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

by Emma Robinson

  Hi lovely. I know you’re away with work but I have some news. I would have waited until you were back but Phil can’t keep his mouth shut and I wanted you to hear it from me.

  There was a scan picture with the heading: Baby Hanson: Twelve weeks and counting.

  Tears pricked the back of Laura’s eyes and her throat tightened. What an awful, selfish cow she was. She should be happy for her friend. She was happy for her. It was just…

  Shannon ended her call, dropped her mobile back into her bag and turned around in her seat so that she could speak to everyone. ‘Okay guys, I’m planning to take you all back to the hotel so that you can have a few hours to yourselves before dinner. Lunch is paid for at the hotel if you want it, but we have the minibus for the day if anyone wants to be dropped somewhere else?’

  Paolo raised a hand. ‘Can you drop me at the Rodin Museum? It’s not too far.’

  ‘Of course,’ Shannon winked at him. ‘Not had enough sculpture for one day, eh? A man after my own heart. Anyone else got a destination in mind?’

  A couple of the others requested shopping areas or tourist attractions. It might be a good time for Laura to go back to her room and take a nap; she hadn’t slept very well last night. Once she’d composed herself, she’d write a long and enthusiastic message to Tina, promising to laugh at her when she got fat and her feet swelled up. And saying how happy she was for her.

  But Paolo leaned across the aisle towards her. ‘Come to the museum with me; you’ll love it.’

  Her heart raced a little. Be on her own with him? That didn’t seem like a good idea. What if he took up where they’d left off last time? It didn’t matter, because he wasn’t her type. James was the kind of man she should be with. Sensible. Dependable. Safe. But how could she say no without seeming rude? Blame it on work. ‘I really should finish a few things on my presentation for tomorrow.’

  But Paolo wasn’t put off so easily. ‘We’ll only go for an hour. Then I will get you get back to your laptop so you can slave away before dinner.’ He put his hand on his heart. Do not look at his well-defined chest under that tight-fitting shirt. ‘Promesso.’

  Shannon turned back and grabbed Laura’s arm. ‘Oh, you must go! The Rodin Museum is wonderful. The sculpture garden is amazing. The Gates of Hell. The Thinker.’ She paused and raised an eyebrow. ‘The Kiss.’

  Paolo winked at Shannon. ‘I will leave you to persuade her.’

  When he turned around, Laura took the pen that Shannon was holding, wrote on her map from the Louvre and held it up to show her.

  Save me!

  Shannon smiled. Took the pen back and wrote underneath:

  I am.

  Before Laura had time to think of another excuse, they were pulling up near the Rodin museum and Paolo had taken her hand and pulled her off the bus.

  ‘See you later!’ There was a definite twinkle in Shannon’s eye as she waved goodbye.

  Chapter Twelve

  Shannon

  They said things turned up in threes. First, the sales team. Then Kate. Then another damn email from Adam.

  The European head office for Sentek Inc. was in an old hotel which had been converted into medium-sized offices. Sentek were on the second floor. There were only six people who worked from here: Robert, Shannon, Frans the financial director, Jacques in marketing, André, who was with the sales guys at the hotel, and Fabienne, who managed the office day-to-day. Right now, only Fabienne was there.

  ‘Bonjour, Robert. Bonjour, Shannon. Café?’

  ‘Oui. Yes please.’ Shannon tried to speak French as often as she could, but working in US company, she ended up swapping between the two so frequently it ended up a kind of Franglais. Add into the mix the difference between US English and UK English – when she’d lived in London, it had been difficult enough to remember what a lift and a brollie were – and it made for some interesting conversations. Fabienne disappeared to the communal kitchen they shared with the other company on this floor; she regarded instant coffee as the work of the devil, so she’d be a while.

  Shannon slid behind her desk. Clearing it of paperwork each night before going home was a personal ritual, but Fabienne had sliced open her mail and left it in a neat pile, waiting to be inspected. She flicked through it: just advertising or invitations to product launches. Everything important came by email these days. Like the ones Adam kept sending? Hopefully not.

