It Started With a Note

by Victoria Cooke

  The following day I wake from a wonderfully deep sleep. The pillows are still wedged between us and I peer over to see the tanned skin of Olivier’s chest rising and falling. He’s still asleep. The temptation to run my fingers through the sprinkling of dark hairs on his chest is so compelling that I get up and go to the bathroom just to stop myself. By the time I’ve taken care of my ablutions and re-emerged, he’s awake, and concentrating on something on his phone.

  ‘Morning,’ I say, patting the ends of my hair with a towel. He looks delicious lying there in the pristine white sheets, like a caramel swirl in vanilla ice cream. The shower did nothing for the compelling urge, and it takes all of my strength not to dive back in the bed.

  ‘Good morning. I was just checking on some things for today and I’ve got plenty of ideas if you want to hear about them over breakfast?’

  ‘That sounds perfect.’

  ‘But …’ He looks me over and grins. I tug the towel a little tighter around myself, hoping I haven’t revealed anything.

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He smirks.

  Over coffee and croissants, Olivier talks me through the plans for the day, but I find myself drifting off into my own head. I haven’t had a man in my bed in forever. That was a big deal for me. I know I’m a grown woman and that nothing even happened – we built a pillow dam, for goodness’ sake, and it had the tenacity of the Hoover Dam – but still.

  When I replay the night over, I’d actually slept like a baby despite the newness of the situation. I thought I’d be sleeping on eggshells, scared I’d break wind or snore or wake up with disgusting morning breath or something equally horrendous but nothing like that happened.

  ‘Cath?’ The sound of my name brings me back to the moment.

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

  He grins. ‘Somewhere good I hope?’

  ‘You could say that.’ I smile shyly.

  ‘Anyway, I was wondering if you thought the plans for today sounded okay?’

  I haven’t listened to a word he’s said since we sat down but I trust him implicitly. ‘They sound perfect.’

  ‘Great.’ He tucks into his breakfast and I follow suit.

  We take a champagne riverboat ride on the Seine, visit Notre Dame and walk a large chunk of the glamorous Champs-Élysées, where I spot bored husbands lugging shopping bags. I think about the comment Harry had made to Roland calling it the ‘Chumps- Élysées’, which makes me laugh. We carry on to the busy junction housing the Arc de Triomphe. It’s a tourist’s paradise and even I, a practical stranger to social media, am compelled to post a picture on Facebook.

  We stop for a coffee in a café with a view of the Arc de Triomphe. ‘And I thought you were here to stop me falling into tourist traps,’ I say teasingly as we take a seat in the wicker chairs outside and I spy the extortionate price of a cuppa.

  ‘Sometimes you just have to go with it.’ He shrugs.

  Our coffees arrive quickly, the staff seemingly eager to keep the in-out cycle of custom going.

  Olivier is over-stirring his coffee. His lips are pursed, and when he draws a deep breath, I know he’s about to talk about something I’d rather ignore. ‘Is there any way we can see each other after you’ve gone?’

  I’ve already thought about it and don’t see a way. Saying goodbye is going to be tough – I don’t want to have to do it again another time. ‘I don’t see how.’

  ‘You could move to France, you could join the business. You were great with the kids last week – you’re a natural.’

  If things were different, I’d jump at the chance to spend my days with this gorgeous man, in a beautiful place, and have the fairy-tale happy ever after but that isn’t real life and I have responsibilities. People don’t just up and leave. ‘I’m all Kieran has. Even though he’s not around, he needs a home to come back to, and I’m not just talking about the house. I’m his home too. I’m all he has.’ I get another stab of guilt for being away from him for so long.

  Olivier glances down at the table. ‘I had to ask.’

  My chest feels heavy and I can’t say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. ‘I know.’

  We sip our coffee, listening to the cars beeping at the busy junction. ‘You could come to England,’ I say.

  ‘Spending more time with you is what I want so much, but I can’t desert the business. I have to ensure its success so that Elena is taken care of. After she refused the money from our parents’ house, I vowed she would always earn well through the business, but if I leave, I would fear for its survival. Both Julien and Elena lack strong business acumen. They’re great with customers and have fantastic rapport and knowledge, but growth … I don’t think they could make that happen.’

