When I Fall in Love

by Miranda Dickinson

  Elsie hugged her. ‘I’ll be fine. Thank you so much.’

  ‘You’re welcome, lovely. See you later.’

  Touched by her sister’s thoughtful gift, Elsie ran her fingers across the printed flowers on the scarf, folding it carefully before putting it in her bag and opening her book again.

  When Olly returned he motioned for her to carry on reading, which was a relief. Elsie relished the opportunity to be quiet, especially knowing that as soon as they landed she would have little chance for aloneness for the rest of the trip. Olly produced a newspaper and sat next to her, close enough to reassure her yet removed enough to give her space. Any concerns Elsie had prior to today were instantly laid to rest with this one simple action and she found herself enjoying the unspoken companionship.

  Lucas always loved his Sunday papers – even from the very early days of their relationship – and his favourite thing to do was find a café, preferably with a view of the ocean, order a full English breakfast and relax while he and Elsie shared the various sections in comfortable silence. For the last three years of his life, his café of choice was the boardwalk café where Elsie had inadvertently embarked on her new role as a choirmistress – and that fact had been another reason for her confidence in accepting Woody’s offer. Lucas found peace in moments like these, sneaking glances at Elsie over the top of the Times 2 section that she pretended not to see, her heart thudding at the intimacy of it.

  ‘I love Sundays. Me, you, ten-tonne weekend papers and copious gallons of tea by the sea – just about as near to perfection as you can get!’

  Throughout their last year together, Elsie and Lucas had religiously observed their Sunday ritual, the need for normality increasing in importance as the months passed. Towards the end, when Lucas was too tired to make the journey out, Elsie would wake early to run to their local newsagent’s and prepare breakfast to recreate the boardwalk café experience in the small bedroom of their home. The look of pure peace on his face when they sat reading together made all her effort worth it. When he died, one of the things Elsie missed the most was the simple act of sitting alongside someone without speaking, relaxing in the knowledge that words were unnecessary.

  After an hour, Olly nudged her. ‘Good book?’

  If she was completely honest, Elsie’s mind had been wandering more than absorbing the words on the pages, but to admit this would open an unwelcome line of explanation. ‘Yes, thanks. Good paper?’

  His smile was slow and easy. ‘About as good as newspapers ever are. But it’s good to rest when I have the long drive ahead of me.’

  ‘Thanks so much for doing this, Olly. I’m glad you’re here.’

  ‘I’m glad I’m here, too.’ His hand was warm and welcome when it took hers and brought it up to meet the gentle softness of his lips.

  The ferry steamed into a grey, drizzly Dieppe harbour just after four p.m. and Olly drove the minibus through the rain out of the ferry terminal. The Sundaes were in high spirits, not least Woody, who had brought two bulging carrier bags from the duty-free shop and was already making progress through a large bottle of bourbon. They chatted loudly, occasionally breaking into song, as the minibus passed through distinctly Gallic towns and countryside.

  ‘This gig is going to be epic,’ Lewis said. ‘I hope the French are ready for some Sundaes magic.’

  ‘We’ll be a vision,’ Woody proclaimed, holding his dwindling bottle aloft, ‘a glimpse of musical destiny, man!’

  ‘You are such a freak.’

  ‘A freak I may be, Sasha, but at least I’m free.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, you two,’ Sheila said, glaring at Woody and Sasha. ‘I thought you’d buried the hatchet after our heart-to-heart?’

  ‘I have no quarrel with her,’ Woody replied blithely.

  Sasha glowered back. ‘I don’t have a problem with him, Sheila. I’m just stating the obvious. The man is a freak of nature.’

  ‘Let’s sing again!’ Graeme shouted, the after-effects of his liquid lunch on board the ferry beginning to reveal themselves. ‘Gaga, on the downbeat …’

  Daisy raised her eyes heavenwards as the choir launched into a rowdy rendition of their by now infamous Lady Gaga medley, the expansive fields of Northern France flying past the minibus windows. As the time passed, the fields gave way to woodland, low hills rising beyond as the road snaked its way through towns of whitewashed and redbrick buildings clustered along the road. Driving on, tall trees rose at either side of the carriageways, seemingly for miles as they began the long approach to Paris.

