Chapter 2
Cobblestone streets glistened with the remnants of yesterday”s rain, as the rising sun cast its golden light across the city. Gabrielle hiked along the sidewalk, avoiding men in long trench coats looking worriedly at their watches, and old women pulling two-wheeled shopping trolleys after a successful shopping expedition at the early morning market. She was making her way to the café where she had agreed to meet Andrew.
Birds sang from trees and balconies, as the sound of distant car horns echoed through the streets. The laughter of café-goers from their early morning conversations filtered into her ears in the clean, crisp morning as she arrived. Inside the café was bright and warm, a cozy haven on the corner of a busy street, but outside was soft and hazy with wisps of a light mist that melted away as the morning heat grew.
Gabrielle chose a small round table outside, in a patch of sunshine on this perfect spring day. The wicker chairs were well-worn from years of use and the servers cheerful as they began their day serving coffee to the regulars. Gabrielle often stopped here on her way to university, and they knew her well. She didn’t need to place an order. The minute she sat down, a smiling young man placed a steaming cup on the table before her.
“Bonjour et merci,” she said, returning his cheery greeting.
She’d dressed in a slim-fitting black blazer, white lace top, dark jeans, with a long, thin black scarf wound about her neck, and grey, well-worn ankle boots. Her long black hair was pulled into a ponytail with a thin red ribbon today. It could be a distraction when she was studying.
She sipped her café au lait and watched as people bustled in and out of a boulangerie across the street wielding long baguettes and bags of fresh pastries. Inhaling the scent was almost as good as indulging in a crisp croissant herself, but not quite. However, she would wait for the cowboy to join her before ordering. If he showed at all.
It was against her better judgement that she had come this morning, but good manners dictated that she should keep her promise after having agreed to it the night before. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, squinting in the bright sunlight, but enjoying the feeling of warmth on her face. It promised to be a beautiful day. And, despite knowing she ought to be holed up in her apartment studying until all hours of the night, she planned to go on a pilgrimage to find cherry blossoms.
Those favoured trees, heavy with white and pink blossoms, could be found almost everywhere in April, but Gabrielle planned to visit Jardin des Plantes. It was one of her favourite Parisian gardens.
Reaching for her purse, hanging on the back of her chair, she dug through the contents for her phone, her hand finding the mail from the day before. She groaned with annoyance, having forgotten about the letters after seeing Andrew safely to his door. Her fingers curled around the thick wad, thinking she might as well open them while she waited. Her heart sank at the thought of opening the strange one, but her hand stilled as she heard her name.
“Gabrielle! You’re really here,” said a voice. Then, quickly correcting himself, Andrew added, “I mean, bun jure.”
She dropped her bag and smiled. “Bonjour…good morning. Please, sit down.”
Andrew pulled out a chair and lowered himself onto it, the round bistro table immediately looking small beside him. He wore the large black hat again today, but removed it as he sat, balancing it on his knee. She stared at it, mesmerized. Since the sheltered spot received the full force of the sun, he also removed his leather jacket, revealing a white t-shirt that strained over taut, muscled arms. “Did I say that right?” he asked. “I have to start learning French or I’m going to be in trouble.”
“Trouble?” she asked. But when he made no move to answer, she continued. “It is pronounced, bonjour,” she repeated slowly. “It’s one word, not two, and it slides over the tongue without hard sounds to the letters. Bonjour,” she repeated gently.
“Oh,” he said, stretching his mouth into a number of positions to limber it up. “Bonjour,” he said, sounding much improved.
“That’s right,” she snapped her fingers. “You will master the language in no time at all.”
“Yeah, no problem. Should only take me the next twenty, maybe thirty years,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “How do we order something to eat?” He looked around then eyed her tiny coffee cup with amazement, picking it up between his index finger and thumb where it dangled like a toy from a little girl’s tea set. “Why is it so small?”
“That is ‘ow coffee is served in France.” Gabrielle didn’t know how else to answer this unusual man. “Do you want one?”
“If they’re all that small I’d like about five of ‘em to start,” he said seriously, dropping the little cup onto her saucer with a clatter. “And something to eat, but I have no idea what. Could you choose for me, please?”
Gabrielle lifted a hand to her mouth to hide a grin as she waved for their server. “I know just what you would like,” she stated. “At least, I ‘ope I do.”
