That Night In Paris

by Sandy Barker

  “Mmm.”

  “So, let’s do you now,” I said, settling back into my seat.

  “Me?”

  “Yes. The ‘love of your life married someone else’ story.” I must have been all fired up from my encounter with Georgina, launching myself carelessly into what was bound to be a difficult conversation. Jaelee sighed beside me. “Come on.” I jostled her with my shoulder. “We still have two hours ’til we get to the chateau.”

  ***

  It was a difficult conversation.

  Jaelee had refused Paco’s marriage proposal, breaking his heart, and then when he found someone else, realised she did love him, and she did want to marry him. And she only realised all of this when she received an invitation to the wedding.

  “He invited you?”

  “Yep.”

  I thought about inviting Scott to my wedding—if I ever had one—and couldn’t even imagine it. “And that’s when you realised?” A nod. “Oh Jae, that’s horrific.” Another nod. “Did you ever tell him?”

  “No, of course not. Why would I? Oh no, do you think I should have told him?” She was second-guessing one of the biggest decisions she’d ever made. I needed to dial it back.

  “Nooo. No, you did the right thing. You respected his wishes. It’s like what we told Dani about Nathalie’s wedding, right?” A third nod. “So, did you go to the wedding?” I asked gently.

  “I couldn’t. I just …” She sighed again. “I made up some work excuse. I even booked a conference in LA on the same weekend so I’d legitimately be out of town and wouldn’t be tempted to go, you know?” I did not—we were way beyond any experience I’d ever had.

  “Oh, yes, totally. You did the right thing.” Poor Jaelee. No wonder she was tetchy about Dani and Jason—and about me and Jean-Luc. Not that Jean-Luc and I were together. Just old friends catching up for dinner in Rome. I knew I was deluding myself. Old friends indeed. New lovers, I hoped.

  “Cat!” Apparently, I had wandered off into the wonderful land of Jean-Luc.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Look.” Jae was looking out the window and I leant forward so I could see past her.

  “Oh my …”

  “Right?”

  We were travelling along a narrow, undulating road. On our right was a low stone wall, crumbling in places, and beyond that were dozens, maybe hundreds, of rows of grape vines, climbing and falling over rolling hills. It must have been close to harvest time, because the vines were heavy with bunches of dark, dusty-skinned grapes.

  “That’s a lot of grapes,” said Jaelee.

  “That means a lot of wine,” I replied. We shared a look and a grin. “Definitely wine o’clock, don’t you think?” I knew it was only just noon, but when in France …

  “Oh, definitely,” She replied. I loved any friend who was willing to day-drink with me. Jae was a keeper.

  Chapter 5

  There was a chorus of “Oooh” as we rounded a bend, and Jae and I both craned our necks to see what it was about.

  “Ohhh, wow,” I added to the sounds around me.

  “Holy crap,” Jae uttered breathlessly.

  We were staying in an eighteenth-century château owned by Ventureseek and it was perched on the highest hill for miles. The midday sun bounced off its façade of marble and windows, casting a kind of golden aura around it. There were two towers, I guess you’d call them, with capped slate roofs, and a pair of symmetrical stairs which led left and right from the château to the grounds. It was frigging gorgeous.

  “Oh, this is gonna be good,” said my seatmate.

  Georgina picked up the microphone. “So, everyone, as you can see, the château is something really special. We’re going to head through the gates soon and when we arrive, please meet on the front lawn—the top level, not the lower level with the pool—so the reps can give you your room assignments.”

  Earlier in the drive, when Georgina had passed around the rooming sheet, Lou, who was closest to the front of the coach, had claimed the only room at the château that slept four. When the sheet got back to me and Jae, I could have leapt up and kissed her. I had my bus besties and I wasn’t interested in rooming with strangers or making new friends. Sometimes, I am a cliquey teenager.

  The coach stopped just outside the château gates and I leant into the aisle. “He’s not driving us through that gate, is he?” I asked. Jae half-stood in her seat to see what I was talking about. The gate was narrow—very narrow—almost as if it was designed before giant touring coaches existed.

