***
Mid-afternoon, I finally corralled Beatrice to man the front counter, so I could do the banking. Soon, Sophie would be starting her day in Ashford, and I’d have to call about the missing money. A quick breather would steel me for the dreaded admission that things weren’t running smoothly.
With the Parisian air against my face, and slivers of autumnal sunshine breaking through clouds, I was happier outside. How people walked along here without stopping to marvel at each and every little thing was beyond me. I crossed the Pont Neuf, and headed into the little island in the Seine, the Île de la Cité. I loved the idea that in such a bustling crowded place, there was an island like a refuge between both sides of the city, and the river flowed freely, like a fork in the road on both sides before joining in harmony once again. Quirky me found it metaphorical, somehow. In a totally whimsical way, it was like me and Ridge – parting, going about our lives until the tides changed and brought us back together again.
I hurried along, soaking up the detail of the buildings – their gray slate roofs; the wrought iron balconies, small pots filled with plants; shutters, opened to the day; and even the naked trees, their roots spilling out squid-like as though they were searching for something – it all captivated me. The age, the history of the buildings and every magnificent little feature caught my eye. A rush of sentimentality hit as I imagined Paris changing over generations, from black and white to full Technicolor.
Time raced away, and before I knew it the banking was done and I had to return and call Sophie, my stomach knotting at the thought.
“Sarah, if there’s money missing, you have to do something about it. I’ll tolerate almost anything, but not that.” Sophie’s French accent sharpened, and I cringed, glad we were on the phone and not on Skype so she couldn’t see mortification color me red.
“I’ve recounted so many times. And triple checked the sales figures. We’re four hundred Euro down. I’m so sorry, Sophie. I thought it may have been a mistake…”
My toes curled thinking someone was stealing, and most likely because I was here, and they thought they could get away with it. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “You didn’t take it, but just be aware. Watch them. We can’t have that, and the sales dropping too.”
I wanted to roll into a ball and cry. So far, the sales had plummeted significantly, and money was going missing every few days, sometimes fifty Euros, sometimes a heck of a lot more. “I’ll fix it,” I said, squaring my shoulders, determined.
“I know you will. In other news, your sales have almost tripled. Well, I’m guessing by your hastily scratched sales sheet here.”
I was the opposite of Sophie. My meager sales were handwritten in a ledger by the till. “Tripled?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve added a few tabs to your online shop. They can now buy romance bundles by subscription, and all sorts of things. I blogged about it for you, and almost immediately there were orders. I hope it’s OK, that I shuffled things around?”
“Of course,” I said, imagining complex charts and graphs when I returned home – my sales figures proudly in the black after Sophie had taken over. A tiny part of me was a little put out. Only because she was increasing my revenue, and I was decreasing hers, despite my efforts. Nothing was going as planned, and I felt a lot like a failure compared to the together types.
“Anyway, darling. I must dash, the girls are waiting for me at the Gingerbread Café. They’ve baked some heavenly French dessert to curb a homesickness I don’t have.”
My friends. I could picture them all squashed together on the sofas in the café, the fire crackling next to them. I double blinked at the sudden hit of jealousy I felt. Sophie was living my life, and probably better than I did. And I was here, trying my best, but failing at hers. “Tell them I said hello, and I miss them,” I swallowed a lump in my throat. Perhaps November would bring better things.
“I will, ma cherie. Au revoir.”
I turned my back to the counter, and leaned against the brickwork, taking in the glorious view outside. Being able to ogle the Eiffel Tower from any vantage point in the bookshop was enough to produce a smile. No matter what was happening inside, when I gazed at the beauty of Paris, a thrill ran through me. The shadow of the Notre Dame falling on the bank of Seine. The boats that chugged past, their passengers slightly dazed from the wind on their faces, and the weak sunlight in their eyes. The crazy way in which the French drove, with lots of gesturing, arms out of windows, the bleeping of the horn. Arches of the bridges in the distance. I loved it all, and wanted to soak it up, meandering lost laneways, snapping pictures so I’d never forget. But for now, I had to sort things here, otherwise my time in Paris would be spent squarely in the bookshop.