  By half past six, the choir had quietened, with Woody, Aoife and Stan fast asleep in their seats and the others reading, listening to MP3 players or staring out of the windows. Olly pointed ahead to a road sign as they emerged from a long, orange-lit tunnel.

  ‘Here we are, folks. Welcome to Paris.’

  Elsie’s heart bumped against her chest as they drove into the city she’d vowed she would never see. Despite her anxiety, she couldn’t help but be captured by the elegant beauty of the architecture and the distinctively Gallic air of their surroundings. The previously cloudy skies that had met them in Dieppe were now clear and bright, the deepening blue overhead heralding the slow approach towards sunset. Golden sunlight bathed the tall white buildings rising on both sides of the tree-lined avenues with their corner cafés beneath, packed with people reading newspapers, smoking cigarettes and conversing over small cups of coffee and low glasses of red wine. Elsie looked back at the choir, who were all wide awake now and pressed up against the windows, drinking in the sights.

  Although she had never been here before, Elsie began to recognise the architecture, streets, vehicles and pedestrians from the countless photos of Paris scenes in the guidebooks Lucas had lost himself in almost every day towards the end of his life. The trees proudly framing the streets, the crazy disorganised chaos of Parisian drivers, and even the pace the city’s citizens walked at, was somehow uniquely French. All around her, Elsie experienced the beauty of the city, almost as if she were watching an impressionist painting coming to life: from the elegantly moulded rooflines of tall buildings, to muted colours of shop windows and the nonchalant style of the people who breezed along the streets. The minibus came to a halt at a road junction and Olly opened the driver’s door window, bringing in a sudden rush of noise as a rich tang of cooking food wafted in from a corner bistro.

  I wonder how Lucas would have reacted. Of course, he would have been like an overexcited child, pointing at everything he saw and hugging Elsie. He had been most animated during their last year together whenever he spoke about Paris. ‘Montparnasse Cemetery – really that’s where you should put me, amongst all the artists, composers and writers,’ he would joke, showing her a plan of the famous French graveyard. ‘Right on rue Anglais, somewhere between Alain Lorraine and our mate Jacques Offenbach.’

  Offenbach’s famous Barcarolle was the piece of music Lucas always chose to listen to when he was talking about how they would fulfil Number 51 – it was one of his favourite pieces of classical music despite, as he put it, ‘being forced to murder the violin with it’ while he was at school. As the lilting music played on a small CD player by their bed, Lucas would describe, in detail, how they would climb to the viewing platform on the second tier of the Eiffel Tower, kiss and shout ‘C’est magnifique!’ over the city.

  ‘We have to look towards the Montparnasse Tower over the Champ de Mars when we do it – gazing out over the most beautiful city in the world. And I know you think I’m being a sap for wanting to do this, but just imagine it, Els! Me and you and the whole of Paris: for that one moment the city will be ours. And then it doesn’t matter what we face when we leave because we’ll always have that moment.’

  The image of them being there together had always been irresistible when Lucas described it. But to stand there – tomorrow – without him? Elsie closed her eyes as the excited chatter of The Sundaes continued behind her.

  ‘This is it,’ Olly said, as the
minibus pulled into a car park. ‘Welcome to Hotel Saint-Louis!’

  The Sundaes piled out, stiff and aching from the journey. Grabbing their luggage, they walked to the front of the hotel and stopped in their tracks. Above them rose a seven-storey building, sweeping magnificently round the corner of a street, the clotted-cream stone of its frontage studded with elegant ironwork-topped, intricately carved stone balconies. Ivy and carefully clipped box trees framed the row of balconies on the second and fourth storeys, while arched windows peeked out from the grey tiled roofline on the highest floor. Everything about the building embodied Paris. It was exactly the kind of grand Parisian structure that Lucas loved so much and Elsie felt herself torn between admiration and an unfathomable sense of loss.

  As they walked into Hotel Saint-Louis’s reception, Elsie felt a gentle hand at the small of her back and turned to see her sister.

  ‘We’re here, then.’

  ‘Yes, we are.’

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘A bit shaky. But I’m glad you’re here.’

  Daisy hugged her. ‘Of course I’m here. This is going to be a very special weekend, you’ll see.’

