When I Fall in Love

by Miranda Dickinson

  It was time. Time to complete The List that had bound her to Lucas for so long. She had accomplished everything he asked – and now he was urging her to move into whatever life had planned. This was what he wanted – and in that moment it was as if his presence with her was more tangible than at any other time since his death.

  Gazing at the photograph in her hands, Elsie sobbed as the impending parting bore down on her as it had in his hospital room two years ago. She stroked the contour of his face with numbing fingers and lifted it to her lips. Then, throwing back her head, with the spread of Paris as her witness, she shouted:

  ‘C’est magnifique, Lucas! C’est magnifique!’

  Opening her raised hand, she let go of the photograph as the music drew to a close, watching as the wind caught the small square and carried it up into the dark grey sky and then out towards the city Lucas had finally seen through Elsie’s eyes. And as it disappeared from view, swirling on the air currents rising around the Eiffel Tower, Elsie felt a sudden lightness dawning inside, as if the responsibility of his wishes had been lifted from her soul.

  ‘I’m trusting you, Elsie Maynard, to live your life for every second it’s yours. I won’t accept anything but the best for you. Promise me you won’t hold back.’

  I won’t hold back, Elsie promised herself, wiping her eyes and taking one last look across the city before making her way towards the lift entrance. Tired but strangely comforted, she entered the elevator and leant against its side as it made its descent to her waiting friends.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  You ain’t seen nothing yet …

  After more than one celebratory drink to toast the happy couple The Sundaes dispersed into the city to pursue their own agendas for the rest of the afternoon. Woody went off in search of his old haunts, while Sasha, Sheila and Lewis had shopping in mind. Stan and Graeme headed off in search of souvenirs for their families, Danny and Aoife went for a romantic stroll through the Latin Quarter’s narrow streets and Daisy and Olly took the Metro to the Louvre. Leaving them at the Metro station, Elsie caught a Metro train in the opposite direction to return to the hotel. Despite the train being packed, she felt cocooned by her thoughts from the noise, the jostling bodies and the strong scent of stale cigarettes. She was more than grateful for the solitude, the need for her own stillness and silence suddenly great.

  Leaving the Metro station, she booked a table for the choir at a restaurant on the nearby rue de Médicis for later that evening and walked the three blocks back towards the hotel, enjoying the sights of the Montparnasse streets. Elegant honey-stone buildings surrounded her, each one beautifully carved, proudly displaying the Tricolore. At the end of almost every block of buildings were tiny parks fringed with iron railings and framed by trees. Clipped bay trees planted in dark blue ceramic planters were arranged outside each restaurant, as lines of bicycles formed two-wheeled guards of honour at the side of the roads. Above her head, window boxes filled with ivy and red pelargoniums graced every window and it felt as if the whole of the city was marking the significance of this day.

  When she arrived at the Hotel Saint-Louis, Elsie climbed two flights of the winding, ornate iron-railed staircase to her room. The stillness of her surroundings was a blessed relief to the noise and activity of her day, her mind now at rest and more than ready to relax. Discarding her shoes, she sank her toes into the lush pile of the bedroom carpet and wandered into the bathroom to run a bath. While the tub was filling, she switched on the television to find a black and white French film for background noise and made herself a cup of tea.

  She didn’t quite know how she would feel after her visit to the Eiffel Tower, but the calmness in her soul was an unexpected discovery. Since her fulfilment of The List she sensed that walls had been broken down, even though as yet she was unsure how this would be revealed in the life that lay ahead of her. For now, it felt as if her heart had been revealed like soft new skin after a wound heals – fragile but somehow infinitely better than before.

  After a long bath, she dried herself and pulled on a pair of skinny jeans with a long-sleeved top and the new scarf that Daisy had given her. As she lay on her bed watching the elegant French cast of the 1940s movie, she drifted away into a blissfully peaceful sleep.

  Several hours later, she stirred just as Daisy opened the door, sitting up in bed to greet her sister.

  ‘How was the Louvre?’

