Chapter 23
NOW
The call from reception was unexpected.
‘Isabella? There is a visitor for you.’
‘Really?’ She’d been working on the presentation, something that was drawing ever closer, and had been completely immersed. She checked her watch: midday. ‘Are you sure?’
Mélodie sounded amused. ‘Oui, I am sure. There is a gentleman here to see you.’
‘Oh?’ She couldn’t imagine who it might be. Perhaps it was a courier, something to sign. ‘I’ll be down in a sec.’
To her surprise, when she descended in the lift a few moments later, she found Henri sitting on one of the chairs, engrossed in something on his phone. He looked up as she approached, and his face broke into a smile. ‘Hello!’ he said. ‘Surprise!’
He stood and kissed her on both cheeks. Bella could feel the receptionist’s eyes on them. ‘Hi,’ she said, her voice dropped to almost a whisper. ‘What are you— Why are you here?’
‘I know you are a busy executive now,’ Henri said with mock seriousness. ‘But even the President of France has to eat, non? And I am sure he must be busy.’
She checked her watch again. ‘That’s so nice. But I was kind of in the middle of something…’
‘Vraiment?’ He looked hurt. ‘But…’ He leant in. ‘Surely it can’t be that important. You are only an intern.’
‘Oh, lunch!’ she said, suddenly and loudly, hoping to drown out anything else Henri might say. ‘Love to!’
He stepped back at her sudden enthusiasm, but then nodded and took her hand. ‘Yes. Let’s eat.’
She turned to Mélodie. ‘I’ll be back in an hour,’ she said. ‘Take messages if anyone calls.’
‘Wow,’ Henri said as they exited onto the street. ‘They have you doing real work. When my father had interns, he used to say “They are great for coffee, to fetch a sandwich perhaps. But not much more”.’
‘Oh, I make coffee too,’ she lied. Actually, Yves was keeping up such a steady supply of it that she wasn’t sure where the nearest café was and she was beginning to develop a twitch by 3 p.m. each afternoon.
She’d had a call planned in an hour with one of the representatives from Hotel Club to finalise some of their requirements for their visit.
But she could hardly tell Henri that without giving herself away.
Unless… ‘Look, it’s not exactly an internship.
It’s more like a job. I’m not… I’m not at uni.
’ She took a deep breath. It was time to tell him everything.
She glanced at him and saw him looking at her with interest. ‘And… I’m sorry, but I tried to tell you before. I’m older than you think, too.’
‘Ah yes! I like this!’ he said. ‘The role play, n’est-ce pas? You are an executive in your thirties – an older, experienced woman – and maybe I am your husband. And we are both very successful, successful enough to go to GrandCoeur for lunch.’
‘No, I really mean it, I—’
‘Or perhaps you have a husband at home. He is very rich, but very old and dull. And I am your lover,’ said Henri, warming to the idea.
‘No. Henri. You’re not listening. I’m the project manager at that hotel. I’m actually working on an important assignment—’
‘Oui, I know,’ he said, winking elaborately.
‘But—’ She felt exhausted. What was she meant to do? Make him read her birth certificate? Chop a limb off and have him count the number of rings? Or perhaps that was just a tree thing.
‘Ah, here it is. Not GrandCoeur, but maybe next time, huh?’ he said, grinning.
Her stomach growled as if to say Look, you tried. You’re off the hook. Now eat!
He pushed open the door of a glass-fronted seafood restaurant she’d noticed a couple of times on her walk to work.
It was set in a white, rather smartly renovated building with a bright blue and white awning and decorative brickwork.
‘Welcome to La Cabane,’ he said. ‘The best fish restaurant in France.’
Inside, the room was lit with low, yellow light. Small circular tables with white linen napkins were scattered throughout, half of them filled, the other half set with plates and cutlery, ready for further guests.
They were shown to a table by a waiter who seemed to know Henri on sight, and after a moment or two she felt herself relax.
She’d been intending to work through lunch, get as much done as possible so she could leave on time, or as close to ‘on time’ as possible.
But although Henri didn’t know the full facts, he was right. It was important to have a break.
They ordered seafood – a plateau de fruits de mer – the platter edged with shrimp and mussels surrounding an enormous red lobster split open on the plate, shelled crab and smoked salmon.
