One Way Ticket to Paris: An emotional, feel-good romantic comedy

by Emma Robinson

  Kate shook her head. ‘No, just here for a short break. Trying to pin Shannon down for two seconds.’

  Graham laughed and held up his hands. ‘Then I’ll leave you to it. Good to see you, Shannon. I’ll send you an email. Maybe we can have lunch.’

  After he kissed Shannon on both cheeks and left, Kate raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Old flame?’

  ‘Graham? No, no. He’s married with a couple of children. They were all living over here but it sounds as if he’s moved the family back home. Anyway, I have to go soon and we still haven’t spoken about why you’re suddenly here.’ She paused for a moment. ‘You didn’t only come to see me, did you?’

  Kate still didn’t know how to describe what was going on. ‘No, I came to… It’ll take too long to explain now. Can you help me to find a hotel?’ She’d feel better once she had somewhere definite to stay. And had called Nina about the costumes. And texted Luke with dinner instructions, and…

  Shannon reached over and patted Kate’s hand. ‘Actually, you’re in luck. One of the sales guys got fired yesterday – obviously not lucky for him, poor guy – and it was too late to cancel his room for this conference we’re holding today and tomorrow. So, there’s a spare room at the hotel. I’m going into the office now, but I can text you the hotel address to show a taxi driver.’ She plucked her mobile from the tiny bag on her shoulder and sent a text with a few strokes of her thumb. ‘That way I can meet up with you later tonight after dinner.’ She paused and raised an eyebrow. ‘If you’re still awake?’

  Kate slapped a hand over her yawn. ‘That would be great. And maybe we could have breakfast together in the morning?’ Kate had no idea yet if she would be able to make the arrangements for the plan that had begun to germinate in her mind. But, as long as she could book the tickets she planned to, she would definitely have the morning to herself.

  Shannon leaned over and kissed her. ‘I’ll call you later.’

  At least Kate had a hotel now, and maybe they would have a restaurant or would be able to recommend somewhere local for dinner tonight. She wasn’t as brave now as she had been in the old days, when she’d happily wander out for an evening alone and see where the night took her. With or without her shoes.

  There were a few hours left of the afternoon yet and, as well as calling Nina about ‘dress like a farmer’ and checking the Eurostar website, she had a couple of favourite places she wanted to visit before dinner time. She checked her phone messages. There was one from Luke: Kate, can you call me? I might be late tonight. If she replied now, it would ruin everything. She might even find herself on a train home to Kent. Nina was already on standby to pick up the kids. Her mobile went back into her bag.

  Chapter Eight

  Shannon

  What the hell had happened to Kate? Stressing because her kids might have to have chicken nuggets for dinner? And this from the girl who used to count the slice of tomato in her late night dirty kebab as one of her five a day.

  The smell of the man next to her on the platform was beginning to get to her, so Shannon shuffled down further. Either Paris was getting a lot more pungent or she was developing a superhuman sense of smell. Was that a pregnancy thing? Or her age? Now she was beside a woman who had quite possibly taken a bath in Chanel that morning. Shannon shuffled further along.

  And what was it with the farmer dress-up thing? The old Kate would have laughed at the idea of spending money on a costume rather than sticking on a pair of jeans and a big smile. Was this what Shannon would turn into if she had this baby? She’d seen it before. Perfectly happy, fun, outgoing women who had children and turned kind of soggy. Partying less: wimping out at ten p.m. or not coming out altogether. Kate used to be so much fun. Once, at a house party she’d organised, she’d locked the front door and refused to let anyone go home before two a.m. One of the guys had spelled out ‘Help’ on the window sill in mini donuts. Kate had stood over him with her hands on her hips and made him eat every single one.

  The platform was getting more crowded. And smellier. There was also a crooked sales poster screaming at Shannon to be straightened. She’d give it five more minutes and then give up and look for a taxi outside.

  Why hadn’t she told Kate she was pregnant?

