Chapter 3
3
PARIS 1961
‘ Un crème, s’il vous plait. ’ The young woman looked up at the waiter, unable to keep herself from looking at him a little longer than she needed to. Thankfully her eyes were hidden by a pair of black sunglasses, shielding them from the bright Paris sunshine. He merely nodded and turned, a perfect split-second display of Parisian insouciance. Being American, she wasn’t used to it. Even New York seemed like a friendlier place than here – and that was saying something.
Allegra Morgon had been in the French capital for about a week and was feeling desperately homesick. Not that she would ever admit that to her parents. As far as they were concerned she wanted them to think she was having a marvellous time, if only to make them regret their decision to send her away so suddenly. Looking back, she knew she’d been the author of her own misfortune. She’d been on her third and final warning from the headmistress at her school back in Manhattan. Deciding to skip class to go and meet her boyfriend, the one her parents had forbidden her to see, hadn’t been the best decision she’d ever made. And it definitely hadn’t helped that the person who’d caught them sitting under a tree with a half-drunk bottle of bourbon beside them was her own mother.
What Allegra hadn’t anticipated was being sent to another country to stop her from seeing that boyfriend ever again but, in their wisdom, that’s what her parents had decided was best. Allegra was shipped off to Paris at just eighteen years of age to learn French at an expensive language school before she caused them any further embarrassment. Her mother was quite the socialite with a spotless reputation, their Upper East Side apartment frequently filled with the great and the good of New York City. She hadn’t even had time to say goodbye to her friends. Now here she was, sitting outside a pavement café in the sunshine, waiting for her mid-morning coffee. Not exactly a harsh punishment but she was homesick, nonetheless. She missed having people to talk to. Much as she’d tried to make friends on her course at the college, she was struggling to fit in.
The waiter returned with her coffee on a tray and put it down on the table, replacing the ashtray with a clean one as he did so. ‘ Merci ,’ said Allegra, giving him what she hoped was a winning smile. He didn’t even make eye contact. She sighed, quietly amused. Being tall with long, auburn hair, she was used to attracting attention. Realising at an early age she was never going to blend in, she’d long ago stopped trying. Instead, she used it to her advantage. But here in Paris, no one seemed that bothered. She picked up her cup and watched as people passed along the street, stopping to pick up their bread from the boulangerie opposite or to look at the dresses in the shop window next door. No one seemed to be in a hurry here, not like they were back home.
A deafening screech of tyres in the road right in front of her made her jump, spilling hot coffee onto her hand. A woman – young, with thick, dark hair cut into a striking bob – stood stock-still halfway across a pedestrian crossing. The books she’d obviously been holding had fallen to the floor, the front wheel of a scooter just inches away from her legs.
‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’ the woman shouted at the driver, her cut-glass English accent impossible to miss.
The driver got off the scooter and started shouting at her in French, waving his hands dramatically. Allegra watched as the woman started picking up the books, the man still shouting angrily. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t apologising or even asking if the woman he’d almost run over was alright.
Getting up from the table, Allegra started walking towards them. She addressed the man. ‘ Arrêtez, monsieur … please stop shouting.’ She wished she had more French words in her vocabulary.
He looked at Allegra, his face red with anger. He said something she didn’t understand but she continued speaking, her tone firm. ‘This wasn’t her fault. You should’ve stopped. She was crossing the road.’
‘Please, it’s okay. I’m not hurt.’ The woman looked at Allegra, her eyes glistening. She carried on picking the books up from the floor.
‘Here, let me help you.’ Allegra bent down. The man went on, his voice getting louder. ‘Hold on one minute,’ she whispered to the woman before standing up and turning back to the man. She towered over him. ‘ Monsieur, vous êtes un chauffard .’
He gawped at her, mouth like a fish. Allegra simply held his stare.
‘ Je m’en fiche !’ He shrugged. ‘ Pas fute-fute .’ He tapped his head as he said it, then walked back to his scooter. They watched as he rode off without so much as a backward glance.
‘Thank you,’ said the woman, brushing back her dark hair from her flushed face. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘I called him a road hog. I learnt it from a taxi driver. Here,’ said Allegra, gently helping her to her feet. ‘Are you okay? Do you want a glass of water? Or can I buy you a coffee? I’m just having one.’ She gestured to the café on the corner.
‘I think I’d better.’ Her voice shook slightly.
Before they’d even sat down the waiter was back with a tray and two small glasses.
He put the glasses on the table. ‘Brandy, on the house. I saw what happened.’
‘ Merci , that’s really kind.’ Allegra felt bad for writing him off earlier.
He smiled, then disappeared back inside.
‘Sit down, take a moment.’ Allegra held out her hand for the woman. ‘I’m Allegra.’