My email pinged. I didn’t dash for it like normal. These days, my inbox was filled with orders, staff queries about their pay, and a wealth of bookshop related messages. Reaching for my pot of tea, I poured a cup, and then settled back to read the message.
Sarah Smith,
My cell phone is in and out of reception here, as is the Wi-Fi. I’m crossing fingers that you receive this. Today we’re heading into Java, moving as the story does. I’m sorry to say, I won’t be in Paris as quickly as I’d hoped. But trust me when I say I will be there eventually. It can’t come soon enough. I miss the way you laugh, the flutter of your hands when you’re nervous, and those deep, dark soulful eyes of yours. Most of all, I miss holding you in my arms, while you drift off to sleep.
May Paris carry you in its embrace until I can.
All my love,
Ridge
I snapped the laptop closed. He sure had a way with words, my roving reporter. When he wrote love notes, or whispered sweet nothings, they were always flowery and poetic. Even with his declarations a knot of impatience settled. How much longer would Indonesia beckon? Was it safe in Java? My mind spun with worry, until I shut it off. Ridge wasn’t stupid, he’d avoid trouble. And hopefully get the goddamn story submitted and fly to Paris. I was doing it again, the waiting thing. An email was all I’d had since the hastily ended phone call. And I couldn’t help think he wasn’t living up to the book boyfriend, but then there was me who wasn’t exactly heroine material either. If this were a romance novel, he’d be in almost every chapter, sure there’d be misunderstandings, and crossed wires, a few conflicts thrown in, and lots of make-up sex. I had to remember my life wasn’t a romance novel, no matter how much I wanted it to be.
Before the day could get any worse, I summoned the staff over. If I nipped the stolen money issue in the bud it’d be one less thing to angst over.
“Guys,” I yelled out. “Can you come here for a sec?” There was a lull in customers, so it was now or never. I threw them a winning smile and went to the counter, spreadsheets at the ready. They wandered closer, some not hiding the boredom on their faces. TJ loped over, and motioned for Beatrice to join.
“Thanks,” I said, gripping onto the paperwork so they didn’t see my hands shake. It was nerve-wracking with all eyes on me. “Just quickly… there’s quite a bit of money going missing.” I gulped, they stared at me like they wanted to eat me for dinner. “I’m not pointing the finger at anyone.” Their eyes narrowed, and I fumbled. “But…but we can’t have that. It’s happening more and more often, which makes me think it’s not an accident like giving out incorrect change, or something.”
“You’re accusing us?” Tyler – one of the American exchange students – said, not hiding his huffiness.
“Yeah, what’re you implying? We work our asses off here, you know!” said Joey, who I’d only met a handful of times. As much as he tried to be hostile, his voice wavered, as if he was only copying Tyler’s attitude.
I blushed. Gosh, this wasn’t going well. “I know you all work hard… when you actually come in, that is, but the thing is…”
Tyler interrupted me, “What did you say?” he scoffed.
“What?” I said, miffed at how this was panning out. My book, How To Be The Bo
ss 101, was severely letting me down here. I’d expected them to act contrite, worried even. Not hostile. Was Tyler the thief? He certainly had the opportunity to do it, working behind the counter when I hurried out for lunch.
“The way you said, when you actually come in. I can see a passive aggressive person at a hundred paces, and I don’t like your tone, Sarah.”
My jaw dropped. “Erm, I wasn’t being…”
TJ piped up. “Tyler, watch your mouth. You’re being rude. Sarah’s simply saying there’s money missing, and it’s not going to be tolerated. Makes me wonder why you’re being so defensive…” he gave Tyler a pointed stare. “Got something to admit?”
I threw TJ a grateful smile. And hoped my skin wasn’t as beet red as it felt. If Ridge was here, and in charge, he would have belted out missives and had them shrinking back, and here I was getting told off! What was I doing so wrong? Maybe I had to be harder, sterner?
“Don’t try and turn this on me!” Tyler spat to TJ and then faced the others as if leading a battle. “She’s basically calling all of us thieves! We work for next to nothing here, and then she’s got the gall to accuse us? I’m not having it!”
