French Kissing

by Lynne Shelby

  French Kissing

  Lynne Shelby

  Anna Mitchel has been writing letters to her French penfriend, Alexandre Tourville, for fifteen years, but hasn’t seen him since an exchange trip when they were at school. But when Alex, now a successful photographer, has the opportunity to work in London, Anna offers him a place to stay but is astounded that the small, geeky boy she remembers is now tall, broad-shouldered and gorgeous, and has just broken up with his long-term girlfriend.

  Anna’s female friends are soon swooning over Alex’s Gallic charm, and Anna’s boyfriend Nick is becoming extremely jealous of their friendship. Then Alex has to return to Paris to oversee the hanging of his photographs in an exhibition, and invites Anna to accompany him so that he can show her the city he adores…

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Contemporary Women’s Fiction

  One

  Chère Alexandra,

  Je m’appelle Anna Mitchel. J’ai onze ans. J’ai une sœur. My French teacher says we have to write to our penfriends in French but I do not know many French words yet because I have only been learning it for one term at my new school. French is hard. I live in London.

  Á bientôt,

  Anna

  Dear Anna,

  My name is Alexandre. Alexandra is a girl’s name. I am a boy. I am eleven years old like you. I have one sister like you. My father is French but my mother is English. I speak English because my mother taught me so it is easy for me. I live in Paris.

  Yours sincerely,

  Alexandre Tourville

  Cher Alexandre,

  J’espère que tu as aimé ta visite à Londres … I hope you enjoyed your visit to London. I’m sorry that I left you on your own so much. Thank you for not telling my parents that it was my fault you got lost on the underground. Thank you for saying I was with you the whole time at the disco. Do your parents really let you drink wine? … boire du vin?

  Á bientôt,

  Anna

  Dear Anna,

  I enjoyed my visit to London very much. I took some great photos. The best is the photo of you in Regent’s Park. I showed it to my sister and she said that you are very pretty and look older than thirteen. I told my parents that the reason I got lost was because I do not have a mobile phone and I could not call anyone, and at last they have agreed to buy a phone for me!! All French teenagers drink wine.

  Best wishes,

  Alexandre

  Cher Alex,

  I passed my A Levels – and got the grades I need to go to university! For French I got an A!!!! In September I’m off to study the History of Art for three years. I can’t wait to be a student and live away from home.

  On Saturday my friend Beth and I went clubbing and met these two really hot guys. We’re going back to that club next weekend!!

  Ciao,

  Anna

  Dear Anna,

  My first term as a photography student has been amazing and has gone unbelievably fast. I thought I was a good photographer, but now I know I have so much to learn.

  I am sad for you that you broke up with Daniel. But not very sad, because he sounds like a total jerk.

  I am still dating Francine, but all we seem to do is argue – even when we are in bed. She wants us to move in together, but for me it is far too soon to make that sort of commitment.

  It is good to hear that you are enjoying your studies of art history. One day I hope you will come to Paris, and I will show you my favourite paintings in the Louvre and the Musée D’Orsay.

  Best,

  Alex

  Cher Alex,

  I have a job! Tomorrow, I start work as an account executive at Nova Graphics, a small graphic design company in Camden. It’s not exactly the gallerista job I had in mind when I graduated, but Oliver and Natalie (partners in life as well as professionally), who own the studio, are lovely, and the money is good enough that my friend Beth and I can afford to rent a flat together!! Which I’m really pleased about, because moving back home to live with my parents after uni has certainly not been easy!

  The other big event in my life is that Tom and I have decided we should stop seeing each other. There are no hard feelings – we’ve just drifted apart. Actually, several of my friends recently split up from the people they were dating at uni.

  Maybe one day, if the invitation still stands, I’ll just jump on the Eurostar and come and visit you in Paris. I would love to see Paris, and you of course.

