Chapter 15
15
When Saturday rolls around, I fight the urge to stay cocooned in bed. It’s been a long, busy week, as my body adjusts to a job where I’m on my feet all day and then coming home to my daughter who doesn’t seem to be settling in no matter what I try. I’m determined to have a good weekend together and show her just how great Paris can be. I’m finding it a bit of a revelation not running my own business any more and the extra work that goes with it. Maybe it’s also the change in outlook and being in my hometown once more.
The bookshop job is much more physical than I’m used to with editing, where I’d be mostly at my desk all day or reading a manuscript on my kindle in a comfy chair. Running up and down the stairs to the book loft is the shock my body needs. It feels almost as if it’s bringing me back to life, like hitting the reset button.
It’s fun chatting to customers and figuring out ways to display books to get more eyes on them. Valérie has given me carte blanche to do what I want to help sell more books, so I’m relishing the freedom to do just that. So far, it seems that the bar is her main source of income and the bookshop an afterthought where customers are concerned. I’d like to balance those scales if I can, so I’m happy to have the weekend to ponder ways in which to do so. Retail is a whole new beast, after all.
First, I’m meeting with my friend Anais for a bite to eat and a walk. We haven’t seen each other for a year or so. Once upon a time, I was her editor when I worked for a bigger publisher, and we became great friends. She’s been living in Paris for a long time now and recently renovated a boutique hotel by the Luxembourg Gardens. From what I’ve seen online, she’s turned it into a bookish literary haven.
Being a fellow publishing industry pal, Anais will no doubt have heard of any gossip still circulating about me or if the rumour mill has mercifully moved onto someone else. I hate admitting it, even to myself, but I’m sort of hoping Alexander has had his comeuppance and it didn’t all blow over for him while he was hiding out. I need to figure out a plan for him and what he owes me personally after the fallout, but my heart isn’t in it yet. Most days, it’s easier to just get on with this new life and pretend London never happened. It’s self-preservation, I guess.
‘Eloise?’ I knock on the bathroom door. ‘Are you almost done?’ Why do teenagers take the longest showers? She has absolutely no care or concern for water restrictions or the fact that three other family members need to share the amenities.
‘ Non. I’m washing my hair.’
‘Wash it faster.’
‘How? The conditioner needs to soak in for at least five minutes!’
‘According to the manufacturer’s instructions, one to three minutes is advised.’
There’s a garbled sound and then, ‘You’ve read the instructions on this exact bottle of conditioner?’
Honestly, at times I despair. ‘Yes, otherwise how else would I know the recommended time to leave the conditioner in my hair?’
A full fifteen minutes later, my daughter finally exits the bathroom, enveloped in a cloud of steam. We do the switching-places tango. ‘Chill, Mum! Jeez.’
Easy for her to say. ‘Eloise, you need to keep in mind there are other…’
She gives me a cool stare that quite stops me in my tracks. Where do they learn these intimidation tactics? Teenagers are really a different breed. ‘Weren’t you in a hurry to shower, not lecture me?’
Do I push the point or let it go for the sake of, well, peace? She’s not going to care one iota about my lecture anyway. ‘Be mindful of others, is all. It’s not too much to ask.’
‘OK, Boomer.’
I hold in a sigh as she stalks off. So that went well.
I shower, which is a quick torturous affair because Eloise hasn’t read the simple instructions on a conditioner bottle and has used all the hot water.
In the bedroom, I get myself dressed and ready, looking forward to getting out for the day.
The room is a mess of clothes, as if she couldn’t decide what to wear and pulled every item from the drawers. ‘Eloise! Hang up your towel and put all this away please.’
‘Urgh.’ She returns and leans against the door jamb. ‘How long until we leave? I want my own room. ’
‘Not long, darling.’ It’s best to keep the timeframe vague when it comes to teenagers; I’ve learned that over the last little while. I’d like to get a place soon too, but I need a healthy savings buffer to cover costs and any contingencies that may arise. ‘I’ll meet you in front of Montparnasse Tower on Avenue du Maine in a few hours?’ The tower is close to my parents’ apartment and a good place to meet. ‘We can visit the observation deck if you like?’ It’s one of the best places to view the Eiffel Tower and marvel at the panoramic sprawl of the city, but it’s overlooked by many tourists as it’s not as well-known as, say, the Place du Trocadero, or Sacré Coeur in Montmartre.
‘Can we not? How many times do I need to see the Eiffel Tower?’
‘You’ll lose your French citizenship if you say that out loud.’
‘Ha, good then we can go back to London.’
‘Very funny. I’ll text you when I’m on my way.’
I head out into the warm spring day and make my way to the Metro to get a train to the 6th arrondissement to meet Anais.
