by Mandy Baggot
‘I can do early,’ Ava told him. Debs needed time to work on her articles and she could use this to obliterate Leo from her mind entirely.
‘You are sure?’ Julien asked.
‘Do you regret asking?’
‘Non, of course not,’ he replied.
‘Tomorrow then, sunrise, outside my hotel,’ Ava said, indicating the Hotel Agincourt.
‘Tomorrow,’ Julien repeated.
‘Wish me luck,’ Ava said, walking backwards a few steps as she prepared to catch up with Debs and Didier. ‘Or at least a free pass to the VIP area to avoid the paparazzi.’
She waved a hand and turned around, snowflakes hitting her cheeks and then she heard, ‘À bientôt, Madonna! Until tomorrow!’
15
Hotel Agincourt
It was almost six a.m. and the first fingers of light were creeping over the horizon turning the dark, wintry, cloud-heavy sky into something a little more hopeful. As Debs let out a snort in her sleep, Ava padded in night socks to the balcony doors of their room and pressed her nose up to the frosted-on-the-outside glass. She should feel tired after dancing until three a.m. to songs she had never heard before while Debs asked anyone within a fifty-foot radius if they were single – in pigeon French. Then had come the sobbing about Gary’s affair as soon as Didier had left them. But somehow she wasn’t tired. The almost three hours’ sleep she’d managed to slip in seemed to have refreshed her enough that she was actually excited about the day dawning. More excited than she could remember being in such a long time.
Not worrying about the cold, her favourite red plaid shirt nightdress over her body, she whooshed the balcony doors open. There was no blast of icy air like the wind on the city streets the night before; this was more a gentle gush, a trickle of cold gently falling on her face as she stepped onto the balcony.
Her socks dulled the frosty concrete under her feet and she stepped right up to the black iron rail and the most amazing scene. It was breath-taking. Here, up high, above the grey, dark slate, cream and biscuit-coloured tiles, she had a bird’s eye view of the entire city. Little windows set into roofs, tiny terracotta chimney pots, everything speckled with snow. She could see the Eiffel Tower, the triangular icon looking over the city, standing strong, its lights still aglow as the sky started to turn pink.
And down below, on the street a few storeys under her, French city-life was beginning. Cars were crawling down the street, dog walkers, a man carrying a huge tray of baguettes. Ava sucked in the fresh air, notes of coffee, fresh bread and cheese in the air. Her stomach rolled. She hadn’t had any Camembert yet. Delicious, high-in-saturated fats, creamy gorgeousness. Perhaps today would be the day. Right now she would happily eat a whole one to herself. And that was one of the great things about being single again. Not having to share.
Julien was early. Having slept for as long as he had slept in months he had woken at four-thirty feeling a little different. He didn’t know what it was exactly, he just knew he felt somewhat lighter. It was as if his head was clear, his body weighed less and his thoughts were completely unclouded. Even in the dark, when he had regarded the river from his living room window, he knew today was not going to be as bleak as others.
Now, he was on the street of Ava’s hotel, his vision on something creeping along the edge of the road, eyes glistening in the half-light. A fox. It was the very first time he had seen one in the city. His camera close, he moved like a trained assassin, settling each footstep into the thin layer of snow carefully, making no noise. He wanted to capture its beautiful colours – a bright, russet glow amid the white of the frosting on the ground and in the air. He watched the fox settle, its nose sniffing at a black sack discarded outside a restaurant. Steadily, Julien drew up his camera and prepared to take a shot.
‘Pierre!’
The shout from a man coming out of a café had the fox running up an alleyway and away from Julien. Deep frustration began to coat his insides. He swallowed down the feeling. He was used to this, it just hadn’t been in his life for a while. At the height of his career he had spent hours watching and waiting for that perfect photograph. Most days there would be good and bad pictures, but perfect took a lot longer. He couldn’t expect everything to fall back into his lap like nothing had changed.