  “Well, this will be impressive.” Jae sat down as Tom got out of the coach and tucked the mirrors in on both sides. Back in his seat, he edged the coach through the gates inch by inch, and I held my breath until we came to a stop. Then the whole coach exploded into spontaneous applause. I added, “Woohoo!” and there were some whistles from behind me.

  “Yeah, yeah,” we heard from the driver’s seat.

  Standing in the aisle, I took our day bags off the parcel shelf and handed Jaelee hers before we shuffled off the coach. It was kind of like getting off a plane, only we did it several times a day and, believe me, it was not fun.

  When I finally stepped off the coach, a warm and fragrant breeze hit me, earthy with a strong scent of jasmine and just a hint of happiness. I closed my eyes and tipped my head to the sun. I’d lived in England for a decade, but deep down I was an Australian who thrived on warm weather and sunshine.

  “I can’t believe how good this weather is—in fall,” said Jaelee. She was right. It must have been in the mid-twenties.

  “I want to stay here for the rest of the tour,” I said.

  “Me too,” replied Jae. “Look.” I opened my eyes and followed the line of her finger. There was a long table covered in huge globe wine glasses, each brimming with ruby red wine. I’d had wine from Beaujolais enough to know that I loved its bright fruity flavours, and these were seriously generous pours.

  “Hi, everyone!” called a heavily Kiwi-accented voice. A tall redheaded guy stood on what was essentially the doorstep, although this one was twelve feet wide and made of marble. We gathered around. “I’m Keith, and I’m the senior rep here. Bienvenue au château!” It was a good attempt, but with an accent that bad it was also a little grating. I tried not to hold it against him.

  “Kayla here—” a short curvy blonde girl waved and a few in the group waved back “—has your room keys. I’ll call out the room number, then the names of the people in the room. The first name on the list, come get your room key. The rest of the team is waiting inside the foyer to direct you to your rooms. As I’m sure you can appreciate, this is a big place and we have another tour arriving in an hour or so, so we want to get you settled as quickly as possible.”

  If that was the case, he needed to stop talking. People were getting antsy. All right, maybe it was just me.

  “And when you’ve dropped your bags in your rooms, come back down for your welcome drink.” My eyes fixed on the perfect rows of glasses, shaded from the midday sun by an awning.

  Less than ten minutes later, we arrived at our room. “Oh, my heck, this is incredible.” Ah, Lou—even “hell” was too salty for her. She was right, though, the room was incredible. It had the highest ceilings I’d ever seen, and everything was white—the marble floors, the plaster walls, the windowsills, the bedding. It was like walking into a giant marshmallow.

  Lou dropped her case and went straight to the window. “Look at this!” I left my case next to hers and crossed the cavernous room to stand beside her. We were on the second floor and had an uninterrupted view of the château’s grounds. Beyond its borders was a landscape of valleys, hills, and vines—vibrant greens punctuated with flecks of gold and brown. There was only one tiny cloud in the sky, puffy and snow white.

  “Frigging hell. I’m so glad we’re here.” Unlike Lou, I liked salty language.

  “That’s amazing,” drawled Dani, joining us.

  “Bunk beds?!” said Jaelee from the door. We turned in
unison and stared at her. “I’m not sleeping on the top.” She challenged Dani with an unpleasant look. I’d been certain Jaelee could do a mean “mean girl”, but I never thought she’d turn on one of our own.

  “I’ll sleep up there. I don’t care,” said Dani with a shrug. After only three days, she’d mellowed considerably. I thought of her taut face when she’d seen the garden shed in Paris.

  “Good.” Jaelee stomped over and sat down heavily on the bottom bunk. Lou and I shared a look, and I could see she was about to go all mama bear. I literally stood back as she crossed the room and looked down at Jaelee, her hands on her hips.

  “You owe Danielle an apology.” I saw Dani start to protest, then stop—maybe she wanted that apology.

  Jae suddenly became very interested in her cuticles. Her mouth squirmed. “I’m sorry, Dani.”

  “And us.”

  Jae looked up at Lou, then me. “Sorry.” Lou’s whole manner changed in a heartbeat and she sat down next to Jae and wrapped her in a huge side hug.

  “I’m sorry you’re having a hard time.” I saw a sheen of tears in Jae’s eyes and watched her blink them away.

