by Cox, Desiree
“Over there is Montmartre and la Butte,” he pointed out and Isabelle could make out the dome of the Sacré Coeur. “It is my favourite part of Paris.”
“It is so beautiful” she replied in French, sighing appreciatively.
“Yes, Paris is very beautiful,” agreed Etienne. “And very romantic,” he added softly.
Isabelle realised how naïve she was – she didn’t know what to say to him! She began to babble slightly although her limited French made it difficult, “We’re going to visit Paris on Sunday. Jean-Luc is going to take us.”
“Maybe I can come too?” suggested Etienne softly. “I would like to show you Paris, my home.” And Isabelle’s heart somersaulted!
They stood for another moment before heading inside where Isabelle saw Christina glowering at her – she hadn’t been shown Paris by night by a handsome Frenchman! Everyone was saying goodnight now. The customary kisses and then Etienne was gone.
The girls went to bed. They pulled the cornflower blue duvet up to their chins and chatted for a while.
“They’re really nice, aren’t they, Issy?” whispered Christina.
“Yes. Not what I expected at all.”
“I thought they’d be old. You know, like most of Mum’s and Dad’s friends. But they’re not old at all!”
“I think they’re both quite a lot of fun and this week is going to be amazing,” sighed Isabelle.
“Imagine, Chrissie, we’re in Paris! There is so much to see and do. I hope we get to really see a lot, don’t you?”
“Oh, and I was beginning to think you were just interested in gazing at a certain good-looking French man!” whispered Christina coyly.
Isabelle felt herself blush. “Well, Etienne is quite nice, isn’t he?”
“Quite?” queried Christina. “He’s absolutely gorgeous!”
“Mmmm. I don’t think he’d be interested in me though,” mused Isabelle.
“Whyever not? You’re very pretty, Issy, and anyway he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Every time I looked at him, he was looking at you!”
“Mmm, he was quite friendly. And he did seem to talk to me quite a lot.”
“And he took you outside on the balcony to show you Paris. That was SO romantic! He didn’t bother to show me, did he?” she whispered indignantly.
“Mmm, I suppose. Anyway, we’ll see. I just wish I could speak French better!”
“You wish? What about me? I can barely string more than a couple of words together! And it was exhausting trying to follow what everyone was saying at dinner!”
“You’ll be fine, don’t worry, Chrissie. And by the end of the week, I bet you’ll be speaking great French. Mlle Jerome will be amazed when you go back to school!”
“Now let’s go to sleep. I’m absolutely shattered!” declared Christina, putting an end to any more chatter about her limited French or even about a certain good-looking Frenchman.
Very soon Christina was fast asleep, Isabelle could tell from her steady breathing. She lay there thinking about Etienne and dreaming until she, too, fell asleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Five
Saturday dawned sunny and chilly. The girls woke and wandered out to the kitchen sleepily where Odile was already up and boiling milk in a saucepan.
“Bonjour, les filles!” she smiled at them.
“Bonjour, Odile,” chorused both girls. Talking in French at this time of the morning was going to take some effort!
“You slept well?” asked Odile.
They nodded. “Very well, thank you,” replied Isabelle. She was beginning to realise she would be doing most of the talking for Christina!
“Are we late?” asked Christina. “It’s just we were so tired!”
“No problem at all. It is only just after nine o’clock and don’t forget the hour has gone forward for you. Anyway it’s the weekend, so we don’t have to hurry!” Odile seemed to be making a conscious effort to speak slower so the girls could follow.
“That’s good then,” said Christina, taking one of the two chairs in the kitchen and settling herself down to watch Odile bustle around the kitchen, pulling plates out of a cupboard and setting out rather large bowls. Briefly, Christina wondered why they wanted soup bowls for breakfast, but her grasp of the French language wasn’t strong enough to cope with that at this time of the morning, so she let it go.
“Jean-Luc has gone out for bread. When he gets back, we have breakfast, yes?”