When the young man reached their table, he placed her empty cup on top of the tray he balanced in one hand. She quickly ordered a pain au chocolat for herself and a croque monsieur for Andrew, along with trois café au lait. The server raised an eyebrow, no doubt wondering why she’d ordered three coffees when there were only two of them. However, he didn’t question it, but soon reappeared with the beverages on his tray.
“That’s really good coffee,” Andrew declared, drinking the first in one gulp and reaching for the second.
“Did you even taste it?”
“Well, sure I did.” He grimaced, delicately poking his pinky finger into the air, and taking a minuscule sip. “That better?”
She laughed out loud. “Are you always like this or am I just privileged?”
“Like what?” he asked, tipping the entire contents into his mouth and swallowing.
“Quirky—unpredictable—eccentric,” she cocked her head to one side and frowned, staring at this man who clearly walked to the beat of his own drum. “Or per’aps all Canadian men are like you?”
“Pretty much,” he agreed. “But we’re not uncouth, if that’s what you’re hinting at. I’m just used to coffee served in a mug that holds more than a mouthful.” He squinted into the cup as if hoping it would magically fill again.
Gabrielle watched him for a moment and then couldn’t prevent herself from asking the question that had been burning on her tongue. “Why are you in Paris, Andrew from Canada?”
Leaning back, he stretched his long legs out in front of him, nearly crushing a passing poodle. “Well, I inherited a business,” he said simply.
“A business?” Gabrielle felt as though she repeated half of what this man said with a question mark at the end. “What sort of business?” Her thoughts raced to when Lyam had told her almost the very same thing. His was antiques and curios coupled with working as a tour guide. Of course, she had never seen the shop he purportedly owned, and now knew him to be the most adept liar she had ever met.
“Yeah, selling wine. My uncle Olivier, my mom’s brother, lived here all his life. It was his store. His pride and joy, really. But his wife passed away a few months back, and they had no other family. When he died, only a month ago, he left everything to me. I rented a private room for a few days until I can find out whether I could live in my uncle’s home next door to the shop and what should be done with it all.”
“Oh.” Gabrielle was at a loss for words. “I’m sorry to ‘ear this. Were you close?”
“He came to visit us a couple of times when I was a kid. But no, I didn’t know him very well. Mom flew here every summer and spent a month with him. He was her only living relative. She’s taking it pretty hard.”
They both took a moment to digest this information during which time Gabrielle flagged down the server and ordered two more coffees. Andrew was an interesting and unique person.
“So, what will you do with this shop? Do you know much about wine?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who knows about wine?” he countered with a lopsided grin.
“No,” she said immediately. He most definitely did not.
“He pulled in his legs as a group of elderly ladies shuffled past on the sidewalk. “Give that girl a prize. You’re right. Beer, I understand. Pilsner, Molson Canadian, Budweiser, Labatt’s to name a few,” he listed. “Or give me a shot of whiskey and I’m a happy man. I know nothing about wine.”
“I see.” She took another sip of her coffee while waiting for him to continue. Eventually, his face sobered and he did.
“I don’t know what to do about the shop,” he said. “It meant a lot to Uncle Olivier, and I’d hate to sell it, but this…” he spread his arms wide to encompass the whole of Paris, and continued, “is not me.”
“Per’aps, you ‘ave to find this shop and try to understand the life that gave your uncle such feelings of pride before you make your decision,” she suggested.
Andrew turned to look at her, for once his eyes were grave. “Yes,” he said. “It’s important to me and to my mom. So, guess I’ll be around for a while.” He crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back with his eyes closed.
“Hey!” he reared up, startling Gabrielle so much she almost dropped her cup. “Do you need a job?”
“A job?” she said, then mentally kicked herself for parroting the man yet again. “What are you talking about?”
At that moment, their food arrived. A steaming plate was set before Andrew. On it was Gabrielle’s favourite breakfast; two slices of rustic bread covered with ham and Gruyere cheese, then browned in butter on either side. Afterward the sandwich was smothered in béchamel sauce, sprinkled with more Gruyere, and broiled until the top was golden brown. The smell was mouth-watering and she wished she would have gotten one for herself.