  ‘I guess in this life, at least, we’re just not meant to be,’ I say sombrely. Olivier doesn’t reply but he sort of twists his mouth in sad agreement. ‘A few months down the line we’d probably hate each other’s guts, and surely having this bank of perfect memories is better than that. It’s why the romcoms always end when the couple get together because the after part just isn’t as good.’ I will actually never know.

  After our coffees, we head back towards the Eiffel Tower and I start to feel quite giddy. ‘Are you finally taking me up?’

  ‘Yes, but first we’ll go back to the hotel and change.’

  I shoot him a confused look. ‘Why? I’ve waited for two days to see this tower. Please, can we just go up now,’ I mock-plead with my hands.

  ‘Then half an hour more won’t matter.’ He lets out a resigned breath. ‘I’ve booked a table for dinner.’

  I sigh. ‘So I have to wait until after dinner?’

  ‘No.’ He draws the word out. ‘We are going to walk the esplanade, take the lift to the third floor of the tower, explore the shops on the second and have dinner on the first.’

  I get a sudden stab of guilt over not listening to the plans this morning and attempt to cover my tracks. ‘Of course, I remember you saying at breakfast.’

  ‘It was a surprise. I didn’t tell you at breakfast – I knew you were away with the fairies.’ He grins, shaking his head.

  ‘I wasn’t, I …’

  ‘You’re blushing.’ He’s still smiling, relishing in my embarrassment.

  ‘If you must know, I was thinking about this attractive man I found in my bed this morning.’ I might as well make him blush too. But he doesn’t – he just smiles and walks on.

  We stop on the bridge across the river and watch a glass-roof boat pass below. He turns to face me.

  ‘What about this man in your bed? I hope he was a gentleman.’ He raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Oh, he was, but perhaps tonight, he won’t be.’ I wink and turn on my heel, heading towards the tower. He doesn’t follow me straight away and I hear him jogging behind to catch me up a few seconds later.

  We pass the tower and go straight to the hotel to get changed. In the room, the air feels charged and I feel lightheaded knowing it’s my fault. As I run the straighteners through my hair, my mind wanders to the places I’d like his hands to visit. My lower abdomen flutters in a way that’s no longer peculiar. ‘I think I need some air,’ I shout to Olivier, who is shaving in the bathroom.

  I step out onto the balcony, pulling the door to behind me. As I look out at the tower, twinkling in the pinky dusk, I wonder if it would be the worst thing on earth to face the final frontier with Olivier. The thought both excites and terrifies me. But you only live once.

  Chapter Thirty

  The esplanade is busy with tourists. Armed police patrol the area, discreetly blending into the crowds, and tacky souvenir stalls have popped up nearby to capitalise on the evening flurry. My hand is wrapped comfortably in Olivier’s, but there’s still a tension between us. It’s lingered since I made that comment earlier about not being a gentleman, and I’m not sure if I’ve broken what we had. I’m hoping we’ll both relax a little when we sit down and have a drink.

  We’re ushered through the
airport-style security and to the lift. There are quite a lot of people bundling in so Olivier and I shuffle backwards until he’s pressed up against the side and I’m pressed up against him. I’d been facing him, to avoid having to face a complete stranger, but now it seems strangely intimate with my soft curves pressed perfectly into his firm indentations. The lift sets off on its diagonal, upward path, and Olivier looks into my eyes and brushes my windswept hair away from my face. We may as well be the only two people in the lift because everyone else has turned into colourful confetti and blown away.

  The lift stops and my body deflates as we move apart to get out on the first floor. ‘We need to get the next lift,’ he says, pulling me by the hand. Soon we’re in the glass lift heading to the top and taking in the whole of Paris. People say they feel Christmassy; but right now I feel well and truly Parissy, and yes, that’s a made-up word because no word in the English language can truly describe this feeling.

