by Cox, Desiree
“Come on, Chrissie, let’s make our way down to the exit”.
Together they managed to get through customs and to the quay where the SNCF train to Paris was waiting. It was already filling up, so the girls quickly boarded the train and found two seats, stowing their case on the rack above.
“How long does the train take?” asked Christina. She looked out through the dusty train window as other passengers heaved cases aboard the train.
“About two and a half hours,” replied Isabelle confidently. “We get into Paris just before half past six.”
“Two and a half hours?” exclaimed Christina. “On a train? Oh, Issy, that is such a long time!”
“Well, we can play cards or read. And we have got some tea to have which Mum packed for us. Shall we wait until the train leaves and then have our sandwiches?”
Christina nodded, slightly mollified and remembering that there were also two large slabs of chocolate cake packed with the sandwiches.
The train pulled away from the quay and chugged along to the main station of Dieppe, a short distance away. More people boarded before the train moved out. The girls stared through the window as the town of Dieppe moved past, slowly to start with and then more quickly as the train picked up speed. Soon they were out of the suburbs and into the flat green countryside.
Isabelle reached into the bag and pulled out the package neatly wrapped in foil. She spread them neatly on the table in front of them both and then took out a bottle of Coke and two straws so they could share.
Quickly they devoured the cheese sandwiches and chocolate cake although the two apples remained untouched as the train carried them through the countryside of Northern France.
Christina was dozing as Isabelle shook her arm gently. “Wakey, wakey, Chrissie, we’re coming into Paris,” Isabelle whispered loudly.
The train was indeed making its way through the grimy suburbs of Paris. Isabelle’s face was pressed firmly against the window, looking through the glass, hoping to glimpse the Eiffel Tower or the Sacré Coeur or any well-known Parisian edifice. Yet the buildings remained dirty grey and distinctly French with the wooden shutters. Several tall tower blocks dominated the suburbs and Isabelle felt a shiver of disillusionment – this wasn’t how she imagined Paris! Where was the Eiffel Tower and the romantic silver Seine river wending its way lazily through the most romantic city in the world?
She glanced at her watch – another five minutes and they would be arriving. She smoothed her creased blouse, combed her fingers through her hair realising that they both looked travel-weary and tired after the long journey. She reached into her bag and took out a small brush to deal with her and Christina’s hair. Christina yelped as Isabelle tugged at her sister’s tangled locks, trying to tame them again. She snatched the brush from her, “Give me the brush, Issy! I’ll do it myself,” she said crossly. Isabelle sighed and took out her lipstick. She glanced at her small handbag mirror. ‘Not too bad’ she thought to herself. She really wanted to create the right impression – not so much for her parents’ friends, but for Paris and for whoever she may meet!
The train was slowing down as it pulled into one of the many platforms of the St Lazare railway station.
“We’re here, Chrissie! We’re really here!”
Christina grinned at her sister, her annoyance over her hair forgotten, her enthusiasm contagious. “We’re really here, in Paris!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Three
The Gare St Lazare was located in the 8e arrondissement in the heart of the business and shopping district of Paris, one of the more salubrious areas. It was close to six thirty in the evening and the station was teeming with people. As most Parisians finished work at 6pm, they were arriving at the peak of the rush hour and Isabelle was shocked at how busy it was. How on earth would they ever find Jean-Luc? she thought in despair.
Holding tightly to Christina’s arm so they didn’t lose each other, she gave the case to her sister whilst she unfolded a piece of paper with a map of the station. Scrutinising it carefully, she looked up and spotting a sign that indicated the ‘sortie’, decided on the direction they should take and determinedly steered her sister towards the top of the platform and the main concourse.
As they reached the platform entrance, they were assuaged by the delicious aroma of fresh croissants and both girls sniffed appreciatively feeling hungry suddenly. All around them people hurried off to their own destinations and Isabelle looked around slightly bewildered. A tall man with bushy black hair and sparkling dark eyes caught her eye, grinned at her and waved his hand. He wore tight jeans, a white shirt open at the neck and a denim jacket. He stood out amongst the commuters with his casual dress and confident air.