  “It’s no excuse. We all are. Well, maybe not Cat,” she teased. She caught my eye and I pretended to be insulted. “Anyway … you girls, you’re just so … sorry. I’ll behave, I promise.”

  “Good, ’cause I want me some of that wine,” said Dani. It broke the tension and I was grateful for her graciousness. If Lou was mama bear, then Dani was the peacemaker. Jae was probably the closest we had to a troublemaker. I wondered what that made me.

  “So, what’s our game plan then? Welcome wine, then buy a couple of bottles and find somewhere nice to sit? Maybe the vineyard?” I asked. Ah, right, I was the enabler.

  “Welcome wine, then a swim,” replied Lou. What?

  “Yeah, I’d like a swim,” said Dani. “I wasn’t sure if it would be warm enough, but I’m not wasting this gorgeous weather.” Oh, bollocks.

  “I’m definitely busting out one of the bikinis,” said Jae.

  “Hang on, did you say, ‘one of’? You brought more than one swimsuit?” I asked, distracted by Jaelee’s excessive bikini packing.

  “Yes. I’m from Miami,” she replied, as though that explained it.

  My three roommates erupted into action, unzipping their cases and pulling out swimsuits and wraps. I stood motionless, watching, until Lou realised I wasn’t getting ready. “What’s up?” she asked, as she stood.

  “Uh, I don’t really want to go swimming.”

  Three blank faces met mine.

  “Yeah, you’re probably gonna have lots of chances to go swimming at a château in the middle of a French vineyard.” Jae’s point was undeniable.

  “I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” I lied. Of course I’d packed one—it was on the list.

  Lou looked at me confused. “I thought I saw one in your bag. It’s red, right?”

  I sighed heavily, caught out. “All right, yes, I have a swimsuit, but I am not fit for human consumption in this—” I circled my hand in front of my crotch “—area. I didn’t have a chance to get waxed. This tour was very last-minute. All right?”

  “Ohhh,” said Lou and Dani at the same time.

  “‘Oh’, nothing. I’m still stuck on the ‘human consumption’ part,” said Jae, dryly.

  “You know what I mean. I wouldn’t want to scare anyone.”

  “Hey, it’s all good. I’ve got some wax strips with me.” Jaelee was full of surprises.

  “What?”

  She pulled out her toiletries bag, which was huge by the way, and took out some of those ready-to-go all-in-one wax strips. “Here.”

  “I don’t DIY.” That wasn’t a lie. I’d had some very bad experiences DIY-ing a bikini wax.

  “Extenuating circumstances.” She raised a single eyebrow at me. I wish I could do that. I needed to focus. I did not want to apply sticky wax on my lady parts, no matter how inviting the pool was.

  “C’mon!” Dani was practically jumping up and down. “It’ll be fun.”

  “C’mon, Cat.” Even Lou was betraying me.

  “Fine!” I said as I snatched the strips from Jaelee’s hand. “I’ll meet you downstairs after—well, once everything is under control.” I went into the Jack-n-Jill bathroom which connected our room to the next, loud laughter following me. I didn’t care.

  An hour later, I was glad I’d confessed my body hair dilemma. Not only did something like that cement a friendship, but I’d forgotten how lovely it was to take a dip in a pool, then dry myself in the sun.

  And the afternoon was definitely enhanced by the endlessly flowing wine.

  After we finished our welcome drinks, in what was very likely record time, Jaelee made a beeline for the chateau’s bar and brought back two bottles of the locally produced wine. One of them was still unopened on the grass beside us, but we made short work of the first. A bottle is only five glasses of wine—four if you pour like Jaelee.

  “So, did we want to do the wine tasting later?” asked Lou.

  “Pass,” said Jaelee. “Besides, we’re tasting the wine. I like it. What more is there to know?”

  “We’d probably get to see the barrels and where they make it,” said Lou.

  “I’m with Jae,” I said. “Plus, Sarah said the winemaker is this leering old guy.”

  “Ewww.” Dani, who had her feet in the water and was watching a sort-of water polo match between the Kiwi boys, threw a grimace over her shoulder.