Nestled between the delicacies were slices of lemon and fresh lettuce leaves.
Henri ordered a sparkling white wine, despite her protestations about work, and as they picked at their feast, first carefully and then with more abandon, she started to enjoy herself.
She was in Paris! Eating at a gorgeous restaurant with her handsome boyfriend.
Surely the type of thing that people dream of.
‘This is delicious,’ she said, tipping a mussel into her mouth and closing her eyes for a moment.
‘You are delicious.’
She looked up into blue eyes filled with mischief and passion and felt a rush of affection for this man who had given her a sense of being on stable ground once again.
She wondered whether to say something reciprocal, or thank him for whisking her away from her desk.
Or maybe something about how he was dressed – in a snug white shirt and grey trousers that fit him so well it was hard to look away.
Instead, she found herself saying ‘Pah!’ and metaphorically flicking away his compliment with a flap of her hand.
Did she always have to be so fricking British?
What was it with this desire to undermine all compliments at any cost?
She felt annoyed at herself for batting his words away.
This new, improved version of herself should know how to take a compliment.
She’d seen someone comment on Claudine’s new lipstick the other day and she’d enthused about it too, rather than saying ‘Oh, this old thing’ as Bella probably would have done.
But after at least a year with a husband who’d stopped complimenting her, stopped seeing her, the idea of her being delicious or attractive felt false and a little ridiculous. She didn’t feel delicious. Most of the time she felt as sexy as a lump of gone-off Brie.
She reached for another prawn, and jumped a little as Henri’s phone started to ring.
He looked at the screen and his face fell.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mouthed, then answered. ‘Bonjour, Papa,’ he said in a completely different voice, rolling his eyes at her over the table.
He grabbed a shrimp then stood, making his way across the restaurant to the door, opening it and standing outside in view of the window, having what looked like a heated conversation.
It was odd seeing him like this. Her happy-go-lucky lover suddenly looking hunched and angry. A completely different version of himself.
Ten minutes later, he re-entered, his face flushed. ‘I am so sorry.’ He sat down across from her. ‘It was my father. I didn’t mean to be away for so long.’
‘It’s OK,’ she replied. ‘Although the food went cold.’
He looked confused. ‘But it is seafood…’ Then he realised and laughed. ‘It is true,’ he said. ‘I am sure it is quite ruined.’ He sipped from his wine. There was still an aura of tension around him; a prickle in the air.
‘Everything all right?’
He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it in disarray. ‘Oui. Just my father, he always knows how to ruin the moment.’
‘Yeah?’ she enquired, not wanting to probe, but actually very much wanting ALL the details.
‘Oui. Ah, it is just a business thing. He is tired of me being a student. He thinks I’m avoiding real life. Tired of my studies, if I’m honest. Does not even want me to complete my course.’
‘Oh, that seems harsh.’ She made a sad face. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘That if real life is putting on a suit and sitting in a meeting room with lots of people, I am very keen to avoid it for as long as possible.’
She laughed. ‘That sounds perfectly reasonable to me! Plus, it’s your life, right?’
‘Yes. But he is old-fashioned. He wants his only son to take the reins of the business for him. It is his dream.’
She nodded. ‘What’s your dream though?’ she asked softly.
He leant forward on his elbows, ‘Is it OK if I am not yet sure? I know I want to do something with words, with literature. But I am not sure whether teaching is for me, or whether I want to write. Or maybe direct.’ He looked thoughtful.
‘Maybe my father is right; maybe I am just avoiding real life.’
‘Yeah, but you’re so young. It’s OK not to know yet.’ She put her hand on his and he put a second one on top and smiled at her gently.
Great. Now she was his mother.
‘We are both so young.’
She lifted her glass to take another sip but realised it was empty. Obligingly, Henri lifted the bottle and filled it up again. ‘It’s not really his decision. If you don’t want to, you shouldn’t have to,’ she added.
He nodded. ‘I agree. Only my father is the one with all the money. So he is used to getting his own way. The money gives him power and he knows it.’
‘But couldn’t you—’ she stopped herself.
‘What?’
‘No. It’s none of my business.’
‘No, tell me.’
‘Well, do you need his money? I know it’s difficult, but you could… get a job maybe?’
He laughed. ‘Yes. You have found my flaw. I am very, very lazy.’
