A Year Like No Other

by Pauline Lawless

  She rejoined Ashling and Felicity who were deep in conversation with a very handsome couple. Ashling introduced them as the Irish ambassador and his wife. As they continued speaking Jazz watched Yves surreptitiously as he spoke to Sophie. They appeared to be easy with each other but she couldn’t discern any particular chemistry between them. Even as he spoke to his wife, his eyes were searching for her.

  “Do you agree with me?” the Irish Ambassador was asking them, as Jazz realised that she hadn’t heard a word he had said.

  “Absolutely,” Ashling replied, looking askance at her.

  “Oh, yes, definitely,” Jazz said lamely, blushing with embarrassment.

  “Are you okay?” Ashling asked her, after the couple had moved away.

  “Sorry. My mind was somewhere else,” Jazz apologised sheepishly.

  “Look if you want to talk anytime, my ears are available,” Ashling told her as a murmur went around the room.

  They looked towards the door where there seemed to be something happening.

  “Oh, my God! It’s the President and his wife,” Jazz, who because of her height could see above the crowd, exclaimed excitedly.

  Ashling and Felicity strained to see them but they could only get a glimpse of the head of the First Lady, who was very tall, having once been a supermodel.

  A short time later Yves came towards them, his eyes glowing.

  “Come along, ladies,” he said, smiling. “The President wishes to meet all of you.”

  Excitedly, they followed him across the room to where the rest of their group were waiting.

  “Can you believe it?” Ashling whispered to Kieran. “We’re going to meet the President of France.”

  “I’m more interested in seeing his wife,” Kieran said, grinning.

  “You would!” said Jazz. “I believe she’s had quite an interesting past.”

  “And present, from what I hear and read,” Ashling grinned. “There’s supposedly a lover on the scene,” she added wickedly.

  “He’s no slouch either,” Kieran informed them. “The rumour is that he has a mistress tucked away too. Lucky man,” he teased, as Ashling punched him jocosely.

  “You can’t believe everything you read in the tabloids,” Sophie said. “And so what if he has? What’s so wrong with that?” She shrugged her shoulders in the Gallic manner. “In France it’s perfectly acceptable to have a lover. Both for men and women,” she added nonchalantly.

  The others looked at her, quite shocked. Jazz couldn’t believe her ears. Did this mean that it would be okay with Sophie if she were to take up again with Yves? She honestly didn’t believe that. But maybe the French truly were different.

  Felicity couldn’t believe her ears. She was relieved to have caught up with Maxwell again. She hated how he left her alone at these functions but she supposed it was his job to circulate. Thank God for Ashling, she thought, annoyed with Taylor who was now pointedly ignoring her.

  On the way home in the car Jazz and Ashling discussed the evening.

  “What a great night,” Ashling enthused. “I can hardly believe it. Wait till I tell my sister that I met the President of France and his wife!”

  “I was surprised at how short he was,” Jazz remarked. “His wife towered over him.”

  “I was surprised she was so plain,” Kieran commented.

  Both girls agreed with him absolutely.

  “I thought he’d never let your hand go,” Ashling grinned at Jazz. “He was certainly taken with you.”

  Jazz laughed. “It was embarrassing. I practically had to yank it away from him.”

  “Our femme fatale,” Kieran commented. “I thought the First Lady was going to clock you one.”

  “I thought Taylor was going to clock you one,” Ashling laughed. “The look on her face when the President spent so long talking to you was nothing short of murderous.”

  “That’s because he barely glanced at her,” said Kieran, who disliked Taylor as much as the women did.

  They had arrived at Jazz’s apartment. She invited them up for a nightcap.

  “No thanks, I’m bushed and I’ve got to work in the morning,” Kieran said.

  Jazz was relieved. She wanted to be alone to sort out her thoughts and feelings. And if she was honest, she wanted to be alone to relive the night and the precious moments she’d spent in Yves’s company.

