Chapter 1 #2
The sun had fully risen by now, and the city was really coming to life.
Boulangeries were already busy, disgorging puffs of warm, appetising smells every time their doors opened and the breakfast customers emerged, fresh baguettes under arms and bags of croissants in hand; early-shift workers lined up at café counters to throw down thimblefuls of black coffee before hurrying on; stalls and shops were being readied to open.
Turning down the next street, Charlotte found herself by the river, where dogwalkers and the occasional fellow runner passed by, as the silver-grey water lapped softly against the quays and the odd boat chugged slowly on its way to somewhere.
She stopped for a moment to catch her breath and take a swig of water from the bottle at her waist. She gazed across the river and for a moment she was entranced all over again by the sheer enchantment of this city that had once been her city, the place where she’d been born and brought up.
Her home was in London now, had been for many years.
She’d married there, brought up a family, founded a very successful garden design business, and over time had grown to love London, in a different way from how she loved Paris, but almost as much.
Her Paris playlist was all about nostalgia, she thought as she took a final swig and put the bottle away, but her London playlists were an embodiment of a busy life and her confidence in her work, marriage, children …
A face flashed into her mind, and she almost groaned as the all-too-familiar pain and confusion struck her hard.
Pushing the earbuds further in and turning up the volume, she set off again, running faster than before, trying to outpace her thoughts.
For the first time in a very long time, Charlotte Marigny had no idea what to do.
Several Metro stops away, Arielle Lunel rushed down the stairs to the platform just as a train drew in.
It was already crowded, and she hoped she didn’t smell too much of the sweat she could feel trickling down the back of her neck.
Ouf, well at least she wouldn’t be late for work, and Pauline, who worked from home as a translator, would make sure the children got to school as usual.
Normally Arielle wasn’t in such a rush, but for some reason the alarm hadn’t sounded this morning and that had thrown everything out of kilter.
It was hard enough as a single working mother trying to organise everyday life around two lively children while living in a space that wasn’t really their own.
Her sister never said anything about the invasion of her previously quiet and ordered apartment, but occasionally Arielle caught an expression of exasperation on Pauline’s face which made her feel a pang of guilt.
She was so grateful to Pauline, who once again had put her life on hold for her.
When their parents had died, Pauline had been only twenty but she had thrown herself into parenting her thirteen-year-old sister in the best way she could.
Twenty-five years later, she had offered to let Arielle and the then three-year-old twins move in with her, after the trauma of Ludovic’s death in a car accident was followed by the shocking revelation of a mountain of debts he’d incurred, unbeknownst to her.
Arielle had been forced to sell pretty much everything of value to pay off the debts, including, most painfully, her beloved flower shop, which she’d owned from well before she’d married Ludo.
And she’d also had to give up the grand apartment in the 4th that they’d previously rented.
Pauline’s apartment in the 18th was a long way from where Arielle worked now, managing a stall in the flower market on the ?le de la Cité, but she could at least contribute to the rent and household expenses, with some money left over for treats.
And the apartment was a reasonable size, with two bedrooms plus a small study that had been converted into Arielle’s bedroom.
The twins had to share a room, but they preferred that even though they had very different personalities—Alice was outspoken and impulsive, Louis quieter and gentler.
Slowly, as first one year passed, then two, their lives had settled into a new pattern.
Three years since Ludo’s death, Arielle still missed him, but the grief was softer now, a dull ache rather than a sharp pain.
The children they had made together were the light of her life.
And her job managing Monsieur Renan’s beautiful stall in the flower market, which had started off as a temporary position on fairly basic wages, had become not only permanent but also better paid, and satisfying in a way Arielle hadn’t expected.
It wasn’t the same as running her own flower shop, but it had its own distinctive pleasures—and, she had to admit, it was less stressful than owning your own business, especially as Monsieur Renan gave her free rein when it came to the day-to-day running of the stall.
There was just one problem—not something to do with the stall itself, but …
The train doors opened and people spilled out onto the platform. But the carriages didn’t move on, seemingly delayed by something. It was the stop before Arielle’s and she decided to get off. She’d still be there before opening time if she walked really quickly.
Unfortunately, the crowds were thicker than she’d thought, and as she finally made her way over the bridge onto the island and hurried into the flower market, she saw that Jacques Vella was already there, fussing unnecessarily around his display.
He raised his eyebrows as she approached and tapped his watch significantly.
She ignored that and gave him a cursory nod before hurrying on to her stall, her pleasure at opening marred by irritation. Why couldn’t that man ever let up?