“Isabelle? Christina? Is it you?” he queried in broken English, hurrying towards them.
“Yes, yes, I’m Isabelle and this is Christina,” said Isabelle in relief. Then, remembering her manners and her perfectly practised first phrase in French, she dropped Christina’s hand and extended her hand, “Bonjour Monsieur, je suis Isabelle et voici ma soeur, Christina”.
The man took her hand gallantly. “Enchanté, mademoiselle. Et je suis Jean-Luc,” he beamed at her and then at Christina.
Jean-Luc took the suitcase from them and began to steer them towards the exit. “The car is outside here in a parking. Not far,” he said in broken English.
Well, he certainly wasn’t old and he didn’t look at all boring, thought Isabelle as she grinned across at her sister who responded with a beam as they followed him out of the station into the bustle of Paris.
The car was a dark blue Renault with a couple of dents on the side. It was parked haphazardly half on the pavement and half on the road, in a place where it obviously shouldn’t have been left. An irate French official stood by it with a notebook in hand and Jean-Luc retaliated with wild gesticulating and a stream of French, which Isabelle couldn’t follow although she could guess at the meaning. Jean-Luc flung their case in the boot, Christina got in the back and Isabelle the front seat. Both immediately grabbed for their safety belts, both thinking alike – this could be a hairy ride! Jean-Luc jumped in, started the engine and quickly pulled out into the flow of traffic – and the path of another car who hooted wildly, the driver’s hands waving furiously. Jean-Luc just took it all in his stride though as he carried on weaving through the rush-hour traffic of central Paris.
As he drove he also tried to point out some tourist sites to the girls, one hand on the steering wheel, the other waving madly in different directions as they sped along.
“Ici les Galleries Lafayettes,” his hand waved vaguely to the left, “and Le Printemps”, again waving wildly. “Big shops, lots of goods, big prices,” he explained obviously keen to try out his English.
“Over there is the Madeleine, and the Opera house”.
The girls tried to keep up and look for these famous landmarks, but it wasn’t easy with the speed they were going and the other drivers getting in the way.
Isabelle sank back into her seat. So this was Paris! And so far it was living up to everything she had dreamt about. The magnificent buildings, the wide boulevards, the crazy drivers. This was going to be an amazing week, she thought, as she concentrated on seeing Paris through the car window and not on Jean-Luc’s erratic driving.
The traffic eased as they pulled away from central Paris and headed out to the East of the city. The girls hadn’t really thought about where Jean-Luc and his wife lived – they’d assumed it would be in the city and were disappointed as they headed further out towards the suburbs, the exciting buildings of Paris giving way to concrete apartment blocks.
“Tonight we have quiet dinner. Tomorrow, we have soirée for you!” he announced proudly, turning to look at Isabelle who wished he’d keep his eyes on the road instead, particularly as she had just clocked the speed on the odometer which read 90km an hour! She wasn’t sure about the mile to kilometre conversion, but it seemed to be awfully fast.
“What is a soirée?” asked Christina.
Jean-Luc turned to the back to look at her, causing Isabelle’s heart to plummet further in fear. “You not know what a soirée is?” he asked amazed.
“It’s a sort of party,” explained Isabelle.
“Yes, yes, party!” confirmed Jean-Luc. “We have some friends coming. We make crêpes and we dance. You like to dance?”
Both girls nodded – this sounded fun! And they had been worried they would be bored. It certainly didn’t sound like it!
“Sunday we go to Paris. We show you the sights,” said Jean-Luc. And he proceeded to tell them what they would do.
