trees in their uniform, clipped lines. They’d always loved standing here on the Pont du Carrousel, gazing out over this very patch of the river. If he was coming, he would know to find her here.

Soon enough, as she turned her gaze from the water, she saw him approaching, recognisable even at a distance with his habitual swaggering walk. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ she said as he drew closer.

He chuckled warmly, the sound sending shivers of memory through her. ‘And miss this?’ he said with a mischievous grin. ‘Never.’

Sophie didn’t answer. She turned towards him, trying to keep her expression neutral. ‘You know it has to be the last time?’ she said. ‘I have to move on, we both do.’

‘You’ve said that before.’

‘Yes, but Tom, this time I mean it.’

His eyes danced with laughter, as they so often did. ‘You’ve said that before, too.’

He was closer now, almost touching her. She raised her hands slightly as if to stop him. ‘I’m getting married, Tom,’ she said.

‘I know.’

‘To Will.’

He nodded, the smile not leaving his lips. ‘I know, Soph.’

‘You love Will. I love Will. I can’t hurt him, Tom. I can’t come again.’

‘To Paris? You love Paris!’

‘We love Paris,’ she said, dipping her head. ‘It won’t be the same without you.’

He shook his head. ‘You flatter me,’ he said. ‘People have been coming to Paris for centuries and as far as I know, they’re here to see the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. Not Tom Gardner.’

She gave a small laugh, then turned back towards the water, watching the last of the light shimmer on its surface as the day began to give way to dusk. ‘It won’t be the same for me ,’ she said. ‘Paris is ours. And this…’

‘…has to be the last time,’ he finished for her. ‘I know. Can we not talk about it?’

‘What else do you want to talk about?’ she asked.

He lifted a shoulder. ‘Pretty much anything else.’

She looked at him. ‘Remember when we met?’