  ‘Awesome. I’ve visited so many times over the years but it never ceases to amaze me. The simple lines, the marriage of glass and stone – beautifully stark yet utterly compelling, the ultimate showcase for art.’ Laughing at her own gushing summation, Daisy flopped down on her bed, kicked off her shoes and leaned down to massage her toes. ‘But for all its beauty this city kills your feet. I knew I should have worn trainers today.’

  ‘Ah, the price of maintaining your fashion icon status,’ Elsie grinned, leaving her bed to refill the kettle.

  ‘Tell me about it. I took a tonne of photos to show you. You’d love it. I’m going to show them to André, too.’ She sighed and looked at the ceiling. ‘I love Paris, but it’s so strange being in André’s home city without him. I tried calling him all afternoon, but his phone was constantly busy. Luckily Olly didn’t seem to mind me checking my mobile like a lunatic every five minutes. He’s a lovely bloke, Els. We had a real giggle this afternoon.’ She smiled at her sister. ‘You look great, by the way. I knew that scarf would be perfect on you. Did you manage to catch up on some sleep?’

  ‘Yes. And I had a bath. I feel so much better.’

  ‘About being here?’

  ‘About everything. It was so important for me to go to the Tower today.’

  Daisy’s eyes misted over. ‘I know, petal. And did you – you know – do what you had to up there after we left?’

  Elsie nodded and Daisy rose to give her a long hug. ‘It’s done.’

  ‘And now you can move on?’

  ‘Now I can carry on moving on,’ Elsie smiled. ‘Oh blimey, listen to me: I sound like a self-help book.’

  Daisy placed her hands on Elsie’s shoulders. ‘You know what we need, my lovely?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wine. And copious amounts of the stuff. We have another whole day and night in this gorgeous city and nothing else we have to do. So tonight we enjoy refined dining, fabulous company and lots of luscious vin.’

  Elsie felt her heart lifting at the thought. ‘Now that is the best suggestion I’ve heard all weekend.’

  Spirits were high when The Sundaes reconvened in the darkly welcoming bar of Bistro L’Artiste on rue de Médicis at eight p.m. Tiny lights framed the trees in the park opposite the restaurant and a smiling accordion player strolled slowly back and forth on the pavement outside. Aoife was proudly displaying the small solitaire diamond ring to anyone who would look and Danny was in grave danger of pulling muscles in his face from smiling. Sasha had already taken a shine to the barman efficiently serving drinks, doing her best to engage him in pigeon-French conversation. Woody was yet to arrive and speculation as to his current whereabouts was rife amongst the choir.

  ‘I reckon he’s visiting a former groupie from his Hellfinger days,’ Lewis grinned.

  Olly smiled. ‘Or his French children, who he’s secretly been supporting for years.’ Seeing Elsie’s despairing expression, he held up his hands. ‘What? You know what they say about these ageing rock stars – I’d lay odds on there being several love-children with Jensen blood across the world.’

  ‘He’s probably in some seedy bar,’ Daisy said, enjoying the opportunity to take part in the light-hearted attack on Woody in his absence. ‘Reminiscing about old times with a barman who used to be a roadie.’

  ‘That sounds like the kind of tragic thing he would do,’ Sasha laughed. ‘Anyway, forget the ageing rock freak. Let’s enjoy this wine!’

  By nine p.m. they were seated at their table in the packed restaurant but Woody had still not surfaced and everyone was complaining of hunger. Mak
ing an executive decision, Elsie decided to go ahead with the meal, sending Woody a text to let him know.

  The meal was a bit of an extravagance but a wonderful way to celebrate the events of the day. Provençale chicken, roasted duck, melt-in-the-mouth rainbow trout and bowls of moules marinière elicited squeals of delight from The Sundaes as the wine flowed. Elsie loved the ambiance of L’Artiste and the effect it was having on the choir – the dark wood meeting subdued lighting from candles and wall lamps, while the buzz of conversation mingled with the music floating around the red gingham-covered tables. As beautifully crafted crème brûlée, tarte tatin and îles flottantes were served, she leaned across to Daisy.

  ‘You were absolutely right, Dais. Tonight is fantastic.’

  ‘Which just goes to prove you should always trust your eldest sister.’

  ‘Did I mention your eldest sister almost walked my poor feet off?’ Olly interjected.