Soon they were pulling up outside an apartment block. He parked the car carelessly, although at least it was mostly in a space this time, Isabelle noted. Flinging the boot open, he grabbed their case, locked the car and they headed towards the door. Inside, he called the lift which took them to the seventh floor. Everything he did seemed to be done quickly and carelessly. There was an incessant energy about him that was both compelling and exhausting.
“Now you meet my wife, Odile,” he announced as he produced a door key to open the front door. “She not speak good English like me,” he said, not at all modestly. “She no speak English at all!”
Christina’s face fell – her French was certainly on the dodgy side. It was her least favourite subject at school as she preferred the sciences. Isabelle was the linguist in the family – she loved French, although she certainly wasn’t fluent. It could be an interesting week trying to communicate!
Odile came forward to meet them, wiping her hands on her apron. She was a slightly plump woman with shoulder length chestnut hair, chubby cheeks, smiling blue eyes, red lipstick and a huge grin. Whilst she may not have been the chic Parisian lady that Isabelle had imagined, she certainly seemed friendly and very happy to see them.
“Mais, alors, enfin!” she exclaimed giving each of the girls four kisses on alternate cheeks. “Tu es Isabelle?” she indicated Christina who had understood this much French.
“Non, je suis Christina” she replied carefully.
”Je suis Isabelle” and she stepped forward.
Odile made them feel very welcome, even though her knowledge of English seemed to be completely non-existent. She showed them the bathroom and the small bedroom at the back that they would share. The room was small with an old wooden wardrobe in one corner which had been polished to a high sheen. A matching chest of drawers nestled under the window. Cornflower blue curtains hung at the window which looked out across the car park towards a small green park where children were playing on swings. There was a double bed with a matching blue duvet they would share and two clean towels laid out. It was cosy and clean.
“Now you come to lounge,” said Jean-Luc as he dumped their case in the room. “We have drink. You like wine?”
Isabelle and Christina looked at each other – they didn’t really drink, although they knew it was the practice in France. Wine! That would be so grown-up! And it really would be churlish to refuse.
“Yes, please!” said Christina quickly before Jean-Luc changed his mind, or before sensible Isabelle intervened. And she secretly hoped her mother would never find out.
They followed him through to the lounge. Along one side was a beige sofa and in the corner stood a round table with six chairs around it. It was already set for dinner with cutlery, a pile of plates and a few glasses. The girls looked across, despite their ferry lunch and the sandwich picnic on the train, both girls were starving and they were pleased to see that dinner was planned. A delicious smell wafted in from the kitchen where Odile was singing to herself as she prepared. Tearing their eyes from the table, they looked around the room.
There in the corner, sitting in an armchair was another guy. His hair was straight, longish and dark brown, flopping over his eyes. He wore a V-neck navy jumper and brown corduroy trousers. Neither were smart, but he gave an impression of being very French. He glanced up as the girls entered, his brown eyes crinkled at the corner and he smiled in a friendly Gallic way as he stood up. Isabelle took one look at him and thought ‘wow, he is gorgeous!’
“Bonsoir,” he said politely and came over to shake their hands quite formally.
“This my little brother, Etienne,” grinned Jean-Luc. “He not live here, he live nearby, but he here a lot. He no speak English.” He followed with something very fast in French directed at Etienne who came over and dutifully kissed Christina on both cheeks, the customary four times.
Then he leaned towards Isabelle to kiss her. She caught a whiff of citrus after-shave and glanced at his eyes. And as their eyes met, something passed between them. Isabelle knew she was about to fall in love for the first time, as Etienne leaned a little closer and gently kissed each cheek in turn, just as he had her sister.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Four
The girls took the proffered glasses of wine, noting that it was red wine which neither of them had tasted before. They had only really had sparkling wine on special occasions like birthdays and Christmases. This week was certainly going to be an opportunity for new experiences!
“We make toast!” said Jean-Luc. The girls looked baffled, they sometimes had crisps and nuts with drinks if their parents had friends around. But toast?