‘There are worse things.’
‘Oui, it is true.’
‘Can I ask you something,’ she paused, wondering how to put this into words. ‘Do you ever feel bad?’
‘Bad?’
‘Yes, for letting your father believe you’re going to join him one day.’ She looked at him, her eyes searching his face.
There was a silence. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘A little. But sometimes if lies do not truly hurt another person, perhaps they are necessary.’
‘Maybe.’
He reached for her hand again, and she was surprised, as she always was, how much his skin made hers tingle at the slightest touch. She half felt like suggesting they forget dessert and go home. But she couldn’t – there was so much work to do.
‘But for now, I am trapped in this gilded cage,’ he added.
‘What, the house share? Not really “gilded” is it.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘More like a standard cage. Or a cave, maybe.’
He laughed, throwing his head back in a way that felt gratifying. ‘Oui, it is not so gilded there. But my father gives me a generous allowance. And I am too frightened of losing it right now.’
‘So he still thinks you’re going to join the business eventually?’
He grimaced. ‘It is too hard to say no to him. He has put me on the board. I have to go to meetings sometimes. But nothing much. Only, yes, he believes that when I have my doctorate, I will be joining the company. And that when he dies, I will step into his shoes.’
‘Is he dying?’
‘No, he is as healthy as a flea! But one day…’
‘You know, you really should tell him. You might find that he’s more understanding than you think.’
Henri made a face. ‘If you met my father, you might not be so sure.’
‘He’s not a nice guy?’
‘Oh, he’s nice, he’s just very traditional. In fact, my sister would quite like to run the business I think, but he has a fixed idea that it should be his son. It is a man’s job, apparently.’ He made a muscle and laughed.
‘Your poor sister!’
‘Yes. Once, we planned that when I get the business, I will take her on as a partner and then leave. But I think this might kill my papa.’ He shrugged. ‘Sometimes people are set in their ways, and you know there is nothing you can do about it.’
‘Has he got any idea? About you? About your sister? Any of it?’
He shook his head. ‘My father is not the easiest man to talk to.’
She nodded. ‘Families can be difficult.’
‘Oui,’ he said raising his glass. ‘And you are very wise.’
Assuming he was raising his glass for a clink, she thrust hers forward. But instead, he lifted his to his lips. Unable to stop the motion, she ended up sloshing wine onto his sleeve. ‘Oh God. Sorry.’ She picked a napkin from the table and began to dab at the spill, her cheeks flushing.
A waiter, eyes wide, rushed over with a large linen napkin and began dabbing too, muttering under his breath.
‘Non, it is OK, it is OK,’ Henri said.
The waiter retreated, looking troubled. Clearly they were not used to customers slinging wine around during meals.
But it was hard to take it all seriously, especially after a lunchtime drink, and Bella found herself grinning. Looking at her, Henri laughed. ‘Why do I find myself laughing so much when I am with you?’
‘I don’t know. Because I’m an utter disaster.’ His white shirt now had a damp stain which would probably dry yellow.
He looked at her with earnest eyes. ‘But you are the opposite of this. You are so refreshing. In my world – my father’s world I suppose – everyone has an image to maintain.
Everyone is serious and businesslike and they only show part of themselves to others.
But you? You are not complicated like this. ’
‘I’m not?’
‘Non, Bella. With you, I know exactly where I am. You are honest. It is refreshing.’
‘Right,’ she said with a thin-lipped smile.
‘Maybe I also see a future with you,’ he said softly. ‘One day, when we are grown up.’
‘You do?’
He nodded, all seriousness.
It was a knife to the heart. Things were working right now because she’d told herself it was just a fling. He didn’t need to know the truth about her.
But if he was imagining a future, she could no longer pretend to herself that what she was doing was harmless.
He probably wanted to travel, live his life. Have kids, but not yet. Her biological clock was beginning to tick, and she’d have to make the decision about her own fertility sooner rather than later. It wasn’t fair to keep him in the dark if they weren’t on the same page.
She didn’t want to think about shrivelling ovaries or broken hearts. Not today at least. And not while eating a seafood platter that looked fresh enough to be released back into the wild.
But she would have to soon, she thought, looking at Henri’s hopeful face. Because one thing was for sure: he didn’t deserve to be hurt.