‘I’m Elizabeth, pleased to meet you. You’re American?’
Allegra smiled. ‘And you’re English, right?’
‘I am. Although I could understand every word he was saying. What a pig.’
Allegra laughed. ‘I didn’t think he was being very complimentary.’
‘No, he wasn’t. Honestly, you’d think I would have got the hang of it by now but crossing Paris streets never gets easier.’
‘Do you live here?’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘We’ve lived here for almost two years. My parents teach at the Sorbonne and I’m studying at art school here. I was just on my way to the bookshop by the river.’ She picked up the book on the top of the pile, brushing off dirt from the cover.
‘I heard someone talking about a fabulous bookshop the other day.’
‘Yes, I love it. I’d rather sit and read books in there than in a classroom any day.’ Elizabeth picked up her brandy and swirled it in the glass before taking a large sip, shuddering slightly. ‘I was taking these back for a friend. We’re always swapping books. So, what brings you to Paris?’ Elizabeth fixed her with her huge eyes.
Allegra held her glass between the tips of her fingers. She was about to reply with her stock answer but something about this woman made her feel at ease. So, for the first time since being in Paris, she decided to be completely honest. ‘My parents, except they didn’t bring me here. I was packed off after getting kicked out of school back in New York. I don’t think they knew what else to do with me. I’m just here for a year, not even that.’
Elizabeth raised one dark eyebrow. ‘What did you do?’
‘Nothing that bad really but I hated school over there. Mind you, it was a little extreme to send me to the other side of the world! Do you like it here?’
‘It took a while to get used to it, but I love it now. How are you finding it?’
‘I haven’t really done much apart from walk from my apartment to the college and back so far. That’s why I thought I’d come up this way, walk along the river. Get to know the city a bit.’
‘Where’s your apartment?’
‘Just off Boulevard de Montparnasse.’
‘You live in the 14th?’ Elizabeth’s eyes widened.
‘I do. Is that bad?’
‘No, it’s amazing! I’d love to live there. So many great bars and clubs and you’ve got all the best cinemas and markets right on your doorstep.’
‘I do?’
‘Have you really not been out yet?’ Elizabeth looked genuinely shocked.
Allegra laughed. ‘I only just got here, to be fair.’
‘Well, that’s a terrible waste.’ Elizabeth picked up her glass. ‘At least I know how I can repay you now. Do you have plans tonight?’
Allegra shook her head.
‘Perfect, walk with me to the bookshop now and I can introduce you to my friend. He also lives in Montparnasse, not far from you. And then later, if you like, we’ll take you somewhere that’ll change how you feel about Paris. Deal?’
Allegra picked up her glass and held it to Elizabeth’s. In that moment, they went from strangers to friends and for the first time since she’d got there, Allegra was glad to be in Paris.
* * *
Allegra and Elizabeth walked through the narrow, cobbled streets of the Latin Quarter, past shops, bistros and bars, towards the Seine, before turning left onto Rue de la B?cherie. There, in the corner, was a small bookshop, with several rickety-looking tables and chairs outside. People were sitting drinking coffee, or something stronger despite the relatively early hour. Most had their head in a book.
‘Elizabeth!’ A man with a shock of white hair shouted his greeting from the doorway of the bookshop.
‘Hi, George.’ She held up a book of collected poems by Sylvia Plath. ‘I loved this one so much, I’ve read it three times over.’
He gestured at a book in the shop window. ‘Have you read Ted Hughes’ latest collection?’
Elizabeth pulled a face. ‘Too dark for me.’
George laughed. He looked at Allegra, standing just behind. ‘Who’s this?’
‘This is my friend Allegra. She just helped put me back together after practically getting run over.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ Allegra extended a hand.
‘New York?’ He smiled warmly at her.
‘Yes, how did you know?’
‘I’m from New Jersey originally.’
‘This is your shop?’ Allegra peered inside, the walls and shelves stacked with books from floor to ceiling. There was barely room to move. She was enchanted by what she saw.
‘Go on in, look around.’ George gestured for her to step inside.
‘Follow me,’ said Elizabeth. ‘The library upstairs is one of my favourite places in the whole city.’
Allegra followed Elizabeth, past the heaving shelves and up a narrow staircase, the paint worn off the wood by the footsteps of a thousand readers and writers before them. They walked past rooms lined with more books; chairs nestled into corners wherever space allowed. Walking through a low door in the wall, they reached a room at the front of the shop overlooking the river. Allegra could see the soaring towers of the Notre-Dame Cathedral, the stained glass of the huge rose window catching the light of the sun.
Elizabeth took a seat on a bench that ran the length of the room and put her books down beside her. She glanced at her watch. ‘Etienne will be here any minute now. I said eleven; he’s normally on time.’