  She’d meant to. But saying it out loud would make it kind of real and she wasn’t ready for that. No one else knew yet. No one. Well, the man in the pharmacy just now probably had his suspicions, but he didn’t count. Before she could tell anyone, she needed to get her own head around it. Moving to another country was one thing, but was she brave enough to move herself into a completely different life?

  And why had she made out to Kate that her life was so great? That’s how she usually acted towards women who pitied her for not having a husband. The ones who would ask in the first three minutes of meeting if she was married or had children. And then put their heads on one side or wrinkle their noses or even – as had actually happened once – say, ‘That’s a shame. I’m sure you’d be a really nice mummy.’ Something would kick in then, and Shannon would show off about how she could lie in bed late or eat in fancy restaurants on a whim. But she didn’t need to do that with Kate. So why had she?

  And why had she left it so long since she’d last seen her? It wasn’t just the move to Paris. The final year that Shannon had still been in London, they’d barely seen each other. Since Kate had had the children, she never came in to the capital. Shannon had made the trip out to visit her a couple of times, but they’d ended up sitting around the house with the kids, then popping out for dinner at a local restaurant where Kate could hardly stay awake through dessert. There had been no sign of the Kate who would stand on the toilet seat and lean over the top of Shannon’s cubicle, jabbering about a cute guy she’d just seen. Or stay up all night talking. Of course, life had to change logistically when you had kids. But did you have to become a completely different person?

  The platform had become unbearable. It wasn’t just the smell; the heat was oppressive. Shannon headed for the exit, counting at least three pregnant women on the way there. Where the hell were they all coming from? Was it an epidemic?

  It wasn’t that Shannon disliked kids; it was just that she didn’t really know what to do with them. She had nieces and nephews who she absolutely adored – she’d been to see them only a few weeks ago on a trip back to the US – but she enjoyed their company a lot more now they were older and she could have a conversation with them. One of the advantages of working in a busy sales environment was that she rarely had to encounter children. Even those female colleagues who had kids rarely spoke about them in case it hampered their chances for promotion. It was wrong, of course, but it had suited Shannon just fine. Until now.

  As she left the station, Shannon gulped down the fresher air. She would walk for a while and cool down before finding a cab. The road was loud and busy: cars revving their impatience; horns blared in anger – Parisian drivers were not known for their patience. On the pavements, business people jostled for space amongst tourists, the former walking a lot faster than the latter. Somehow Shannon got stuck behind an elderly American couple wearing the stock US tourist uniform: checked shorts, slogan T-shirts and sun visors. The pavement was too busy for her to pull out and overtake, so she was stuck behind a couple of embarrassing compatriots. Fabulous.

  But even though their snail’s pace would normally drive Shannon insane, there was something sweet about the two of them. The man was holding the woman’s hand, which was threaded through the crook of his arm, and was pointing out the architecture of the buildings around them. Meanwhile, his wife was nodding and listening and saying, ‘That’s lovely, my dear.’

  Maybe it was the accent which made her homesick, or maybe it was the ‘my’ that really got to Shannon. Right in the throat, where a huge lump had mysteriously formed. She’d had the same thing when she hugged Kate. A need to feel at home. It was crazy. After her recent trip back home to the U.S., she’d returned to Paris without a backwards glance. This was her
home now. For now, at least. The elderly American couple crossed the road and Shannon picked up the pace. She just needed some water. Then she’d be okay.

  The first place she saw that would sell bottled water was a bakery. Standing in line, the smell of the bread made her stomach rumble. The sickness seemed to have gone; she hadn’t been able to face a croissant at the café with Kate, but maybe she could manage one of those small, soft pains au sucre behind the glass counter.

