Christmas Reunion in Paris

by Liz Fielding

  She had given him her heart, along with everything else, unreservedly when they were young. She had just done it again, but he must never know that because this wasn’t a new beginning.

  She had known what her parents had planned for her and she should never have allowed herself to become involved with him. To put him at risk.

  There could never be a new beginning.

  James had moved on, was living the life he had planned, and this had to be an end.

  The goodbye they’d never had a chance to say.

  She drew on all her strength and, saving the self-indulgent pity party for later, she put the flowers in a jug, added water and set them on a table under the window.

  ‘Thank you for these,’ she said, with the professionally bright voice she used with customers at the bistro. ‘They are lovely.’

  * * *

  Jay watched as she riffled the petals of one of the roses, just as she had when he’d bought them for her once before. Nothing had changed. The heat, the passion. Nothing, and yet everything, and he understood that she was distancing herself from him, sending him away. Doing what she thought was best for him.

  There were so many questions he wanted to ask her. Questions he’d blocked out in the hours of practising basic kitchen skills, soaking up knowledge, honing a natural gift until he’d got his big break on a television competition for young professional chefs.

  Questions that had been running through his head ever since Chloe had run from his hotel room.

  They had been wiped from his mind, ceased to matter as they’d reached for one another, reconnecting, filling the emotional and physical void as, for one shining moment, she’d come into his arms and ten missing years had been blown away in an explosion of passion.

  And then, while he was still floating in a state of blissful delusion that the world was, finally, the right way up, the barrier had come back up and she was running again. Not from him, but to protect him. When he should be protecting her.

  She had chosen to live in a cold, damp walk-up that was too small to swing a cat in—that no self-respecting cat would tolerate—rather than live in comfort with parents who, not content with stealing their daughter from him, had threatened him and his family. Because that kind of adoption could not be legal. One of his colleagues had adopted and she had been on tenterhooks for months, in case the mother changed her mind...

  They had recognised the threat. Young as he was, determined as he’d been to find her, they had been afraid that if he found out what they’d done he would have talked to a lawyer.

  That was what the threats had been about.

  He was safe enough, but Chloe was different.

  She was living well below the radar, but it was hard to hide these days, especially from people with friends in high places and a bottomless purse, and she was an heiress on a grand scale.

  Her father might have disinherited her, but it wasn’t that easy. She was their daughter and would have a legal claim on their estate, as would any children she might bear to some man who did not have the Forbes Scott seal of approval.

  She might refuse to play by their rules, but they would want to know where she was, what she was doing and who she was doing it with.

  His reappearance would be their worst nightmare.

  It wasn’t the cold draught whistling through the gaps around the window that sent the shiver up his spine. Her parents had been coldly ruthless with Chloe when they had discovered she was pregnant.

  It was clear, from the little she’d said, that the loss had come close to destroying her, that she had been confined to some kind of sanatorium for months, maybe longer.

  He had been unable to help her, protect her back then, but guilt for her suffering was his, too.

  ‘Louis...’ he said, turning away and dropping his voice as the chef picked up.

  ‘Checking up on me, Jay? I’m in a taxi on my way to the hotel right now.’

  ‘That’s brilliant but I’m calling about something else. You mentioned subletting your apartment. Can I take it? Just for a few weeks until your maman can find someone long term?’

  ‘You’ve found your girl?’

  ‘I have, but it’s complicated,’ he said. ‘I’d rather you didn’t mention it to anyone.’

  ‘Not even your family?’ And when he confirmed that he meant exactly that, Louis said, ‘Don’t get into any trouble, my friend. Angry husbands are unpredictable.’

  ‘It’s not that kind of complicated. It’s her family that are the problem.’

  ‘So long as you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Who of us ever knows that?’

  Louis laughed. ‘Mama will be happy to be spared a trip into Paris in this cold weather. You’ve stayed before and you know where everything is. There are towels in the airing cupboard, wine in the cooler, the basics in the fridge. You’re welcome to whatever you can find. The cleaning service comes early on Saturday and I was saying a fond goodbye to a friend last night, so there are clean sheets on the bed, and everything is dust free.’

  ‘Thanks. Let me know what you need in the way of rent and I’ll sort it.’

  ‘No one will be moving in for at least a couple of weeks. Take it with my compliments.’ Louis gave him the keycode, then said, ‘I appear to have arrived at the Harrington Park Hotel. It’s...impressive.’

  ‘It was,’ Jay said, ‘and it will be again with your help. I owe you, Louis. Call me if you need anything.’

  He ended the call, took a notebook and pen from his coat pocket and made a note of the keycode, then said, ‘It’s all fixed.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve found somewhere for us to stay while we sort things out.’

  ‘What things? There’s nothing to sort out. Please, James, don’t make this any harder than it has to be. You’ve found me and you have your answers. Go back to London, to your restaurant, your life.’

  ‘It’s not just my life, Chloe. We have a little girl and I’m going to find her if it’s the last thing I do. For that I need your help.’

  ‘I can’t...’ She shook her head.

