Christmas Reunion in Paris

by Liz Fielding

‘The front door or the bedroom door?’

  ‘The dating rules are clear on that, too. No sex before the third date. And only then if all parties think it would be fun.’

  ‘Oh, I know it would be fun.’

  ‘Maybe we need to concentrate on the things that we don’t know, Chloe.’

  ‘James...’

  ‘I think we’ve tried this man’s patience long enough,’ he said, because leaving her while she still had something to say seemed like a smart idea.

  Doubts, he didn’t want to hear.

  Questions, on the other hand, meant she would be all the more eager to meet him when he called.

  Still holding her hand, he climbed from the back of the taxi and when she was standing on the pavement beside him, he lifted it briefly to his lips.

  ‘I’ll call you.’

  * * *

  Chloe remained on the footpath watching the taxi until it disappeared around the bend, stepping sideways to catch the last sight of James, hoping that he might look back. Not entirely sure what had just happened. Only that she was both happy and confused and a little bit afraid.

  She was happy that James had taken so much trouble to bring back her hairpin. She was very happy that they were friends.

  Was she happy that he wanted to see her again? That was confusing because it had to be pretty stupid on both counts. They both knew there was no future for her and James when their lives were in different countries.

  And she was a little bit afraid because, although she knew how thorny this could get, how great the possibility of hurt for either or both of them, right at that moment she didn’t care.

  All she cared about was how soon it would be before he called her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘HOW DID IT GO, JAY?’

  He’d seen the missed call and picked up Sally’s voicemail as he walked from the underground to L’Étranger and she rang again while he still had the phone in his hand.

  ‘Hi, Sal. I was on the Tube when you rang. I was going to call you as soon as I got home.’

  ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I gave her the hairpin. Kept my distance. Listened more than I spoke but Chloe had just seen off her father and she asked me to lunch so that she could tell me what happened.’

  ‘Lunch? Were you not listening? The plan was for you to stay for no longer than ten minutes!’

  ‘The first casualty of any battle is the plan, Sally.’

  ‘Really? I despair!’

  ‘Don’t do that. Chloe was bubbling. She needed to talk to someone who didn’t need explanations. Someone who knew how important that meeting was.’

  ‘Okay. We can recover from this. What happened?’

  ‘Chloe took me to the bistro where she used to work, defended me to her ex-boss, who was ready to do me serious harm because he thought I’d made her cry, and, when she insisted on paying for lunch, I managed to restrain the macho urge to snatch the bill from her hand.’

  Sally laughed. ‘I’d have paid good money to see that.’

  ‘This is the new, listening James Harrington.’

  ‘Just listening? How close did you get?’

  ‘Opposite sides of the table, I swear. No footsy.’

  ‘Did you kiss?’

  ‘Only her hand.’

  ‘Ooh...’

  ‘Was that wrong?’

  ‘How could that ever be wrong? I’m melting at the thought of it. How did you leave things?’

  ‘That we should try dating for a while.’

  ‘Dating?’

  ‘Lunch, cinema, ice skating. “Holding hands in the old-fashioned way” dating.’

  ‘Sweet.’

  ‘Don’t mock,’ he said, dodging around a group of girls blocking the path.

  ‘I’m not. I wish I’d thought of it. It’s brilliant.’

  ‘But complicated by the fact that Chloe is moving out of the vile flat to go and work for Marie Bernier at the château.’

  ‘I don’t blame her. I looked at it online and immediately wanted to spend a night or two there myself.’

  ‘No reason why you shouldn’t. You could mix business with pleasure and run an interior-design weekend course there.’

  ‘You could cut down on the travelling and offer a cordon bleu cookery masterclass,’ she suggested. ‘Maybe one of your television contacts would like to film it?’

  ‘Nice thought but I’ve just got to the restaurant, Sally. We’ll talk soon.’

  He disconnected, slipped the phone into his pocket and, instead of using the side entrance that led directly up to his apartment, he walked through the front door of L’Étranger.