  She checked her watch. Before she went into the office, she needed to get to the Louvre and meet up with the sales guys briefly. It was a pointless detour, but she needed to show her face before tonight and make sure everyone was okay. She particularly wanted to check in with Laura. That girl worried her: she clearly wasn’t happy. It was none of Shannon’s business, but she’d love to bring her over to Paris and show her how much fun she could have if she let herself go a bit. She was only in her early thirties, for Pete’s sake. And she was such a worrier. In the last two days, Shannon had had about ten messages from her – she was in full panic mode. One of her major customers was causing problems and she was anxious that she wouldn’t make her number for the quarter. All of the sales guys were terrified of Robert; he could be a real hard-ass at times. If only they knew how soft he could be underneath that sharp exterior.

  Was she smiling again? That had been happening a lot recently when she thought about Robert. Could pregnancy hormones be changing her? Did it happen that soon? He had been very sweet the night before. Although it was probably due to his ulterior motive: getting her to meet his daughters.

  Robert had taken her to dinner last night to their favourite restaurant in Rue Mouffetard. The area had a youthful buzz, which Shannon loved, and there were always far fewer tourists than you’d find in Saint-Michel. Sometimes she and Robert would take a long stroll on a Saturday morning to shop at the market; the brie sold here was the softest and most delicious of any in Paris. Even on a busy evening, the village feel and the quiet, isolated alleyways and cobbled streets made it perfect for clandestine walks. They were unlikely to meet people from work.

  Last night, they had walked slowly up the steep hill together, hand in hand like young lovers. Robert had wanted to take a cab, but Shannon had insisted on walking. Her reward at the top was a bowl of unparalleled French onion soup: rich, velvety caramelised onions, strings of Gruyère cheese and one huge toasted crouton. She would have walked three steep hills to get to it. Maybe that had been a craving? She’d managed to explain away her refusal of wine by saying she’d wanted a clear head for today. Pretty soon he was going to get suspicious, though.

  Though she hadn’t liked him, Shannon had been attracted to Robert from the first time she’d met him. Tall, dark and with enough charisma to float a boat in; hell – she wasn’t made of stone. At the beginning, she’d been employed as his PA and there had been comments and blushes and heat. But it had taken a while for anything to happen between them.

  One night, they had worked late in the office, just the two of them. Robert had collected pizza from a nearby restaurant and they’d eaten while they worked, sitting at a round conference table in Robert’s office. Shannon had been helping Robert put together a detailed strategy plan for his direct boss – the Vice President of International Sales who was based in California. It hadn’t taken long for Robert to work out that Shannon had a talent for strategy and customer management, and she was starting to take on more and more responsibility. She enjoyed doing it. Enjoyed being with him. Sitting close to him.

  She’d moved the pizza box from the conference table and laid out the printouts of slides from the presentation she’d put together. It was a good piece of work, even if she did say so herself.

  Robert obviously agreed. Although he was looking at her, rather than at the pieces of paper. ‘Incredible.’

  Shannon had smiled with satisfaction. ‘You’re right. I am.’

  He had laughed then. A deep, warm laugh. ‘You are very different from other women I know.’

  Robert had found a bottle of wine that had been sent to him from their PR firm and they had continued to talk after the plan had been finished, drinking wine from coffee cups.

  ‘What made you come to Europe when you were young? Don’t you miss America?’

  Shannon sipped her wine – it was a very good Sancerre; she was obviously getting more discerning – and took a moment to consider. There were things she missed. And people she missed. But she was better off here. Away. On her own. ‘No. I like being in Europe.’

  Robert put down his cup of wine and nodded. ‘Yes. It’s better here.’

  Shannon grabbed a plastic document wallet and hit the side of his arm with it. ‘Hey! I didn’t say that!’

  Robert caught the wallet and held it. He looked deep into her eyes. What could he see there? She shivered, but didn’t look away. Her heart was pounding. Slowly, he leaned in and kissed her.

  She enjoyed the kiss for several moments, then pulled away. ‘We shouldn’t do this. I have a policy to not get involved with any colleagues, let alone my boss.’ This was true. For a start, most of her managers in the past had been married. Not that this would have stopped some of them, but it had definitely stopped her. Even if they’d been single, it was just a complication she didn’t need. Keep life straightforward.