But her crispy pain au chocolat was delicious too and she took a bite. Andrew stared at his plate for a moment as though to say, ‘this is it?’ but once he cut a portion off and lifted it to his mouth he closed his eyes rapturously as he chewed.
“That’s great stuff. What do you call it?” Busily he sawed off another portion.
“Croque monsieur,” Gabrielle said, pleased that he liked it so well. She allowed her attention to drift back to the bakery across the way. She had a nasty suspicion what he was getting at with his question concerning a job and no, she didn’t want any part of it.
Andrew lifted a napkin to his mouth with a satisfied sigh. “That was wonderful, but I’m not even going to try repeating what it’s called. At least, not in front of you.” He winked at her. “Thanks for ordering it. And back to what I was going to ask you…I’ve decided I can’t impose upon you any further.”
He looked around at the slow progression of life on a Sunday morning in the Marais. “It’s not at all like I’d imagined,” he murmured. “I really like it here. But that’s largely thanks to you.” His icy blue eyes caught hers again and a slow smile spread across his face. “Your kindness has made all the difference in a difficult situation.”
She flushed. “I only ‘elped someone in need,” she said. “Most people would ‘ave done the same.”
“Most beautiful young women would not have gone out of their way, late at night, to help some strange, and obviously desperate man find his way.” He leaned his chin on folded hands and gazed at her admiringly, which only served to deepen her colour. “I think you’re quite remarkable.” Then with a laugh he sat back. “If the tables are ever turned, and you find yourself lost and alone on the Canadian Prairies, facing down a herd of restless cattle, I’m your man.”
“I’ll remember that.” She laughed with him, the intensity of the moment dissipating. “Are you going to find your uncle’s shop today?”
“Yes,” he reached for his coffee cup and examined it to make sure there wasn’t a drop left. Then, setting it down carefully, he wrung his large hands together, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “I expect it’ll be an emotional day. No one has set foot in the place since he got sick and was taken to the hospital. The lawyer mailed me the keys along with a copy of the will and other paperwork. Guess there’ll be a lot to do.”
“I’m sorry.” As before, Gabrielle felt a surge of pity for this man and his lost relative. She couldn’t imagine what she would do in a similar situation. Especially in a foreign country where everyone spoke a language he couldn’t understand. “Andrew, I’d like to…”
“No,” he said emphatically, holding up a hand and dipping his head. “I won’t keep you any longer or ask you to help me further,” he said. “I’m sure you have things to do. I haven’t even had the courtesy to ask you about yourself.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” she said, feeling indignant that he’d shut her down so sternly. If she wanted to help him she would!
“I could tell.” He placed his napkin alongside his plate and pushed away from the table. “Now, how do I get the bill for this meal?” He pulled a credit card from an inside pocket of his jacket and flourished it in the air.
“You can ask your server for the bill like this, l”addition s”il vous plait,”she said, enunciating slowly. “But honestly…” she giggled, “in your case I think, I should just accompany you today and give you a few lessons.” She held up a hand of her own as he began to protest. “No. Please do not argue. It is what I want to do. No one should be in Paris, doing what you ‘ave to do without a friend. I will be that friend, for you. D’accord?”
His face lit up with a broad grin and his shoulders visibly relaxed. “If de-a-cord means, ‘do you agree,’ then yes, I agree and accept your offer. Thank you.”
“First lesson,” she said, wagging her finger at him with a shake of her head, “thank you is merci. Say it with me. M-e-r-c-i.” She dragged it out purposely, encouraging him to repeat it with her. Laughing again when he made it sound like, mercy, she then continued, “We ‘ave our work cut out for us, that is for certain. But now, we will pay and find your uncle’s petit caviste. That is French for, small wine shop.”
Nodding, but making no attempt to try the phrase, Andrew pushed away from their table. Gabrielle waved their server over and explained to him that Andrew wished to pay with, “…une carte de credit.” Again, she enunciated slowly as she looked at Andrew meaningfully and pointing to the plastic in his hand.
“I was going to take a cab,” Andrew said, handing her a scribbled address on a piece of paper as they strolled away. “I wasn’t going to fool around with that underground train again, but since you’re here, perhaps you can find it. I chose an apartment in the Marais, because it was fairly close.” He looked around in bewilderment. “I just have no idea which way to go from here.”