He soon returned blustering through the front door, baguette under one arm. The draft caught the door, slamming it shut. Everything Jean-Luc seemed to do was fast and careless as though he was always in a hurry to get on with life. “Bonjour! Ca va?” he asked jovially. The girls nodded.
Breakfast was just plain baguette, toasted in a really wide toaster unlike the toaster the girls had at home. They ate it with jam and drank from big bowls of milky hot chocolate, just as the French did. Now Christina understood the role of the soup bowls!
“We have bread every day but on Sunday, we have croissants,” explained jean-Luc. “Today I let you sleep, you were tired. Tomorrow you come to the boulangerie with me to buy croissants, yes?”
Isabelle replied “That would be great. Is the boulangerie far?”
Jean-Luc laughed, a deep belly laugh. “No, not far. In Paris there are many, many boulangeries. Even in the country, you find one in every tiny village. We French like our bread and pastries.”
This was something Isabelle noticed for herself as the week progressed. There seemed to be boulangeries on every corner, their delicious aromas enticing customers in to buy.
Odile chipped in, “we buy our bread fresh every morning, it’s better that way. There are lots of different sorts of French stick. The thinnest is a ‘ficelle’ – a lot of crust with a very small amount of dough inside. Then the traditional baguette, then the gros pain (big bread) which is good for families. Jean-Luc likes his bread – we have a gros pain. Is it the same in England?”
The girls thought about the pre-sliced and pre-packaged loaves of bread at home. They came from the supermarket usually and lacked the same quality as the French bread.
“Well, we do have bakers where they sell fresh bread, rolls and cakes. But I think most people just buy it at the supermarket,” replied Isabelle. “It’s not quite the same though. All our loaves are rectangles, sliced and put in plastic bags. You can buy fresh bread, but I don’t know many people who do.”
Odile frowned at this. “It doesn’t sound like you take your bread as seriously as we do.”
“No, I don’t think we do. It certainly doesn’t taste as good as this,” replied Christina, taking another slice to put in the toaster as Odile beamed at her.
Jean-Luc finished his bowl of coffee before announcing, “Today we visit. You can meet friends of ours. Yes?”
The girls nodded – they were happy to do anything, although Isabelle was secretly hoping that she would see Etienne again today.
“We go to my parents first. They live nearby. Etienne will be there too. So I think Isabelle will be happy, yes?” He winked at Isabelle who promptly turned bright red. Had it been that obvious? If it hadn’t, then it probably was now! And if Jean-Luc had noticed, then had Etienne noticed too? She felt the colour of her cheeks deepening further.
“I think he like you too!” continued Jean-Luc, grinning at her. “He is good looking no? Of course, I am the better looking brother!” he pushed his shoulders back and held his head high to emphasise this fact, causing both girls to smile. Odile looked across at him fondly, obviously in agreement.
“Is Etienne much younger than you?” asked Christina, trying to glean as much information as she could. She, too, had seen the looks pass between Etienne and her sister and knew Isabelle was definitely interested in him.
“He is 22 – twelve years younger than me. He still lives with our parents but he plans to move into his own flat soon.”
“And does he have a girlfriend?” asked Christina
innocently.
A cloud seemed to drift across Jean-Luc’s face and for a moment, he was quiet.
“Best you know. He does not have a girlfriend.”
Isabelle felt her heart jump in delight at this news.
“But he had a girlfriend he loved very much. She died two years ago in a car accident,” Jean-Luc said sadly. “He has not had another girlfriend since Marie-Claire. It was a very difficult time for him. He lost Marie-Claire and he was injured. He couldn’t work for a long while. Even now he has problems with his leg and still has physiotherapy. It is very sad and he has been unhappy for a long time. Since then he has not had a girlfriend.”
The girls felt so sad for him. It was so young to lose someone special. They couldn’t imagine how awful it must have been for him. It was hard enough when a boyfriend dumped them, but to lose someone in such a dreadful way was tragic.
“He has been sad for a long time,” explained Jean-Luc. “Maybe Isabelle will make him smile again?” he winked at Christina, sensing a co-conspirator.
