Chapter 23
Sasha had put a poll on her channels, asking her followers if there was anywhere they wanted her to visit on their behalf and had been flooded with suggestions, many of them linked to the Netflix series Emily in Paris.
So, after I’d had a nap, a shower and brushed my hair, I was feeling a little more on the human side.
Pulling one of my comfy secret pyjama dresses from the wardrobe, I slipped it on, did my best with some concealer and foundation to hide the worst of the bruising and went back out into the living room.
Sash looked up from her laptop. ‘You look better. How do you feel?’
‘More like a resident of this planet, which is something.’
‘Good start.’
‘Did you find somewhere you wanted to go?’
‘Yes. It’s one of the places from Emily in Paris that got a lot of votes. Is that OK with you?’
‘Absolutely. So long as it has strong coffee and good food, I’ll be happy.’
‘I’m pretty sure that’s a given here.’
I scrunched my nose. ‘There’s definitely a few places aimed specifically at tourists which don’t always have the best cuisine but I reckon we can avoid them.’
‘I’d love to go to some of the places you used to go to.’
‘As would I. And now I’m back in touch with Gabby, she’ll probably remember some that I don’t, as well as being able to tell us whether they’re still there or not.’
‘That’s true.’ There was hesitancy in her voice.
‘I can’t wait for you to meet her,’ I added. ‘Obviously, she already loves you from how I was gushing about you last night and I’m sure you’ll love her too. Most people do!’
‘Including Ashok by the sounds.’
‘That’s probably a bit strong but he did seem keen. As did she.’
Sash sighed. ‘Well, if it can’t be you, I hope it’s someone that deserves him.’
‘And she would, if it goes that far. Don’t forget he lives in India and she lives in Paris. Not the easiest commute. We’ll see.’
‘I wonder how his meeting is going?’
‘I’m sure he’ll update us later.’ I tied the laces on my platform Converse trainers and grabbed a coat.
Sash had bought the shoes for me for Christmas, insisting they were the comfiest shoes I’d ever wear and I’d certainly need them with all the miles we’d be doing exploring Paris.
I’d been a little unsure as to whether they were a bit ‘trendy’ for me but Sash had told me not to be so daft and insisted I’d try them on.
She hadn’t been wrong about the comfort.
We took the train to Montmartre and followed Google Maps on Sash’s phone, wandering among the Bohemian history of the quarter until we arrived at a pink-fronted restaurant with Kelly-green shutters.
Groups of tourists were standing and taking photos and, of course, selfies in front of it.
We shuffled around them to the door and made our way in.
Le Maison Rose was brimming even in the off season but we managed to snag a table and settled ourselves in.
Many of the others there were clearly also tourists – the show had done wonders for their business by the looks – so at least I didn’t feel too out of place in my caterpillar coat which, despite looking uglier each time I put it on, had at least kept me warm as we’d walked from the Metro station.
Sash peeped over the top of her menu. ‘Do you think the chef is as gorgeous as Gabriel? I mean, I know this one isn’t “his” restaurant but still?’
‘Gabriel?’ I repeated vaguely as I perused the menu and concentrated on not drooling. It was a short menu which I always took as a good sign and although Sash and her followers were more interested in its TV connection, it was its history and its farm-to-table ethos that appealed to me.
‘Mum!’
‘Hmm?’ My head snapped up.
‘Did you hear me?’
‘Yes. Gabriel.’ There. Covered that well.
‘And who is Gabriel?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t realise there would be a test,’ I shot back teasingly.
Her shoulders sagged. ‘Mum, I thought you were going to watch the series before we came.’
‘The series? Oh! Yes. Well. I was but I will.’
‘It’s a bit late now we’re here, isn’t it?’ She looked down at her own menu.
‘Not at all. This way, I get to recognise it when I do see it on the telly.’
She flicked at her thumb. ‘I suppose.’
‘So who is Gabriel?’
‘He’s the chef at her local restaurant. And he’s gorgeous.’
‘Does she end up with him?’
‘I’m not telling you that! You have to watch it.’
‘Fair enough. And I will do, Sash. I promise.’ I made a mental note to start tonight. ‘Do you know what you’re having yet?’
For once, due to the restaurant’s no-filming policy, she’d been able to take in the place and the menu far sooner than was usual.
‘The fresh vegetable tart, I think,’ she replied.
The same puff pastry tart had caught my eye too.
‘Tarts for two then!’ I chuckled.
‘Mum,’ she whispered, but I saw the amusement in her eyes. ‘Will you order?’ Sash asked.
‘Why don’t you do it, love? I know you’ve been practising.’
She scrunched her nose. ‘I’ve sort of fallen behind a bit with it.’
‘OK.’ I didn’t mind. I’d been hoping that Sash would learn the language but she was an adult and I was way beyond telling her what to do. From experience, I found that it was only when you wanted to learn that you actually did.
