One Christmas in Paris

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘It’s a shame there are no rabbits,’ the countess answered, sipping from her champagne glass.

  ‘Rabbits?’ Ava said, almost spitting out her drink.

  ‘I think,’ Rhoda began, shooting Ava a look. ‘If you tip your head slightly to the right and look past the bushes at the foreground there is just the edge of... yes, there, look, one... no, two rabbits.’

  Ava watched as the countess slowly shifted her head forty-five degrees to the right, eyes zooming in on the photograph. It was a job to hold in her laughter.

  ‘I see them!’ the countess announced. ‘Darling little grey ones! I’ll take it. How much is it?’

  ‘Twenty-thousand euro,’ Rhoda stated. ‘But all for charity. Thank you, Countess.’

  ‘I’ll send my man along to finalise the details.’

  Rhoda bowed and shifted away from the countess as the woman moved off.

  ‘Oh, Mum, and I thought I was the saleswoman of the family. Rabbits!’ Ava exclaimed, a laugh finally leaving her.

  ‘Shh! We don’t want her to hear you,’ Rhoda said, putting a sold sticker on the photograph.

  ‘I am perfectly fine with embellishments, but lying about the photographs...’

  ‘She saw the rabbits. She said so,’ Rhoda bit back.

  Ava caught hold of her mother’s hand and squeezed it tight. ‘Thank you, Mum, for everything you’ve done for me since you got to Paris.’

  ‘It’s a lot colder here than Goa would have been—’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘I was about to say but I’m glad I came here,’ Rhoda stated.

  ‘Are you?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Rhoda said, squeezing Ava’s hand. ‘Because being here has let me see exactly the sort of woman you’ve become and... that person is so much more than I ever was at your age.’

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ Ava said, swallowing a knot of emotion.

  Rhoda flapped her hand in front of her face. ‘We do not cry in public, Ava,’ Rhoda reminded. ‘Not even the best mascara copes well with tears.’

  ‘Or rain,’ Ava sobbed. Her gaze went outside the marquee where the rain had turned back into snow. Guests were still sitting out on the seats, snug under blankets and cocooned beneath Gerard’s corporate umbrellas.

  ‘What happens now, Ava?’ Rhoda asked, adjusting her sequinned jacket a little.

  ‘Could I have that a little more narrowed down?’

  ‘It will be Christmas in a few days and...’

  ‘I’m coming home,’ Ava said. ‘Of course I’m coming home.’ She swallowed. Saying the words twice was supposed to help.

  ‘And after that?’

  She blew out a breath. ‘You know how single-minded and organised I am, Mum, I’ve got a plan.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Don’t be silly! Of course I haven’t.’ Her eyes drifted to Julien, embracing his step-mother. ‘But I have a couple more days yet.’ And she only hoped that, just as it seemed to have so far, Paris was somehow going to come up with all the answers.

  * * *

  Finally with a cold beer in his hands, Julien watched Ava saying goodbye to guests as if her job in life had always been event organising. It was well past midnight and most of the attendees had left for their hotels, private planes, nightclubs or bars and they had somehow raised roughly in the region of five hundred thousand euro.

  Ava turned, hands in her hair, the strain finally starting to show, and he moved towards her, grabbing a chair in his free hand.

  ‘Madonna,’ he greeted. ‘Sit down before you fall to the ground.’

  ‘Monsieur Fitoussi... you still remember who I am,’ she stated. ‘I thought someone who was being referred to as... and I quote “a photography sensation of our time” would be far too busy rubbing shoulders with artistic types than offering exhausted ex-models a chair.’

  ‘You are delirious. You need a drink,’ he jested, offering her his beer.

  ‘Nectar,’ Ava said, taking a swig. ‘So much better than champagne.’

  Julien quickly fetched another seat and put it down next to her, sitting himself. Ava passed the bottle back to him.

  ‘Ava, tonight was better than I ever could have imagined.’

  She smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder, eyes half-closed. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Thanks to you and Debs and Didier and all those relatives I did not realise he owned.’