When I arrive at La Palette, I scour the pretty floral-filled terrace for my friend. The brasserie is a left bank institution. It’s said the artist Picasso and musician Jim Morrison used to be frequent guests. Jim Morrison is actually buried in Père-Lachaise cemetery. His grave is the most visited out of all the famous people resting in peace there. The necropolis might just be quirky enough for Eloise’s tastes, so I make a mental note to ask her if she wants to visit soon.
Anais waves me over to a table in a strip of sunlight. ‘Bonjour, Coco! It’s been too long.’ We kiss cheeks.
‘Bonjour, Anais. It has.’ I take a seat as a waiter appears. We order a bottle of Sancerre and steak frites, a typical Parisian lunch offering. ‘How is it going at the hotel?’ There’s a radiance to her face that was missing the last time I saw her at a literary festival.
‘The hotel is going from strength to strength thanks to my cousin, Manon. I get to enjoy the perks of living there and writing romance novels, which thankfully, I’ve grown to love again. For a while there I felt like I’d lost my mojo. The words wouldn’t come, or if they did they were about my heroine massacring cheating lying men two at a time. Not exactly on brand for me.’ I laugh at the thought. Anais writes sweet romantic comedies so there’s no way she’d get away with a vengeful protagonist killing off her heroes.
‘I’m glad we got you back from the dark side.’
‘ Oui . It’s strange to say, but the divorce was the best thing that ever happened to me. What I didn’t know then is that it’s a grieving process. I wish I’d known that earlier and saved myself the angst.’
‘That’s an interesting take.’ Will I feel the same soon enough?
She nods. ‘Time dulls down all the hurt, the humiliation, but more than that…’ She makes a contemplative face. ‘I came to understand that I’d been so desperate to find love at the time that I overlooked all the ways in which it wasn’t working and I settled for that, because I didn’t want to be alone, when in reality, I was still alone. The marriage only had one participant who was playing by the rules – moi . Even now, I reflect and wonder why I wasn’t honest with myself about it.’
The waiter returns with the wine and pours us each a glass before bustling off to another table.
Anais’ frank admission gives me pause. Have I done the very same thing with Alexander? Overlooked all those red flags because it was easier to pretend the relationship was on the right trajectory? Clearly so.
‘Why do we blame ourselves though?’ I say. ‘That’s the question we should be asking.’
She holds her wine glass up and we clink before each taking a sip. ‘You know, that’s true too. It must be a default setting where we look internally and subconsciously direct the blame back our way. The thing is, I don’t think Francois-Xavier ever loved me. I’m sure now that I was an easy mark for him.’
‘No, Anais. Surely he couldn’t be that cold and calculating?’
‘He is, but something tells me he might behave better in future.’
‘I won’t ask.’
She lets out an evil little cackle. ‘Best not.’
‘Before I was the main topic of chat in the publishing world, I heard Margaret pulled the pin and went out on her own?’ Margaret is a legend in the industry and is Anais’ literary agent. She doesn’t mince words and has her finger on the pulse of publishing. I’m slightly terrified of her intimidating ways, but she’s mostly harmless, just of old school ilk where she doesn’t sugarcoat a damn thing.
‘ Oui , it’s been a fabulous fresh start for Margaret and for the authors who followed her. Margaret finally had enough of the power dynamics and not being heard in a company that was successful largely because of her. When she made that leap, as scary as it was, it gave her the freedom to do it her way. And she’s doing incredibly well. Of course, I’ve heard all about your predicament. You can’t let him win, Coco. You’re an amazing editor. Are you going to go back to it? I can’t help but think you need to follow Margaret’s lead and start your own firm. Alone.’
My anxiety ramps up. I fight the urge to nervously scratch at my skin. I’m not sure why I’m still so ashamed, as if I’m the one who had sticky fingers and not Alexander. I’d been hoping to ask Anais about the gossip, but now that I’m face to face with her it’s awkward delving into it. There’s no accounting for how stupid I feel, still. ‘Well…’ I best rip the plaster off because we’re going to get there no matter how I dance around the subject. ‘I couldn’t get an editorial job for love nor money and I have zero capital to start over. I don’t even have enough to rent an apartment yet. How dire does all that sound?’
‘It sounds grossly unfair to me.’ She reaches across the table and places her hand atop mine.
I give her a small smile. ‘I’m working in a bookshop and saving for an apartment. How the mighty fall, eh?’ I go on to summarise my version of events, aware that I’m probably coming across robotic and detached. It’s easier that way, to stand back from it as if I’m recounting someone else’s woes.
By the time I’m finished telling her the whole sorry story, Anais’ shoulders are up around her ears. ‘And you never found the money?’
‘He said it was gone.’
She tuts. ‘I’m so sorry this happened. And for him to rub salt in the wounds with your editorial assistant. I wonder if she was in on it?’
‘Editorial assistant?’ I ask with a frown.