  Unexpectedly, the champagne bar is more of a kiosk, but then why would you want to be inside drinking when you can be outside looking at this? The buildings below look like a Legoland construction, and between them, illuminated boats sail down the inky black river as the skyscrapers of La Défense glitter in the distance. It’s fairly crowded, but we’re able to find a vantage point offering perfect views. Olivier stands beside me, curling his fingers around my hand, sending a current of electricity up my arm and right through my chest. I’m desperate for him to kiss me. He doesn’t. Instead, he does the next best thing and offers me a drink.

  I hold our spot while he goes to get them. My body is still tingling with desire in his absence, so I take the time to relish the feeling. Other than watching romantic movies, this is my only experience of romance. I’ve always been somewhat overlooked in the past, like the dull bag of butterscotch beside the bright and funky Skittles packet. Not that I’m complaining. A drunken one-night stand brought me Kieran and I wouldn’t swap him for being swept off my feet by a man, but I think any girl could be forgiven for getting excited while standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower accompanied by a wonderful, handsome man and a glass of champers.

  But just like any dream, it will only last the night.

  ‘For you, madame.’ Olivier’s hand pushes between two tourists whom I hadn’t noticed had invaded my personal space and stolen Olivier’s spot. He squeezes his shoulder through the minute gap and the rest of his body follows until he’s back by my side.

  ‘Did you know the base pillars of the tower are aligned with the four points of a compass?’ he says.

  ‘Did you know you don’t have to try and impress me anymore?’ I reply teasingly.

  He pulls a mock-sad face. ‘I thought you liked my trivia.’

  ‘I do. I’m sorry. Tell me more,’ I say, stroking his arm in a way that could be construed as flirtatious, but the merry dance of the bubbles has given me the confidence to go for it anyway.

  ‘The Eiffel Tower was a radiotelegraph station and during the Great War, it intercepted enemy radio communications. It was almost scrapped in 1909 too.’

  I tug at his ear and peer behind it animatedly, prompting a look of confusion in response. ‘Just looking for your off-button.’

  ‘Fine. What do you want to talk about?’ He folds his arms, pretending to be offended, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s stifling a grin.

  Okay, I asked for this. ‘Erm … Tell me where your favourite place in the world is?’

  His arm slides around my waist and pulls me in close. The heat from his body radiates. ‘Well, this is hard to beat.’ He gestures with his plastic champagne flute, to the panoramic view of Paris. ‘But the city isn’t where I could spend my days forever. A vineyard would be a good start.’ He winks.

  ‘Yes, but if you drank all the wine, you wouldn’t own it for very long, and you probably wouldn’t live too long either.’

  ‘You’re too practical, Cath.’ He shakes his head jokingly. ‘Okay, somewhere by the sea. Some rugged beach on any part of the Brittany coastline would suit me. How about you?’

  ‘As you know, I’m not very well travelled … but being here right now, I’m not just seeing the view, I’m feeling it.’ I don’t really have the words to explain what I mean, how it isn’t just the stunning vista, the wonderful man by my side and the fizz of giddiness in my head. It’s like I’m bathing in a cocktail of it all and I don’t want it to end. I know he gets it because this is what he’s wanted me to experience all along.

  ‘Hopefully, this is just the beginning of your adventures.’ He clinks his plastic flute against mine.

  ‘Hopefully,’ I echo.

  When we’ve finished our drinks, we take the lift down to the second floor, where we visit the souvenir shop. There is just about anything you’d want an Eiffel Tower emblazoned on in here. I buy a novelty tin of biscuits for Kieran, reasoning that he loves biscuits and the tin will be useful for storing knickknacks in after. I lose sight of Olivier, but when I step outside, he comes up behind me and wraps me in a hug.

  ‘I bought you a gift,’ he says, holding up a small white paper bag.

  I cast an intrigued glance his way and take it from him. Inside, there is a small, metal key ring with a miniature Eiffel Tower dangling from the ring.

  ‘It’s to remember this day.’ He says it in such a way that I know that what he really means is that it’s to remember him by. A huge lump forms in my throat and I have to swallow hard before I can thank him.

