Chapter 52
NOW
She was almost euphoric when she left work two hours later.
She and Claudine had stayed behind, ushering the other guests to their rooms, making sure the cleaning staff had started work before they departed.
They’d sat down afterwards and drunk coffee, something to take the edge off the fizz of the wine and the fizz of excitement they both felt.
‘It went well, I think?’ Claudine kept saying.
‘Yes. I think it did.’
Bella wasn’t sure whether Henri had taken her words on board, she wasn’t sure what he’d say to his father. But he’d said enough to give her hope.
And whatever happened next, it was over.
There was nothing more they could do. There was a kind of relief at being briefly powerless, the sort of feeling she remembered from exiting her A levels, knowing she’d possibly not done as well as she could have, but also knowing that she had a few weeks to at least live in a limbo in which she could hope. And in which revision was useless.
Claudine had elected to stay at the hotel, to see the delegates off in the morning for their early flight. But although Bella had offered to stay too, she had been relieved when her boss had told her she needn’t. ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘You go home. You’ve earned a rest.’
It was the time of night where the sky was at its darkest – evening had faded to black, and the first tendrils of morning light had yet to touch the sky and give a sense of approaching light.
But it was Paris, the city was very much still alive – lights emanated from the windows of closed shops and there were still people, walking home arm in arm from nights out, a man in the doorway, smoking a cigarette, a woman sporting a large jumper, bare legs and furry boots, shivering by a poodle who refused to pee.
The street lights glowed, their classic black design making them seem like something from a past era, and for a moment she could imagine she was stepping onto the street fifty, even a hundred years ago.
She’d promised Juliette she’d get a cab, and she would. But instead of calling an Uber to meet her outside, she decided to walk to the station and pick up one of the cars that would be waiting there to catch travellers on their exit.
Feeling the colder air start to infiltrate her clothing, she wrapped her coat more tightly around her and was about to descend the steps to the street when a voice called. ‘Bella?’
She looked up and gasped. Standing a few metres away, dressed in a shirt and tie, jacket over his arm, was Pete. It took a second to register, to understand that he was here, in Paris. ‘Pete? What are you doing here?’
He walked towards her, put his hand on the railing.
‘You said you’d think about it. Then you didn’t call.
I— I suppose I wanted to show you that I was serious about this, about us.
I knew you had this big thing on. I was going to— I suppose I was going to come in, surprise you.
But then it was too—’ He gestured at the hotel.
‘Well, it’s a bit fancy, isn’t it? I felt like a bit of a dick.
I mean, I’d probably have been chucked out for not having an invite. ’
She smiled, trying to disguise the fact that she felt shaky. ‘Probably.’
‘So I went and I waited.’ His voice, she realised, was slightly slurry.
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘Not really. A tiny bit maybe.’
‘Perhaps we should talk tomorrow.’
He shook his head. ‘You said twenty-four hours and it’s already been more than that. At least—’ He stopped, seemed to be trying to work out the exact number, holding up fingers and counting them off. ‘You know,’ he said at last.
‘Oh, Pete.’
‘So?’ he said, looking up at her.
‘So?’
‘Are you prepared to give me – us – a chance?’ He stumbled slightly, grabbed the rail again.
She shook her head. ‘Oh Pete, I’m so sorry. I just think— I mean, we’re so different. I see that now. We want different things. And I’m sorry you came all this way – I should have called. It’s just been—’
‘But face it, Bella. You don’t belong here any more than I do. This isn’t you!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This… businesswoman thing you’re trying to be. I know you, don’t forget. You’re a school dropout like me. We don’t do fancy. We’re not like that. Pretentious.’
‘I’m not being pretentious. I’m trying to better myself, yes. But—’
‘But look at you!’ he gestured. ‘Not sure who you’re trying to fool.’
‘This isn’t exactly romantic,’ she pointed out, trying not to let his words pierce her.
‘No, you’re right,’ he said sadly. ‘Look, just come home with me. Or let’s make a new home. Start again.’
‘I just can’t, Pete. I’m sorry.’
He looked for a moment as if he might burst into tears. Then his expression hardened. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Fine!’ He began to walk off rapidly.
‘Pete!’ she said. ‘Wait! Where are you… Do you have somewhere to stay? I didn’t—’
But he had rounded the corner, flapping his hand as if flicking her away.
She sighed for a moment, tried to recapture the feeling of potential she’d had when she’d first exited. But then another voice: ‘Bella?’