  ‘Can’t?’ It wasn’t this appalling room that was giving him the shivers. ‘Can’t or won’t?’ he demanded.

  ‘Can’t. No one can help you find her, James. It was a closed adoption.’

  Closed? The word sounded doom-laden.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means that the papers are sealed. I have no idea who adopted Eloise or where she is. It will be up to her, once she’s eighteen, to choose whether or not to trace me.’

  ‘Not me?’

  ‘Your name isn’t on the original birth certificate.’ She was struggling to speak, he realised. This was a lot harder for her than she wanted him to see. ‘We were not married so you would have had to be there. When she was registered.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, wanting to hold her, show her how sorry he was, but she was holding herself stiffly, away from him as if afraid that if she let go, she would break... ‘I’m so sorry to have to put you through this. To force you to remember.’

  ‘Do you think I could ever forget?’ she said fiercely. ‘Even for one moment?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  She reached out and took his hand. ‘I’m sorry, James. I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You saved her. Gave her life...’

  ‘And if, some day in the future, she decides to find me, ask me what happened, why I let her go, I’ll tell her about a long-ago spring and a lovely boy. A special man... I’ll tell her where to find you.’ She was smiling through the tears filming her eyes. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘If you don’t die of pneumonia first,’ he said, struggling to keep the intense emotion from his voice. ‘You really can’t stay here, Chloe.’

  ‘James...’


  ‘I’m serious. Can you imagine what the press would do to me if they found out that I’d left the mother of my child living in a freezing room where the walls were running with damp?’

  ‘How would they find out? Any of it?’

  ‘I asked the girl who came to clean my room for your address, Chloe.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘That’s not good.’

  ‘I was desperate and when she said you were off with the flu, I told her that you’d gone to school with my sister and that Sally would want me to make sure you were okay.’

  ‘And she believed you?’

  ‘Fifty euros dealt with any doubts she might have had.’

  ‘Confirmed them more likely. She’ll be telling everyone that I’ve been flirting with one of the guests.’

  ‘I don’t think she recognised me, but it wouldn’t take a moment for someone to check who was staying in that room.’

  ‘No matter how careful the management are, there will always be someone who’s a stringer for the tabloids. It’s just the kind of tip-off they thrive on. Even if it was nothing, they could come up with a headline that would make it seem sordid.’

  ‘And it’s not nothing.’

  ‘No.’ And it was Chloe’s turn to let slip an expletive. ‘This is my fault. If I hadn’t run away—’

  ‘If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine, Chloe. I was so desperate to find you that I didn’t think through the consequences. The most incompetent researcher is going to find out that both Sally and I were at St Mary’s. A little more digging would turn up the fact that you and I left school mid-term in the same week—’

  ‘You were expelled?’

  ‘No.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe. I didn’t wait to find out. I just wanted to find you.’

  ‘You walked out of school?’

  ‘I knew what I wanted to do,’ he said, ‘and I didn’t need starred A levels or a degree for that.’

  She groaned. ‘They’ll go after Sally, won’t they?’ Chloe’s concern for his sister, so evidently real, warmed him. Gave him hope.

  ‘I’m afraid so. She won’t say anything, but they’ll have my family history. The hotel is already in the news. And then there’s the fact that while your family could give Croesus a run for his money, you are living here.’

  ‘It’s not that bad!’ she protested.

  ‘Imagine the pictures in the tabloids,’ he said. ‘They won’t focus on the furniture that you’ve painted, the herbs on the windowsill, the fabrics you’ve used to make the place more comfortable.’

  ‘Oh, dear Lord...’ She looked up at him. ‘There will have been gossip at the time and people will swarm out of the woodwork with stories.’

  ‘It’s the reality of being in the public eye.’

  Her hand tightened around his and for a moment neither of them spoke until the silence was broken by the blasting of a car horn in the street below and a stream of invective from an outraged driver that was clearly audible through the ill-fitting window.

  ‘What are we going to do, James?’

  His first instinct had been to go back to London and take Chloe with him. The passion, the desire was as urgent as it had ever been, but they were no longer a couple of teens and the minute he was home, he’d be sucked into pre-Christmas preparations at the restaurant, peace-making between Sally and Hugo, his publication deadline.

  She was right. Bad things had happened. They needed time to work through them, to talk, rebuild their relationship.

  Right now, nothing was more important than that.

  ‘First things first. You are going to pack—don’t leave anything personal behind. Check your rubbish to make sure there’s nothing that can lead to you. When you’re done, I’ll call a taxi and then you are going to disappear.’

  ‘I can’t! I have a job!’

  ‘Agency work, you said. Call them and tell them you won’t be available until further notice.’

  ‘They’ll be annoyed.’

  ‘What can they do? Fire you?’

  ‘But—’

  ‘We are going to the apartment of the chef I’ve just hired for Harrington’s. An informal arrangement with no names on a lease. No paper trail.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘There’s a sofa bed in the living room.’