‘Who’s Etienne?’ Allegra was running a finger along a line of books, stopping at a biography of Steinbeck.
‘We met when I first got here. I was kind of forced on him as he’s at the same art school here in Paris too. His aunt also teaches at the Sorbonne and knows my parents. Anyway, we’ve become good friends. You will love him.’
‘Boyfriend?’ Allegra looked at Elizabeth, one eyebrow raised.
‘No, that’s Luc. You’ll meet him later. You’ll love him too.’
Just then, a young man walked through the low door, ducking his head as he did so. He stood up, his frame tall, his shoulders broad. ‘Hey, Betty.’
‘I do wish you wouldn’t call me that.’ They kissed on both cheeks.
‘Sorry, Elizabeth.’ He winked at her, then turned and extended his hand to Allegra, fixing her with his deep blue eyes. ‘Hello, I’m Etienne. Pleased to meet you.’
It took a few seconds for Allegra to engage her mouth to speak. Light brown hair fell to the top of his cheekbones, his mouth wide. He wore a battered brown jacket, a faded blue shirt and jeans. A long, crumpled scarf hung loosely around his neck.
‘Bonjour,’ she managed, eventually.
‘So, what have you got for me?’ Elizabeth looked at the book in his hand.
Etienne held it up. ‘I think you’re going to like this one. It’s by a famous French photographer, part of the surrealist crowd.’ He turned to Allegra. ‘She’s a very talented photographer, did she tell you?’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Elizabeth looked vaguely embarrassed.
‘You are! You need to show your friend some of your work.’
‘I’d love to see. What do you like photographing?’ Allegra walked over to look at the book, now in Elizabeth’s hands.
‘Anything, really. People, places. But to be honest Paris is such a beautiful backdrop, it’s hard to take a bad photograph in this city.’
‘Anyone can take a photograph but to capture a real moment, emotion even, that takes skill, and you have it.’ Etienne looked at Elizabeth, his face serious.
‘Well, that’s very kind of you to say so, thank you.’ Elizabeth was blushing now. ‘But let’s change the subject, shall we? Can you believe Allegra also lives in the 14th and she’s not even been to a club yet?’
‘Are you serious?’ Etienne turned his attention to Allegra. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘I’ve not even been here for a week.’ Allegra shrugged, slightly embarrassed.
‘That’s no excuse. Okay, so I heard—’ Etienne lowered his voice ‘—Dizzy is playing tonight at the Bal.’
‘At the where?’ Allegra looked from one to the other.
‘It’s the best jazz club in Paris right now and it’s practically on your doorstep,’ said Elizabeth.
‘You have to come,’ said Etienne, placing his hand gently on Allegra’s arm.
She turned her face to his, his gaze so friendly and warm. It was impossible to say no. ‘I’d love to, thank you.’
‘Great,’ he said. ‘We have a plan.’
For the next hour, they sat like cats in the sun, stretched out on the benches under the bookshelves as they chatted and pored over the pages of various books. Allegra found herself drawn to the art books and Etienne talked her through some of the artists, his knowledge and passion for the subject obvious from the way he spoke about them.
‘The funny thing about this guy,’ said Etienne, pointing at a picture of an artist Allegra had never heard of, ‘is that he was doing this kind of thing years ago. They say Warhol is exhibiting here in Paris soon.’
‘Really?’ Allegra had definitely heard that name before. She knew he was causing quite the stir back home in New York.
Etienne nodded. ‘Yes, and he credits this guy—’ Etienne tapped the page in front of Allegra ‘—as one of his greatest inspirations. Duchamp was making art out of everyday objects long before this lot. Where you live, in Montparnasse, is where most of the artists moved to when Montmartre got too expensive.’
She found herself watching his jaw as he spoke, forcing her concentration back to his words. Allegra moved to get a closer look at the picture. ‘Is that… a urinal?’
‘Yes, it was one of his most famous works. It’s called Fountain . Confused the whole of the art world back then. He lived in New York for a while and eventually kind of retired from art. He became a chess player, a very good one at that. His wife once got so cross with him playing chess so obsessively, she glued all the pieces to the board.’ Etienne laughed at the thought.
‘Hey, have you seen the chess players in the park?’ Elizabeth swung her legs out from underneath her, moving to the window. ‘We should go. Do you play?’
Allegra shook her head. ‘No, but I’m happy watching.’
‘I’ll teach you,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I’m rubbish but I love it and the only way to get better is to play.’
They gathered their things and made their way back down the stairs to the front of the shop, waving their goodbyes to George as they left. Winding their way back through the streets, Allegra chatted easily with Elizabeth and Etienne and as they strolled in the warm September sun, she didn’t feel such a stranger in the city.