He turned his gaze across the road to Hotel Agincourt. What was he doing meeting with a woman he didn’t know? A woman who hated photographers? It wasn’t his job to make everybody love this choice of career. He wasn’t even sure he had the enthusiasm to take part in a crusade to defend his art. Perhaps Ava was just like his father and blinkered to everything but her own opinion.
He raised his camera up and took a snap of the hotel. It had some interesting lines and shapes, patterns in the brickwork and swirly iron railings across the balconies. As he shifted his position slightly he saw her. Even three floors up, she was unmistakable. The bright white hair, spiked up like a snow queen, a red shirt on her body and… were they long socks? He was caught now. Instinct was telling him to take a photograph. She had the most amazing presence. Just standing there, against the glowing sky, isolated, a lone figure amongst the cityscape. And then it happened. Almost as if she were taking his direction, she stretched her arms out, face tipped up, the beginnings of the sunrise catching her skin as she put her palms to the sky. He couldn’t help himself. He started to take photos. As the shutter clicked, as he repositioned himself slightly, changing the angle, he only hoped she didn’t look down.
16
‘Don’t wake up properly,’ Ava whispered. She had moved the hair by Debs’ ear to bid her a quick goodbye now she was dressed and ready. But Debs was coming to, snorting like a warthog who had overdosed on roots. ‘I’m leaving now but I have my mobile and maybe we can meet for lunch.’
Debs yawned – more lioness than hog, baring teeth. ‘Where are you going? What time is it?’ Her eyes remained closed.
‘It’s early, Debs,’ Ava answered. ‘And given you were still drinking shots only a couple of hours ago I think you ought to get a bit more sleep before you think about continuing research of singles in the city or Christmas markets.’ Ava sighed. ‘And do not, under any circumstances, do anything about this Francine. No more hacking, no phone calls under an alias, nothing until I get back.’
Debs made a noise akin to someone being poked in the eye by a Christmas tree needle.
‘I’m glad you agree,’ Ava said, stepping back from the bed.
Debs began snoring again before she had even got to the door. Ava checked her phone as she opened the door and saw a text message from her mother sent late the previous night.
Managed to upgrade the flights to Goa to first class. Delightful chickpea salad on the inflight menu. I’ve left several messages...
She couldn’t face reading any more. She deleted the message, slipped her phone into her trusty messenger bag and left the room. As she walked down the maroon-carpeted hallway towards the bank of lifts her phone beeped again. She unzipped her bag and pressed the button for the lift with her other hand: Leo.
There was no message but a photograph. A corporate one of them both taken at a work function. It didn’t seem like he gave up easily either. Perhaps she had meant more to him than she’d thought. Not that it mattered now. A betrayal was a betrayal. She locked her phone and put it back in her bag. Both these people problems were the English Channel away and that’s where they were going to stay.
She could see Julien standing outside before she reached the revolving doors at the hotel entrance. He was wearing a thick, dark coat over black trousers, brown leather shoes on his feet. His camera raised at eye level he seemed to be focussing on workers erecting a Christmas tree on the building opposite. She pushed at the glass and travelled forward at the speed of the doors until she landed on the pavement.
‘Bonjour,’ she greeted.
She watched him drop the camera, the strap breaking its descent as he turned to face her. ‘Good morning,’ he answered. His eyes went from her face do
wn to her Converse.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, lifting her feet up and down in the slush. ‘Is there some photographers’ dress code I don’t know about? Because most of the ones I dealt with turned up looking like David Walliams’ Mr Stink.’
‘Mr who?’
‘Or Dr Who,’ Ava said. ‘You’re right. Good call.’
‘I was just...’ Julien began. ‘These are the only shoes you have?’
‘No,’ Ava said. ‘Just the only ones I brought with me.’
‘No boots?’ he asked.
‘I packed in a rush and didn’t think about it being winter.’ She sniffed. ‘Anyhow, you’re not wearing boots.’ She observed his leather shoes.
‘I am wearing three pairs of socks,’ he admitted.