Jean-Luc clinked his glass to Isabelle’s, “Santé!” he said before moving onto Christina’s glass. Realisation dawned on both the girls and Christina giggled.
“What is funny?” asked Jean-Luc baffled.
Isabelle tried to explain about the toast and how they had misunderstood. Jean-Luc guffawed as he realised; even Odile and Etienne smiled briefly although they didn’t seem to understand.
Christina chinked her glass with Jean-Luc’s and said “Cheers!”
“Cheers?” questioned Jean-Luc.
“Cheers,” confirmed Christina. “It’s what we say in England.”
“Cheers,” said Odile, beaming at her use of English, as she chinked her glass with both the girls’.
Etienne came over to join the group. “Tchin, tchin,” his eyes met Isabelle’s as his glass chinked hers gently. “Welcome to Paris” he said softly, his voice seeming a caress just for her. Isabelle felt flustered and wondered if she was imagining something that wasn’t there. Whilst she may have dreamed of meeting a good-looking, romantic Frenchman in Paris, she had never really thought it would happen in her wildest dreams!
One glass of wine led into dinner. This seemed to be quite an event and both girls remembered learning about the French penchant for food and their meals. There was French bread in a basket, although there were no bread and butter plates out. Isabelle surreptitiously glanced across at Etienne before copying his example, tore her bread to eat and placed it on the tablecloth next to her.
The first course was served – a boeuf bourguignon with mashed potatoes. No vegetables, thought Christina gleefully! The girls tucked in, starving after the long journey. It was really delicious, there was plenty of it and afterwards the girls followed the example of their hosts, mopping their plates with bread to finish off the delicious sauce – Mum would never have allowed them to do that at home!
Odile came in with the second course, a large bowl. “Salade” she announced.
At least that was the same word, thought Christina, relieved she knew what she was eating. As Jean-Luc served the contents to each of the girls in turn, they realised that French salad wasn’t quite the same as at home. It was just lettuce covered in a delicious vinaigrette dressing. No sign of tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers or any of the other goodies their mother put in a salad.
The cheese followed – camembert with more thick slices of baguette. Isabelle felt she had never eaten so much bread in one go, but the French bread was just so delicious it was hard to refuse. Jean-Luc poured the girls another small glass of wine. “You cannot eat cheese without wine!” he declared. Both girls grinned in agreement – they would certainly sleep well tonight, thought Isabelle!
Co
nversation flowed throughout the meal, a mixture of French and English. Jean-Luc dominated the conversation for which Isabelle was quite grateful. She was feeling tired after the long day travelling and it took so much longer to formulate what she wanted to say in French this evening! Etienne spoke very little English and she noticed the charming way he spoke a few words here and there. Odile spoke only in French, at a furiously fast pace although she was beginning to realise the girls could only understand when she slowed down considerably.
Finally as the last of the camembert was finished, a bowl of fresh fruit arrived to complete the meal. The girls had heard of meals taking a whole evening in France and now realised how true this was! So very different to home where dinner was usually one main course and eaten in front of the television. Only at weekends did they have their dinner in the dining room and dessert would be served. During the week it was all about speed and convenience. Here it seemed so different – food was the main event of the evening!
By the time the meal was finished, the girls were exhausted. Isabelle cleared the table whilst Christina helped Odile with the washing up in the kitchen.
“Come, Isabelle,” said Etienne softly in French. “Come and see Paris by night.” He was standing by the doors which led onto a small balcony. Opening one of the doors, he gestured for her to go outside and he followed her into the September night.
Isabelle gasped as she looked across at the beautiful view in front of her. Paris lay like a beautiful dark patchwork of lights and buildings.
Etienne leaned across and pointed in the distance, “la Tour Eiffel” and Isabelle could make out the famous tower decked in lights, twinkling in the distance. She was also very conscious of Etienne standing very close to her, his hand on her shoulder. He turned her slightly to the right, she was aware his face was only a couple of inches from hers although she tried to focus on what he was saying.
