From Paris With Love

by Cox, Desiree

  As they left the Place St Pierre, they made their way back through winding streets to the Renault. Isabelle felt a little sad as she left, this was such a special place. She gripped Etienne’s hand tighter and he responded warmly, pulling her close and kissing her right there on the street!

  Jean-Luc laughed at her startled expression. “Here in Paris, we are passionate! We Frenchmen like to kiss our women!” and he demonstrated by kissing Odile soundly on the lips.

  Isabelle smiled shyly as Etienne released her slightly. It was so different at home! And what would her mother say?

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  9 novembre 1980

  Ma chere Isabelle

  It is late evening and I am thinking of you. Just as I think of you often. Thank you for your last letter. I like to read your letters and hear what you are doing. The party sounded so much fun and I wish I could have been there with you. Paris to England for one party? Maybe not, but one day I hope we will go to lots of parties together.

  I still cannot understand why you think I would forget you or why I wouldn’t write to you. You believed too much in the French reputation – fortunately we’re not all like that. I hope you believe me now that I have written you several letters!

  You are so lucky to live by the sea. To experience all the pleasures of the seaside – walk on the beach, see the boats, watch the sunsets. I would love to watch the sunset with you. That would be so romantic. I think you are like me, romantic too, n’est-ce pas?

  At the weekend I am going to record a cassette for you of French songs. The ones that I really enjoy. I will include Moustaki, Lavilliers, LeForestier, Duteil – there are so many favourites. Maybe you would do the same for me? I would love to hear the music you enjoy. English music is usually very good, I think!

  For now I leave you. I think of you often and want to be with you soon.

  Je t’embrasse tendrement and je t’envoie beaucoup de bisses.

  Etienne

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Eight

  From Montmartre they headed along the boulevard Rochechouart and through Pigalle, the red-light district of Paris. Jean-Luc pointed out the Moulin Rouge with its landmark red windmill, famous as the birthplace of the can-can dance and now located in one of the more risqué and bohemian areas of Paris.

  Jean-Luc knew his way around Paris and manoeuvred the Renault expertly through the one-way streets so the girls could see as much of the city as possible. They continued past the celebrated Opera House and the majestic church of the Madeleine in the more salubrious 8e arrondissement. Odile pointed out the department stores of Le Printemps and Les Galleries Lafayettes, which the girls had glimpsed on their hair-raising drive back from the station withJean-Luc.

  “One day next week, we come back here, just us girls and we go shopping. Yes?”

  Both Christina and Isabelle nodded eagerly. How chic it sounded – shopping in Paris! Isabelle could feel Etienne’s fingers gently caressing hers as she gazed out of the window at the sights of Paris, and he gazed at her.

  Jean-Luc slowed the car down slightly, “Look” he pointed to the left and Isabelle wished again that he’d keep both hands on the steering wheel, the traffic really was crazy around here. “L’Arc de Triomphe!”

  The girls looked out and Etienne turned his eyes lazily towards the grand Arch, a majestic monument to the glory of the French army.

  “This is the Etoile,” explained Etienne. “There are twelve avenues coming away from the Arch and it looks like a star from above which is why it is called the Etoile. You can climb to the roof of the Arc de Triomphe, there are good views. Although personally I prefer the views from the Sacré Coeur. If you stand at the top you can see all the way to the Louvre to the East. They are talking about building a new Arch to the West in the business area at La Defense.

  “Underneath, in the vaults, is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. There is an eternal flame also which burns for the people who died during the war and were never named.”

  “We have a tomb of the unknown soldier in London too,” commented Christina. “I think it’s in Westminster Abbey. I remember seeing it on a school trip, but I don’t remember anything about an eternal flame.”

  Jean-Luc hooted another driver who had swung out in front of him, and he veered off down the Champs-Elysées , the iconic wide boulevard lined with horse-chestnut trees and famed for its stately buildings, theatres, cafes and designer shops that epitomised Paris.

  They could glimpse the Eiffel Tower to the South and Jean-Luc promised them they would go later that afternoon. “First we have lunch!” he said.