  Max was pleased to see that Felicity and Ashling had hit it off and happy when she told him that they would be doing the tour of Paris together the following week. He disliked Taylor more and more each time he met her. He couldn’t understand what Felicity saw in her. He hoped that her friendship with Ashling would draw her away from that awful woman.

  16

  Taylor peered in the mirror the following morning and noticed with horror that she had a frown-line on her forehead and a few tiny lines had reappeared around her eyes. Oh my God, I absolutely must have some botox injections immediately, she thought in a panic. She was a favoured client of the best plastic surgeon in New York and she wouldn’t let any French quack within a mile of her face. There was nothing for it. She would absolutely have to return to New York immediately.

  Brandon was loath to agree to it but she eventually wore him down. She left on Monday morning, looking forward to the break.

  Felicity was in good form as she went to meet Ashling on Tuesday morning. She had been a bit worried that she’d upset Taylor but thank goodness everything was okay. Taylor had called her on Sunday to say that she was heading to New York for a few days and had been very friendly indeed. Maxwell still thought that she was obnoxious but Felicity was sure that he had got it wrong. Now she was looking forward to her day with Ashling, whom Maxwell thought was a lovely warm, genuine lady.

  They met up in the Place de l’Opéra and, as it was a glorious day, they went up to the front seat of the open-topped bus. From there they had a wonderful view of the stunning city. Ashling turned out to be as good a guide as the official one and Felicity found herself falling in love with Paris. Ashling slowly warmed to the other woman and discovered, as she’d suspected, that Felicity had absolutely no self-confidence. As they travelled around Paris, they learnt a lot about each other.

  Felicity was amazed when she found herself divulging things that she’d never told another soul. Somehow, Ashling had that effect on people. She was warm and kind and invited confidences and you knew you could trust her. Felicity totally relaxed in her company and was having a wonderful time. They stopped off at the Trocadero and had a coffee before walking down to the Eiffel Tower, which was even more amazing in reality than all the photos they’d seen. Hopping back on another bus they continued the tour, Felicity gasping at the sheer size of the Louvre.

  “I’m planning to visit one museum every week, till I’ve covered them all,” Ashling informed her. “I’m starting next week with the Louvre.” Smiling at Felicity, she suggested, “Why don’t you join me? I’d be delighted if you could.”

  “Are you sure? I’d love that,” Felicity replied, her eyes glowing.

  You know, she’s actually quite attractive, Ashling thought, looking at the other woman. She saw that Felicity had beautiful skin and perfect teeth. She was the quintessential English rose. If only she’d do something with that mousy hair and maybe wear a little make-up, she’d be quite lovely, she decided. And her wardrobe could certainly do with a big shake-up. Mostly, of course, it was Felicity’s diffident way and lack of confidence that detracted from her. What a shame, Ashling thought, and she wondered why it was that she had so little self-esteem. She was delighted to hear that Nicole had been in touch with her and that Felicity was starting French lessons the next day.

  “She sounded lovely on the phone and will even come to my home,” Felicity told Ashling. “I really hope I’m not too stupid to learn.”

  “Don’t be daft! I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  When they arrived at Notre Dame they got off and, after exploring the cathedral, they went for lunch in a small bistro
overlooking the Seine. It was perfect. When Ashling heard about Felicity’s love of cooking she had an idea.

  “Have you considered doing a cookery course while you’re here?” she asked.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t. I’d have to conquer the French language first.”

  “There are lots of courses in English. They’re in the info booklet Sophie gave us. You should really consider it,” Ashling suggested, as she speared another piece of her delicious chicken salad.

  “You think so? I’d really love that.”

  “You could maybe be the next Julia Child.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Felicity blushed at the very idea.

  “I’m going to the Cordon Bleu school this week to enquire about a wine course. I’ll make enquires about English-speaking cookery courses for you, if you like,” Ashling offered.

  “Would you? I’d really appreciate that.” Felicity was almost pathetically grateful.

