Christmas Reunion in Paris Page 6

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked, when she’d explored the bathroom and was fidgeting around the apartment. Looking but not looking.

  ‘To be honest I don’t know what I am. Everything happened so fast. You’ve yanked me out of my home, my job, my world,’ she said, with a gesture that took in her surroundings, but not owning them. ‘I understand why, but what happens next? How am I going to live, James? What am I going to do?’

  Her words brought him up short. Even without the possibility of paparazzi interest, getting her out of that ghastly room had been the right thing to do, but he’d turned up out of the blue, taken over her life and the sex had seriously complicated things.

  He’d backed off pushing the physical side of their relationship, but he hadn’t given much thought to the future beyond getting her back to London and into his life.

  He wanted to take her hand, hold her, reassure her that it was all going to be okay, but she’d suffered in ways he couldn’t begin to imagine and it was clear that she needed some time, space to make sense of everything that had happened.

  Maybe they both did.

  ‘When was the last time you had a holiday?’ he asked.

  ‘I, um... I haven’t...’ He waited. ‘If you mean a real holiday, then it was the week we spent at the cottage.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ he said. ‘Maybe this is the moment for us both to take time out of our real worlds and have some fun. Leave the future to take care of itself for a couple of weeks?’

  ‘Fun?’

  ‘That wasn’t a euphemism for sex, Chloe. I was thinking that we could take a ride up the Eiffel Tower, have dinner on a Bateau Mouche, take a trip on a tour bus.’ They were the first things that came to mind but there had to be a lot more. ‘All those things that you don’t bother to do when you live in Paris because they’re always there.’

  ‘It’s not exactly the weather for a ride on an open-topped bus.’

  She was still struggling, but she hadn’t responded with a flat-out no.

  ‘We’ll just have to wrap up warm and take a flask of coffee laced with brandy.’

  Even as he said it, he was remembering a freezing night when they’d thawed out in a warm, candlelit bath and, as their eyes met, a flush of pink stained her cheeks and he knew she was remembering it, too.

  ‘We can queue for bread straight from the oven,’ he said, seizing the moment. ‘Shop in the markets like real Parisiens and pay a visit to Dehillerin. I need new copper pans for the restaurant, and you can help me choose.’

  ‘Not all fun, then?’ Chloe said, shaking her head, but she was smiling now.

  ‘When you’re a kid you take your pocket money to Hamleys in Regent Street,’ he said. ‘When you’re a chef, you take it to the Paris emporium founded by Eugene de Hillerin a century ago. It will make a great blog post.’

  ‘I’m sure it will,’ she said, ‘but if that backpack contains everything that you brought with you, I think your first stop had better be for some spare clothes.’

  He groaned. ‘I hate shopping for clothes.’

  She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Do you want me to come and hold your hand?’ she asked, and he felt the tension seep out of him.

  ‘I’ll treat you to breakfast at Café de Flore before we face the ordeal,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you unpack and think about what else you’d like to do while I make a couple of calls and then we’ll find somewhere interesting to eat?’

  ‘James...’ He waited, but she shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

  * * *

  Chloe left James to his phone calls. She didn’t have much to unpack and once that was done, she lay back on the gorgeous bed, stretching out limbs heavy with the delicious lassitude that followed vigorous sex.

  It felt like coming alive after a long dark winter.

  Her Sleeping Beauty moment...

  She groaned at the cliché of James climbing the castle wall to wake her with a kiss. It suggested that she had been a passive recipient, when in reality it had been a wholly mutual body slam and one that her body, so long deprived, was eager to repeat.

  Her brain, on the other hand, was sending out confused messages.

  Its pleasure centre had been jolted out of stasis. Long undisturbed parts of her body were throbbing out a demand for more while health and safety central, the area that had guided every step since she’d chosen freedom over comfort, was frantically flashing a red light.

  A warning that this could only end in tears.

  James, certain that they could pick up where they left off and carry on as if nothing had happened, reminded her so much of the boy she’d fallen in love with. Eager, full of plans and, when she’d told him that she was pregnant, so sure of their future together as a family. He’d brushed aside her anxieties, ready to confront her parents and, despite his youth, be a man.

  And he had been all of that.

  He’d been strong, fought tooth and nail to find her and when his efforts had been blocked by lawyers, he hadn’t crawled away into a hole. He’d had no family to support him, but he’d done all the things he’d talked about and made a success of his life.

  She was the one who’d been weak, crumbled under pressure.

  Maybe this would all end in tears but, with James or without him, this was a wake-up call.

  It was time to stop running and take hold of her life. Remember her dreams.

  * * *

  Jay chose a bottle of a fine Pouilly-Fuissé from the wine chiller, opened it, poured two glasses and then settled down on the sofa to call Sally and let her know what had happened.

  When it went straight to voicemail, and he realised that with the seven-hour time difference it would be close to three a.m. in the Far East, he didn’t bother to leave a message, and instead called Freya, his talented sous chef.

  ‘Chef?’

  ‘Freya, a personal matter has come up here in Paris. I’ll have to stay on for a while.’