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘Seriously, Els, she is the fastest walker I’ve ever met. We were doing circuits of the Louvre, like some kind of fine art-themed gym class.’

  Daisy giggled and for the first time Elsie noticed how fond of Olly her sister appeared to be. Their afternoon together had clearly brought them closer and, just like Jim, Daisy was relaxed in his company. ‘The thing is, Els, I don’t reckon Olly is as fit as he likes to think he is. I haven’t been to the gym for months but I was leaving him for dust.’

  Olly feigned offence, folding his arms and sticking out his chin. ‘You see what she’s like?’

  ‘I think that from now on I ought to make sure I always accompany you,’ Elsie smiled, enjoying the thrill of her own flirtatiousness and the effect it had on Olly’s expression.

  ‘I think maybe you should,’ he replied, returning her smile. ‘Just for my own protection, of course.’

  ‘Consider myself your personal bodyguard.’

  ‘I will. And, if I may say so, what a body to be guarded by.’

  ‘Oliver Hogarth, you incorrigible flirt!’

  Olly’s smile sparkled with mischief. ‘Admit it, you wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  Feeling a thrill ricocheting to her toes, Elsie grinned back. ‘Absolutely.’

  By ten p.m., Elsie was in the middle of settling the evening’s bill when her mobile began to ring. Leaving Daisy to assume bill-paying duties, Elsie hurried out to the lobby.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘A-a-angel.’

  ‘Woody? Where are you? You’ve missed dinner.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, babe. I’m starving.’

  Elsie sighed. ‘Right, we’re at the rue de Médicis – I put the address on one of the ten texts I sent you. Just make your way back here and we can try to find you food nearby. Failing that, we could always order something from room service back at the hotel, just for tonight.’

  ‘Sweet. Slight complication with that plan, though.’

  ‘What? You’ve been gone for ages, Woody. How hard can it be to get here?’ A thought occurred to her and she instinctively lowered her voice, even though none of the customers at the pavement tables were likely to eavesdrop. ‘Have you run out of money?’

  ‘No, angel.’

  ‘OK. So what’s the problem? Why can’t you get here?’

  She could hear a long, nicotine-gravelled sigh on the other end of the call.

  ‘Because I’m in jail, babe.’

  The next thirty minutes were a blur of frenzied activity, as Elsie, Daisy and Olly drove the minibus around the streets of Paris, which all appeared to have become identical, in search of the police station where Woody was being held. Stan and Graeme had been left in charge at the hotel, gathering the choir together in their room to wait for news, the revelation leaving all of them in shock.

  ‘What do you think it is?’ Daisy asked as Olly attempted to follow the directions quickly scribbled on a sheet of Hotel Saint-Louis notepaper by the helpful receptionist.

  Elsie stared at the road ahead, her mind swimming. ‘I don’t know. I’m just hoping it’s some language-barrier misunderstanding thing that we can clear up quickly. Although my GCSE French didn’t cover dealing with the Parisian police force.’

  ‘Why don’t you let me do the talking?’ Daisy said. ‘I might not have every word but I’m pretty certain I can cobble the right sentences together.’

  ‘There!’ Olly pointed at a large building ahead. ‘I think that’s it. I’ll drop you guys off and try and park somewhere.’

  Elsie and Daisy hurried from the minibus into the police station. Daisy waited by the main desk but it was several minutes before anyone came over. Finally, an unsmiling hulk of a policeman approached. Elsie stood by, helpless, as Daisy engaged in quiet, fast French conversation, the desk sergeant making occasional notes as they spoke. After a couple of minutes, he gave a nod and disappeared.

  ‘Well?’

  Daisy’s face said it all. ‘It’s not good. Woody was arrested as part of a major drugs raid on a bar on the Left Bank.’

  ‘What? But how …?’

  ‘The sergeant doesn’t know the details. He’s gone to check them out.’

  Elsie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Has Woody been charged?’

  ‘He didn’t seem to think so.’

  ‘Right.’ A million and one thoughts raced through Elsie’s mind. ‘What do we do in this situation? Should we try to find a lawyer, or call the British Consulate, or what?’