The tarts were a good choice. Eminently Instagrammable, which Sash obviously took advantage of, and as delicious to eat as they were to look at.
When asked if we’d like to order anything to go with our après lunch coffees, Sash chose a cheesecake which, when I tried a piece, literally melted in the mouth.
I’d plumped for a slice of carrot cake which hit just the right balance of fruit, spices and icing, not to mention being perfectly moist.
‘This used to be a painter’s studio, apparently,’ I said as I sipped a rich, dark cup of Illy coffee.
‘Did it?’
‘Yep. Pals with Picasso amongst others.’
‘Wow. Cool.’ Her enthusiasm was less than mine had been when we’d sat over coffees thirty years ago, having deep discussions about fashion and art and everything else that came to mind.
To Sasha and many others, it having featured in one of the biggest series on television was a far bigger draw, which was good too.
Either way, it was great to get back to exploring and I’d loved getting out into the city this afternoon.
Plenty of water, strong coffee and good, healthy food had chased away the last remnants of the hangover and I leant back in my chair, soaking it all in, my mind drifting back into the past.
Tomas and I had passed many an hour wandering this artistic quarter and more than once, sitting on the steps of the nearby Sacré-C?ur, had watched the sun rise over Paris. I thought back to his declaration about no longer being a romantic and wondered if it was true.
‘You’re miles away, Mum.’
‘Oh, sorry. Just enjoying the atmosphere.’ Mostly. ‘So where did you want to go next?’
‘Do you know this area?’
‘I used to.’
‘Will you show me?’
Happiness flooded through my veins. ‘I’d love to.’
* * *
We’d just stepped off the Metro close to home when my phone rang. I grabbed it out of my bag, not checking the screen.
‘Allo?’ I answered, pressing my phone against my ear as a three-wheeler delivery van rattled past.
‘Kitty?’ Gabby’s voice floated through the ether. ‘Ooh, you sound so French! I love it!’ Her laughter made me smile as it always had.
‘I’m trying to get back in the habit.’
‘Bon. Now, you’re coming to the opening night next week, aren’t you?’
‘Am I?’
‘But of course! Tomas invited you?’
‘Then Tomas forgot to tell me.’
‘Ugh! My brother is such an imbecile at times.’ Somehow, her warmth softened the insult.
It was clear from the previous evening, not to mention the fact that she was managing his business, that the two were still close.
I was glad of it. I hated to think that relationship might too have been fractured in the fallout of ours.
‘Of course you are invited. And darling Sasha, bien sur! I cannot wait to meet her!’
I glanced over at Sash, a wide smile on my face. She gave a questioning frown in response.
‘Hang on.’ I held the phone to the side so that Gabby could still hear. ‘Gabby would like to know if we’d like to attend Tomas’s opening night at the gallery.’
‘Tell her she can have all the exclusive content she wants!’ my friend practically bellowed into the phone and we both laughed at the enthusiasm bursting through the airwaves.
‘Seriously?’ Sash asked quietly.
I gave a shrug. ‘Want to come?’
‘Definitely!’
‘That’s a yes, then!’ I put the phone back against my ear. ‘Thank you.’
It was strange. After thirty years apart, and one evening together, talking to Gabby now felt like none of that had happened and we were picking up exactly where we’d left off. And it was wonderful.
‘Fantastique! Unfortunately, Ashok can’t come. He’s had to go home.’
‘How did it go?’ I asked as I handed the keys to Sash to unlock the main door so that I could gossip with full concentration.
‘Ah, mon dieu. Kitty. He is perfect! We had lunch together after his meeting and I came home to a delivery of twenty-four yellow roses. You remember they are my favourite? I don’t even remember telling him, but perhaps I did.’
‘Actually, he asked me.’
‘He did? He is so sweet. Which is terrible!’
‘It is?’
‘But of course! He is too good to be true, which means there has to be something wrong with him!’ She laughed but I caught the catch in her voice. After all this time, I could still remember her tells.
‘Nothing drastic that I know of but there are obviously some. We’ll winkle them out.’
Gabby gave a snort of laughter at my phrasing and I got a burst of warmth. Childish humour for the win! Hugh wasn’t always a fan of it, especially when he was surrounded by his academic pals.
‘Oh, I know one! He’s always, always, early.’ For many, that could be seen as a good thing but, with this disclosure, I was about to see how much my old friend had changed.
‘Ah! See! I knew it! I knew there would be something!’ Gabby laughed. ‘Although you will be pleased to hear my timekeeping has improved… a little.’
Gabby’s tardiness had often driven her brother up the wall but to be the successful businesswoman she clearly now was, I guess that it had improved more than the little she was teasing about.
‘OK. I have a few meetings this week but shall I come around a couple of hours earlier before the exhibition and we can gossip some more?’
‘That sounds perfect!’