  ‘And he owned them,’ Ava stated. ‘That’s for sure.’

  ‘Almost five hundred thousand euro, Ava.’

  ‘Actually it’s almost six hundred thousand,’ she said, yawning.

  ‘It is?’

  ‘I sold the photo of me and the two boys playing with sticks.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘I said I couldn’t let it go for less than a hundred thousand and one of mother’s maharajas bought it.’

  ‘A hundred thousand euro.’ He shook his head. ‘So much money.’

  ‘For a great cause.’ She yawned again.

  ‘You need to go to bed,’ he told her.

  ‘Mmm, I was hoping you would say that.’

  ‘To sleep, Madonna,’ he detailed.

  ‘Oh, Monsieur Fitoussi, I want to live every minute as if it were my last,’ she said. ‘I want to bathe in the fountains at the Louvre and feed pigeons at the Panthéon. I want to eat falafels stuffed with snail butter and drink a jug of coffee at the top of the Eiffel Tower. I want to...’ She snuggled into his chest. ‘I’m really tried.’

  He kissed the top of her head and held her close. ‘Tomorrow, Madonna. We have tomorrow.’

  68

  Julien Fitoussi’s apartment – Christmas Eve

  ‘This was such a mistake,’ Ava said, jumping up and down and shaking the dress she was wearing. It was one her mother had lent her, surprisingly sedate, in a light coral colour, with a neckline that didn’t make her look like she was advertising Victoria’s Secret.

  ‘The dress?’ Julien asked, buttoning up his shirt.

  ‘No, not the dress... Is there something wrong with the dress?’

  ‘No, Madonna, you look incredible,’ he assured her. ‘You always look incredible.’

  ‘Even when I’m dribbling all over your pillow?’

  ‘Even then. What is the problem?’

  ‘It’s your mirror,’ she announced. ‘It should be hanging on the wall, so that when you stand in front of it you can see the whole of yourself, not bits in turn, only if you jump,’ she stated, leaping in the air.

  ‘I am a man,’ Julien reminded. ‘I look briefly to see that my hair is in place and that the zip of my trousers is fastened and—’

  Ava turned to him, grinning. ‘Perhaps I should double check the mirror is correct,’ she suggested, hands grabbing the waistband of his grey suit trousers.

  ‘Ava... we cannot... we are about to go to the wedding of my parents.’

  She dropped her hands and pouted. ‘And I’m leaving tonight.’

  They had talked about it yesterday as they were clearing away everything at the Place des Vosges. Julien had invited her to spend Christmas Day with his family and she had had to tell him she was leaving with Debs and her mum on the last Eurostar out of the capital that day. She needed to go back to London. She needed to return to some sort of normality before she could start making choices about her future.

  ‘I know,’ he answered. ‘And it is not fair for me to wish that you are not.’

  ‘Did you say the word “wish”, Monsieur Fitoussi?’ she teased.

  ‘Ava,’ he began. ‘You are a strong, independent woman, I would never dare to try to tell you what to do.’

  ‘I know,’ she answered, slipping her arms around his waist.

  ‘But... I will miss you,’ he said softly.

  ‘I am only going to be a very small ocean away, practically a jog through a tunnel.’

  ‘And we can FaceTime,’ he offered.

  ‘And I will come back,’ Ava said. ‘Think of it as á bientôt not au revoir or fin.’
>
  She looked up at him, those dark eyes studying her and she waited until she knew he couldn’t wait any longer and his full, delicious lips met her mouth. She closed her eyes and savoured every second until he broke away, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose.

  ‘After the wedding I want to show you something,’ he told her.

  ‘Negatives in the dark room?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Something much more positive,’ he assured.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ she answered.

  69

  Saint-Laurent Church

  Everything about the church was beautiful. The outside had been all grey stone, at its centre a large entrance arch that sat just below an ornate section resembling a bee’s honeycomb. A tower came after, followed by the one tall spire, a small cross at its pinnacle. Inside, the ancient wooden pews were already filled with people. There were urns of purple lilies and winter berries either side of the aisle giving off an extraordinary fragrance and small white and lilac flowers tied together with a sprig of mistletoe sat on the end of each row.