  Ton amie,

  Anna

  Hi Anna,

  I have my first commission! It has taken months of trudging round photography agencies with my portfolio and pitching for work, but I am finally booked on a fashion shoot. Caroline is a great photographer, and I have learned more in the year I have been working as her assistant than I learned in college, but it is time I struck out on my own …

  Your friend,

  Alex

  Cher Alex,

  Nick wants me to meet his parents! He has invited them to join us for lunch at his golf club. I don’t mind admitting that I’m terribly nervous, but I guess that’s normal when you meet your boyfriend’s mother for the first time. I so want his family to like me …

  Ton amie,

  Anna xx

  From: alexandretourville@alexphotographie.com

  To: annamitchel@webmail.co.uk

  Subject: London

  Hi Anna,

  Just a quick email to let you know that I’ve taken a six-month contract with an English magazine, and from next week, I’m going to be based in – cue drum roll – LONDON. We will finally have a chance to meet up again! I won’t have time to sort out my accommodation before I arrive in England, so can you recommend a hotel for me, preferably near where you live?

  Alex

  From annamitchel@webmail.co.uk

  To alexandretourville@alexphotographie.com

  Subject: London

  Cher Alex,

  I know you’re used to living out of a suitcase, but there’s really no need for you to book into a London hotel. You’re very welcome to come and stay in my spare room until you find a place of your own.

  Anna xx

  I listened with growing impatience to the voice on the other end of the phone. Alex’s train was due to get in at 6.00 and it was already gone 5.30.

  ‘I’m afraid Oliver has left for the weekend,’ I told the client, ‘but I’ll have him telephone you first thing Monday morning …’

  Finally, the client was happy, and I was able to end the call.

  Natalie came out of her office, already wearing her outdoor coat.

  ‘Coming for a drink, Anna?’ she said.

  ‘I can’t tonight. I’m meeting Alexandre off the Eurostar.’

  For a moment, Natalie looked puzzled, but then she said, ‘Oh, yes, your Frenchman.’

  ‘Well, Alex is French, and male, but I don’t know that he’d like being described as “my Frenchman”.’

  ‘I guess it does sound a little pr
oprietorial.’

  Natalie waited while I put on my coat and picked up my bag, and we walked downstairs and through the revolving doors that led onto the street. Outside, it was dark, cold, and just starting to rain. February was certainly not the best time of year for Alex to be coming to London.

  ‘Goodnight, Anna,’ Natalie said. ‘I’ll see you and Nick tomorrow, at the party my husband has so kindly arranged to “celebrate my fortieth birthday”.’

  ‘Your fortieth!The big Four-O.’

  Natalie grimaced. ‘Tomorrow I’ll be forty. I’ll be embarking on my fifth decade. And I’m absolutely fine about it.’

  I glanced at my watch. 5.45. From Camden Town to St Pancras was only two stops on the tube, but I was going to be late.

  I said, ‘Nat, I really have to shoot off. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘You can bring your Frenchman, if you like,’ Natalie said. ‘I’m worried Oliver hasn’t invited enough men.’

  ‘I’ll bring Alex, then – if he hasn’t made other plans.’ I couldn’t resist adding, ‘The French appreciate an older woman’s charms.’

  ‘Not helping, Anna.’ Natalie headed off to the pub (where Oliver and the rest of my co-workers were no doubt already making inroads on the wine) and I hurried to the station.

  As always in central London on a Friday night, the underground was crammed with commuters returning home from work (or an after-work drink with their colleagues) and revellers making their way into town. By the time I’d queued to get through the ticket barriers and down the escalators, battled my way on and off the packed train, and followed the signs to the Eurostar terminal, it was nearly 6.30. I was hideously late. I scanned the crowds milling around the arrivals gate. There was no sign of Alexandre. He’d been in London for less than half an hour, and already I’d managed to lose him. Again. Just like the last time. My heart started thudding in my chest, but then I realised that there really was no need to panic. Alex was no longer a shy thirteen-year-old schoolboy on his first trip abroad, but a twenty-eight-year-old man and a successful professional photographer, whose work had taken him all over the world. And he had a mobile phone.

