Christmas Reunion in Paris

by Liz Fielding

  She led the way through the underground shopping precinct, followed the signs and ten minutes later they were inside the museum.

  ‘The Mona Lisa is in Italian Renaissance next to the Salle Denon, but there is a lot of other really fabulous stuff you have to see.’

  He’d been downloading the museum app to his phone, but now he looked up, clearly surprised that she’d remembered. ‘How long ago did you say you were here?’

  ‘My father was a patron.’ She gave an awkward little shrug. ‘He probably still is... He considered the appreciation of fine art to be preparation for the life I would live. There was more than one private visit.’

  He frowned. ‘I didn’t have the slightest clue just how different your life was from the rest of us, did I?’

  ‘No,’ she said, putting an arm through his to hold him close, ‘but that means it’s your lucky day. I have a retentive memory so forget the app. You are about to get the advantage of my privileged lifestyle for the price of two tickets.’

  He didn’t move, just looked at her.

  ‘It’s a bargain,’ she prompted.

  He took a breath. ‘Yes, sorry... Where do we start?’

  ‘With Canova’s Psyche and Cupid.’

  They stood in front of the exquisite marble sculpture while Chloe gave him a potted history of Canova and its subject. ‘Their story is one of forbidden love and, after many trials, redemption.’

  ‘Is redemption the same as happy ever after?’ he asked,

  ‘Well, it’s a Greek myth, so it’s not quite that simple.’

  He turned from the sculpture to look at her. ‘Like life, then.’

  She nodded. ‘Just like life.’

  * * *

  ‘That was incredible,’ Jay said, a couple of hours later, as they walked through the Christmas fair in the Tuileries, looking at the craft stalls.

  ‘I have to admit that it was a lot more fun with you than my father.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it. And fun is what we’re about.’

  He bought mulled wine and then stopped to look at some hand-blown glass Christmas ornaments. ‘As children, we all used to choose a new ornament each year and hang it on the tree set up in the reception area of the Harrington Park,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not children any more,’ she said. ‘And Hugo might not want a tree with all those memories attached to it.’

  ‘We’re all children at Christmas,’ he said. ‘And the tree is part of Harrington history. Which would you choose?’

  He watched as Chloe looked at the ornaments, occasionally picking one up. ‘The glass bell is very pretty...’

  ‘But?’

  ‘A bit safe. If it were up to me, I’d choose the flamingo.’

  ‘The flamingo it is. And I’ll take Cupid.’ He nodded to the stallholder. ‘It will remind me of our visit to the Louvre.’ And because Chloe would be there to hang her own ornament on the tree. ‘You weren’t kidding about your memory, were you? By the time we reached that ceiling—which was truly amazing, by the way—you had quite an audience. Several people asked if they could book you for a private tour.’

  ‘What a pity I didn’t have a card for you to hand out. I could set up my own private tour service.’

  He paused at a stall selling cheese to cover his shock at what she’d just said. ‘Why would you want to be a tour guide?’

  ‘The tips are good.’

  Not going to happen. This was a pause, a little time out, while they reconnected. After an uncertain start, it had been going so well and it was just a matter of time before she returned to London with him and they restarted the clock on their lives.

  He’d handed over the kitchen to Freya, and he could write anywhere, but he had other commitments. An awards dinner where he was booked to present one of the prizes. Meetings that couldn’t be cancelled...

  ‘I’m sure they are,’ he said, ‘but do you think your life would be better with four jobs?’

  He accepted a sliver of sheep’s cheese from the stallholder. It might as well have been cardboard.

  ‘I could give up the cleaning,’ she said, oblivious to the edge in his voice, or deliberately ignoring it as she tried a blue-veined cheese. ‘Oh, I like that...’ She held out a taster for him to try. ‘It’s really good, James. Creamy, salty...’

  He took it, tasted nothing, but she was waiting for a reaction. ‘Yes, it’s very good.’

  Maybe he lacked conviction, because she sighed and finally stopped avoiding his question.

  ‘I may have rejected my family, James, but the spirit of entrepreneurship is imprinted in the Forbes Scott genes. It’s why I work three jobs and save every cent so that when the right moment comes, I’ll be ready.’

  He frowned. Ready for what?

  ‘This is your moment, Chloe. There’s going to be a book in the spring, more television and I’m in talks with a major hotel about establishing an on-site afternoon-tea service. L’Étranger is going to be a brand. I want you to be a part of that.’

  He’d hoped to impress her with his own drive, anticipated some enthusiasm, but she frowned. ‘Won’t Hugo be offended if you go to a rival?’

  Hugo? He shook his head. ‘I’ve already talked to him. He’s fine about it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She turned to the stallholder to ask him for a hundred and fifty grams of the blue cheese and the only thing he was sure about was that she hadn’t responded to his expectation that she would return to London with him. To working with him. Being with him.

  ‘It’s possible that he’s accepted your decision because he wants to keep you happy,’ she said.

  ‘Hugo and I are fine.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘We are,’ he insisted.