“So we go visit my parents, then some friends. And tonight we make a soiree with music and dance.”
It was past eleven by the time they drew up in front of a typical suburban French house amongst similar houses. There was a small front garden with a scrub of grass, a peeling painted fence and a wooden gate. Vines crept up the old brick walls of the three-storey house and dark green wooden shutters folded over some of the windows, whilst others were flung open to let the fresh air in. From two of the upstairs windows, white duvets were slung over the sills airing. It was a narrow house set on three floors and a small window in the room indicating a room in the loft.
An elderly couple came to the door and swung the door wide open.
“Bonjour, Mamie,” Jean-Luc greeted his white-haired mother who was wearing a long grey skirt, grey tights and a buttoned black cardigan over a white blouse. Her long hair was caught in a bun at the nape of her neck, although several tendrils had escaped. Her eyes were clear blue and her cheeks rosy. Jean-Luc kissed her soundly on both cheeks and she smiled at him.
“Bonjour mon fils. And these are the two English girls?” she turned to them both. “Which is Isabelle? And which is Christina?”
“I’m Isabelle. Pleased to meet you,” she said, stepping forward and wondering whether she should kiss her or shake her hand. She didn’t have to wonder for long as the elderly lady pulled her forward and planted a kiss on each cheek. She smelt powder and lavender water and was reminded of her own granny.
“And I’m Christina” announced her sister also stepping forward to be kissed.
“I am Aline, and this is Georges,” she indicated her husband who also turned to greet the girls. He was a wizened man quite bent and not much taller than his wife. He wore shabby, shapeless brown trousers held up with braces over a checked shirt. A hand-knitted woollen waistcoat hung loosely over his shoulders. His sparse hair was grey, his face wrinkled and weather-beaten, but his eyes were clear and sparkled with humour.
“Come in, please. We do not speak English, but you are very welcome.”
The house seemed dark for such a sunny day and Christina was pleased to see they were going to be sitting in the garden as she followed the others through a narrow passageway where a selection of coats hung on hooks on the wall. A dark red rug covered the tiled floor adding warmth to the hall.
Outside the garden was long and obviously the father’s pride and joy. It was beautifully kept with plenty of late roses blooming along one fence in various shades of pink, yellow and red. Towards the bottom of the garden a selection of fruit trees boasted apples, pears and a few late plums. A shabby wooden shed stood at the end of the garden, its door hanging open to show a selection of tools and an old wheelbarrow. In front of the house was a paved area with an old, faded wooden table and several chairs. There were plump, brightly coloured cushions on each chair. A glass jar with a few full-blown roses stood on the table and a scattering of petals lay beneath where the breeze had stolen them from the roses.
Isabelle sensed someone else joining them and turned to see Etienne coming through the passage door towards the garden. She felt her heart somersault as she caught sight of him. Wearing a different, but similar, V neck jumper this time in olive green and the same brown cords, he looked typically Gallic. She felt his eyes on her and looked up to see he was watching her, a smile crinkling at the corner of his eyes.
“Bonjour Isabelle,” he came forward, place his hand on her arm and kissed her on both cheeks. She caught the citrus scent as he leaned towards her. And was it her imagination, or did he make the greeting last a little bit longer than necessary? She felt her heart beating so strongly she was certain everyone else could hear it too!
“Bonjour Etienne, comment ca va?” she replied as confidently as she could.
He smiled at her properly now, “Ca va bien merci. Et toi?”
Aline interrupted their brief discussion. “You would like coffee?”
“Do you have tea please?” asked Christina.
“Tea? No, I don’t think so. We have lemonade or orange juice?”
“Lemonade would be lovely please” replied Christina doing well with her French so far. She was pleased that she could actually understand some of what was going on.
“And Isabelle?”
“Coffee, please,” she didn’t actually like coffee very much, although she had tried it several times. However she certainly didn’t want Etienne to think she was a little girl who wanted lemonade! Christina stared at her in surprise and raised her eyebrows questioningly – she knew she didn’t like coffee.