  Food was obviously very important to the French way of life and the girls were quickly learning to appreciate that everything stopped for mealtimes. Whilst they would be very happy to forego a posh lunch for a baguette and cheese, they realised this was not going to happen.

  The girls gazed out as they drove around the vast expanse of the Place de la Concord with its statuesque obelisk and fountains. “This was once called the Place de la Revolution,” Etienne explained. “During the French Revolution, it became famous for its guillotine. Here our King Louis XVI and his wife, Marie Antoinette, were killed. Now it is much prettier, I think.”

  Jean-Luc turned right towards the river and then took the Quai des Tuileries running alongside the famous Tuileries gardens in front of the Louvre. Etienne pointed out the Louvre as they passed by and gave them a brief description, explaining how it was once a fortress, then a palace and home to the French royal family before becoming a museum housing famous pieces of art, although he seemed less enthused by the world-famous art gallery.

  “For me, Paris is Montmartre and the Left Bank,” he explained softly to Isabelle. “It is the real heart of Paris. The Louvre, the 1e and 8e arrondissements are the posh part of Paris. Tourists like it, but not me,” he shrugged.

  “I loved Montmartre”, agreed Isabelle truthfully. “I don’t know the Left Bank, yet. I’m not really into art galleries and posh buildings,” she admitted.

  “We are alike,” smiled Etienne, their eyes meeting and Isabelle felt her insides melt as this chocolate coloured eyes gazed at her lovingly. She could feel his lips meeting hers softly with a promise for later.

  Reluctantly he pulled away slightly. “The Left Bank, it is the student quarter. It is where we have the famous Sorbonne. It used to be an area famous for painters and artists too. Not in the same way as Montmartre, but just as well-known. It is always filled with life, lots of restaurants and young people. We are going to have lunch there and I think you will like it” he finished simply.

  The Renault swerved across two lanes to head onto the bridge to cross the Seine before following the left bank towards the Latin Quarter.

  Jean-Luc swore loudly as he missed a parking space by seconds but was swiftly reversing into another space he had spotted. They all climbed out of the Renault and the girls gazed at their first glimpse of the River Seine meandering slowly past on its journey towards the Channel.

  “We will walk along the river later, but first lunch,” said Jean-Luc strolling ahead with Odile. Christina soon caught up with them – despite the language problems, she and Odile were getting along really well. They laughed a lot as Christina tried to converse in French and Odile tested out her very limited English words.

  Etienne took Isabelle’s hand in his, linking his fingers through hers, together they followed at a slower pace, Isabelle drinking in the atmosphere of this wonderful city. She had known she would love Paris, but she hadn’t realised just how much of an affinity she would feel with the city. She wondered if it was because she was with Etienne or if it was because she was falling in love, both with Paris and with Etienne.

  They wandered through the maze of narrow streets with restaurants spilling onto every pavement. There were people everywhere. Students lazily drinking pastis or wine at outside tables and observing the world go by, their studies forgotten in their pursuit of relaxation and enjoyment with friends. Fren
ch families dressed to enjoy their Sunday lunch out, the whole family including grandparents and children. Tourists pausing to survey every menu displayed outside and carefully choose which restaurant at which to dine.

  Jean-Luc pushed open the door to a small restaurant. The red paint was flaking off the doorframe and the windows looked like they could do with a clean although the blue and white striped curtains brightened them, thought Isabelle. Inside, though, the atmosphere was perfect. Wooden tables bereft of table cloths and each simply adorned with a candle in a pottery holder. The chairs scraped across the tiled floor as they pulled them out to sit down. Jean-Luc greeted the portly, apron-clad patron effusively before taking his seat. They ordered wine and the menu du jour. Isabelle sat down next to Etienne and he took her hand under the table, gently caressing her fingers. The bread arrived, a basket of roughly cut baguette. The girls were used to the French way now and thought nothing of eating the bread off the table without a plate. Thick soup arrived and they followed Jean-Luc’s example by dunking their bread in their bowls and afterwards wiping the bowl clean with their bread. Their mother would truly be aghast, thought Isabelle with a wry smile. They would have to remember their English table manners when they returned home!