  ‘I hope you’re right, but the fracture in your family is complicated. You were split apart by the appalling deceit of one man and, despite the fact that you were children, it’s inevitable that you will feel guilt for not having seen the truth.’

  What?

  ‘That’s crazy,’ he protested.

  She didn’t argue. ‘Isn’t that why Sally is so angry with him? The reason you are keeping him at a distance?’

  ‘No! I’m not...’ The objection was automatic, too quick, and he pulled a face. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re both afraid that Hugo will disappear again. That’s a perfectly natural response, James, and your brother clearly understands that it’s going to take time to build trust and knit your family back together. He’s not going to do anything to jeopardise that.’

  ‘Is that how it is with us, Chloe?’ he asked.

  ‘You never knew why Hugo disappeared, James. That’s like a death, but without a body to grieve over.’ She took the cheese, paid for it while he was still trying to get his head around that. ‘It was different for us. We both knew what had happened, why it happened. Our tragedy was that there was nothing we could do about it.’

  ‘But it doesn’t have to end there. Cupid and Psyche had their lives messed up by family—’

  ‘My father is a powerful man, James. He is not a god,’ she said, handing him the little paper carrier. ‘This is for you. Cheese is very good for the bones.’

  But whose bones? Unsure of the answer, he was disinclined to ask. But he would call Hugo later and talk to him. Really talk to him. Ask him how things were going, tell him about Chloe. Maybe broach the question of the afternoon-tea service again, but right now he didn’t want to think about any of that.

  ‘Cheese is one of life’s great joys,’ he said, ‘but right now you have to make a really big decision.’

  ‘James...’

  ‘Are we going to take a ride on the Ferris wheel, or risk our bones on the ice rink?’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘DON’T!’ CHLOE SHOOK her head as Jay held up his phone to take a video of her with the Eiffel Tower flas
hing behind her. ‘Could you behave any more like a tourist?’ she hissed.

  ‘No one but a tourist would be coming on this cruise. Look around you, everyone is doing the same thing. I’m just going to send this to Sally and Hugo so that they can see that we’re having a good time.’

  He’d called Hugo while Chloe had gone out to buy a new lipstick, and over a long conversation had told him what had happened in the past. Why he was staying in Paris.

  Hugo had asked one or two questions, but mostly he’d just listened.

  For now, Jay was doing his best to forget about the things that were piling up in London, steering clear of the future and concentrating on the moment.

  Chloe rolled her eyes, shook her head, but gave a little wave and said, ‘Bonjour, Sally! Bonjour, Hugo!’

  He clicked away for a moment and then said, ‘All done. The modern equivalent of the postcard.’

  The boat began to pull away from the dock, the waitress topped up their glasses, they smiled for the boat’s photographer when she stopped at their table.

  Food arrived, scallops, duck, something frivolous in chocolate, all delicious but it wasn’t about the food. It was about watching Chloe’s reflection in the glass canopy as she gazed out at the river. About being with her.

  She looked pensive, faraway and he suspected that she wasn’t seeing the passing boats, the impressive floodlit buildings, the Ferris wheel from which they’d seen Paris lighting up beneath their feet earlier that evening.

  She turned and saw him watching her. ‘You’re not looking.’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ he said. ‘I’m looking and looking.’

  She blushed, smiled. ‘This is lovely. Thank you, James.’

  ‘You say that as if this is over.’

  ‘No... But holidays can’t last for ever.’

  ‘That is true. I have to be in London at the end of the week for an industry awards thing.’

  ‘Are you up for something?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not me this year. I’m presenting an award and I need a date. Are you, by any chance, free on Friday, Miss Forbes Scott?’

  ‘I...’ She cleared her throat. ‘You’re a celebrity, James. There will be cameras there, interest in who you’re with.’

  ‘Interest in me is focussed on the hotel at the moment.’ His inbox was full of emails from reporters wanting to know how he was feeling about it being back in family hands. ‘The lifestyle magazines are full of archive photographs from its glory days. Pictures of film stars, politicians, aristocrats from around the world.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that the Forbes Scott name would trump that.’

  ‘You could change it to Chloe Harrington.’

  There was one of those moments that sometimes happened in crowded places, when, for a split second, everything fell silent.

  Then someone laughed, the clink of crockery being moved, the gentle pop of a cork and Chloe let out a breath that she hadn’t been conscious of holding.

  ‘That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?’ she managed. ‘Just to go to a party.’

  ‘I was thinking of something rather more long term.’

  ‘There’s no rush,’ she said and, because she didn’t want this to develop into a conversation that required an answer she wasn’t ready to give, ‘Why don’t you take Hugo as your guest? It would not only show a united family front, but it would be a chance for him to meet industry professionals on this side of the Atlantic.’

  ‘Yes...’ James was no longer looking at her, but at the empty glass in his hand. ‘I’ll ask him,’ he said, signalling the waiter, ‘but right now I’m going to have a brandy. Would you like something?’

  She shook her head. ‘Shall we take the bus trip tomorrow?’ she asked, changing the subject. ‘And perhaps, afterwards, we could check out the bouquinites. It’s been an age since I’ve rummaged for a book bargain.’

