We'll Always Have Paris

by Jessica Hart

  ‘They’re setting up a two shot. It’s better with two cameras. If they get them in the right place, they can film us both at the same time from a distance instead of swinging the camera from face to face, or having to do those awful noddy shots, where you ask the questions again and nod encouragingly when the interview is over.’

  ‘They do that sometimes after I’ve done a piece for the news.’

  ‘Of course. I forget that you know all about television.’

  ‘I’ve got to admit that this is more interesting,’ said Simon. ‘I’m usually just sitting in my office—and there’s never any wine included!’

  Clara eyed him over the rim of her glass. ‘So you’re not regretting I persuaded you into taking part?’

  ‘I think I’d use the word blackmail rather than persuasion,’ he said, and she laughed.

  ‘It hasn’t been that bad, has it?’

  ‘What, apart from being made to stand around in the pouring rain, dodging the seduction attempts of a monstrously self-absorbed chat show hostess, being woken at two in the morning and standing around half the day waiting for Ted to decide on the light he wants?’

  ‘See, I knew you’d have a good time!’

  Simon took a sip of his wine. The truth was that he had been enjoying himself, much to his own surprise.

  ‘It makes a change from my usual routine,’ was all he would concede, though.

  ‘So what would you be doing if you were at home now?’ asked Clara, settling back into the banquette.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly half past eight. ‘Working, probably.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound to me like you have enough fun.’

  ‘Fun is overrated,’ said Simon flatly.

  Clara was dismayed. ‘That’s sad.’

  ‘No, what’s sad is when people throw away perfectly good lives just for momentary fun.’ He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. ‘My father was a great believer in fun. He liked to do things on the spur of the moment, the more extravagant and exciting the better. He’d come and take me out of school without warning, and we’d go hang-gliding or sailing, or we’d be on a plane for a weekend’s skiing. “Let’s have some fun”, he’d say.’

  ‘It sounds like a great childhood,’ said Clara with a touch of envy. ‘My parents were the opposite. I mean, they weren’t cruel or anything, but their minds were always on their research. I spent my childhood either being dragged round medieval churches or being told to be quiet so they could read. I was forever being banished to the bottom of the garden to practice my song and dance routines because I was giving them a headache.’

  She tried to imagine her own father, vague about anything that didn’t relate to ecclesiastical architecture, whisking her out of school to go skiing for the weekend.

  ‘My family’s idea of fun is to discover a medieval pyx they haven’t seen before, and they can get really animated about double hammer-beam roofs or wardmote court records,’ she said, reassured to see that Simon was looking baffled. ‘They spent all of last Christmas dinner arguing about later Franciscan thought instead of discussing the TV Christmas specials like a normal family.’

  She sighed. ‘I wouldn’t have minded a bit of fun.’

  ‘At least your parents take their work seriously,’ said Simon. ‘My father never took anything seriously. He inherited his money, and never thought about where it came from. In theory, he was on the board of a few companies, but it was just an excuse for some good lunches and it never interfered with the real business of life, which was amusing himself.

  ‘I sometimes wonder,’ he said, contemplating his wine, ‘whether things would have been different if my father had been forced to work for what he wanted, but it was always easy come, easy go with him.’

  ‘You must have some good memories of him, though, don’t you?’ said Clara. ‘It must have been exciting to be taken out of school, wasn’t it? And at least he was thinking of you and wanted to be with you.’

  Simon’s face closed. ‘He wasn’t thinking of us when he drove too fast down that mountain road. He wasn’t thinking of us when he gambled away most of his inheritance and invested what was left in a scam that a two-year-old should have been able to see through. He was having fun, not thinking about what it would be like for my mother to be left on her own.’

  Or what it would be like for his son to lose his father, Clara thought.

  ‘She lost everything,’ Simon said. ‘Her husband, her house, her car, her money and a lot of her so-called friends. But she did have one good friend, who gave her a job in her dress shop. It was the first job she’d ever had, and she hated it, but she stuck at it until I could earn enough to support us both. Whenever she’s at her most exasperating, I remember that.’

  Frances had struck Clara as utterly charming, but flighty and frivolous. It was hard to imagine her gritting her teeth and knuckling down to an unfamiliar job. Now Clara could understand why Simon gritted his teeth and put up with his mother’s extravagances.

  ‘How old were you when your father died?’ she asked him.

  ‘Nearly fifteen.’

  It must have been hard for him, too, thought Clara, rolling her glass slowly between her hands. It was bad enough losing a father without losing everything else you’d always taken for granted at the same time.

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Well, there was no question of school fees any more, so I switched to the local school.’

  ‘What was that like?’ A private schoolboy pitched without warning into the local comprehensive. Clara couldn’t imagine that had been easy for him, but he brushed her concern aside.