Anais’ face twists. ‘ Merde , you didn’t see the post on Instagram?’
I shake my head as the pieces suddenly click into place. That wink; it still makes me shudder. ‘Can you show me the post?’ Some broken hearts might find comfort (or pain) in scrolling through their lost love’s social media accounts, ruminating about what could have been or keeping watch. Not me. I blocked Alexander so I’d never have to see his mug again. There will be no stumbling on memories that catch me unaware. It’s easier that way, to forget he ever existed. But if my suspicions are correct about that creepy wink he gave Molly-Mae, then I’ve been played a fool twice .
Anais swipes open her phone and scrolls with a look of intense concentration on her face. When she finds the post, she asks, ‘Isn’t this your editorial assistant?’ When she turns her phone around, there’s a photo of Molly-Mae, my former highly ambitious editorial assistant, kissing Alexander’s cheek. The caption says: Hard launching this beauty. In my darkest times, I found the light. Molly-Mae helped dust me off and made me whole again. Love conquers all.
My bruised heart stutters to a stop. I put a hand to my chest to stop the pain.
This betrayal is one too many. My face crumples as I finally let tears fall. The motherboard inside me misfires for all the world to see. How could they? I’d been so supportive of Molly-Mae, seeing a lot of my younger self in her, her drive, the way she had her eye on the future, when the whole time she had her eye on Alexander. Now it makes sense why she was trying to cover up the fact that Janae had raised concerns and didn’t feed that back to me. Were they in on it together? Was it a way to get me out of the picture?
I hastily swipe at my tears and try to get a handle on my emotions. ‘Sorry, Anais. I don’t know what came over me. I feel so utterly, utterly stupid. And like second best.’
Anais’ eyes are full of concern as I pass her the phone back. ‘I’m so sorry, Coco. I shouldn’t have shown you that post!’
I wave her concerns away. ‘I’m glad you did. I can’t get over how brazen he is, acting like what happened wasn’t his fault!’ My blood boils at the thought of him vanishing with the stolen funds and happily starting over after I sorted the mess out, losing everything in the process. ‘What did his caption say again?’ I bite down on my lip.
For some reason, the idiocy of what he wrote makes me laugh. It seems so at odds to how he usually speaks. Anais bites down on her lip too and soon we fall about laughing.
When I finally gather myself, I sputter, ‘Hard launching.’ And it starts us off again. At some point, the waiter returns with our meals and gives us a strange look as we dissolve into laughter once more.
Anais says, ‘Love conquers all!’ My stomach muscles seize up from so much chortling.
‘They deserve one another. Although I always liked Molly-Mae.’ And I don’t know for sure, they could have become an item after I left, but still, it goes against the girl code. We eat companionably for a minute. The steak is tender and covered with lashings of buttery bearnaise sauce. The frites are crispy and crunchy.
‘Do you want me to tell you what I’ve heard bandied about?’
In the long run it’s probably preferable to have all the facts at hand, and surely there’s no more shocks like that one. ‘May as well.’
Anais swipes mascara smudges from under her eyes. ‘My agent Margaret mentioned that there were all these positive articles about Alexander popping up on industry websites and the like. For example, there was one about his history of giving back to those in the literary world from less fortunate backgrounds. How he was set on helping them get a foot in the door of the publishing industry.’
‘That’s a blatant lie. He hasn’t helped anyone.’
‘Right. Margaret believes it’s the work of a PR firm.’
I cup my head in my hands. ‘Molly-Mae worked at a PR firm before switching to editorial. ’
‘There you go, they’re working together on a campaign to make him out to be this literary philanthropist.’
‘And me hightailing it out of London must make me seem like the guilty party.’
She makes a moue with her mouth. ‘Maybe not. Don’t forget it’s a terrifically small industry and a lot of us have dealt with Alexander over the years. It’s obvious he’s in damage control mode, whereas you did the right thing and then moved back home.’
‘I hope it comes across that way. Still, the question remains: why? Why did he forgo his stake in a successful business, lose a steady income that was pretty much guaranteed, to skim off the top like that?’
‘Because he’s got a massive ego, Coco, and he thought he’d never get caught.’
Ah. Of course . He didn’t think he was risking anything. He knew the systems I’d installed wouldn’t alert. He just didn’t factor in that I’d share author sales in real time with Janae and then have her question those amounts later.
I slide my fingers over my temples as a headache blooms. The knife in my back twists once more. ‘When this exploded, one of my main concerns was finding replacement jobs for our staff, and Molly-Mae told me not to worry, that the enforced break would do her good.’ I let out a bitter laugh.
‘An enforced break paid for with stolen funds.’
‘And holed up with Alexander.’ There was clearly some scheming between the two, and I didn’t see it.
‘They deserve each other.’