  ‘We will manage, chef.’

  ‘I know you will,’ he said, ‘which is why I’m appointing you chef de cuisine at L’Étranger.’

  ‘As a temporary measure?’

  Freya was the epitome of Scandi cool, but she hadn’t been able to contain the audible gulp before she asked the question.

  ‘No, not temporary. We both know that I’ve been doing less hands-on work in the kitchen in recent months. With so many new projects demanding my attention that isn’t going to change so it makes sense for me to move to the role of executive chef. We’ll discuss the financial implications and any changes you might want to make to the menu when I return. You can call me at any time.’

  ‘Yes, chef. Thank you, chef.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Jay?’

  ‘Freya?’

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  He smiled at her unexpected concern. ‘Everything’ was a long way from certain, but then Chloe appeared in the doorway, causing the same life-changing hitch in his breath that he’d experienced the very first time he’d noticed her, and he said, ‘Yes, chef.’

  He disconnected, tossed the phone on the table.

  A simple little black dress clung to her body; her fair curls had been brushed out around her shoulders. Just looking at her gave him goose bumps but, unlike earlier, when they’d been wordlessly drawn to one another, the silence felt like a force field that was holding them apart.

  ‘Are you finished with your calls?’ she asked, when the silence had gone on for far too long.

  ‘Yes... I’d hoped to speak to Sally. She’ll want to know that I found you,’ he said, rushing on to fill the void, ‘but I forgot about the time difference.’

  ‘Time difference? Where is she?’

  ‘Singapore. A lot has happened in the last few weeks. It’s why I’m in Paris. But I’ve sorted out things at the restaurant. No one is expecting me back...’ He took a breath, picked up the
glasses and handed her one. ‘You look...very French.’

  ‘Do I?’ She smoothed the cloth across her stomach in a self-conscious gesture. ‘Frenchwomen buy classic, keep their clothes for a long time and have no hang-ups about being seen wearing the same thing many times. So well spotted.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I’ve paid you a compliment or not,’ he said uncertainly. Chloe didn’t help him out and he struggled on. ‘If you have a dress you love, that looks fabulous on you, why wouldn’t you want to wear it more than once?’

  ‘It beats me,’ she said, clinking her glass against his, ‘but I’ll drink to fabulous.’ They both took a mouthful of the very fine wine. ‘And fun.’

  Something had changed while he was talking to Freya.

  Chloe had been through horrors he could not begin to imagine and today she had not only relived that nightmare for him, but once again, because of him, she had been forced to leave everything she knew.

  He’d spent years planning what he’d say if he ever saw her again, but at that moment the words were all wrong, overblown, ridiculous...

  ‘To fun,’ he repeated.

  They just stood for a long moment, looking at one another until he drained his glass and said, ‘Drink up. We need to get out of here.’

  * * *

  James took her arm as they wandered through streets thronged with tourists seeking out the Left Bank vibe, the haunts of writers such as Hemingway and Sartre.

  The evening was cold, but the air was filled with the rich spicy scent of food from all parts of the world. Couples were clinging to each other, and not just the young. Stores were lit up with Christmas lights and it should have been magical, but it wasn’t and Chloe dug the heels of her boots into the pavement, bringing them to a halt.

  ‘Pardon,’ he said, apologising to people behind them who were forced to swerve around them and didn’t hesitate to voice their feelings. ‘Are you okay, Chloe?’

  ‘No,’ she said, pulling her arm free. ‘This isn’t going to work.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? We know one another more intimately than anyone else on earth and yet you’re holding my arm as gingerly as if I was an elderly great-aunt with an uncertain temper. One who will lash out with her stick if you get too close.’

  He laughed, but without conviction.

  ‘Don’t!’ she said, and he lifted a hand in silent apology. ‘If you feel awkward, I can handle it, but you don’t have to pretend just because we had sex.’

  A couple of passers-by whistled, and James looked around a little desperately. ‘Could you lower your voice just a little?’

  ‘I’ve had more contact with a stranger on the Metro,’ she hissed and walked on, forcing him to follow her. ‘Because that’s what you are. It’s above the door of your restaurant. L’Étranger. Which is weird, by the way. You don’t eat with strangers.’

  ‘It doesn’t just mean “stranger”,’ he said. ‘It also means “outsider”.’

  Outsider? ‘Is that how you see yourself?’ she asked, shocked.

  ‘It’s how everyone else saw me when I came to work in Paris. I’d lost pretty much everyone, everything I was ever close to. My parents, Hugo, my home, you and our baby. It was a recurring theme and I was done with it. If I didn’t get close to anyone, I couldn’t lose them.’

  ‘Oh, James. I’m sorry. That’s such a dark place...’ Aware that he was looking at her, she said, ‘My breakdown was postnatal depression brought on by grief.’

  ‘Your father should be horsewhipped.’

  ‘And what would that achieve? The damage is done.’ She shook her head. ‘I had nothing, James, but you were able to focus all those feelings, all your heart, on your career. On the dishes you create.’

  ‘Assemble the best ingredients, treat them with respect and they will always deliver.’