‘Oh.’ Almost instantaneously her toes began to numb and she stamped her feet quickly. ‘Well, let’s walk somewhere and restore the circulation,’ she suggested.
He slipped a hand into his pocket and drew out a beanie. She watched as he put it over his dark hair. ‘You have a hat,’ she stated.
He nodded. ‘Yes, it is winter, in Paris.’ He looked at her coat as if it were made of flimsy cloth. ‘You do not have boots or a hat?’
She shrugged. ‘I wanted to show off my new hair?’
With one move, he had pulled the hat from his head and offered it to her.
‘Oh, no, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.’
‘Did you know most of the body’s heat is lost through an uncovered head in the winter time?’
‘I do now,’ Ava answered.
‘Take the hat, s’il te plait.’ He shook it closer to her, giving her little choice.
She accepted the offering and put it over her spikes, enclosing them and shielding her scalp from the elements. ‘I take it wherever we’re going isn’t indoors.’
* * *
It then occurred to Julien that he hadn’t actually thought about where they were going to go. That wasn’t how he worked. Usually he would head out with no plan, just the camera around his neck and the day in front of him.
‘Where would you like to go?’ he asked her as they started to walk.
‘Well, the last time I was in Paris I went to all the places Time Out suggested for romantic weekends.’
‘Ah, so you wish to relive these?’ Julien asked.
‘God no!’ The exclamation was severe.
‘You wish not to go to them?’
‘Oh no,’ Ava said, kicking at half an abandoned Christmas cracker on the pavement.
‘Then…?’
‘I want to go to them all again without the burden of expectation.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Just looking and seeing and not wondering what I’m meant to do to keep people happy.’
Her sentence was almost heart-breaking. It caused him to steal a glance at her. She had closed her eyes, was kicking the inappropriate high-tops at the slush, swinging her arms like a child, as if her ungloved hands were feeling the breeze. He wanted to capture it. Take a photo of it. His fingers went to his camera on instinct and then...
She snapped her eyes open and turned her head to look at him. ‘Sorry, that was way too much information sharing.’ She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. ‘Which I also did last night. Honestly, I don’t always hate the world.’
‘No?’
‘No,’ she said again. ‘Just most of the people in my one.’ She smiled. ‘So, let’s go somewhere really touristy, before all the tourists get there, and you can show me what magic you do with that camera.’
He smiled at her. ‘So I am allowed magic? Just nothing... how you say... forced?’
‘Yes!’ Ava answered. ‘No rabbits in hats or—’
‘Sick children and puppies?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which I have not or will not ever do,’ Julien said. ‘That was just Didier being... Didier.’
Ava stopped walking and put her hands on her hips. ‘Is he gay?’
‘What? Didier?’
‘Not that it matters... except... well, I know Debs had quite a lot to drink last night but I think she might quite like him.’
Julien smiled and shook his head. ‘No. Didier might be flamboyant and crazy but he is definitely not gay.’
‘And he’s single?’
He couldn’t answer that question. It had been such a long time since he had paid any interest in anyone else’s life, even his best friend’s.
‘Yes... I think so.’
‘Good.’ She began to walk again. ‘And you? Are you single like me?’
‘Just attached to my camera,’ Julien confirmed, holding it up.
‘Bon,’ Ava said, breathing in. ‘Because it’s the best way to be, you know.’ She laughed. ‘Now where can I get my hands on some Camembert at this time of the morning?’
17
Latin Quarter – The Panthéon
They had got the Metro to Maubert Mutalité and Julien had found an eatery that could fulfil Ava’s need for the French cheese. Strolling past Place Maubert, only the market-stall holders setting up around them, Ava had devoured the gorgeous gooey Camembert infused with garlic and topped with fresh rosemary. It was like nothing she had ever had before. Now, lips still a little slick with olive oil, her stomach full, they carried on down Rue Valette towards the Panthéon.