  ‘It’s Veronique’s birthday next weekend.’ Robert was standing in front of her, leaning forward with his hands on the desk.

  Shannon continued flicking but not looking. She knew about the extravaganza that Robert’s ex-wife had planned for their eldest daughter’s birthday. He had complained often enough about his half of the costs. Which usually started a rant about how expensive children were in general. Very, apparently. ‘You already told me that. That’s nice for her.’

  ‘Her twentieth. It’s an important birthday here. The important birthday.’

  Shannon sighed and looked up at him. ‘I know, Robert. You’ve said. Repeatedly.’

  He nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off her. ‘You still haven’t told me if you are coming.’

  Why was he so intent on introducing her to his family? They’d only been dating a year; that was still early, right? A year was nothing. It had taken her a year to decide to cut bangs in. There was no point meeting the family unless you were planning to be together for a long time. She put a hand on her stomach. Or unless you had no choice.

  ‘I don’t think that it would be the best time for me to meet her. It’s her night. She doesn’t want her dad’s latest girlfriend turning up.’ This was a pretty reasonable excuse. Surely a twenty-year-old didn’t want her party full of forty-somethings? Shannon remembered being twenty; forty would have seemed ancient.

  Robert looked as if he’d been slapped. ‘You are not my “latest girlfriend”. You make me sound like a… what’s the word you use? A player! You make me sound like a player. You are my girlfriend, Shannon. My partner. We are something important.’

  Was she? Were they? Would he be so keen if he knew that she was carrying a baby? Robert, whose two grown-up daughters, according to him, were ‘much better company’ now they were grown as they had been ‘horrifying’ as babies? More than once, she and Robert had had to move to a restaurant table on the other side of the room – and once to an entirely different restaurant across the street – because there were babies in the vicinity.

  Shannon massaged the space between her eyes. ‘Robert, can we not talk about this here?’

  He threw his hands up in the air. ‘When can we talk about it? You never want to talk about it.’ He leaned in close. She could smell his expensive cologne and the freshness of his shirt. Did she want to kiss him or push him away? ‘I love you, Shannon. I want you to be part of my life – my whole life. And that includes my girls.’

  Fabienne walked back in with their coffee. Robert took his with a nod of thanks and stalked off back to his desk. He was the only one with a separate office. Sometimes it was a real blessing.

  ‘Merci, Fabienne.’ Shannon took the steaming cup.

  Fabienne stayed where she was. She had the easy elegance Shannon envied in French women: a well-cut suit, stylish hair, discreet make-up. ‘Are you okay?’

  Not her, too? ‘I’m fine.’

  Fabienne tilted her head to one side and crossed her arms. ‘You look pale. Have you eaten today?’

  Shannon crossed her fingers under the desk. ‘Of course. I just had a huge croissant and now I’m having this, look.’ She held her coffee cup and took a large sip. Damn, that was hot. And bitter.

  Fabienne screwed up her eyes and looked Shannon up and down. ‘Are you pregnant?’

  Shannon nearly spat the coffee across the desk. She swallowed, scalding her throat. ‘What?’ she gasped.

  Fabienne nodded knowingly. She was only five years older than Shannon but she had three children and a husband, so that made her a lot older in adulting years. ‘You are late in the
mornings. You are pale. You eat ‘orrible dry biscuits.’ She nodded at Shannon’s midriff. ‘You keep touching your stomach.’

  Shannon whipped her traitorous hand from her belly and placed it flat on the desk, pushing herself up straight. ‘I don’t know what you’re…’ She breathed out and folded back into her chair. She wasn’t fooling Fabienne. ‘Please don’t tell Robert.’

  Fabienne looked triumphant. ‘I knew it! Why does Robert not know?’

  Shannon shook her head. ‘I still don’t know what I’m going to do.’

  Fabienne was Catholic. Not going through with a pregnancy would not cross her mind. She had also worked for Robert a lot longer than Shannon had. ‘What do you mean?’