  ‘You will be OK?’ Julien asked as Gerard left his side, continuing to the front of the church.

  ‘Of course,’ Ava answered. ‘It’s a wedding. I’m going to be singing and crying and quietly drinking the take-out coffee I slipped into my handbag.’

  ‘Really, Madonna?’ he said.

  ‘No, not really. Go on,’ she urged. ‘Go and be the best man with your dad.’ She slipped into the pew and waved him off.

  Julien carried on down the aisle, smiling at people he knew and those he didn’t just in case they were distant relatives he should know, before joining his father in front of the altar where the priest was waiting.

  Gerard blew out a breath and slipped his hands into his pockets.

  ‘You are OK?’ Julien asked him.

  ‘Do you have the rings?’ Gerard checked.

  ‘Of course,’ Julien assured. He swallowed. He didn’t have the rings. He had given them to Ava, to put in her handbag.

  ‘Sorry!’

  It was Ava’s voice and when he turned around she was there, the small velvet pouch between her fingers.

  ‘I have the rings,’ she announced to Julien, Gerard and the priest. ‘I went in for my takeaway coffee and... wow, there they were.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Julien said, taking the pouch from her and kissing her on the cheek.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she answered. ‘Backing up now, good luck, Gerard.’

  Julien smiled, watching Ava hurry back to her seat and almost knock the hat off the lady sat next to her.

  ‘One day this will be you, Julien,’ Gerard spoke, hands still in his pockets, rocking back and forth from ball to toe.

  ‘Standing in a church ready for the love of my life to join me?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Gerard answered. ‘Standing in a church ready for the love of your life to join you and wondering why the hell you waited so long.’

  As his father finished the sentence the organist began to play and both of them turned to look as Vivienne came through the door.

  Resplendent in a floor-length, figure-skimming ivory gown she paused, a wide smile on her face, before confidently taking her first step down the aisle.

  * * *

  Ava pushed another slice of cake into her mouth and groaned as the fondant exploded.

  ‘Oh... mmm... that’s so good.’

  Julien smiled at her and began to unfasten his waistcoat. Now the formalities of the wedding breakfast were over he could relax a little, except that in a few hours Ava would be leaving him and travelling back to the UK.

  ‘Julien,’ she said. ‘I thought you enjoyed my food noises,’ Ava said.

  ‘I do,’ he said. ‘You know I do.’ He reached out and brushed a chocolate crumb from her lips.

  ‘Aren’t you having cake?’ she asked.

  ‘I have had two pieces.’

  ‘How many have I had?’ Ava asked, looking at her now empty plate.

  ‘I have lost count.’

  ‘It’s happening, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I’m having that model’s fall-out where now every food is accessible I want to coat the entire square metreage of my insides with it.’

  ‘You have done this since we met,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Cheeky!’ she said, swiping his chest with her hand.

  He caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips, then she stroked his cheek before pulling her chair a little closer, so her knees were touching his.

  ‘We only have a few hours left,’ she whispered. ‘And all I’ve done is eat.’

  He smiled. ‘Have you finished eating now?’

  She nodded. ‘I have space left but I’m really hoping we can dance to Coldplay.’ She took hold of his hand.

  ‘OK, Madonna, one dance to Coldplay and then we will go.’

  ‘Go?’ It was Vivienne’s voice and Julien looked up to see his step-mother standing next to them.

  ‘Oh, Vivienne, you look so gorgeous,’ Ava announced, jumping up. ‘The dress is divine on you.’

  ‘Thank you, Ava,’ Vivienne answered, smiling as Ava hugged her close. ‘It was a beautiful service, wasn’t it? And so many friends here today sharing the moment with us.’

  Julien stood and kissed his step-mother on both cheeks before taking her hands in his and smiling. ‘You look so happy.’

  ‘I am happy, Julien, happier than I can remember being for so long and...’ He watched her gaze go to where his father was gesticulating wildly, laughing with friends from his business. ‘I know there is a long road ahead but, with help, I know your father is going to be well again.’