  I fished my iPhone out of my bag. I had one missed call and a text.

  Hi Anna. Cannot find you at arrivals. Will wait for you by bronze statue of man and woman. Guidebook tells me it is called The Meeting Place, so it seems appropriate! Alex xx

  Being unfamiliar with the layout of St Pancras, I looked around wildly for the famous statue of the embracing couple. As it was about ten metres high, and situated under the clock, I saw it immediately, even though it was on the upper level of the station. I pelted across the concourse and leapt up the stairs two at a time. Reaching the top, I dodged past the people heading the opposite way, and tried to spot someone near the statue who could be the adult version of a boy I’d last seen fifteen years ago. Most men of the right age were either with a girl or a group of friends. There was a guy in a leather jacket, standing with his back to me, who seemed to be on his own, but his hair was too dark for him to be Alex. Another lone man, with lighter hair, was reading a newspaper, holding it up so I couldn’t see his face. I really can’t start accosting strange men in a train station, I thought.

  Realising that I was still clutching my mobile, I scrolled through my address book and called Alex’s number.

  The dark-haired guy reached into his jacket for his phone.

  ‘Bonjour, Alex,’ I said, when he answered.

  ‘Anna. Hi. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m standing right behind you.’

  He turned around.

  ‘Alex?’

  The last time I’d seen Alexandre, he’d been a head shorter than me, a scrawny boy, with a pale face and thin, bony shoulders. The man striding towards me, carrying a holdall and a camera case, was well over six feet tall, and his shoulders were broad. His brown hair had grown so dark it was almost black, he was tanned, and his jaw was covered in stubble. And he was gorgeous. I stared at him, not quite able to believe that anyone’s physical appearance could change so much. Deep within me, I felt the unmistakable stirring of desire. I reminded myself very firmly that I had a steady boyfriend.

  ‘Anna? Is that really you?’ Alex bent his head to greet me the French way, with a kiss on either side of my face. I breathed in a deliciously masculine scent of leather and cologne.

  ‘Don’t you recognise me?’ I’d never thought about it, but obviously I also looked somewhat different to my gawky teenaged self. For one thing, I’d long ago stopped slouching in an effort to appear less than 5’ 8” tall. These days, I was very rarely seen in public without my high heels.

  ‘I didn’t recognise you at first. But I do now.’

  ‘I’m so sorry I was late meeting you,’ I said.

  ‘Not to worry, it gave me a chance to admire the statue.’

  I looked up at the bronze man and woman towering above us. They were gazing into each other’s eyes, standing so close together that their foreheads were touching. His arms were about her waist, and her hands were reaching up to his face.

  ‘Maybe, like me, the man has just arrived from France on the Eurostar.’ Alex smiled, and suddenly I caught a fleeting glimpse of the boy who had somehow turned into this extraordinarily handsome man. ‘Je suis content de te voir, Anna.’

  I said, ‘It’s good to see you, too, Alexandre.’

  Two

  I unlocked the front door to my flat, and led Alex into the narrow hall.

  ‘That’s my bedroom,’ I said, pointing. ‘Bathroom, kitchen, living room. And this is your bedroom while you’re here. It’s quite small …’

  Alex followed me into the spare bedroom and looked around. The room was in fact tiny, with barely enough space for the double bed, wardrobe, and dressing table with which it was furnished. It seemed even smaller now that Alex was in it.

  ‘I don’t need a massive bedroom,’ Alex said. ‘I just need somewhere to sleep.’

  It occurred to me that the pink floral duvet cover, cushions, and matching curtains would most likely not be a guy’s first choice of decor.

  ‘I’m sorry about the colour scheme.’

  ‘Anna, it’s fine,’ Alex said. ‘I’ll only be here as long as it takes me to find my own place to rent, and most of the time I’ll be out working.’