  “It is good, n’est-ce pas?” said Jean-Luc.

  “It is delicious,” Christina said honestly.

  Plates of beef with frites and petits pois arrived next. And this was followed by chocolate ice cream, then cheese. Soon they were all sated and reluctant to move from the restaurant. Jean-Luc paid the bill and they left. The girls thanked him politely.

  “Now we walk along the Left bank and we go to the Ile de la Cite,” said Odile.

  They strolled along the rue Dauphine which led down to the Seine. Here the artists and booksellers gathered along the quais. They meandered lazily along the quais pausing to view the artists’ easels and admire their work. Isabelle was drawn to the booksellers and their collections of shabby French classics.

  “You like books?” asked Etienne.

  “I love books,” enthused Isabelle. “I have even read some French books,” she boasted slightly.

  Etienne raised his eyebrows, “So which ones have you read?”

  “Les Mains Sales by Sartre, Andromaque by Racine and my favourite was Madame Bovary by Flaubert. I have to study them for my exam.”

  Etienne nodded. “I have read those too. We read them at school. I have never read English books though. Certainly not Shakespeare!”

  “I don’t like Shakespeare much,” admitted Isabelle. “I do like Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters and lots of other famous classic authors though.

  Quietly they browsed the booksellers although the others had moved on. Etienne pulled out a book with a navy leather-look cover. In rapid French, he asked the bookseller what he would take for it and handed over a few French francs.

  As they moved away to catch up with the others, Etienne handed Isabelle the small volume. “Here is a present for you, Isabelle, to remember your day in Paris and to remember me,” he said simply.

  Isabelle took the book and looked at the title, ‘Notre-dame de Paris’ by Victor Hugo. “Merci beaucoup,” she smiled at him and leaning over kissed him on the lips. “I will read it and I will treasure it.” She grasped it reverently and Etienne smiled at her pleasure over the simple gift.

  “Over there,” Etienne pointed out to the girls, “is the Pont Neuf. It is actually the oldest bridge in Paris but they called it ‘new bridge’. It links the Ile de la Cite with the Left Bank on one side and with the Rive Droite, right bank, on the other.”

  “It is beautiful”, exclaimed Isabelle admiring the arches and old lamp posts.

  “We can walk over it if you wish,” Etienne looked at her. “We can take a photo. There is a lovely view from the bridge.”

  They stood in one of the alcoves and gazed in both directions. Before them they could glimpse the Eiffel Tower and several other bridges spanning the Seine. Behind them stood the imposing cathedral of Notre Dame on the Ile de la Cite where Paris was first founded. Below a fleet of long narrow boats with glass roofs, the famous bateaux mouches, were plying their trade, ferrying groups of tourists along the Seine. The sounds of their commentators drifted up occasionally as the breeze caught them.

  Christina grabbed the camera and took a photo as Etienne and Isabelle stood in one of the alcoves, their arms locked around each other. The wind tugged Isabelle’s skirt and whipped at her hair, but standing there with Etienne, Isabelle felt she had never felt so happy, nor so complete. When Christina had taken the photo, Etienne turned to her and kissed her gently, pulling her into his arms. She sighed blissfully and completely oblivious to Jean-Luc, Odile and Christina grinning at them.

  “Another day, if you like, we can go on the Bateau Mouche?” asked Etienne. “Just you and me? One evening. Paris is beautiful by night.”

  Isabelle nodded excitedly, “That would be amazing!”

  “Okay – Thursday night we will come into Paris. We will go on the Bateau Mouche, we will eat dinner on the Left Bank and after we will go to Montmartre.”

  The little group strolled back along the Ile de la Cite to the famous Notre Dame. Its grand façade facing onto the busy Place Jean Paul II thronging with tourists. The river seemed to flow around the splendid church occupying the eastern corner of the island, ivy draping down the walls and reaching almost to the water level. Christina and Isabelle paused to look at the souvenir shops, their display of postcards, snow-globes and other mementos enticing tourists in. They each bought something – a keyring for their father and a spoon for their mother, postcards for themselves.