  The place was buzzing as the early evening traffic began to build up.

  He’d only handed over the kitchen to Freya a couple of weeks earlier, but already he could feel a subtle change. Nothing anyone else would notice. Nothing he could put his finger on.

  He spoke to members of staff as he walked through the ground-floor bar. Stopped to talk to customers who knew him, congratulating those who were there to celebrate some special occasion.

  He thought about going into the kitchen, but it was Freya’s domain now. The job of an executive chef was to advise, to plan for future growth, to approve and direct. Not to turn up and get in the way when service was in full swing.

  Upstairs, in his flat, he sat down in his armchair, still in his overcoat and scarf, and wondered how long he had to leave it before he called Chloe.

  Sally would almost certainly say a week.

  There wasn’t a chance in hell that he could wait that long, but when he checked his calendar on his phone, he discovered that there was something every day into the distance.

  Hugo had some legal stuff he wanted to clear with him. He was booked to be a guest chef on a cookery show that was being filmed live on Saturday. His publisher’s publicity people were desperate to tie up dates for interviews and a book tour. It had sounded like fun when he was signing the contract, but it would take a couple of weeks out of the spring when getting to France would be almost impossible. He went through it, trying to work out what was immovable and what he could shift...

  * * *

  Chloe’s phone was ringing.

  It had been five days. Five unbelievably busy days. The many strands of delivering an events package were a huge learning curve. There were bookings up to two years ahead that already involved putting details in place. Prompts in the diary at the point when menus, flowers, a dozen details needed to be actioned, confirmed, chased.

  It had kept her mind occupied throughout the day and sometimes into a sleepless night, but always, in the background, every time her phone rang, she felt that dangerous little heart leap.

  James had texted a sweet thank you for lunch. Sent her an animated ‘good luck’ card for the new job. The kind of thing you’d send a friend. Which was lovely.

  She wanted them to be friends, always.

  She wanted more but was always conscious of walking a tightrope between two incompatible dreams.

  Mostly, though, she just hoped that it was him, but when she finally saw his name come up on the caller ID her hand was shaking as she answered and, suddenly stupidly shy, said, ‘Hello, James.’

  ‘Hello, Chloe. How did the move go? Are you settled in at the château?’

  Normal, everyday questions. But then he’d had time to work out what he was going to say before he called.

  ‘The move went as they always do,’ she said. ‘There was a certain amount of stress and disaster, but I’m here, nothing of any great value was broken and I’m learning a lot.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. Obviously you’re not in one of the guest suites, but do you have a room with a view?’ he asked.

  Talk about a conversation with your maiden aunt!

  ‘I’m on th
e top floor in a big room that is twice the size of my Paris flat with a view over the lake.’

  ‘Does it have a mantelpiece?’

  Okay, now it was getting weird. ‘Yes. Is it important?’

  ‘It could be. I had a sudden wild impulse to buy a big old gilt mirror at a brocante, recently. It’s going to be picked up next week, but I don’t actually have room for it. I was going to arrange storage but then I wondered if you had a handy mantelpiece where it might feel at home.’

  ‘My mirror?’ she asked. ‘You bought my mirror?’

  ‘And the armchair, but I have a home for that. So? Would you like it?’

  ‘Yes, James...’ She swallowed, took a breath. She would not cry... ‘I would be very happy to save you the expense of storage.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you. I’ll ask the driver to text you when he’ll be arriving.’

  Was that it? The reason for his call?

  ‘Apart from an excess of furniture, how are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m good. Busy. Sally sends her love. She’s fallen in love with the château, too. I suggested that she could run an interior design class there one weekend.’

  ‘That’s a wonderful idea. I’d love to see her. Tell her to give me a call and we can talk about it.’ Then, because this conversation was setting up all kinds of tugs, both physical and emotional, and she was in danger of keeping him talking just to hear his voice, she said, ‘I have to go, James.’