  Robert nodded, but held her gaze. ‘And I have never got involved with an employee. Sometimes policies have to be changed.’

  The first few months they had dated had been so much fun. Acting as if nothing was happening between them at the office had made it so forbidden and exciting. Of course, it hadn’t taken Fabienne long to work out what was going on – their office manager was almost a witch, her intuition was so strong – but no one else in the office knew, even now.

  Of course, Shannon had assumed she would be moving on again soon, anyway. She’d been with this company for over a year and this was usually about the time that she started to get itchy feet. It didn’t matter about sleeping with your boss if you thought he wouldn’t be your boss in a few months’ time. As long as it didn’t affect any future references. Shannon is very efficient at time management and French kissing.

  The bakery queue moved forwards and Shannon went with it. She couldn’t take her eyes from the tray of chouquettes on the top shelf of the display cabinet. The little puff pastries encrusted with sugar were in a perfect formation of sixteen, which was very satisfying to look at. Until the assistant took one. From the very middle. Her phone pinged just as she reached the front of the queue – she must have lost and regained the signal. There were two messages: one from Robert, one from Laura. She paid for her bottle of water and eyed up the tray of chouquettes. Too risky? Probably.

  Outside again, she listened to the voicemails as she waited in line for a taxi, pressing her mobile hard to her ear to block out the traffic. Laura’s first, as she pretty much knew that Robert would just be chasing her up to get to the Louvre on time. Even though she wasn’t technically his PA any more, he seemed to need her even more than when she had been. Sometimes she felt more like a wife than a colleague. She shuddered.

  Laura’s voicemail was just updating Shannon on the customer with the big return – it had been hanging over her head for the last two weeks, the poor girl. There was nothing Shannon could do except sympathise and tell her that they’d deal with it when it happened. Since Shannon had taken on the team coordinator role, the sales guys treated her like their mom – telling her their customer problems so that she could break the news gently to Robert. Not that it did any good; even she couldn’t shelter them from his volcanic outbursts. How would they react if they knew that she was sleeping with him? It was hardly professional.

  At the end of her message, Laura had made a nonchalant remark that she had already spoken to Paolo and wondered who else had confirmed for the meeting. Laura must have heard the rumour about someone having been fired. Shannon was pretty sure she’d be happy it wasn’t Paolo. Bless her.

  Shannon had only m
et Laura’s boyfriend once – he had joined them for a drink one time when Shannon and Robert had been at the London office. She hadn’t been keen. Laura had been so excited for Shannon to meet James – apparently he was often very busy at work – but all he had talked about was himself and his boring job. He’d just landed some celebrity client that he claimed he couldn’t talk about. But he had sure used a lot of words not talking about them. In his defence, he had been quite attentive to Laura, holding her chair out for her and so on. But there was something that didn’t quite work between the two of them. They didn’t fit.

  Laura would fit much better with the lovely Paolo. Shannon had worked with him since she’d started at the company, and he was a total sweetheart. He clearly had a thing for Laura, too. They would be a very cute couple. Should she give things a little nudge? No. She was the last person to be giving out relationship advice, the mess she’d got herself into. Kate used to tell her off all the time for trying to play matchmaker. She just liked to see people happy. And she’d made a good job of fixing up Kate and Luke. Hadn’t she?

  Robert’s message was, as expected, pleading with her to make sure she got to the Louvre to meet them after their tour. Anyone would think he wasn’t capable of herding a small group of grown professionals out of the gallery and onto a minibus. It wasn’t the logistics that were the problem, though. It was the small talk he hated. That’s why he ended up talking business all the time; he didn’t know what else to talk to people about. Actually, she’d better get a move on to save the team as he’d probably already unofficially started the sales presentations halfway through the Egyptian room. Robert’s stony stare would give Tutankhamun a run for his money.

  Before she clicked her phone off, she noticed another missed call. This time the caller hadn’t left a voicemail. It was a number she didn’t have stored in her contacts. An American number. Chicago code.