  Daisy placed her hand on Elsie’s arm. ‘Calm down. He was only arrested an hour ago, so they’re probably still processing him. Let’s just wait to see what they tell us before we start to panic.’

  Ten minutes later, the desk sergeant returned and spoke to Daisy. Turning to Elsie, she shrugged. ‘He said the ten people they arrested all have to be questioned, so we should be prepared for a wait. I asked him about the British Consulate and he said they would be notified in due course.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘He told me the coffee in the machine isn’t great but it’s cheap. And he said my French was very good.’

  Elsie had to smile at that one. ‘Oh well, Woody may be facing prosecution, but at least you know your French is passable.’

  Daisy grinned. ‘I told him I was dating a Frenchman. I think he approved.’

  Olly arrived soon after, a little flustered after driving around to find a suitable space. ‘It’ll be a mistake,’ he assured them. ‘Woody might be a little eccentric but he’s not an idiot.’

  Right at that moment, Elsie begged to differ. She was angry with Woody – whether he was in the wrong place at the wrong time or something worse, he should have been at the bistro with the choir he was partially responsible for, not being hauled into a police station in the middle of Paris.

  Hours passed. The desk sergeant ended his shift and handed over to another equally bulky officer who wasn’t impressed by anything and seemed happier to ignore the three English visitors who were drinking sub-standard coffee and suffering the overzealous French air-conditioning in the waiting area into the early hours of the morning. Elsie made several phone calls to the waiting choir to keep them updated, eventually telling everyone to go to bed as the realisation that she wouldn’t see her own tonight dawned upon her. People came and went – tramps and bloodied youths, efficient-looking duty lawyers and a succession of shady characters were shuffled through the security doors by disinterested policemen.

  Just before four a.m., a man in his forties wearing a suit hurried in and spoke in flawless French to the desk sergeant, who gave a disgruntled nod in the direction of Elsie, Daisy and Olly. The man approached them with a brief smile.

  ‘You’re here for Walter Jensen?’

  Elsie and Daisy exchanged glances at the revelation of Woody’s Christian name. ‘Yes – he goes by the name of Woody,’ Elsie said.

  ‘Right. I’m Charles Ross, from the British Consulate. The police informed me of Mr Jensen’s arrest.’

  ‘Thank you so much for coming,’ Elsie replied, s
haking his hand. ‘We don’t know what’s happening.’

  ‘I understand. What I can do is see Mr Jensen and try to establish the current situation regarding his arrest. If it looks likely that they will charge him, I can advise you of our list of suitable lawyers and translators. But I shouldn’t worry about that yet. Let me talk to the police and to Mr Jensen and I’ll let you know what I discover.’

  They watched as Charles was admitted into the body of the police station. Olly stretched and yawned and Daisy braved another mud-like coffee from the coffee machine.

  ‘Why don’t you go back to the hotel?’ Elsie asked Olly. ‘There’s no need for all of us to be here.’

  He stared at her. ‘Do you want me to leave?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. You look shattered and I don’t know how long we’re going to have to wait.’

  ‘I’m going to stay here until the Consulate bloke tells us what’s happening. It might be that we have to leave him here anyway and in that case I want to make sure that you and Daisy can get back to the hotel.’

  Elsie rubbed her eyes, her need for sleep weighing heavily. ‘OK. I didn’t mean to suggest that we didn’t need you, Ol.’

  ‘I know. Fancy a hug?’

  Gratefully, Elsie accepted, leaning her head against the soothing heat of his chest as his arms folded round her. She remained there, losing track of time – so much so that when Charles returned almost an hour later, it was Olly’s gentle shaking of her shoulders that made her realise she’d fallen asleep in his arms. Blinking the sleep away in the harsh striplight of the waiting area, she sat upright and tried her best to focus on what Charles was saying.

  ‘Mr Jensen has been questioned for an hour and I’m afraid he was less than co-operative, which has not helped his case at all. However, I have since spoken with him and he has given me the name of a legal firm in England who will represent him. I secured a phone call for him and I understand a solicitor is travelling to Paris this morning. Mr Jensen has still not been formally charged, but this is usual in cases such as these. They are holding him in the cells tonight and will recommence questioning at nine a.m. when his legal representative arrives.’