  ‘It was fine,’ he said briefly. Too briefly, Clara couldn’t help thinking. ‘As soon as I could, I got a part-time job so that I could help my mother and put myself through university. Once I started earning, I made sure that I was never going to be in the position of not having any security again. And I never will be.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Clara picked at the dribble of wax that had trickled down the side of the candle, thinking about Simon and how his father’s death had turned him from the mischievous little boy Frances Valentine remembered into the self-contained man sitting across the table from her.

  Easy now to understand why control was so important to him. No wonder he was so resistant to letting go, to rocking the boat the way Astrid had done and plunging into the tempestuous waters of passion.

  ‘Your mother seemed like a person who still has plenty of fun,’ she said cautiously.

  ‘Oh, yes, she’s big on fun too,’ said Simon with a sigh. ‘She’d just got back on her feet and had some security when she threw it all up for someone she met at a party.’

  ‘Gosh, really?’

  ‘She said she was “madly in love”.’ He hooked his fingers in the air to emphasis the strangeness of the concept. Clara had the sense that the phrase might as well have been in Hungarian for all it meant to him.

  ‘She and Tim had only been together a month when she announced that they were going to get married and live happily ever after,’ Simon went on with remembered weariness. ‘I suggested that she wait a few months until she knew Tim a bit better but no! I didn’t understand, it was love.�
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  He made a face as if the word tasted bad in his mouth. ‘Well, it might have been, but it certainly didn’t last. They were divorced barely a year after they married, and I had to pick up the pieces again.

  ‘My mother,’ he said with evident restraint, ‘is not a moderate person. When she’s having fun, she’s having more fun than anyone else, but when she’s down, there’s a very, very big mess!’

  He sipped his wine, remembering. ‘A couple of years later, it was Rob. At least she didn’t go as far as getting married that time, but the effect was just as devastating. After Rob, there was Geoffrey, and that ended in tears too…’

  Setting down his glass, Simon looked at Clara across the table. ‘I don’t understand why she keeps putting herself through it,’ he said, baffled. ‘Is it really worth it?’

  ‘If you’d ever been in love, you’d know that it is,’ said Clara. ‘Loving means making yourself vulnerable to being hurt, and yes, it is a risk, but if you try and protect yourself against that, you’ll never know the wonder of falling in love.’

  She twisted the stem of her glass between her fingers, looking at the wine and remembering Matt. Bitter as the ending had been, she wouldn’t have missed loving him for anything. ‘When you love someone, it just feels so…exhilarating. The whole world seems better, brighter. It’s like you feel connected in a way you can never be if you’re not prepared to open your heart to loving.’

  ‘Is that from a musical?’ Simon raised derisive brows, and she flushed a little.

  ‘You can mock, but the reason so many songs from musicals are popular is because they’re true. People recognize them from their own experience.’

  ‘You can’t live your life by a philosophy according to musicals, Clara,’ he said astringently.

  Ruffled, Clara stuck her chin in the air. ‘There are worse philosophies to live by.’

  ‘Dear God.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Look, all I’m saying is that you have to be brave to love. It’s not just a passive thing that happens to you. You can stay safe and never be hurt, but if you do, you’ll never be truly happy either. Your mother knows that. That’s why she’s prepared to have a go. I admire her for it.’

  ‘Yes, well, you’re not the one who has to pick her up when it all goes wrong,’ said Simon with a touch of defensiveness. ‘It’s not even as if your approach has brought you much of this famous happiness. You’re still pining for your ex.’

  Good point. Clara took a slug of her wine, unwilling to concede. ‘I’m not pining for him.’

  Much.

  ‘When you love someone, you want them to be happy, even if it isn’t what you want. I’ve accepted that Matt is happier with Sophie. Yes, I was unhappy for a time, but I don’t regret loving him. Being with Matt was one of the best experiences of my life. I know what it’s like to love someone utterly, and how good that feels. If I haven’t met anyone else, it’s because I won’t settle for anything less than that feeling again. That’s not pining.’

  Simon was unconvinced. ‘Maybe not, but it is unrealistic. You’re pinning your hopes for the future on some vague, indefinable feeling. You might as well read the stars or consult tea leaves for all the good a “feeling” is going to do you when it comes to thinking about your long-term happiness.

  ‘Isn’t it better to get to know someone first?’ he went on, leaning over to top up her wine. ‘To make sure that you share the same interests, and that you’re able to build a relationship on a sound economic footing? Those things are much more likely to give you long-lasting happiness with someone than what is no more than a fleeting sexual attraction.’

  Clara’s mouth was set in a mulish line. ‘Love is about more than sex.’

  ‘Do you really believe that?’ he asked sceptically.

