Chapter 11
‘So, you are studying fashion?’ His mother was smiling but it didn’t reach her eyes which were cold as she watched me. It felt like all that was needed to complete the scene was a spotlight pointed at me.
‘Yes, I mean oui.’ My reply was stilted and I tripped over my words. The confident young woman I usually was appeared to have scuttled out of the restaurant, replaced with an unsure, insecure version that I didn’t like. And yet I could do nothing to switch back.
‘We can speak English,’ Madame Bertholle said, with a gracious wave of her hand, as though granting a nobleman reprieve from the guillotine.
‘Kitty’s French is exceptional, Maman.’ Gabby’s hand squeezed mine under the table.
I didn’t return the gesture. My mind was full of confusion.
Why was my friend defending me to her parents while my boyfriend, the confident, charming, charismatic man I’d fallen in love with, sat mute the other side of me, his own hands folded neatly on his lap?
He’d barely spoken or even looked at me since I arrived.
‘I’m sure,’ their mother had replied, continuing in English anyway. ‘So, fashion? Yes?’
‘Yes,’ I said again. ‘Like Gabby.’ This time, I did squeeze her hand, returning the smile she sent me before we both looked back at her mother, who was no longer smiling.
‘Yes. Well. We did try to persuade Gabrielle to study something more worthwhile, but…’ She made a ‘poof’ sound. ‘She is so stubborn.’
‘I’m right here, Maman.’ Gabby’s cheeks flushed with frustration and embarrassment. Hurt and annoyance for both my friend and myself ignited something within me.
‘You don’t think fashion is worth studying?’ I asked. ‘Despite the incredible history it has here in Paris?’
‘Fashion is a hobby, not a profession,’ Madame Bertholle replied in a manner that suggested that was the end of the discussion.
‘Hubert and I have told my daughter this time after time, haven’t we, Hubert?
’ She turned to her husband. He opened his mouth to speak but his wife answered for him. ‘Exactement.’
I looked to Tomas. I didn’t need defending, neither did his sister, but it would have been nice if he’d considered it. His eyes were cast down, the hand that ordinarily held mine practically all the time we were together fiddled with the butter knife.
‘Tomas. Leave that alone,’ his mother snapped.
His hand shot back down and refolded around the other one on his lap. Who was this man? Who were these people? Reducing their children to shadows of their normal selves.
‘But, Madame Bertholle, do you not think that Coco Chanel and Christian Dior would have disagreed with your views on their profession?’
‘Kitty.’ Tomas finally spoke.
I turned and met his eyes, saw the tiny warning shake of his head.
He was not only not backing me up, but actually telling me to be quiet.
I didn’t work my arse off to get this placement to have my choice, not to mention my best friend’s, dismissed like it was nothing.
Of course, I’d hoped that Tomas’s parents would like me, but it was obvious that they’d already made up their minds before I’d even walked through the door.
This was the reason for their sudden appearance in Paris.
Me. Not only didn’t I pass, but the man I loved, the man I thought loved me, wasn’t prepared to fight for me.
Tears threatened in my eyes but I pushed them back down. I wouldn’t let them, or him, see me cry.
‘That was a very long time ago, dear.’
I swallowed. ‘True. But the brands are still among the most well known in the world, in any field. It’s a trillion-dollar industry.’
Madame Bertholle cocked one thin, dark eyebrow, exchanging a look with her husband before fixing her gaze on her son.
‘Kitty is accurate. It’s an enormous machine of industry,’ Hubert spoke and gave me the faintest smile.
Madame Bertholle continued as though he hadn’t spoken.
‘Tomas, you didn’t mention your friend was so…’ The pause lengthened… ‘Chatty,’ she finished eventually.
Still he said nothing. It was like sitting next to a different person.
I’d thought we’d known everything about each other.
But right now, it felt like it had all been a show.
That everything he’d shown me, told me, said to me, was fraudulent.
Here, now, was the true Tomas. And I barely recognised him.
‘As I’m sure you know, our family owns a large vineyard close to the Champagne region.’
‘Yes,’ I returned politely.
‘As I’m sure you also know – Gabrielle, take your elbow off the table.’
Gabby stiffened and snatched her arm back as though she’d been burned.
‘As I said, our family owns a large vineyard. Tomas will be stepping in when he finishes his business degree and will eventually take over the running of it.’
‘Is that true?’ I turned to Tomas. ‘You never mentioned that to me. I thought you wanted to be an artist? That you were doing the business degree so that you knew how to manage the financial side of your own business, not your family’s.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Tomas.’
‘I… I just meant in my spare time,’ he said. ‘The art stuff.’ Finally, he met my eyes. But it wasn’t the laughing blue gaze I’d fallen in love with.
‘But that’s not what you said, Tomas.’ I wasn’t about to be made a fool of, any more than his mother was already trying to make me.
‘You must have misunderstood,’ he replied, his eyes locking onto mine, a flash of anger momentarily causing a spark of light to dance in them – the first I’d seen all night.
‘You’re right, Tomas, perhaps I have, but not about this.’ I felt Gabby stiffen beside me as I continued. ‘If I remember correctly, you said that you had never been interested in taking over the vineyard and that what you really wanted was to paint.’
From the corner of my eye, I saw his parents exchange looks.
‘Then you don’t remember correctly,’ Tomas replied.
His eyes were shuttered and his mouth a thin line. All the charming, handsome openness his face usually held was gone, replaced with granite-cold looks. Suddenly, he looked much more like his mother.
I dipped my head. I would not cry here. Everything I thought I knew about Tomas had disintegrated in front of my eyes but I was not going to let him or his mother see that pain.
I’d thought I’d known him. He’d told me he loved me.
I closed my eyes. How stupid of me. I’d fallen for it all, I’d fallen for him but he’d clearly just been saying whatever it was he thought I’d wanted to hear and I’d believed it.
But here, now. Here was the man he really was.
Under his mother’s thumb. God! Gabby had more balls than him!
She was the one who’d complimented my French to her mother, defended her friend, while Tomas sat there, silent.
I turned to face her. ‘I have to go.’
She nodded almost imperceptibly, tears shining in her eyes. Clearly, her brother had fooled her too about his feelings for me. I knew she wouldn’t have let me fall in love with him if she’d doubted his sincerity.
‘You’re leaving?’ Madame Bertholle broke the silence, a hint of surprise in her tone. ‘But we’ve yet to order.’
‘Madame Bertholle,’ I addressed her in French.
‘I may be young, but I’m not stupid. It’s clear you invited me here to vet me and decide if I’m good enough for your son.
I think it is obvious to everyone that you’ve already made a decision, therefore I won’t waste any more of your and, more importantly, my time.
’ I stood from the table, forcing a coolness onto my features as I looked at Tomas for the last time.
‘And the truth is, today has helped me discover that actually, he’s not good enough for me. Enjoy your meal.’
Try not to choke.
I kissed Gabby on the cheeks, picked up my clutch bag and strode confidently out of the restaurant.
The summer heat had been building all week.
Today, the thick, moisture-laden clouds had blanketed the city all day.
As I walked quickly in my sensible shoes back to my tiny rented flat, cool, fat raindrops began to fall, bouncing off the pavements, releasing the scent of petrichor as it fell upon the parched earth and finally, I released the tears and pain, the sky’s tears mixing with my own.