  Julien nodded. ‘I know.’

  ‘And that bodes well for the honeymoon,’ Ava said, grinning.

  Vivienne laughed. ‘We are not having a honeymoon. We have been together too long to worry of these things.’

  ‘Really?’ Ava exclaimed. ‘I don’t think that’s a very good start to a marriage. When I get married I want to eat—’

  ‘Camembert?’ Julien offered.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Snail butter?’

  ‘No, stop it, I’m talking.’

  ‘Coffee.’

  ‘You don’t eat coffee.’

  ‘The strength you have this, I am certain it could be eaten with a spoon.’

  Vivienne laughed. ‘Oh, Ava, I am so sorry you cannot stay for Christmas Day. You can stay for the dancing at least?’ Vivienne asked.

  ‘Just one dance,’ Ava said.

  ‘Coldplay,’ Julien added.

  ‘Then I will make this happen,’ Vivienne said, smiling. ‘Drink some more champagne,’ she urged. ‘I want everyone to celebrate.’ Picking up the skirt of her dress she made off across the function room floor.

  Julien looked back to Ava and kissed her lips, looking into her eyes. ‘“An Adventure of a Lifetime?”’ he asked.

  ‘That would be perfect, Monsieur Fitoussi.’

  70

  Eiffel Tower

  Ava stopped walking and bent double, taking a breath and wishing she had Converse on her feet and not Deb’s crippling boots that were definitely not made for traversing several hundred steps.

  ‘You are OK?’ Julien asked, putting a hand on her back as she inhaled the cold winter air mixed with soft snow.

  ‘Oh yes, I’m great, almost tasting the whole wedding breakfast again but apart from that...’ She straightened up. ‘You could have warned me we were going to be power-walking up here or I might not have had more than one piece of cake.’

  ‘Ava,’ he stated. ‘You would not have denied yourself cake.’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘You’re probably right.’

  Julien walked to the barrier and put his hands on the cold steel and she watched him. Dressed in the beautifully fitting grey wedding suit, the camera strap visible at his neck, his dark hair moving a little in the breeze, she felt her insides curl with both joy and utter sadness. She was leaving Paris. Leaving him. Just when she was startin
g to feel like she belonged somewhere.

  She stepped forward, taking her place next to him and looking out at the city below.

  ‘It looks like a maze from up here,’ Ava whispered. ‘So huge and a bit confusing.’

  ‘A maze is only something to be worked out, Ava,’ Julien said. ‘A bit like a puzzle.’ He took a breath. ‘When I look out over here now I see all the places we have been together.’

  She sighed and tipped her head a little until it was resting on his shoulder. ‘Are we going to be able to work out the puzzle of us?’ she asked.

  ‘I think we can do this. I see only straight lines,’ Julien said. ‘By air, by tunnel, by sea.’

  ‘I wish we had longer,’ she admitted.

  ‘I wish for that too,’ he said. ‘But, I have brought you here because I have got you something.’

  Ava took her head off his shoulder then and faced him, watching him dig his hand into his pocket.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, slightly excited, a little bit apprehensive.

  ‘Hold out your hand,’ he urged.

  ‘Is it another hat?’ she asked.

  ‘No, Madonna, it is not a hat.’

  Instinctively Ava closed her eyes as she offered out her hand and then she felt something quite heavy fall into her palm. She opened her eyes and looked at the golden padlock nestled there. Engraved into it was the inscription Java.

  ‘Java,’ she whispered, looking up at him.

  ‘I think perhaps we could be like those celebrity couples and combine our names,’ he spoke. ‘And it was not lost on me that it is a type of coffee. That just made it even more perfect.’

  She didn’t know what to say, her heart was racing like a Eurostar train, fighting to get back into a normal rhythm while her eyes told her emotion was going to spill out at any second.

  ‘It’s the best gift I’ve ever had,’ she said, lips trembling. She blinked back the tears and looked to the metal fence bearing the locks they had fastened on a few days ago.