  After finishing their coffee, they took the bus for the last leg of the tour. Ashling hopped off at the Quai d’Orsay to pick up the two girls from school while Felicity went on to the Opéra which was close to her home.

  “I haven’t had such a good time in years,” she told Ashling as they said goodbye, blushing shyly as she did so.

  “It’s only the start,” Ashling replied, giving her new friend a big hug.

  On Thursday, Ashling was in Les Deux Magots again but the Silver-tongued Devil wasn’t there. The old lady she’d seen on her first day was there again, still biting the end of her pencil in between her scribbling. There was also another old man on a computer in the corner. Ashling wondered what they were all writing. It was so exciting to be a part of it.

  Before she collected the girls, she visited the Cordon Bleu school where she enrolled in the wine course. She loved wine but knew nothing about it, so where better to change that than in France? She was very excited about it and looking forward to the course. It would be strange to be a student again.

  Max would never understand women. He’d really expected that Felicity would give him a hard time but here she was, settling in far better than he could have hoped. She’d had her first French lesson and, amazingly, she’d taken to it with gusto. She played the language tapes Nicole had recommended continuously and he could hear her repeating the phrases aloud as she prepared dinner in the kitchen. She had even begun talking about doing a cookery course and, when Kieran rang to invite him to play golf on the Saturday, she told him to go ahead. Wonders would never cease!

  He was beginning to see that being away from her insufferable mother was probably the best thing that could have happened to Felicity. Her mother was a control freak who bullied her and constantly undermined her confidence. It was no wonder that she was such a nervous wreck.

  Her ancestors had been members of the aristocracy and had owned a large estate in Wiltshire, but her grandfather’s gambling as well as the taxes, death duties and the escalating cost of maintenance, had brought her father’s generation to the brink of poverty. Still, there was no denying that Felicity had blue blood running in her veins. He had been rather in awe of her family when he first met them. It surprised everyone, not least him, when the shy, diffident Felicity stood up to her mother and despite much opposition, insisted on marrying him – a bright, brash East-Londoner, with less than perfect manners but oozing with ambition. That she had done this made Max realise just how deeply she loved him.

  They made a good couple. Her genteel manner had rubbed off on him and her connections had been a great help on his climb up the corporate banking ladder. She, meanwhile, was happy to be living the good life with none of the money worries that had blighted her parents’ lives.

  She was happy to be a stay-at-home wife, looked after comfortably by her husband. She’d never worked outside the home and had no interests other than cooking and gardening. She was like a throw-back to the forties or fifties. Modern womanhood had bypassed her. He’d spent their entire married life taking care of her and as a result she’d become totally dependent on him. Many of his friends envied him – at least, those married to demanding, ambitious career women did. But in the last few years, he’d begun to find Felicity’s dependence on him a bit wearing and at times he longed for a strong independent woman, like the wives of so many of his colleagues.

  Now he found his hopes raised that away from her mother’s bullying, his wife might actually become more independent. It was certainly looking good.

  After the gym on Friday, Ashling did a little window shopping before heading to Les Deux Magots. The hippy student and the Silver-tongued Devil were both there and the older man waved as she came in, giving her a bright smile. She brought her diary up to date and at lunchtime ordered a shrimp salad. As she was waiting for Remy to bring it, she caught the eye of the Silver-tongued Devil, who, she realised, must have been watching her. He flashed her a dazzling smile which was so infectious that she found herself smiling back. As if in slow motion she watched as he got up and came over to her table, smiling all the while.

  “Hi, I’m Corey Danz,” he introduced himself. “I’ve noticed you here for the past few weeks. Could I entice you to join this old gentleman for a glass of wine? As we both appear to be writers, I thought we should get acquainted.” He had a very pronounced American accent.

  “Well, it’s a bit early in the day for me to be drinking,” she replied.

  “Nonsense! It’s a special occasion meeting a fellow writer.” He gave her a smile that would have lit up Paris, and proffered his hand.