This time, looking down from the steps, she saw Henri still dressed in his suit, walking, then jogging, towards her.
She smiled; he must have decided to meet her, maybe travel back to the house with her.
Perhaps he’d be able to tell her what the delegates had decided.
Only when he neared, she realised his expression was thunderous.
‘How could you do that?’ he asked when he was close enough.
‘What?’
‘Tell my father about me. About the business. How could you do that?’
‘Henri! I didn’t! I’d never do that!’
‘Then how does he know?’ Henri folded his arms across his chest. Now that her eyes were adjusting to the dull light of outside, she could see that his were red-rimmed. He’d been crying.
‘I don’t know. But you have to believe… Henri, that’s your secret. Your problem to sort out. I would never— I haven’t spoken to him.’
He shook his head. ‘Then who?’ he asked her. ‘Who would do that to me?’
She stepped forward. ‘Maybe he worked it out for himself.’
‘No. He said he heard it from someone.’
A sudden thought. ‘Henri, it was probably us. In the corridor. I mentioned… well, I said to you about lying and…’
‘Then it is your fault.’ Henri’s voice didn’t sound like his. ‘Everything is ruined and it is your fault.’
‘Now come on…’ she said, taking another step.
Friendship’s full of dregs; methinks false hearts should never have sound legs.
he quoted miserably.
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
Only Henri had already turned, was walking quickly away.
‘Wait! Henri!’ She made to rush after him, but misjudged the step.
He didn’t see her ankle turn, her leg bend underneath her.
Didn’t notice her tumbling to the bottom of the steps.
A pain shot through her lower leg as she hit the pavement, landing first on the edge of her ankle, then on to her knees, managing to put her hands out and prevent her head knocking the ground.
The slap of flesh on pavement was both sharp and hard, and the pain of it almost took her breath away. She felt tears spring to her eyes.
A man was at her side almost instantly. ‘Madame,’ he said. ‘Can I help you?’
A woman appeared too, holding out her hand. ‘You have fallen, Madame. Are you OK?’
Bella, wincing, moved herself to a sitting position on the bottom step. ‘I’m OK,’ she said. ‘Honestly. I’ll be fine.’ She forced a smile.
They looked doubtful, but moved on, glancing back once or twice as she sat there wondering what to do next, her ankle screaming in pain.
‘You know,’ a voice said, ‘it’s OK to accept a little help sometimes.’
She looked up abruptly. Brad was there, standing in front of her, framed by the soft, yellow lamplight.
She squinted at him for a moment, her head spinning; distracted by pain. Was he really here? Had Pete been? Henri? A strange sense of disorientation came over her.
‘Brad?’
‘That’s my name, don’t wear it out!’ he said, crouching down.
It really was him. He really was here.
‘What are you doing here?’
He looked awkward. Adjusted his stance a little. ‘I guess I came to meet you.’
‘You guess?’
‘No. I did. I came to meet you.’
She noticed then the guitar on his back. He saw her looking. ‘I guess… I was going to maybe play something for you,’ he admitted.
‘You were? What, like a serenade?’ She was joking, but he remained serious.
Surely he hadn’t been ready to whip out his guitar and sing in the street?
He shrugged. ‘I was thinking about it. I mean, I thought about you up there tonight, thought about how brave you’ve been.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ He sat down next to her on the step, brought her injured ankle onto his lap and began gently massaging it. ‘You’re pretty impressive, you know.’
‘Now I know you’re joking.’
He looked at her. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘That deflection thing. I mean it, you know.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Better.’
He gently put her foot back on the ground then rose to his feet, sticking out a hand. ‘Let’s see if you can walk on that thing.’
She stood, tentatively putting weight on the injured ankle, but winced in pain and grabbed onto the stair rail. ‘Pretty sure it’s sprained or something.’
‘Right. Only one thing for it,’ he said. Before she could object, he lifted her in his arms, carrying her like a damsel in distress, shoulders against one of his arms, the backs of her knees against the other.
‘Brad!’ she said. ‘I don’t need… We can get a—’
‘For God’s sake, Bella, not everyone is going to let you down. Let me look after you.’
‘But—’
‘You’re still the strongest woman I’ve met.’
‘I am?’
‘You are. Now shut up and let me rescue you.’ And he leant towards her and brushed his lips to hers. She closed her eyes and let him kiss her, relaxing into his arms and feeling, for the first time in so very long, utterly safe, protected and loved.