  ‘Wait... Sorry, the mirror wasn’t actually the reason for my call. I know it’s ridiculously short notice, but someone just cancelled a meeting for tomorrow. Is there any chance that you’ll be free? I’ll completely understand if you have an event coming up this weekend and you’re neck-deep in preparations. The job has to come first.’

  ‘It does,’ she agreed, ‘but this weekend is clear, so we are not at panic stations. What did you have in mind?’

  ‘A walk by the Seine if it’s not raining. Lunch somewhere. Skating and hot chocolate, or maybe cocktails, at the Plaza Athénée?’

  ‘I’ll have enough trouble keeping on my feet with hot chocolate. And won’t you be driving?’

  ‘I thought I’d book a car with a driver,’ he said. ‘That way I’ll be able to sit in the back and hold your hand. Maybe, after skating and cocktails, you’ll fall asleep on my shoulder.’

  ‘That is entirely possible,’ she said, smiling at the thought.

  ‘So? Is that a yes?’

  Who was this James Harrington who took nothing for granted? Asked questions and listened to the answers?

  ‘I would love to do all of that with you,’ she said, ‘but, James...’

  ‘Chloe?’

  ‘I want to be quite clear on one point.’ He waited. ‘Will this be our first or second date?’

  He just laughed. ‘Give my best to Marie,’ he said, and then he was gone.

  * * *

  The two excitable French bulldogs, Beau and Felix, greeted him with unalloyed joy and a much more relaxed Marie with kisses on both cheeks.

  ‘It makes me very happy to see you here, James.’

  ‘Thank you, Marie. I hope Chloe feels the same way. How are things with you?’

  ‘Perfect. Chloe...’ She turned as she heard her on the stairs. ‘Chloe is my angel.’

  She was wearing a soft cream sweater, her gold curls fastened up in the silver pin.

  ‘An angel?’ He kissed her on both her cheeks with the same formality with which he’d greeted Marie, but drinking in the scent of her, holding it in his lungs. Desperately trying to block out what his life would be like if he could not see her.

  She whirled around, laughing at his doubt. ‘See my wings, baby. Watch me fly...’

  It was true, he thought. She looked as if all it would take was a leap into the air and, like Peter Pan in a show his mother had taken them to see one Christmas when he and Sally were six years old, she would be flying around the room.

  ‘Let’s stick to the road for now,’ he suggested as she tugged on her coat, wrapped a scarf around her neck. Unnerved by her joy.

  What the hell did he think he was doing?

  What would he do if Chloe had found her dream and there was no place in it for him?

  ‘Sorry, guys,’ he said, distracted by the dogs as they tried to follow Chloe into the car.

  ‘Next time you must stay,’ Marie said as she grabbed them by the collar, ‘and take them for a walk.’

  He was momentarily lost for an answer, his brain freewheeling, then catching as he realised that right now that was exactly what he wanted to do. But the driver had closed the door and, before he could think of a way to say that, the car was pulling away.

  ‘The dogs like you,’ Chloe said. ‘Have you ever had one of your own?’

  He shook his head. ‘My mother was nervous around them and, although we didn’t live in the hotel, the house was, is, in the grounds and my father was concerned about the guests.’

  ‘The guests here don’t mind them,’ she said. ‘I suspect your father was protecting your mother.’

  ‘You may be right. I was only six when Dad died, but recent events have brought back so many memories. I can see now that while she was his light, had enormous charm, had enchanted the hotel guests, there was a fragility to her.’ Had he absorbed that as a small child? Subconsciously recognised the way his father had protected her? Tried to do the same with Chloe? He looked at her, so confident, so strong... ‘You are nothing like her,’ he said. ‘Apart from the light. It shines from you, too.’

  She reached out her hand and found his. ‘There was a moment when I could have broken. It was only the anger that kept me from going under all those years. It was anger that drove me to see my father.’ Her hand tightened on his. ‘I’ve been given a new life, James, and I have you to thank for that.’