  ‘Right. Well, I’ll leave you to get settled. Are you hungry? As you know, I’m not much of a cook, but I do have pizza.’ When Alex had stayed with my family when he was thirteen, he’d always been hungry.

  ‘Pizza would be great.’ He rummaged in his holdall. ‘And here’s a bottle of wine to go with it.’

  Leaving him to get unpacked, I went to the kitchen, put two pizzas in the oven, and made a salad (my culinary skills may be limited, but I can at least slice a cucumber and chop up a tomato). I opened the wine, poured myself a glass, and took a sip …

  It’s the last night of the French children’s visit to England, and my school’s enthusiastic PTA has arranged a farewell party: a disco for my class and our visitors. It’s the usual dire affair, held in the school hall (the girls dancing, the boys lounging against the wall), and supervised by our teachers from both sides of the Channel. And, as always happens at such events, some of the boys have smuggled in alcohol.

  We leave the hall separately. Beth and I, and Beth’s penfriend Fabienne, go first, and shortly afterwards Sean and his penfriend, Gérard, follow. I like Gérard. I like him a lot. He’s taught me some interesting French swear words, and he’s the only boy my age I’ve met who’s taller than me. And I know it’s wrong of me to go off with him and leave Alexandre on his own again, but I don’t care.

  We meet up in the library. Sean and Gérard produce the cans of beer and bottle of wine that they’d hidden earlier that day in the boys’ changing rooms. Whispering and giggling, we sit in a circle on the carpet between the stacks. I sit next to Gérard, who unscrews the wine, drinks, and passes it to me. I put the bottle to my lips, and tip it up so that the warm red liquid fil
ls my mouth. It tastes strange, but not unpleasant. I swallow some more. The others are gulping down the beer.

  We all freeze as the library door swings open and someone comes in, and then relax when we see that it’s only Alexandre.

  By way of greeting, he says, ‘I thought you’d like to know that Monsieur Bernard and Miss Crawford are patrolling the corridors. And they’re coming this way,’

  We all look at each other in terror, and then as one we leap to our feet and run to the library exit. We hear voices coming from the stairwell, so we pelt in the opposite direction, our footsteps agonisingly loud on the wooden floor. Gérard sprints ahead of the rest of us, and vanishes around a corner. I’m falling behind the others. Despite my long legs, I’m not a fast runner, and I’m slowed down even more by my tight skirt.

  ‘Quick, Anna, in here.’ Alexandre seizes my arm, and drags me into an empty classroom.

  I gasp, ‘We can’t stay here. They’ll find us.’

  ‘Get behind the desk.’

  Alexandre and I crouch down under the teacher’s desk at the front of the classroom. Almost immediately, someone opens the classroom door and switches on a light. My heart is hammering. Alexandre takes hold of my hand and squeezes it. He raises a finger to his lips.

  I hear my French teacher, Miss Crawford, say, ‘There’s no one in here, either.’

  ‘Then we are alone.’ That was Alexandre’s teacher, Monsieur Bernard.

  ‘Oh, Alain, I … We can’t … We shouldn’t …’

  ‘Jennifer … ma chérie …’

  This is followed by a number of gasps and sighs.

  Alexandre and I stare at each other in disbelief. Cautiously, he peers round the side of the desk.

  He whispers, ‘Ils s’embrassent.’ And, in case I haven’t understood, he adds, ‘They are kissing.’

  I think, But they can’t be – they’re our teachers.

  I also look round the desk.

  Miss Crawford and Monsieur Bernard, entwined in each other’s arms, are kissing on the mouth.

  Miss Crawford says, ‘Alain, mon chéri, we have to go back to the hall. The children …’

  Monsieur Bernard replies in French, speaking too rapidly for me to follow. There are some more sighs, and then one of them switches off the light. The classroom door opens and closes again.

  Alexandre and I wait a few minutes, and then crawl out from under the desk.