Chapter 3 #2
Sabrina was happy to be in Paris and have some time to herself.
The suite they’d given her was one she and Malcolm had stayed in, but she didn’t mind.
It reminded her of the good times she’d had there with him.
It shocked her to realize that it was exactly a year since he had experienced the first signs of ALS and their search for a diagnosis had begun.
And now he was gone, and her life looked like a long, lonely stretch of road ahead of her.
She had no plan for the future, and no desire to organize one.
Nothing she had done before would be fun or meaningful to her without Malcolm.
She had no idea what one did when one lost the love of one’s life.
She had their children, but they had just reminded her that they had their own lives.
And without Malcolm she had none. She didn’t know what the answer was.
All she knew was that she wanted to come to Paris.
Their last happy days had been here, before the diagnosis.
She realized now that she was looking for a way to turn the film back to the happy part, before it became a horror movie.
She felt numb now, grateful for her children, and heartbroken over Malcolm.
There was no way to hide from the pain, so she had come back to the Ritz to remember their last carefree moments only a year before.
She lay in bed thinking about him that night until she fell asleep.
She didn’t know it yet, but the healing had begun.
She had put one foot back in the world, in Paris at the Ritz.
She didn’t know how long it would take to bring the other foot forward too.
She felt rooted to the spot where grief had led her, and Malcolm had left her.
And she had no idea how long it would take her to learn to walk again without him. She couldn’t even imagine it yet.
Coco called her from Milan when she woke up. She was on her way to the office, still working on the show. Sabrina had seen how much she loved her job and was happy for her.
“I just wanted to make sure you got to Paris okay. What are you going to do there?” Coco asked her.
“I don’t know yet.” Sabrina didn’t want to say “cry,” which was probably true. She had cried on her walk the day before. But the tears were different now. They were more bittersweet than signs that she was drowning. She was treading water now, not sure which way to go.
“Why don’t you look at some apartments, or a house?” Coco suggested.
“I don’t want to live alone here,” Sabrina said quietly.
“It made sense with your father. It doesn’t now.
” She said it as simple fact, but Coco knew she wouldn’t be happy in Malibu either.
Malcolm had left his mark there too. Paris was a clean slate Sabrina could write on, despite her many visits there with Malcolm, because they both loved it.
Nothing made sense without him, but Paris was a beautiful city and she was always happy there.
She spoke very little French, but enough to get by in restaurants and taxis.
After they hung up, she ordered coffee and toast, and looked out the window at the Place Vend?me.
It was raining, but Paris was beautiful even in the rain.
The light softened it, like a luminous gray pearl.
She called the concierge then, and asked him to book a car and driver for her, and for the name of a reliable realtor. They hung up and he called her five minutes later and gave her two names.
“I think they both speak English. Our clients have used them before. One of them, the second one, specializes in temporary apartments, mostly for Americans. The other one is for people who want to buy homes here.”
“Thank you,” she said, sitting at the desk, hesitating, and decided to call the one who handled real estate purchases.
She was connected to a Mme. Troquet, who sounded older and spoke perfect English with a British accent, as many people in France did.
Sabrina told her she wanted to see an apartment in good condition with four or five bedrooms, and a view would be nice. Not a walk-up.
“Any particular neighborhood?”
“The eighth, the sixteenth, the seventh, or the first,” Sabrina said firmly. She knew Paris well, and she and Malcolm had liked those areas best. One was on the Left Bank, and three were on the Right.
“We have some listings that might suit you,” Mme. Troquet said. “I’ll check on them and get back to you.” Sabrina thanked her and went to shower. She knew it was a futile exercise and she wouldn’t buy anything, but it didn’t hurt to look.
Mme. Troquet called as Sabrina was getting out of the shower.
“Three of the listings are still available,” she said in a cool voice.
“One isn’t.” Sabrina told herself it was just something to do to satisfy her children, and say she had done it.
She didn’t want an apartment in Paris without Malcolm.
She knew that much. They’d looked at apartments there before in the past few years, and never found anything they fell in love with.
And they wanted it to be a love match if they bought in Paris.
Sabrina wrote down the address where she was to meet the realtor, dressed, and an hour later got in the car waiting for her downstairs. The driver looked serious and was older, with white hair, was wearing a black suit, and spoke adequate English. He said his name was Jean.
He took her to the address she gave him, on the Left Bank.
It was on the rue de Varenne, not far from the Rodin Museum, which she knew well.
The realtor was waiting for her and had the keys to all three apartments she wanted Sabrina to see.
They were her listings. The first apartment was large, in good condition, and not exciting.
It was a little dark, and Sabrina said no quickly.
It had no charm. The other two they saw were on the Avenue Montaigne and the Avenue Foch.
The one on the Avenue Montaigne was being sold by a Russian, the one on the Avenue Foch by a Saudi family.
Both were a little too ornate for Sabrina.
The one on the Avenue Montaigne had a perilous-looking marble staircase.
It looked glamorous but dangerous to Sabrina.
Neither of them appealed to her. She didn’t know what she wanted, if anything, but she knew what she didn’t.
But she could tell her children she had seen three apartments, and didn’t like them.
There was nothing warm and inviting about them.
They didn’t feel like home and two were too fancy, although the buildings were handsome and the locations were good.
She didn’t bother to ask the prices since she didn’t want them.
They seemed sterile and showy. She didn’t think Malcolm would have liked them either.
They would have bought something chic and charming, and these weren’t either.
Sabrina went for a walk that afternoon, thinking about what she’d seen, and she had an idea.
She spoke to the concierge when she got back, and asked about renting a car.
She suddenly wanted to see countryside, maybe some chateaux, she wanted to breathe some air.
She and Malcolm had taken several driving trips around France, visiting chateaux.
She wanted to get out of the city. Maybe to Normandy or Deauville.
She asked the concierge to rent a car for her for the next day, something comfortable.
“Do you know where you want to go?”
“Maybe Deauville.” It wasn’t far, about two hours away. “I want to see the ocean.”
“Have you been to Biarritz, madame?” he asked her. “It’s a longer drive, but it’s quite beautiful and there’s a wonderful hotel there. It was the summer palace of Napoleon the Third and Empress Eugénie. They’ve turned it into a five-star hotel. It’s remarkable.”
“How long a drive is it?” she asked.
“Seven hours, but it’s beautiful, in the Basque country. And the beaches are lovely.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t know where she wanted to go and seven hours seemed long, but the hotel sounded interesting.
She just wanted to get in the car and drive and see where she wound up.
She had total freedom now, to go wherever she wanted.
It was both frightening and exciting at the same time.
Her life with Malcolm had been so carefully planned and predictable, which had made her feel secure.
Now everything had turned upside down, and in a way it freed her to do anything that came to mind, without a plan.
She slept well that night again, and had room service for dinner. She packed a small bag in the morning, in case she wanted to stay somewhere on the way, and she went to the concierge to pick up the keys to the rented car and sign the papers he had for her.
“Have you decided where you’re going, madame?” he asked her, and she smiled.
“I think I’ll just see where I wind up,” she said.
He nodded, and she went out to claim the car and put her bag in the back.
A few minutes later she was crossing Paris to the Porte d’Orléans on her way out of the city.
She had set the GPS for Biarritz. She didn’t have to go all the way, and she could change her mind anytime.
It was an unfamiliar sensation, but she was enjoying her freedom.