  Unlike people. He didn’t say it. He didn’t need to.

  For a moment they just looked at one another as people swerved around them, then she took his arm, tucked it firmly beneath hers and said, ‘Come on. Enough with the navel-gazing. Let’s eat.’

  There were no shortages of places to choose from, but James led the way down a narrow alleyway to a small restaurant. It was busy but when he told the maître d’ that it had been recommended by Louis Joubert, they were immediately shown to a table by the window.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’

  ‘I’m regretting the expensive glass of wine I didn’t finish when you rushed me out of the flat,’ she said, smiling at the waiter as he handed her a menu.

  ‘Blame our hasty exit on your dress.’

  ‘Really?’ She turned to look at him. ‘If I’d known that was the problem, I’d have taken it off.’

  ‘Chloe...’

  ‘I dreamed about this, James. How, one day, you would walk back into my life.’

  ‘Oh? How did it go?’

  ‘The usual way. Like one of those perfect, soft-focus movie moments. The last scene of Sleepless in Seattle...’

  He looked baffled. ‘I don’t know that movie.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘It does lack a woman-eating shark...’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. It was never going to happen, not like that.’

  ‘But we did meet.’

  ‘Yes, but it was more like one of those dreams where you’re caught naked in public.’

  He frowned. ‘You ran away because you were embarrassed because you were working as a maid?’

  ‘About as embarrassed as you’d have been if I’d seen you taking out the rubbish in a burger joint,’ she said, but it had been more than that. She’d run from the uncertainty, the fear of rejection... ‘Be honest, James, what did you think?’

  ‘Think? I don’t know. I was too shocked for anything coherent...’

  ‘That’s reality for you. Real life isn’t a soft-focus dream and sometimes, no matter how great the ingredients, the sauce curdles.’

  ‘I came after you,’ he protested. ‘I was halfway down the back stairs when I realised how it would look if I burst into the staffroom in pursuit of a maid.’ He sighed. ‘I was thinking too much by then. I should have just kept going and to hell with what anyone thought.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have found me. I was out of the door and gone.’

  ‘I did find something.’ He went to his coat and returned with something that gleamed silver in the candlelight.

  Chloe gave a little gasp as she recognised the distorted Celtic swirl of the hair pin James had bought her for her seventeenth birthday.

  ‘It my hairpin,’ she said, automatically lifting her hand to where it would normally be tucked into the bun she wore when she was working.

  ‘You must have lost it in your haste and I’m afraid I crushed it as I pounded down the stairs after you.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have worn something so precious to work, but some days I needed it.’

  She reached out to take it, but he returned it to his pocket.

  ‘I’ll have it fixed.’

  ‘It will cost more than it’s worth.’

  ‘The fact that it’s precious to you, that you wanted to wear it, makes it worth any amount of money to restore it.’

  She had to swallow hard to shift the lump in her throat before she could thank him.

  ‘You weren’t the only one who dreamed, Chloe. I dreamed, too.’

  ‘In soft focus?’

  He shook his head. ‘I dreamed about what I would say to you.’

  ‘Hello was a good start.’

  ‘It went downhill from there.’

  ‘It was a bit of a bumpy ride,’ she agreed, ‘but there were some good bits.’

  ‘Well, that’s encouraging. Are you going to give me a clue?’

  ‘I think we need to decide what we’re going to eat,’ she said, tu
rning to the menu. ‘Now, are you going to get all cheffy and insist on talking me through it, or can I just go ahead and order the butternut squash soup and the tagine?’

  He ordered the soup for both of them, the tagine for Chloe and fish skewers with ginger served with a risotto for himself and took the waiter’s recommendation for a wine robust enough to cope with the spices.

  ‘Your French is very good, James. How did you end up working in Paris?’

  ‘Someone I worked for in the school holidays, an old friend of my father, gave me a job after I walked out of school and, later, he organised a placement for me at one of the big Paris hotels. It’s where I met Louis Joubert, the man whose apartment we’re camping in.’

  ‘Where is he? Louis?’

  ‘He’s in London. At the Harrington Park Hotel. Nick Wolfe finally drove it to bankruptcy. Sally and I were going to make an offer to the creditors, but before we could get all the finances in place it was bought from under us. By Hugo.’

  ‘Hugo?’ She thought for a moment. ‘Your older brother who disappeared?’ James hadn’t talked about his brother at school. As far as anyone there knew, he and Sally had no other family. But he’d opened his heart to her... ‘He’s back?’

  ‘We had a message that the new owner wanted to talk to the Harrington twins. We thought that maybe they wanted to involve us in some way, make capital out of the family connection, but when we walked into the lawyer’s office Hugo was waiting for us.’

  ‘That’s incredible!’ She sat back in her chair. ‘That must have been such a shock. Like seeing a ghost.’

  ‘Apparently it’s the season for it.’

  She waved that away. ‘Where has he been all this time?’

  Over the food he told her Hugo’s story, his plans to restore the hotel, his desire to involve them both.

  ‘That’s...’ She shook her head because there were no words. ‘You must be overjoyed to have him back.’