  Shannon put her mug down and placed her hands on her face. ‘I just don’t know if…’

  Robert’s office door banged open and he marched over to her desk. ‘Fabienne. Can you give us a few moments? Maybe take an extra break.’

  Fabienne didn’t need asking twice. She took her coat from the peg, mouthed ‘Bonne chance’ at Shannon and left.

  Robert started to pace the floor. ‘I just do not understand. Why do you not want to meet them?’

  Shannon sighed. This again. Maybe she should have a handout printed that she could give to him each time he brought this up? ‘I’m just not the maternal type, Robert. I’ve told you that. I’ve never wanted to have a child.’ Her hand started to slip toward her stomach again. She clenched her fist. She was going to have to keep an eye on that.

  He threw his arms in the air in that passionate way that she loved. Most of the time. ‘They are adults! I am not asking you to be their mother. Just meet them. I could understand if they were small children. Believe me, even I am happy to leave those years behind me, but they are young women now. And…’ he stopped pacing and looked at her. ‘It’s important to me.’

  Shannon just wanted to lay her face down on the desk and close her eyes. This was all too much. She had been very careful to make sure that she was never in this situation. No kids. No ties. No fuss. And now this man, this man who she had stupidly fallen in love with, was trying to make her meet his children without knowing she was growing another one as they spoke.

  But he had said it again. He was ‘happy to leave’ the baby years behind. What the hell was she going to do? Thank God Kate was here. She could speak to her tonight.

  The door opened and Frans and Jacques appeared, back from their lunch meeting. They stopped and looked at them. ‘Pardon.’ Jacques looked from Robert to Shannon and then back again. ‘Shall we come back later?’

  ‘No, no.’ Shannon got up and took her coat from the peg. ‘I need to go to the hotel and make sure everything is set up for the meeting tomorrow.’

  Robert threw his hands up again and walked back to his office.

  Without sitting down again, Shannon leaned across her desk and clicked on her email inbox to check there was nothing pressing. Advert. Advert. Meeting date change. Forecast request. Adam Towers. Again.

  At what point was he going to wise up to the fact that she did not want to hear from him? They’d had a clear agreement. No relationship. No contact. No strings. He was in the US. She was in France. There was a rather large ocean between them, and that was just fine by her.

  There was no point reading this one. She’d made the mistake of reading the first two he’d sent and they were both just a variation on a theme: We need to talk. Why should she make herself feel bad by reading this one? If she ignored him long enough, he would get the idea and stop sending them, surely?

  She dragged the email into a folder she’d made for that purpose, giving it the heading ‘News’ rather than ‘Adam’, because she didn’t want his name staring at her accusingly from the sidebar. If only she could turn back time so that she’d never have slept with him. A few hours of mediocre passion and it had had repercussions for her whole life. God, she’d been stupid.

  Jacques held up a coffee cup in her direction to ask if she wanted a drink and she shook her head. She still had the one that Fabienne had made, but it tasted funny so she didn’t fancy another one. Maybe she’d bought different coffee beans?

  Plus, she needed to get out of here before Robert appeared out of his office for a third round.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kate

  Saint Julien le Pauvre is one of the oldest churches in Paris. In a city that is home to the grand Notre Dame Cathedral, the outside of the church is so simple, you could easily walk past it without a backwards glance. Inside, the high gothic arches and cool stone columns often play host to performances and concerts, and this was how Kate knew it. There was a poster advertising a Chopin concert that very evening: nocturnes, waltzes, études, polonaises, scherzos, mazurkas. In front of the altar was a Steinway concert grand piano. Kate stood very still and just looked around. It was just as she had remembered. Simple and beautiful.

  A tour guide was speaking to a small group of tourists towards the back of the nave, but Kate didn’t need one of those. She found a chair at the side of the church and sat down. Closed her eyes.

  She and Luke had not got around to visiting this place on honeymoon, so it was the first time she’d been here since she’d been a music student, living in a cold apartment in Montparnasse, with a bonking couple next door and the constant sounds of cars going past. What had she imagined her life would be by this point? Award-winning pianist? Able to actually do something approaching stylish with her hair? Had she even envisaged herself with children when she was twenty-one? If she had, would she have known that she would be making such a half-arsed job of it right now?