  He thought about it for a moment then nodded and said, ‘Why don’t we go for it and top it off, literally, with an evening in the champagne bar at the top of the Eiffel Tower?’

  ‘Not a chance.’ The joke had been feeble, but they had moved safely on from name-changing talk. It wasn’t just that it was too soon... ‘That really is a tourist trap too far. And don’t tell me that you’ve never been to the top of the tower, James Harrington, because I won’t believe you.’

  He held up his hands, found a smile. ‘You’ve got me. Choose whatever you like for tomorrow evening and I’ll do my best to deliver.’

  ‘Truly?’ She reached across the table and took his hand. ‘Then I choose to stay in while you cook for me the way you used to. If that should happen to involve a glass of champagne, I would be extra happy.’

  ‘Your happiness is all I care about,’ he said, holding her with a long, steady look until the waitress arrived with the bill for the drinks and the photograph. He paid her, adding a tip, then picked up the photograph and looked at it.

  They looked so ordinary as they’d smiled for the camera. Just another happy couple out on a date without a thing in the world to trouble them.

  ‘One for the family album,’ he said, sliding it into his pocket as the boat settled back against the pier.

  ‘Let me give you another one, James.’

  Chloe had been trying to find the right moment for this, aware that it was an emotional minefield, one she’d shied away from when they were alone. Now he’d given her the perfect opening and she fumbled with the clasp of her bag, finger shaking a little as she took out a small leather folder.

  ‘I found these copies today; they’re for you,’ she said, offering it to him.

  He looked at her for a long moment before he opened it.

  On one side was a scan of their daughter at twenty weeks. On the other there was a close-up of their newborn infant, moments after she’d been placed in her arms.

  ‘Eloise...’

  He touched the precious images, looking at them for a long moment. Then he looked up and, as she saw the struggle he was having to hold back feelings that he couldn’t allow to spill over, she wished she’d been braver.

  Wished they were somewhere private so that she could hold him. So that he could let the tears fall.

  ‘I’m sorry. I should have waited.’

  He shook his head, stood up.

  The cruise was over, the boat was emptying, and he helped her into her coat, hailed a taxi, walked her to the door of the apartment.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t speak, just that the few words he said to thank the staff as they left the boat, to tell the driver where to take them, had nothing to do with her. With them.

  He keyed in the door code but when he didn’t follow her inside, she said. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine, but I need to be on my own for a while.’

  His touch to her arm was a gentle reassurance that it wasn’t about anything she’d done, but as he walked away she wondered if she should follow him. As if sensing her hesitation, he turned, nodded. ‘Go in. I won’t be long.’

  * * *

  Jay walked to the river, bought coffee from a late-night stallholder and sat on a bench. Moments later an old homeless man shuffled along and sat beside him.

  He asked him if he could buy him a cup of coffee, maybe a burger.

  The stallholder shook his head, said, ‘Don’t give him any money, or he will drink it.’

  Jay nodded, and they sat together for a while in silence until, unbidden, the old guy started to tell him how his wife had got cancer and died. How grief had driven him to drink, his son had been taken in foster care and he’d lost his house. A justification of how he’d ended up sleeping rough.

  ‘What happened to you, son?’ he asked, assuming he was on the same downward path.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. Whether the old man was telling the truth scarcely mattered. Compared to him, he was the luck
iest man alive. ‘I’m absolutely fine.’ He got up to leave. The temptation to take out his wallet and hand over some cash was inevitable, but bearing in mind the stallholder’s warning he said, ‘Is there anything you need?’

  ‘I could use a coat.’

  It was true, the one he was wearing was in rags, and Jay took his off, emptied the pockets into his jacket.

  ‘He’ll sell it,’ the burger guy warned.

  He didn’t doubt it, but he handed it over anyway and walked back to the flat.

  * * *

  Chloe stirred, felt the cold emptiness in the bed beside her, heard the soft tapping of fingers on a keyboard.

  She’d gone to bed but had stayed awake, fretting, until she heard James come in. He’d gone into the kitchen, switched on the kettle and, finally able to relax, she had drifted off.

  It had only been a few days and already she missed being able to reach out and touch him, to know that he was beside her, and she eased herself up on the pillow so that she could see him.

  He was sitting at the little table beneath the window, the light from the screen lighting up his face as he worked. He was spending all his time with her but there had to be things that he couldn’t pass on to someone else. There was a blog with an army of followers, the book he was working on...

  ‘“My candle burns at both ends, it will not last the night...”’ she said.

  He turned from the keyboard. There were dark hollows beneath his eyes, but he was smiling. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘It wasn’t the keyboard,’ she said. ‘It was your absence. The bed is cold without you. Where did you go?’

  ‘Down by the river. I just needed a walk to clear my head.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It did. I’ll take this through to the other room.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ she said, swinging her legs out of the bed. ‘I’m going to make a cup of tea. But just so you know, we don’t have to gallivant all over Paris as if all the attractions will be gone in a fortnight. I’m perfectly happy staying in while you work.’