  Danny grinned as he walked up to them. ‘I’m so excited! Aoife has no idea.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Elsie replied, the thought of Aoife’s surprise tomorrow strengthening her resolve.

  The smartly dressed lady at reception smiled politely when Elsie approached the desk.

  ‘Bonjour, j’ai une réservation pour six chambres, s’il vous plait? Je m’appelle Elsie Maynard.’

  ‘Ah, oui. Bonjour, Miss Maynard. Welcome to Paris. I trust you had a good journey?’

  ‘Wonderful, thank you.’

  ‘Bon. I will sign you in and assign your key cards and then Franc will take you to your rooms.’

  ‘Merci.’

  Woody stood next to Elsie as the receptionist arranged key cards on the desk. ‘Bit nifty with the old Français, aren’t you?’

  ‘Not really. I just made sure I knew a couple of key phrases before we came here. My school French is decidedly rusty.’

  ‘Been a few years since I set foot in the City of Light myself. There are some old haunts of mine I’ve a hankering to return to – for old times’ sake, you understand.’

  ‘Well, we’re here till Sunday afternoon, so we should have plenty of time for everyone to do what they want.’

  Woody clapped his hands together. ‘Sweet!’

  A gangly young man dressed in the smart hotel uniform arrived by the reception desk.

  ‘Bonjour. I am Franc. Please follow me.’

  Daisy and Elsie had agreed to share, so after the others had been taken to their accommodation, the sisters arrived at their room. Walking inside, Daisy whooped at the sight of the over-the-top interior, complete with Toulouse-Lautrec-inspired mural on the wall behind the twin headboards, sumptuous drapes at the tall windows and two small crystal chandeliers over the beds.

  ‘It’s so camp it’s delicious!’ she exclaimed, snapping images on her iPhone as she moved about the room. ‘André would be horrified! I wish he could be here. It doesn’t seem right being in his city without him.’

  Elsie kicked off her shoes and sank into one of the beds. ‘I know, hun.’ She closed her eyes, succumbing to the weariness of her body, and slowly the sound of Daisy unpacking drifted into the distance.

  A knock at the bedroom door suddenly roused Elsie and she was surprised to discover that she had slept for over an hour. Daisy opened the door and Olly entered.

  ‘Your room is cool,’ he grinned, flopping down on the bed beside Elsie.

  ‘How’s yours?’ Elsie asked.

  ‘Nice. I don’t think I’ll have any problems getting to sleep tonight, mind you. Although I am sharing with Woody, so anything’s possible.’

  Elsie laughed as she hugged her knees up to her chin. ‘Don’t worry, I think his trashing hotel room days are well and truly over.’

  ‘Good.’ He laughed when he saw Daisy’s trusty travel kettle on the mahogany dressing table. ‘Blimey, you two are organised, aren’t you? I didn’t think of bringing a kettle.’

  ‘Ah, well, that’s what happens when you travel as much as I do,’ Daisy replied. ‘It’s rare to find one in Paris hotels. Fancy a cuppa?’

  ‘Do I ever! I was on the brink of calling room service for a coffee.’ He turned to Elsie. ‘So, what’s the plan for this evening?’

  ‘I think we should find somewhere to eat and explore the streets a little. It’ll be good for everybody to relax tonight: tomorrow is going to be pretty full on.’

  Daisy’s phone beeped and she laughed. ‘I sent pictures of our room to André earlier and he’s just replied: “Escape while you can!”’

  ‘Well, that’s what comes of living in five-star luxury whenever he’s away,’ Elsie grinned. ‘He misses out on delights like this room.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Daisy replied. ‘Mind you, it would have been hilarious to see his reaction. Maybe next time we visit Paris I should book us in here!’

  An hour later, The Sundaes gathered in the hotel lobby and set off into the warm evening to find a bistro recommended by the Hotel Saint-Louis’s receptionist.

  ‘How far is it?’ Danny asked, as they walked along the wide pavement of the rue des Écoles, past antique bookshops, pavement restaurants and florist stores.

  ‘Not far,’ Elsie said. ‘It’s meant to be really good.’