  In a moment of perfect timing, a rep—I hadn’t caught his name—stood at the top of the double staircase and called out to get everyone’s attention. “Hey, everyone. If you want to do the wine tasting, meet us up here in ten minutes.” The other half of “us” was a young Italian guy who made old jeans, dusty work boots, and a flannel shirt look good.

  “Who’s that?” asked Jaelee, shading her eyes against the sun.

  The rep and the flannel guy were having a lively conversation and we could hear snatches of their laughter from our spot on the lawn. “Do you think it’s the winemaker?” asked Lou.

  “Could be. Maybe he’s the leering old guy’s son,” I added.

  “Well, whoever he is, he’s hot.” Jae was succinct, I’d give her that. “I’m doing the wine tasting.” And decisive. “Anyone else coming?” she asked, standing and brushing grass off her legs.

  “I’m good,” replied Dani, her attention firmly on Jason’s bare torso.

  “I’m good too,” I answered. I had a nice buzz going and wanted to enjoy the sunshine, not wander around a cold dank wine cellar.

  “Me too,” said Lou. It was decided. Jaelee was scoping out the hot wine guy and we were staying put to drink her wine.

  “I’m going for a swim,” said Dani as she slipped into the pool. So maybe it was just me and Lou drinking Jae’s wine.

  Just then, my phone beeped. I squinted at the screen, then shaded it with my hand. A Facebook friend request. I punched in my pin and drew a sharp intake of breath—Jean-Luc.

  “What? It’s not Alex again, is it?” asked Lou.

  “Jean-Luc friended me on Facebook.”

  “Let me see.” I handed her the phone. “Huh.” She tapped “accept”.

  “Hey!” She giggled. “Gimme.” I held out my hand for the phone and she gave it back. I tapped on Jean-Luc’s profile and immediately saw why, even though I’d looked for him on Facebook before, I’d never found him. His profile pic was a cartoon, a line drawing of him in profile. It looked like him, only highly stylised.

  I scrolled through his feed. A few political posts—he was pro-Macron and anti-Brexit, some links to his own articles—mostly in French and a few in English. I could read those later. What I was looking for was evidence of his life—who were his people?

  I finally got to a photo of a group of friends in a bar, Jean-Luc in the middle looking away from the camera. He’d been tagged by someone called Claudine. I went to her profile, but I couldn’t see anything other than her na
me and her profile pic. She was pretty and I tried not to be jealous of someone who was probably just a friend.

  The group photo was more than three months old; it was obvious that Jean-Luc wasn’t one of those people who filled his feed with inane details of his life or silly memes—like I did. Just quietly, I love silly memes.

  I held my breath, then tapped on his friends list and typed “Vanessa” into the search field. There were three Vanessas, but only one of them was around our age, so I guessed it was her. I navigated to her profile and I nearly dropped the phone. She hadn’t restricted her privacy settings and I could see everything. Her Facebook life was there for the scrolling—if I wanted to.

  I looked at Lou, who was lying on her back, her eyes closed. “Lou?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Jean-Luc’s ex-wife’s Facebook page …”

  Her eyes flew open and she flipped onto her front. “Wait, what? He was married?”

  “Yes. Sorry, I should have said.” I’d given her the abridged version of the previous night, but I’d forgotten to mention Vanessa. “So?” I held up the phone and showed her the open feed. She made a face and sucked air through her teeth. “So, that’s a no, isn’t it?”

  “I think so. I wouldn’t.”

  I bit my lower lip. “She’s beautiful,” I said, simply.

  “So are you.” Maybe to some people, but not like she is.

  I wasn’t just being modest. I am attractive—when I make an effort. I’m short, but in proportion and I have nice boobs. I also got the good hair, if you ask my sister. It’s medium brown and shoulder length—nothing special there—but it’s not curly and not straight. I have “natural beachy waves”, as they’re called. A hairdresser will charge fifty quid to blow-dry someone’s hair to look like mine, so maybe Sarah’s right.

  Most days, I can look in the mirror and think, “Not bad.” I know what to do with makeup, and don’t shy away from a smoky eye or a pouty red lip for a night out. Sometimes, I’d even call myself “hot”. But even all dolled up and hot I would fall woefully short of the French supermodel staring up from my phone.

  “Has she kept his name?” Lou’s question dragged me away from my masochistic comparison.