  Her parents had always seemed to know what they were doing. She’d ask them a question and get an answer. It might not always have been the answer that she wanted, but they’d always been very definite about it. (‘Dad, can I go to see a band in London and stay at my boyfriend’s house afterwards?’ ‘Over my dead body.’) They’d carried their parenting responsibilities with confidence. How had they known?

  Opening her eyes, Kate realised she had been joined by an older lady, looking upwards at a man who was probably her husband. They were English.

  ‘You go on and follow the tour. I need to rest my legs. I’ll be all right here.’

  ‘Okay, if you’re sure.’ Her husband wandered off back towards the guide Kate had seen when she came in. He was pointing out the iconostasis – the wall of icons and religious paintings – which separated the nave from the sanctuary.

  Kate smiled at the old lady. ‘It is a beautiful place; you might want to take a look around once you’ve had a rest.’

  ‘Oh, you’re English too!’ Repositioning herself so that she was angled towards Kate, the woman seemed pleased to find someone to talk to. ‘Are you on holiday?’

  Was this a holiday? ‘Sort of, I’m visiting a friend. She’s at work at the moment.’

  ‘We’re visiting our granddaughter.’ The old lady smiled again. ‘She’s studying here for a year, part of her degree. She’s got classes today so she’s written us out an itinerary of what to do; she’s a thoughtful girl.’

  Kate had done something similar for her own parents when they had come to visit. ‘She sounds like a great girl. I hope my kids will do something like that for me one day.’

  ‘I’m sure they will, lovey. How many children do you have?’

  Kate could see them clearly in her mind as she answered. She felt a pang. She was beginning to really miss them. ‘Two. A six-year-old girl and a four-year-old boy.’

  ‘How lovely. I bet they keep you busy?’

  Kate nodded. Busy was one word for it. ‘Stressed’ was another. So was ‘breakdown’.

  ‘Has your husband got them today?’

  Husband? Children? These were the questions that strangers always asked. What must it be like for single parents? Or women like Shannon who didn’t want kids? Or who couldn’t? Kate shook her head. ‘They’re both at school. My friend is collecting them. He’ll pick them up from her later, though.’


  ‘Well, that’s an improvement over my day. He’ – she motioned in the direction of her husband who was studying his guidebook – ‘wouldn’t have known how to change a nappy to save his life. Dads are a lot more involved these days, aren’t they?’

  Luke was involved. When he was home.

  The woman was clearly enjoying reminiscing. ‘I remember when mine were young. Some days I didn’t know whether I’d make it to six p.m. when my husband came home.’

  This was new. Usually when you spoke to someone whose children were all grown up they would tell you how lucky you were, how they wished they could go back in time. Kate let out a long breath. ‘I must admit, it’s more difficult than I thought it would be.’

  The woman nodded her head. ‘Of course it is; no one tells you about the sheer monotony of it all, do they? Feeding, changing, washing, cleaning, playing.’ She leaned in conspiratorially and lowered her voice, ‘The playing was the part I found most difficult. Kids’ games are so boring.’

  Kate laughed. She’d thought she was the only one who hated playing hide-and-seek or make-believe games. Luke was brilliant at playing with the kids. When he was left alone with them for the day, she would often come home to an encampment built from dining chairs and blankets. Even though it bored her to tears, she would try her best to play when he wasn’t there. Once, she’d been doing her best ‘take off’ noise during a game of spaceships and Thomas had sighed deeply, ‘I wish my Daddy was home.’

  ‘Still, they have a way of making it all worthwhile, don’t they?’ The lady patted Kate’s leg.

  From nowhere, Kate started to cry.

  ‘Oh, my dear. Whatever is the matter?’

  She couldn’t stop crying. Her throat was tight. And her nose was snotty. She tried to wipe it with the back of her hand and rummage around in her bag for a tissue. Which of course she didn’t have. Only good mothers were prepared with emergency tissues.