  In the first-floor restaurant, we’re led to a window seat. I don’t know how we swung it, but we did. The couple who’d been queuing next to us scowl a little as they’re seated towards the centre of the restaurant, and for the first time in my life I don’t even care.

  ‘This is amazing,’ I say, running my hand over the thick, white tablecloth after we’ve taken our seats. We’re handed the set menus and offered wine immediately. ‘And the service is pretty good too.’

  When I look to Olivier for agreement, I can tell he’s not really listening because he’s looking at me pensively with his chin resting on his fist.

  ‘I’m not ready to say goodbye to you, Cath. Could we see each other again?’ Despite the fact I sensed his brooding, the question takes me by surprise.

  ‘I thought we’d been through this. How could we?’ I speak gently and he shrugs, defeated.

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m only an hour from Calais; you’re only an hour or so from Dover. It just seems that the distance shouldn’t be an issue.’

  ‘We live in different countries. There’s the expense, for starters …’ The waiter returns with our drinks and I take a much-needed sip.

  ‘I can make it over a few times a year.’

  ‘I can’t commit to coming here a few times a year. Olivier, this trip has cost me everything I have.’ I didn’t mean to say that aloud but it’s true. ‘You’ll meet someone else more local and forget about me.’ I keep my tone light, but really, I know this will happen and the thought churns my insides. It’s my attempt at self-preservation. I reach across and put my hand on his, glancing upwards to meet his eyes. ‘Can we just enjoy the time we have left together?’

  ‘Of course.’ He smiles weakly. ‘I have plenty more facts about the Eiffel Tower to entertain you with.’

  I giggle. ‘Perfect.’

  The rest of the meal passes with pleasant conversation, but it’s false and I can sense a deeper sadness. We’ve chucked a blanket over the elephant in the room but its big, fat presence is there weighing heavily upon us. I’ve zoned out. I don’t want to listen to any more trivia, or talk about books and movies, because what’s the point in getting to know someone only to lose them soon? It’s like dieting before an all-inclusive holiday, or spending a whole day preparing beef Wellington for dinner just to wolf it down in two minutes.

  I watch his strong jawline tense as he chews between snippets of conversation. His shirtsleeves have been rolled back, exposing his thick forearms and a smart, chunky watch, beneath which I can s
ee the edge of a white mark that the sun didn’t catch. His top button is open, exposing that fine sprinkling of chest hair that I still want to rub my hands over.

  There’s only one more thing Olivier can give me.

  ***

  It’s a short distance back to the hotel. We’re walking hand in hand and swaying slightly with the merriment a few glasses of wine has brought.

  ‘I’ve never been on a date before,’ I confess, spinning on my heel to face him. His body crashes into mine just a split second later and our faces are just inches apart, sending sparks between us.

  ‘What, never?’ He sounds surprised.

  ‘Nope. Not before you. The people who I knew all just fell into being couples after group nights out with work or mutual friends. Formal dates weren’t really a thing when I was in my prime.’

  ‘You’re still in your prime.’ His words send small eruptions through my chest.

  ‘So have you been on many dates?’ I ask, taking position back by his side so we can continue walking.

  ‘A few. You have to remember, Elena is my sister and her main goal in life is to see her hero brother happy.’

  I smile. ‘But she hasn’t found you the one yet?’

  ‘No, her philosophy has been more along the lines of someone rather than the one, and I’ve never been on a second date. Other than with my old girlfriend, that is.’

  ‘Ever?’ I can’t imagine why unless he’s incredibly fussy.

  He shakes his head. ‘I think that’s why she’s been subtler with you. She knows with you something is different and is frightened I’ll get hurt.’

  There’s not really anything I can say to that, but I can keep up the pretence that we both know what we’re doing, and we won’t get hurt.

  ‘Someone must have been worthy of a second date.’ I won’t believe him if he says there wasn’t anyone.

  ‘I think I was the one not worthy of a second date,’ he says bluntly.

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’ Unless it was during his struggling years, though I doubt even Elena would have been matchmaking back then.

  ‘Nobody seemed interested in a second date. I suppose they thought I was boring as I’ve very little to talk about other than my work. I don’t have great life experiences or anything.’