  ‘You did it for yourself.’

  ‘But you were the catalyst.’

  ‘I was cruel.’

  ‘You said what you saw, and I wasn’t angry with you. I was angry with myself. If you hadn’t been so determined to find me, nothing would have changed.’ She looked at him. ‘I was so deep in the rut I’d worn for myself that I wasn’t able to see over the top. See that there was another life out there.’

  ‘Then I’m glad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so happy,’ he said. ‘Not even when we were young.’

  ‘I’m having such a good time,’ she said. ‘The château, of course, but I’m able to use everything I know. Use the management skills and the financial acuity that I learned at my father’s knee. That stood me in good stead while I’ve had to earn my own living. And Marie is teaching me about planning events. The details...’

  She filled the journey to Paris with all that she’d done, learned, since he’d last seen her. Bubbling with an enthusiasm that he had once felt in the early days in the restaurant.

  Envied.

  He didn’t have to ask what he’d do if Chloe’s dream wasn’t his. What he needed was a new dream that would live alongside hers.

  They walked for a while, had a simple lunch, took to the ice in the beautiful courtyard of the Plaza Athénée, laughed a lot as they made idiots of themselves, drank hot chocolate and a final cocktail, before they climbed back into the car to be driven back to the château.

  Chloe didn’t fall asleep, but she leaned against him and he put his arm around her, holding her until they were home, and walked her up the steps to the door, where she turned to him.

  ‘I don’t want this to end, James.’

  It was an invitation to stay, but he opened the door. ‘Hold that thought.’

  Marie appeared. ‘Don’t keep him on the doorstep, Chloe. Bring him in for coffee. I’m off to bed.’

  It was a conspiracy, he thought, but, much as he wanted to stay, to wake up with Chloe beside him, he fought the temptat
ion.

  ‘Thanks, but it’s going to be tight as it is to catch my train and I have a meeting first thing. But maybe next time I could talk to you about your wine, Marie?’

  ‘Of course. It will be a pleasure.’ She nodded, disappeared, leaving them to their goodbyes.

  ‘Is there going to be a next time, Chloe?’

  ‘You’re afraid of being hurt.’

  ‘Right now,’ he said, ‘I’m just afraid you’ll decide that there’s no future in this. No future for us.’

  ‘Don’t overthink it, James. Call me when you’ve got a spare day,’ she said, ‘and we’ll enjoy what we have.’ Then, almost as an afterthought, ‘Just checking, here. Do the dating rules say that I’m allowed to call you?’

  ‘Whenever you like,’ he said. ‘To talk, to arrange a date, or just so that I can listen while you breathe.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ she said, then leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the lips.

  ‘Send me a text to let me know that you’ve got home safely.’

  * * *

  ‘James, is this a convenient time?’

  He made an I’ve got to take this gesture and, as he walked in the corridor, said, ‘It couldn’t be more perfect.’

  ‘You’ve just walked out of a meeting, haven’t you?’

  ‘I was in a meeting with my accountant so when I said it was the perfect moment, that was exactly what I meant.’

  She laughed, but said, ‘I’ll keep it brief—’

  ‘Don’t! He’s talking about some new accounting program.’

  ‘Then listen to him. It’s important.’

  ‘I’d rather listen to you.’

  ‘I’ve noticed, so listen. I called to let you know that the mirror has arrived, and I was wondering if you’d like to come and see how good it looks on my mantelpiece.’

  Oh, the innocence in that voice. The temptation in that invitation.

  He’d introduced the mirror into her bedroom so that she would think about him every time she looked in it, but his sneaky little ruse had just spectacularly backfired on him.

  He knew she would be smiling at her cleverness, while he was leaning against the wall, catching his breath and trying desperately not to think about the silky skin of her breasts, the brief touch of her lips that had burned him up all the way back to London.