  ‘But we’ve passed three bistros already,’ Sasha moaned. ‘Why can’t we go to one of those?’

  Daisy groaned. ‘Sasha, you’re in Paris, one of the world’s most beautiful cities. Can you not just relax for once and take it all in? We’re heading for a gorgeous little bistro in an historic part of the city. Trust me, it’ll be worth the walk.’

  It was almost dark and lights blazed from every window of the tall, carved stone buildings along the Latin Quarter boulevards. Above them, the clear evening sky was dotted with tiny stars, making the avenue resemble a Van Gogh café scene.

  From the rue des Écoles they turned onto the boulevard Saint-Michel, passing art bookshops, galleries and restaurants, the wonderful scent of food filling the air. The Boulevard was packed with students, Parisians and tourists taking advantage of the pleasant Friday evening, while laughter and loud conversation emitted from customers seated on the wicker seats of the street cafés under jewel-coloured awnings. Elsie felt the lustre of Paris by night wrapping itself around her heart and she began to relax. In all the time she had spent thinking about this trip, she had never paused to consider how beautiful the city might be – and it was utterly breathtaking. Lucas would have loved this. He would have insisted that they walk arm-in-arm, pausing to peer into windows of the restaurants, patisseries, bookshops and bars, soaking up the unique atmosphere of the area. Now, she was walking streets he’d described in such breathless detail it was almost as if she had been here many times before.

  But the best was yet to come. As they passed a very non-Parisian Gap store, the pavement suddenly widened out into a stunning cobbled square, framed by trees filled with tiny white lights. At its head rose a beautiful, classically styled building, floodlit in golden light from all sides, its dark dome crowned with a white stone cross reaching up into the night sky. Two rectangular carved stone fountains with rows of bubbling white water led from the building to a large octagonal ornamental fountain surrounding the tallest water column, and all were bathed in the white glow of streetlamps that edged the square, reflected on damp cobbles beneath. Restaurants and bars were all around, their chairs and tables spilling out into the square. Elsie’s breath caught in her throat. Against the indigo-black night sky, the place de la Sorbonne glowed as bright as a sunlit day.

  ‘What do you think?’ Olly’s arm was as warm as a blanket as it circled Elsie’s shoulders. ‘Is this place stunning or what?’

  ‘It’s amazing,’ Elsie breathed, her eyes barely believing its utter beauty.

  ‘And that,’ Daisy said, pointing at
the bright yellow awning of the largest bistro on the square, ‘is where we’re having dinner this evening.’

  The Brasserie Monique was warm and buzzing with voices, music and movement. Brass lamps shone from every wall and beautiful coloured glass partitions separated three distinct dining areas. Laid-back jazz music drifted through the packed interior from a quartet playing near the bar, a saxophone solo eliciting a round of applause from Woody as a professionally nonchalant waiter led them to a row of tables pushed together at the back of the restaurant and handed out menus with practised detachment. Elsie sat between Woody and Olly, laughing at Woody’s doomed attempts at eliciting a smile from the waiter. It was good to see The Sundaes relaxed and happy. Wine arrived first, followed half an hour later by their orders. The food was magnificent – creamy artichoke soup with crunchy slices of stone-baked baguette, steak that melted in the mouth, buttery oysters and crayfish served with rustic chunks of onion and roasted garlic and bowls of hot, salty frites.

  When they had finished eating, Elsie tapped her glass with a spoon, bringing all eyes to her.

  ‘Here we are, then,’ she smiled. ‘I’d just like to say a massive thank you to all of you, for the hard work you’ve put in for this concert. I’m so proud to be part of The Sundaes and I love how we’ve become such an awesome team, especially since Irene left us. I know we all wish she was here, but somehow I think she probably is.’ The choir members nodded and Sheila sniffed loudly.

  ‘I also think we owe Olly a round of applause for getting us here safely.’

  The choir whooped and applauded, causing the diners around them to stare at the rowdy English party. Olly took a bow and grinned at Elsie.

  ‘My pleasure. I’m looking forward to seeing the performance.’

  ‘Make him sing!’ Sasha called, followed by whistles from the choir.

  Olly’s face was a picture. ‘No fear! The moment I opened my mouth we’d be drummed out of Paris for crimes against music.’