  ‘That’s not what’s bothering me.’ She lifted her shoulders, blushing just a little. ‘And my job can be done by anyone, but how can you leave your restaurant?’

  ‘I’m about to give my very talented sous chef an early Christmas present by appointing her chef de cuisine.’

  ‘But what about your star? Don’t they take one away if the chef de cuisine leaves?’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘This is France, James. Food is a way of life. I’m right, though.’

  He grinned. ‘Yes, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been taking on more work, thinking about a second restaurant so I’m less hands-on in the kitchen these days. If I formalise my role to that of executive chef, I think that will cover it. Do you need a hand packing?’

  ‘Um, no... I don’t have much,’ she said.

  She stood up, peeled off his sweater, handed it to him and then stretched up and pulled a holdall from the top shelf of a small wardrobe. She began by lifting the neatly folded contents of her drawers into it. She was right, she didn’t have much.

  Paris was an expensive place to live, but she was working long hours at two jobs and part time at a third. She should have more than this.

  Jay watched her for a moment, the lithe movements of her limbs, the play of light on her skin as she moved to the wardrobe and folded the few garments hanging there and added them to her bag, along with shoe bags, a small box and a folder.

  He really hoped she meant it when she said she wasn’t bothered about the sofa bed...

  She glanced across and caught him staring. ‘Can you straighten the bed while I get my stuff from the bathroom?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He straightened it out, smoothed the pillows, took the mugs of tea, long gone cold, to the sink and by the time he’d washed them, hung them on their hooks, Chloe had zipped up her bag.

  ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Well, the towels and bedlinen are mine. Will we need them?’

  She thought she would be coming back here at some point, he realised, but he didn’t want that argument now. He just wanted to get her out of there.

  ‘Not unless there’s something special you’ll want in the next week or two. Is there anyone you need to tell that you won’t be here?’ he asked. ‘Friends who will worry if you disappear?’

  Chloe turned from scanning the flat for anything she might have forgotten and looked at him.

  ‘A man, you mean?’

  Of course a man. Chloe was a lovely young woman. It was inconceivable that she hadn’t been involved with anyone in all this time.

  ‘The woman at the hotel knows where you live,’ he said quickly. ‘I thought she might be a friend.’

  ‘A friend wouldn’t have handed over my address for fifty euros. Not without asking me first,’ she pointed out, then gave a little sigh. ‘One of the women at the hotel was looking for somewhere to live. There was a studio vacant on the second floor, so I wrote down the address and the number of the landlord. She was already fixed up, but she pinned it to the noticeboard in case anyone else needed a place. Anyone could have seen it.’

  ‘What about neighbours?’

  ‘We’re all out at work. I rarely see anyone. Shall we go?’ she said, reaching for her coat. ‘No need to call a taxi. It’ll be quicker on the Metro.’ She wound a scarf around her neck. ‘And that won’t leave a trail.’

  ‘Am I being paranoid?’ he asked.

  ‘Probably,’ she said, ‘but we’ve been hiding our relationship since we spent
the entire end-of-term Christmas disco at opposite ends of the hall trying not to look at one another. Why change things now?’

  ‘You danced with George McKinnon.’

  ‘Poor George. You took him down in the rugby match the next day.’

  ‘It’s all part of the game.’

  ‘You were on the same team! And you danced all evening, too. I didn’t lose it when Lydia Grafton produced a piece of mistletoe and kissed you.’

  ‘Why not?’ he asked, reaching for his coat, buttoning it.

  ‘I felt sorry for her.’ She lifted her shoulders in an awkward little shrug, clearly wishing she hadn’t got into this. ‘You were top of her Christmas list, James, but I knew that Santa wasn’t going to deliver. You’d already given yourself to me.’

  ‘Plus ça change, plus c’est mème chose, Chloe,’ he said, shouldering his backpack and picking up her bag.

  Plus ça change...

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘THIS IS A lovely apartment...’

  Jay followed Chloe as she explored her new surroundings, running her fingers along the arm of a soft leather sofa. Glancing out of the tall windows to the street below.

  The apartment was one floor above a pretty courtyard in the Latin Quarter, with its Left Bank vibe, and he could well understand why his friend would want to hang onto it, no matter where in the world he was based.

  She opened the door to the bedroom and paused, just for a moment, before glancing back at him. ‘What was that you said about a bigger bed?’

  It wasn’t just bigger, it was enormous.

  ‘Chloe, what happened...the sex...’ He raked a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he’d long grown out of. ‘It wasn’t... I didn’t mean to...’

  ‘I was there, James. It happened to both of us,’ she said, when he stumbled to a halt. ‘It always did.’

  ‘Yes...’ His throat was so dry he could hardly speak. ‘But I just wanted to make it clear that whatever happens is your decision. This is your place, your rules. I’ve slept on the sofa before.’

  She nodded, giving him no clue to her thoughts, and when she went to check out the bathroom he didn’t follow. He’d stayed with Louis one New Year and he knew that it had a roomy walk-in shower and a tub large enough for two. He didn’t need that image in his head right now.