Beatrice crossed her arms and gave me a pitying downturned smile. “Sarah, look, there’s certain ways to go about sensitive issues like this. Guys,” she faced the staff, “she’s new, I don’t think she knows yet how this place works. Maybe give her the benefit of the doubt, just this once?”
They flashed me daggers, and it was all I could do not to shake my head, and cry out WHAT! What the hell just happened? Give me the benefit of the doubt? I was in bizzaro-land, I was sure of it.
I pressed on: “What I’m trying to say is…”
Tyler rolled his eyes, and cut me off. “Save it, Sarah. Until you know what you’re on about.” He stomped off, and the others followed suit, leaving just TJ and Beatrice. I blew out a breath, my heart racing at the conflict and my meaning being so misconstrued.
TJ patted my shoulder reassuringly. “It might be better to chat individually next time. Not that anyone will admit they’re taking the money. But then you won’t have everyone following Tyler’s lead.”
Beatrice gave me one of her smiles which somehow came across a little condescending. “I did tell you, Sarah. There are certain rules here. It’s a busy place, and staff come and go. It’s about the experience for them, you can’t strut in here and try and change things. It won’t work.”
I frowned, completely baffled by how I’d done the wrong thing, when really, they had. I made my voice as even as possible. “I’m not trying to change anything,” I said, hating the slight wobble which betrayed my inability to stand up for myself. “I’m just saying money going missing won’t be tolerated. What kind of place is this, that I can’t say that? Sophie knows, she’s really disappointed.”
“Perhaps she should have to put more thought into who she hired to run the bookshop then,” Beatrice said. “If she’s disappointed in you, I mean.”
“I didn’t mean in me, I meant that the…” My words fizzled out, as I stared at Beatrice’s retreating back.
I rubbed my face, willing myself not to well up. Honestly, this was such a bizarre and confusing situation. “Don’t worry,” TJ said. “They’re testing you. Like toddlers do to their moms. Pushing the boundaries to see how much give there is.”
I nodded, dumbly. Too surprised to speak.
The blonde man who spent his days upstairs in the conservatory watched the exchange, and gave me a sympathetic look before retreating outside. I envied him his freedom to come and go.
The girls’ faces sprang to mind and I yearned for home. Whenever I was upset, we’d gather at the Gingerbread Café. They’d ply me with cake, and make jokes until I snort-laughed my way to happiness, knowing they were on my side, always. CeeCee would’ve doled out some of her no-nonsense southern advice that puts things into perspective. My fingers itched to call them, but I wanted them to be proud of me. Not worried that a few weeks in, I was a stressed out mess. So, I’d approached the staff the wrong way…it was time to rethink my strategy.
Once the shop was mercifully shut, the front door closed against the chilly breeze and the promise of customers, I escaped. The paperwork could wait an hour or two. Paris at nighttime was like a canvas waiting to be captured by the nimble fingers of a painter. Stars glittered in the blue-black night, the moonlight casting its yellow hue across the Seine, and I thought of Vincent Van Gogh and the way he’d been able to bring such scenes to life, that lived on long after him. Shoving my hands into my coat, I breathed deeply, the freshness like a tonic for my soul. Happy to stroll without any plan, I found myself in front of a church. From my back pocket I took my guide book, and flipped until I found the description. Sainte-Chapelle, famous for its stained glass windows. Before I could dither about going in, the most haunting music rang out, freezing me to the spot. Classical notes drifted into the night, so melancholy and poignant, I wanted to cry out at the sound. Someone tapped my arm, and spoke in French, “Rapide, quick, ou vous allez manquer.”
Quick, quick, or you’ll miss it. I followed along, not sure if I was supposed to pay, but feeling the music deep down in my soul. When we stepped into the main part of the chapel, my mouth fell open. The rich colorful stained glass windows pulsed under the lights, ornate gold shone down. I’d never seen anything so glorious, and coupled with the music, it was one of those moments that made me understand how precious life is, and how I was finally, really living it. And a few dramas along the way were par for the course, I suppose. It couldn’t all be rainbows and butterflies. Inside the church, I understood how people believed, whether it was religion or love, or friendship. Being in the heart of the Sainte-Chapelle, surrounded by such artistry I knew anything was possible. The stranger, an elderly woman who’d led me in, pointed to a pew.