After I’d tied up all the loose ends, I left quickly, mortified that my life had changed so dramatically almost overnight. I’ve never suffered that intense public shame before and all I wanted to do was hide. Now I see it for what it is, and my desire to fight returns. ‘Why should I lose it all? I don’t allow people to manipulate me. I’m not a pushover.’ It dawns on me I’ve simply given myself the space to grieve these losses before I rise up and get back what’s mine. And that’s a sensible approach. I’ve been in a fog, still unable to see clearly and make rational choices when it comes to Alexander.
‘What will you do?’
‘Therein lies the problem. My savvy but expensive lawyer made an agreement with our authors that the authorities wouldn’t be involved, mostly for my benefit, as long as we paid them back within a certain timeframe, which I managed to do by liquidating everything, and a payment plan is still in place while we wait for royalties from retailers like Amazon and the like.’ I toy with my napkin while Anais pours us two generous glasses of wine because we’ve obviously scared the waiter off with our hysterical laughter. ‘By then I’d already spent an exorbitant amount of money on a forensic accountant to trace it all. If I go down the legal route again, a civil suit against Alexander, I dread to think how much more it will cost. According to my lawyer, it’ll be more than what I originally invested in the company, so is it worth doing? I mean, if I won then everyone in the industry would hear about it and know for sure that I wasn’t involved, but that will come at a financial cost to me.’ Not to mention the time and effort involved, dredging up the whole mess again, bringing the scandal back to the fore, requiring another level of energy that I don’t have.
‘I know how prohibitive legal fees can be and I see your point. It’s a tough decision but probably worth pursuing if you want to continue to work in publishing.’ She takes a delicate sip of wine and says, ‘There should be consequences for what he did. ’
‘There must be another way to hold him accountable that won’t cost me more in legal fees.’
‘You’re as clever as they come, Coco. You’ll figure out the path forward. Eventually you’ll realise that Alexander did you a favour.’
While it sounds strange, it’s true. This faux relationship could have lasted forever without me being aware of the seedy underbelly. ‘ Merci, Anais.’
‘Next, you need to find love again.’
I laugh, half choking on a wedge of crusty bread. ‘I don’t think so somehow.’
‘You know, that’s exactly what I thought after my divorce. But the best cure for heartbreak is love!’
I narrow my eyes. ‘How can you be so sure?’ Everyone seems to have a remedy for heartbreak but I remain unconvinced.
‘A new romance helps put all the pieces back together.’
Henri’s face flashes in my mind, and I mentally swipe the image away. ‘I do love a good romance, a bad boy, but the safe sort, under the cover of a book. Speaking of, you’ll have to visit me at The Paris Bookshop for the Broken Hearted. Valérie has a range of your backlist in stock, and they sell out almost as quickly as she can order them in.’
‘Ooh, I’ve heard about that place! Potions and passages for those suffering from a broken heart? One of my friends went there and voilà , found love the very next day. She claims the place is magical, wondrous, and the owner has some special power to see into people and fix them up. Is it true?’
My eyebrows pull together. ‘How can it be?’
Anais surveys me for a beat. ‘ Oui , it’s peculiar, but what if she really does have a gift? Has she tried it on you?’
‘Yes, she’s already planning my upcoming literary wedding to journalist Henri.’
Anais raises a brow. ‘And who is this Henri then? Is he gorgeous? I bet he’s gorgeous.’
I wave her away. ‘Jude Law circa 1990 sort of looks.’
‘Well, stop right there. That isn’t just gorgeous, that’s rip-your-clothes-off hot.’
I laugh, imagining such a thing. ‘You’d think so, but he’s got this saviour complex.’ I fill her in on our first run-in, when I literally ended up in his arms, then the pickpocket incident and later him arriving at the bookshop claiming I followed him.
‘So three times Lady Love put this hot guy who already wants to protect you in your direct line of sight and you don’t think it’s meant to be?’
I scoff. ‘Well, if you believe in all that nonsense, maybe, but I don’t. He’s at the bookshop every day, writing I guess, although I don’t see much finger-on-keyboard action. He’s…’ What is he? The more time I spend with Henri, the more I sense that he’s a little lost himself. ‘…An enigma. Besides, I don’t trust my judgement with men any more, but I concede he’s rather nice to look at.’
‘I’ll have to pop into the bookshop for a visit, and I’d love you to see the hotel too, when you’re free.’ Anais holds her glass aloft. ‘Here’s to endless possibilities and the courage to take risks for the brightest, shiniest of futures.’
We clink glasses. Anais is the inspiring kind of friend who is good for the soul. Her words are more meaningful because she’s walked the same path and come out the other side. She has a hotel that gave up its secrets in a strange bit of happenstance, she’s madly in love, and she’s thriving in her writing career. There’s hope for me yet.
It’s time to control the narrative of my own life.