Chapter 15
Fifteen
Romy and Mickael had finished classes and were on their way to a bistro when Isabelle called. Romy listened to her excited account before saying, ‘Okay. Can I meet you there in an hour? I’m just about to have a drink with a friend.’
Ending the call a short time later, she looked at Mickael and said, ‘I’m sorry. It’s going to have to be a quick one.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Mickael, waving a hand. ‘It sounds like you’re in demand. And anyway I’m booked for an early dinner with a friend who’s up from the country. I haven’t seen her for ages. It’s going to be good to catch up.’
Romy felt an unexpected sting. ‘I can imagine,’ she said.
‘Meeting up with old friends you haven’t seen for a while is a pleasure, I suppose.
’ Not so in her own case, because she couldn’t think of a single friend from the old days that she’d like to see.
They hadn’t understood why she’d left her fabulous job, her incredible family and her wonderful boyfriend to go and live poor and alone in some Paris garret, literally working her fingers to the bone to sew outfits no one would ever see.
That was what one of those ‘friends’ had actually said.
‘It’s not always a pleasure, but in Francine’s case it is. She’s my grandmother’s age—they grew up together,’ Mickael said, with a twinkle in his eye. He can’t have missed the colour rising in her cheeks, but only said, ‘Shall we go and have that drink then?’
It was an ordinary place, nothing special, but it felt good to be seated across from Mickael, talking and talking over a refreshing glass of cider.
Mickael was a great listener as well as an entertaining talker, and Romy found herself at ease in a way she hadn’t felt for a long time.
The time flew by much too quickly and when it came time to go, Romy was filled with regret.
Poring over scanned pages full of a stranger’s handwriting about a long-dead past seemed a poor substitute for more time spent in such warm company.
She wanted to suggest another day and time to meet up properly, but would that sound odd?
He hadn’t suggested it, after all. But maybe he thought she was sending a message, putting him off yesterday, cutting it short today.
He probably thought she wasn’t interested.
Interested … she winced inwardly. She wasn’t some gormless teenager.
And she wasn’t looking for a relationship, either.
Not that kind, anyway. Since her breakup with Sébastien in Brussels a year ago—a breakup that was simply the culmination of the slow bleeding of their relationship from a thousand cuts of irritation, resentment, misunderstandings, and eventually actual dislike—she’d shied away from romantic entanglements of any kind.
She had been buried in other people’s assumptions and expectations for too long and she was still clawing her way out from under the rubble.
Getting involved with someone would surely complicate matters in a way she couldn’t afford.
It was entirely possible she had misread the signals, anyway.
She was out of practice—even with Sébastien, you could say she’d been out of practice, having fallen out of love with him more than a year before plucking up the courage to leave him.
And maybe she’d deluded herself that Mickael might have more than just a casual friendly interest in her.
He was a friendly guy, after all; he had a natural warmth that people gravitated to and, unlike her, had a circle of friends at the school.
Before, she might have pegged him as the type who made friends easily but not deeply, who everyone liked but who lacked substance.
Now, she cringed at the thought of it—clearly, she hadn’t totally shaken off her family’s arrogant dismissiveness towards others.
Well, she couldn’t change her family, she thought, as she hurried down the Metro stairs to the platform.
You couldn’t change people who didn’t want to change.
All she could do was guard against allowing her own character flaws to dictate her conduct towards people.
Not to assume, nor to dismiss or discount.
But not to run or cower or live in pointless regret, either.
The train arrived and she found a seat and sat down. Taking out her phone, she typed an impulsive message to Mickael. I enjoyed today, lunch and just now. Next time, shall we make it longer?
He answered almost at once. I was hoping you’d say that. How about a picnic by the Seine on the weekend?
She could feel the smile breaking out over her face. Would love to! she typed back.
Fantastic! Let’s talk tomorrow, we can plan it then.
Okay, she wrote, and hesitated before adding, The reason I had to rush off was because I have to meet with my friend Isabelle, and also Audrey Oliver! We’re working on something to do with Elisabeth Fontaine. Tell you about it tomorrow.
Wow! Can’t wait to hear more! A small pause. Thank you for telling me.
It’s a pleasure, she wrote happily, as the train stopped and she got out.
And this time, she thought, I didn’t overthink it and back out or say the wrong thing. It felt natural, right.
Audrey was staying in a smart apartment-hotel in the 9th, in the neighbourhood of the Grands Boulevards, near the Opera Garnier and the great department stores.
The hotel wasn’t on a boulevard, but located in a side street, in a classic Haussmannian building with the characteristic decorated pale stone facade and wrought-iron balconies.
Inside, Romy was directed to Audrey’s apartment, an appealing place full of light, with one bedroom, a small kitchen and bathroom, and a large living/working area.
It looked only slightly smaller than her own apartment in Montparnasse.
‘So glad you could come,’ Audrey said, ushering her in. Romy nodded a little awkwardly. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’
Isabelle was sitting at the table, peering at the laptop and checking something against a small stack of papers. She turned her head when Romy came in. ‘Hello, Romy. Good to see you.’
‘You too, Isabelle. Have you—’
‘Have we found anything yet?’ Isabelle finished for her. ‘Not really. But it’s fascinating stuff, anyway.’ She gestured to the chair beside her. ‘Come and have a look.’
‘While you two do that,’ Audrey said, ‘I’ll make us all some—’ She broke off as her phone began vibrating loudly.
Picking it up from the side table, she glanced at the screen and her expression changed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I’m going to have to take this outside.
’ Without further explanation, she headed out of the apartment, while Romy and Isabelle exchanged raised eyebrows before returning to the document on the laptop.