The adults all chatted away animatedly discussing their week and what they had been up to. They spoke in rapid French and the girls were realising that the Parisian accent was quite different to the way they were taught to speak in school. Here they tended to run words together in a way that was strictly forbidden in Mlle Jerome’s classroom. They struggled to follow the conversation and it wasn’t long before Christina gave up the battle, sank back in her chair with her eyes half closed and just enjoyed relaxing in the weak sunshine.
Etienne stayed quite close to Isabelle, engaging her in idle chat about the garden, the house and his plans to move into his own place soon. Isabelle watched him, drinking in everything about him so that she could replay it later when she was alone.
The coffee arrived – a cafetiere with tiny little cups and saucers. Aline poured it out with great ceremony and handed a cup to each in turn. Isabelle looked at the thick black liquid and glanced around for signs of a milk jug. There was no milk, only a sugar bowl.
“You want sugar, Isabelle?” asked Etienne as if reading her mind.
“Yes please, just one” she replied thinking that the sugar might make it taste a bit better. She had been expecting a big mug of milky coffee like her Mum often had at elevenses time at home!
Etienne had added her sugar and stirred it for her. She took a sip and almost spluttered – it was horrible! Bitter, black and disgusting! She saw Christina grin at her and tried to compose her face.
“Our coffee is strong, isn’t it?” said Etienne, obviously amused by her expression. “I hear in England they do not make proper coffee.”
“It’s just different,” said Isabelle bravely. “Very different.” She wished she could tip it away unobtrusively but that would be bad manners. She looked longingly at Chrissie’s lemonade. At least it was only a tiny cup. Two more gulps should do it. A few minutes later she had gallantly finished the coffee.
“You like more coffee, Isabelle?” asked Aline. “It is good is it not? Proper French coffee.”
Isabelle replied as graciously as she could, “It is absolutely delicious, however one cup is enough for me. Thank you.”
She noticed Etienne look at her and he grinned at her lie, but said nothing. She wouldn’t be making that particular mistake again!
The day passed quickly meeting different people and then a visit to the supermarket to buy crisps and apéri
tifs for the party. Next stop was the wine store where Jean-Luc bought two huge boxes of wine. The girls gasped when they saw the amount– each box had a 10l label on the side!
“We like our wine – one box last maybe a week. But we have party so we need more” he said. Isabelle glanced at Christina who was obviously thinking the same – their parents only ever drank a couple of bottles of wine a week!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Six
Preparations for the party were well underway. The dining table was pushed to the rear corner of the lounge and the chairs placed against the walls. Everything else was pushed back into corners to make way for the dancing.
Jean-Luc set out a number of bottles carefully – Pastis, Pernod, Martini, several bottles of red wine. Christina and Isabelle gasped at the range of alcohol. Jean-Luc grinned at them and started arranging glasses of different sizes. He obviously enjoyed providing a selection of drinks for his guests.
Odile came in and set out a round electric tablet. Christina looked at her puzzled before asking what it was. “It is to make crêpes” replied Odile, surprised the girls had never seen one before. She plugged it in and checked it was switched off as it wouldn’t be needed until later. She then set out a range of different foods covered over – grated cheese, ham, sliced mushrooms and tomatoes. “These are different fillings for the crêpes so everyone can choose what they want,” she explained as she saw the girls’ puzzled faces. They had never had crêpes, although of course they had pancakes every Shrove Tuesday. Usually with lemon, though, not savoury fillings. This was going to be an interesting evening, thought Christina.
The usual bowl of ‘salad’ was placed on the table and a stack of plates ready for the crêpes.
Soon everything was ready. Jean-Luc, Odile and both girls were changed and ready for the party to begin. The girls had spent some time deliberating over what to wear. Christina had opted for a short black dress that looked perfect with her long blond hair. Isabelle had gone for a cream dress, her current favourite, which she hoped would show off her tan.