Gabrielle examined the scrap of paper. “Oui, it is not far from ‘ere.” She looked at him and waved a hand down the street to her left. “We will walk, d’accord?
“Dah cord,” he agreed, as they quickened their pace.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the cobblestone lane where the shop was located and soon they stood in front of large windows in need of a good wash. A set of antique-looking keys jangled in Andrew’s hand as they paused outside to take it all in.
To Gabrielle, it felt a bit like stepping back in time. They faced two ancient, wooden doors, side by side. One led into a darkened shop where she could see row upon row of bottles gleaming dully in the bit of sunlight filtering past the tall old buildings all around them. The other appeared to be a private entrance.
“That must be where Uncle Olivier lived…” Andrew said, staring at the door with a sigh. “Poor man. He was devastated after his wife died. Wish I’d have gotten to know him better.”
Paint peeled from the wood surrounding the bricks that made up a majority of the walls, and a rickety sign squeaked to and fro over the door in the slight April breeze.
“Caviste de Tremblay,” she murmured, reading the faded words that hung above them. She sensed the sadness Andrew was experiencing as he looked upon this place that led to him learning a part of his family’s history.
Andrew took a deep breath and moved forward to unlock the door. It swung back on old hinges that would be improved with a dousing of oil. Gingerly, Andrew walked inside.
She noticed there was no light switch as Andrew groped around on the wall in the semi-darkness. Looking around, she spotted a thin chain hanging from the ceiling. Moving past him, she pulled it, and the room flooded with light. Andrew shut the door and leaned against it.
Gabrielle wasn’t sure if Andrew felt the palpable sense of sadness in the stagnant air of the shop. She gazed around at the dusty bottles and derelict bins filled haphazardly with additional flasks down the center of the space. She rubbed the grime off a few and peered closely at them. Each one had a different label, from all over France.
The shop wasn’t wide. She could have spanned the entire width of the store in five strides, but it was long and housed a lot of inventory. Both walls were covered, top to bottom, with bottles, and they ran right to the back of the store where there was an old counter and an equally old cash register.
“Do you suppose he was selling any?” Andrew asked quietly. He’d wandered in a few paces, but then stopped and lifted a hand to scrub the back of his neck. “It reeks of neglect and illness in here.” His voice sounded anguished. “Why didn’t he tell us? I would have come to help. I should have come…” His voice trailed off. Clearly he was blaming himself.
“Andrew, you can’t take responsibility for something you didn’t know about. Your uncle must ‘ave ‘ad his own reasons for not saying anything to your mother.” She walked behind the counter where there was a tottery old stool, a wastepaper bin, and a roll of brown paper, presumably for wrapping each bottle of wine before it left the store.
“What am I supposed to do with this place?” he asked. She whirled around to see that Andrew had come to stand behind her, staring blankly at the cash register with his shoulders slumped. He poked a feeble finger at a few of the keys and a drawer slid out with the loud ring of an internal bell.
He jumped back in surprise and then pulled it out further to look inside. “Coins—a few euro, two buttons, and some string,” he said, pushing it closed. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders. “Uncle Olivier gave this place and his home next door to me, his nephew. It was his love, his life.” The deepening tone of Andrew’s voice became more confident with each word. “According to mom, Uncle Olivier didn’t make any decision lightly, which means there was a purpose to him entrusting all of this…” he flung his arms wide, and continued, “to me. And I won’t let him down.”
“C’est vrai,” Gabrielle murmured. “It’s true. I am certain ‘e believed you would do what was best.” She moved around the counter, unprepared for what would happen next.
Leaping forward, Andrew scooped her up and lifted her off her feet as he twirled her in the air. “Ooh la la,” she screeched, catching her breath as his strong hands closed around her waist. Grinning, he set her down, ran a hand through hair that had fallen over one eye and fixed her with his piercing gaze.
“I’ll do it!” he announced with fervor. “I have a long-stay visa in place. I’ll take some time and put Uncle Olivier’s shop back on its feet. I owe it to his memory. The future will take care of itself, as my mother always says. Yes, I may have to sell it down the road. Not really sure that a guy whose closest companions were cows, could even run a wine shop in Paris. I don’t understand the language and don’t know the first thing about wine, but…” he squared his shoulders. “I’m going to give it a damn good try.”