  ‘Of course I do! Love is about needing someone, about feeling as if the day isn’t quite right if they’re not there.’ The way she had felt about Matt. ‘It’s about knowing that, no matter how bad a day you’ve had, the moment you see them again or hear their voice, the world is back in its place.’

  ‘Uh-oh.’ He made a show of looking frantically around for an escape route. ‘I can feel a song coming on!’

  Clara ignored him. ‘It’s about looking at the one you love and feeling your heart swelling and swelling as if it would burst,’ she said, pressing her fist against her chest, remembering the power and pain of it. ‘It’s about feeling a bigger and better and braver person for loving them, about feeling as if you’ve come home when you can rest against them…’

  Feeling the way she never would again.

  To her horror, Clara heard her voice crack at the memory, and she took another gulp of wine.

  ‘And you want someone to feel all this for you?’ Simon didn’t even bother to hide his derision. ‘Isn’t that a bit of a tall order?’

  ‘Maybe, but it’s how I felt about Matt.’ The wine had steadied her, thank goodness, and she sounded normal again. ‘I know that it’s possible. Matt was everything I’ve ever wanted. He’s funny and charming and kind and when I was with him I was in heaven. I want to feel like that again, and I want someone to feel that way about me.

  ‘Go ahead,’ she said, her eyes meeting Simon’s, ‘sneer all you want, but one of these days you’ll fall in love, and then you’ll know what I mean!’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Simon, matter-of-fact as ever. ‘Always supposing I believed such a thing were possible, if I were going to fall in love, it would have been with Astrid. We were equals—socially, economically, intellectually—and that’s a far better foundation for a lasting relationship than any amount of swelling hearts.’

  Well, that was her put in her place, thought Clara. There was no way she was ever going to be Simon’s economic or intellectual equal.

  Not that she cared, she reassured herself hastily. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than being stuck with someone who didn’t believe in love and insisted on being rational about everything. It would be like being with her family, and always feeling as if she belonged in a parallel universe.

  Only it hadn’t felt like that when they had kissed.

  When Simon kissed her it had felt alarmingly like coming home.

  Clara wriggled her shoulders to shake off that idea. True, Simon grew more attractive every time she looked at him, but there was no way she was going to fall in love with him. No, no, no. That would never do.

  It was just a passing sexual attraction, the way Simon thought all relationships were. It was important, but it wasn’t enough on its own. It wasn’t love.

  ‘Being equals wasn’t enough for Astrid, though, was it?’ she said a little pettishly. ‘Maybe she wants passion now. Maybe she wants to feel loved and desired. Paolo will make her feel that.’

  Simon snorted at the mention of Paolo. ‘Astrid will soon get tired of him. What has she got in common with him? Nothing! We’ve talked about it plenty of times. We’re perfectly suited. Astrid agreed that! We have the same interests, and we want the same things out of life. We were comfortable together.’

  ‘Comfortable isn’t romantic!’

  ‘What could be better than finding someone you feel at ease with? Someone you don’t need to try with?’

  ‘Because not needing to try is only a s
hort step from not bothering,’ said Clara. ‘Romance requires a bit of effort, it’s true. A little edge, a little frisson of danger. If you want Astrid back, you’ll need to step out of your comfort zone and risk showing her how you really feel about her. And I’ll give you a little tip for free: telling her that you feel comfortable with her isn’t going to win her back!’

  She stopped as Ted came weaving his way between the tables. ‘Can you do that last bit again?’ he said. ‘Someone clinked a glass at just the wrong moment.’

  ‘You’ve been recording us?’ They looked at him with identical expressions of horror.

  ‘That’s generally the idea of filming,’ said Ted. ‘When we put that little mike on you and gave you the radio mike to put in your pocket, it was so that we could hear you talking,’ he explained kindly, as if to two not very bright children. ‘See Steve with the camera over there? It’s pointed at you because we’re filming you. You do understand that means we’re taking pictures of you?’

  ‘We didn’t think you were ready,’ Clara protested.

  ‘I know,’ he said, pleased. ‘It worked really well. You both looked super natural.’

  Simon didn’t look natural now. He had pokered up and was regarding Ted with disapproval.

  ‘We were discussing personal matters,’ he said severely.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, we can edit out anything personal.’ Ted waved away their concerns. ‘Visually, it’s wonderful. The restaurant, the two of you absorbed in each other…great stuff.’

  He beamed at them both. ‘So, can you go back to when you were talking about what love is, Clara?’

  They did their best to have a neutral discussion, but it felt stilted now. They had managed fine that morning, but there was too much in the air now. Clara kept thinking about Simon as a boy, discovering that his father was flawed. He hadn’t said it, but she was certain that he had adored his father and that he had been bereft when he had died.