I fell in love with Paris, and its people, and the creative souls who’d made it this way. If only Ridge were here to experience this with me.
Chapter Eight
I was stacking the front table with the some newly arrived romances when Oceane called to me. My plans to find someone to be in charge of replenishing the books were forgotten, since I’d got them all off side when I asked about the missing money. “Phone call,” she said. “From America.”
“I’ll take it in the back room,” I said, wanting some privacy, knowing it was one of the girls from back home.
I picked up the receiver, out of breath, and said “Hello?”
“Well there you is! Cherry blossom, how’s the city o’ love treating our girl?”
I wanted to shriek at the comforting, familiar tone of CeeCee’s voice. “It’s…good.” I was careful how much to say, but CeeCee with her so-called second sight would know anyway. She was intuitive like that.
“You gotta give it time, my darlin’. Till then, know we’re thinkin’ of you, and missin’ you like crazy.”
I took a deep breath, and sat on the edge of the paper-strewed desk. “I miss you all so much! How is everyone?”
“We’re all good. I’m calling to tell you Lil’s not just five minutes ago had a little baby girl…”
The dam broke and tears rolled down my face. I wished so much I was in Ashford, with my friends, with people who treated me well. Already, I’d missed a huge event, the birth of Lil’s baby. They’d all be hanging out together in the waiting room, nursing mugs of watery coffee, waiting on news about Lil. I felt a dull ache in my heart, being so far away. “A little girl!’ I cried. “What’s her name?”
“Her name’s Willow, and she’s as sweet as anythin’. Bald as a badger with one tiny tuft of blonde hair at the front. Damon’s gonna email you a photo. Lil said she couldn’t get on with trying to feed her until you’d been told, and the photo sent!”
“Awww,” I didn’t trust myself to speak. My friends knew instinctively that I’d be miserable missing out on such a special occasion, and they’d included me anyway. “Tell Lil I love her, and I’m so proud, and give Willo
w a kiss from me. I can’t wait to snaffle her up for cuddles, and smell that new baby scent.”
“She be waiting for you, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Like a click o’ the fingers, you’ll be back again, so enjoy the time you have there. Lil says she’ll Skype you as soon as she’s home and settled in. We thought we might all head to her house too so we can see your pretty face, and know you’re OK.”
After I caught CeeCee up on my adventures, I hung up and opened my email. I clicked on the picture of Lil gazing at baby Willow. Lil’s eyes were full of love as she stared at her little girl. Willow slept soundly in her mom’s arms, her expression peaceful as if she knew she was right where she belonged. And here I was, a million miles from home, when I wanted to be there with my friends so much I ached. Even if I wanted to go home, give in and say it wasn’t working, I couldn’t because I still didn’t have my passport.
I printed the grainy picture of Lil and baby Willow. My email pinged, and another attachment came through – a photo with the girls gathered around Lil’s hospital bed. CeeCee held baby Willow, and Lil and Missy had a handwritten sign propped in front of them saying, ‘Hello Aunty Sarah, love Willow xxx’. I printed that one too, and retreated upstairs to one of the quieter rooms so I could be alone.
Precious photos in hand, I climbed the rickety steps, willing myself to hold it together until I was out of earshot. In the quiet of the map room, I finally let the tears spill. I gathered my legs up on the battered velour sofa, and tried to stare at the photos through glassy eyes. Was I a failure? Who comes to Paris and doesn’t enjoy it? When I was strolling through the cobblestoned streets myself, I adored it. But in the bookshop it was like I was trying too hard and making mistakes, upsetting some indistinct balance between shop and employee. Ridge flashed through my mind, and I was tempted to call him and pour my heart out, but he was a man of the world, a seasoned traveler who’d have whipped the shop into shape. Would he pity me, not being able to handle it like the sheltered girl I was?
The Little Bookshop On the Seine Page 9