‘Where they are setting up the market, it used to be a place for torture,’ Julien remarked, indicating the place in front of them.
‘Wow,’ Ava said. ‘I know I said I wanted to ditch the romanticised idea of Paris with couples and hearts and flowers but I wasn’t thinking of touring all the places they once did waterboarding.’ She pulled Julien’s hat down a little on her head.
‘The guidebooks will tell you this was a place for scholars, for debating,’ he continued. ‘But that is only part of the history.’
‘The board of tourism is loving you right now.’
‘You like the truth,’ he reminded, smiling. ‘Nothing fake.’
She nodded. ‘I do.’
‘So, there we have it,’ Julien said, pointing. ‘The place where people were burned in the sixteenth century.’
‘Fascinating. Take a photo. Debs can use it for one of her articles… or maybe she could pitch it to Medieval Murder Monthly.’ The thought that perhaps Sue could cut off Gary’s balls here if the rumours were true crossed her mind.
She refocussed on Julien, watching him look through the viewfinder trained on the scene behind them.
‘So what made you want to be a photographer?’ she asked. ‘Or should I say, an artist?’
‘I do not know,’ he answered, falling back into step with her.
‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ Ava admitted.
‘Why not?’
‘Well, the way you talked about it last night, I thought it was bound to be something you’d wanted to do from an early age. Perhaps you started off taking Polaroids at the Arc de Triomphe and selling them to tourists?’
‘Polaroids?’ he stated, a grin on his lips. ‘How old do you think I am?’
‘Polaroids are still cool.’
‘Maybe at wedding parties or—’ He stopped. ‘I cannot think of anywhere else.’
‘Then, if taking photos wasn’t a long-held dream, how did it happen?’
* * *
He thought about her question, knowing if he told the truth he was going to have to speak about Lauren. And if he started talking about Lauren then where would it stop?
‘Sorry,’ Ava jumped in after a few seconds of silence had passed. ‘I’m being very intrusive and—’
‘Non,’ he said. ‘It is fine. My sister is the reason. She entered a photo I had taken into a competition.’
‘And you won?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’ He smiled, remembering. ‘It was a contest to win a year’s supply of apple juice.’
‘What?!’ Ava said, laughing.
‘And my photo was of my sister, she was thirteen at the time, eating an apple on a picnic we went on in Bret
agne. For a year she was the face of Héros d’Apple. On every carton in every store in Paris.’
‘Wow,’ Ava said. ‘So, she was a model.’
‘No,’ Julien said, shaking his head. ‘She works at a department store, ladies’ fashion.’ He should have said worked.
‘But her face was your big break?’
‘No,’ Julien said again. ‘It just made me take more of an interest in photography. I began to use the camera differently. Not just to catalogue events like holidays or parties but to capture smaller moments.’
‘And you did this after school or did you have a proper job first?’
He laughed at the irony in her tone. ‘Yes, I worked for my father in the financial sector. It did not go so well.’
‘Numbers didn’t appeal to your artistic nature I’m guessing.’
He nodded. ‘So I went out on my own, took work where I could. I have done many weddings and baptisms and fortieth-birthday parties... corporate events... to pay the bills. But then I started to look at things from a new angle. Try to see things that other people do not see.’
‘And that pays the bills now?’ she asked.
He breathed out, waiting a beat before turning to her. ‘My last exhibition is still paying the bills. I sold one photograph for fifty thousand euro.’
He watched her blink, green eyes staring almost as if she was deciding whether or not to believe him, hot breath leaving her mouth until, ‘Wow.’
‘Yes, this is what I said too,’ he agreed. ‘And then I took the cheque and hoped it would last until I sold another one.’ He smiled. ‘And here we are,’ he stated. ‘The Panthéon.’
He watched Ava turn to the building in front of them, the newly risen sun catching the cross at the top of its dome. It was a beautiful building, its façade inspired by the Panthéon in Rome. It never ceased to amaze him how huge the building was, the colonnade like a row of stone giants.