  She couldn’t help smiling back. “I’m Ashling,” she said shyly, shaking the hand.

  “Ah, an Irish colleen,” he smiled again. “What a pleasure to meet you.”

  Remy arrived just then with her salad.

  “The plat du jour for me, please, Remy,” said the American. “And could you bring a bottle of the Fèvre Chablis Grand Cru Vaudésir, please?”

  The dish of the day turned out to be a Coquilles St Jacques – delicious scallops – and the chilled wine was the loveliest Ashling had ever tasted.

  “This wine is wonderful,” she said as she sipped it. “I’ve just enrolled in a wine course and am very excited about it.”

  “You look different this week.” He cocked his head to the side and scrutinised her intently which made her blush. “I know. It’s your hair – you’ve changed it. I like it. Very attractive!”

  Now she really blushed, embarrassed yet pleased with the compliment.

  Corey turned out to be a fascinating companion and he seemed to know a lot about wine.

  “I’m not really a writer,” Ashling confessed. “I’m a journalist. At the moment I am just keeping a diary of my experiences in Paris but I would love to be able to write a novel.”

  “Have you tried?” he asked.

  “No, I’m a little afraid I wouldn’t be any good.”

  “You’ll never know if you don’t try. If all the writers in the world felt like that, we’d have no books at all. And believe me – we’re always afraid that the book we’re working on is no good. It’s part of the territory.” He smiled encouragingly at her.

  “What do you write?” she asked him.

  “Thrillers, mostly, but I’m always hoping that I’ll write the great literary novel one day.”

  She laughed at this, surprised that an established writer should feel insecure.

  “You must follow your dream,” he told her. “If you don’t find inspiration here, you’ll never find it.”

  She learned that he was from Florida and was divorced with two grown-up children. She found herself telling him about her family and the reason she was in Paris. They talked as though they’d known each other for years and it was with a shock that she saw it was time to collect the girls. In a flurry, she said goodbye and almost ran all the way to the school. He was such a fascinating man and she hoped she’d get to talk to him again.

  Later that evening she went online to check if there was a writer called Corey Danz. Nothing cam
e up. She wondered if he was just having her on, but she didn’t think so.

  17

  Sophie and Yves had invited Orna and Ciara to visit Disney Paris with them on Saturday and as Kieran had a date to play golf with Max, Ashling arranged to meet up with Jazz. She thought Jazz looked strained and wondered if everything was going okay at work. They went shopping and she was surprised by the amount of stuff Jazz bought.

  “Retail therapy. Nothing to beat it!” Jazz smiled but Ashling heard a tremor in her voice.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Let’s break for lunch and I’ll tell you all about it over a glass of wine.”

  They found a cute little bistro in Les Halles and they both ordered the turbot which was recommended by the maitre d’. Jazz also ordered a bottle of Sancerre which she lashed into.

  “Jazz, can I ask you a question? What time do you finish work every evening?”

  “I generally leave at six so that I can go to the gym on the way home. Why?”

  “Well, Kieran rarely arrives home before nine and I just wondered if all of you work so late.”

  “Max usually leaves with me but I know Brandon generally stays on working late. Mind you, I don’t blame him when he has that dragon waiting for him at home.” Seeing the stricken look on Ashling’s face, she quickly added, “I’m not for a minute suggesting that’s the reason Kieran stays late.” She could have killed herself for putting her foot in her mouth like that. “Kieran and Brandon both have more responsibility than Max or I do, and I know the French Minister is very pleased with Kieran’s performance. He’s a bit of a workaholic, I suspect. Am I right?”

  “Are you ever!” Ashling retorted. “I thought that I’d see more of him here than I did in Dublin but it’s no different.”

  Jazz was surprised by how bitter she sounded. As the waiter refilled her glass, she let out a long sigh. “God, men are the root of all our problems, aren’t they?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re having man problems,” Ashling exclaimed, surprised that anyone as gorgeous as Jazz could have any problem whatsoever.