  They left the hustle and bustle of the main square and headed north where Odile led them to the Marche aux Fleurs. Here beautiful bunches of multi-coloured flowers stood in tall buckets. Thousands of plants vied for space in their pottery holders. Trees of all varieties stood proudly in line. The fragrant flowers led to the Marche aux Oiseaux, the Bird market, where a cacophony of noise came from cage after cage of birds. Canaries, budgerigars, finches and more exotic birds together with every accessory for birds you could imagine.

  They left the Ile de la Cite, walking back over the pedestrianised bridge that led them to the Quai Saint Augustin and the Renault.

  From here they drove West following the Seine, past the Musee d’Orsay, once a railway station and now a museum. Further along, Etienne pointed out a majestic building with a stone façade and ornate dome. “That is les Invalides. It was built as a hospital to look after sick soldiers. Now it too, is a museum. We have many museums in Paris,” he shrugged.

  “We have a lot in London too,” chipped in Christina. “Mostly boring places though.” Neither of the girls were keen on museums or art galleries, although they had certainly visited several on school trips.

  Next stop was the Tour Eiffel. Here Isabelle gazed in wonder at the iron structure that was built for the opening of the 1889 World Fair. A temporary building that had stood the test of time for nearly a hundred years and was now one of the most beloved monuments in Paris. They wandered along the Champs de Mars, staring up at the different levels of the tower where people stood on balconies like tiny dots against the skyline. Given the queues, they decided not to climb the many stairs of the building. Both girls were happy to just explore the base, although really they couldn’t get the best view from immediately beneath it.

  “What is that building over there?” Isabelle asked Etienne, pointing to the semi-circular white structure on the other side of the river.

  “It is the Palais de Chaillot and the Trocadero gardens,” he replied. “It is built on a hill which makes it seem quite imposing. It is just museums now,” he shrugged and Isabelle remembered that museums and art galleries didn’t thrill him, just like herself.

  “Are those fountains?” she asked.

  “Yes, they have beautiful fountains. On a summer’s day they are very popular with tourists,” he explained.

  “We could walk over bridge an
d look, if you like,” suggested Jean-Luc. “We will get a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower from there.”

  Together the group strolled across the Pont d’Iena and into the jardins of the Trocadero with its beautifully manicured lawns and stunning fountains.

  As they turned to look back, the girls gasped at the incredible view of the Champs de Mars and the Tour Eiffel. Isabelle reached for her camera and Etienne persuaded another tourist to take a photo of the happy little group.

  Wearily, they trudged back across the bridge still gazing in wonder at the iron structure in front of them as it came closer and closer.

  As the hour was growing late, Jean-Luc suggested they called it a day and headed home.

  Isabelle snuggled against Etienne in the car, his arm draped over her shoulders, his cheek against hers. She cast her mind back over their wonderful day, over all the amazing sights they had seen and how much she loved Paris. One day, she promised herself, I will come back and live here.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  2 decembre 1980

  Ma chere Isabelle

  It is winter now and very cold in Paris. Do you remember the day we spent in Paris together when we visited Montmartre? It was so busy and I remember how much you loved it there. Now there are few people there. Last Sunday I went to the Sacré Coeur before visiting friends. It was very quiet and hardly anyone there, although there were a few artists with their easels on the Place du Tertre. Even quiet it is still one of my favourite places.

  I am thinking of you as I write this letter as I have just sent you a birthday present. It is only small but I hope you will like it and when you wear it, you will think of me. I so wish I could be with you as you celebrate your eighteenth birthday. I know it is a special age in England although in France we celebrate our twentieth birthdays more – this is a special age for us. I imagine you will have a party and I will picture you there. I’m sure you will be beautiful in a pretty dress, surrounded by your friends and dancing the night away. I will be with you in my thoughts and sad I cannot be with you for the evening. You will write and tell me all about it, please?