I patted his arm. “You read people just fine. Besides, your characters are fictional, so as long as you know them inside out that’s all that matters.”
“So we’re saying we have a stranger in our midst? Beatrice, is not the girl she appears to be,” TJ said. “Who is she, then? And more importantly, why the charade?”
We sat in silence, wondering about her, watching the pretty lights dance in the water, and the beauty of the Eiffel Tower. “Maybe, like all of us, she came here to change an unhappy situation,” The thought made me feel slightly sympathetic towards her. There were times I saw genuine anxiety in her eyes. “Paris has that quality about it. You can shed your past and start again, and no one would ever know.”
“She’s the thief, right?” TJ asked.
I bit my lip, this was the one issue I knew neither Sophie nor myself could stand for any more. If Beatrice was the thief I would have to confront her, or worse – fire her. “I think so.” I mumbled, feeling regret in each word. How had I gone from disliking her to almost pitying her in one evening? I looked at TJ and Oceane. We had left Beatrice out, again. I couldn’t remember a time when I had asked her to play tour guide. Or for a coffee. I remembered when she asked to speak to me the day Ridge arrived and I’d blown her off. My own actions weren’t innocent either. If this was Ashford, I would have made the effort to get to know her, and if she was prickly, I would have got to the bottom of it, and found a resolution. In my busy daze, had I become selfish?
I felt a touch sad and wholly responsible for how we had excluded Beatrice, but TJ and Oceane pulled my spirits up, packed up our picnic and got me laughing again. I had time to fix things with Beatrice – time to find out if she was the thief and see if there was anything behind it. In a fit of giggles we wandered along the Seine, having drunk too much wine. We looped arms, and zig-zagged our way across another beautiful Parisian bridge.
“We’ll walk you back,” Oceane said. “You can protect me from Eiffel Tower keyring sellers, can’t you, TJ?” She giggled, gesturing to the ever present clusters of men who sold cheap keyrings and bottles of water to tourists. I’d heard sometimes they were a little desperate for a sale, and trailed after you offering one, then two, then three keyrings for a Euro.
“You’re safe with me,” TJ said, pulling his collar up. “We’ll speak French, and they’ll know we’re locals.”
The air chilled and I shivered under my coat. Our footsteps echoed in the late night, bouncing around as if there were dozens of us.
A solitary figure appeared in front, his head bent, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his long, black coat. His walk was familiar. As we got closer, he lifted his face.
“Luiz!” I said, my breath floating in the air like smoke.
He turned towards us and mock bowed. “Good evening.”
“That’s Luiz?” TJ hissed. “The writer?”
“Yes. He’s been writing in the shop for years, and none of you ever noticed,” I whispered back.
I laughed and gave TJ a shove in the back, pushing him forward. “Well…wow…I,” he sputtered. Seemed Luiz had the same effect on all of us, his fame, and our love of great fiction, turned us into incoherent fools.
“Are your characters misbehaving?” I asked, wondering if he walked when the words wouldn’t come.
Luiz chuckled. “A brand new book and they’re already being difficult. I’m giving them the silent treatment, and hoping that makes them rethink their actions.”
I cocked my head, surveying Luiz. The soft skin under his eyes was bruise colored, like he hadn’t slept for days, but he still had a certain vitality, the wind making his cheeks ruddy and his blue eyes luminous.
“So,” Luiz said. “It’s nice to see you all enjoying your time away from the bookshop.”
“We almost have frostbite but it was worth it.” TJ said, his eyes lighting up like he just had the best idea. “And we were just discussing our new project – author readings.” He made a show of rubbing his chin like he was contemplating. “Just trying to knuckle down some writers we know and love. They can’t be just anyone…”
I held in a laugh at TJ’s obvious hint. But it was a brilliant plan – and who knew, Luiz might even say yes. We could use a big name like his on the list. It would bring in readers from all over France, not just Paris. An exclusive reading from the elusive Luiz Delacroix would put Once Upon a Time on the map again! I stared at him and crossed my fingers behind my back – if Luiz said yes, it would be an omen of good things to come.
“I’d love to,” Luiz said, making us all gasp simultaneously, which we half drunkenly tried to mask with coughing and clearing our throats. He gave Oceane a shy smile, and something in it made me wonder, especially when she cast her eyes to the ground, which was very unlike her.
“Great!” TJ said, “I’ll make some arrangements next time you’re in the shop.” TJ tried valiantly to appear relaxed, but he fidgeted with his coat, and stared open mouthed at Luiz.
“I better go,” I said. The cold had seeped into my bones, and as much as I’d dreamed of chatting books with Parisians and foreigners alike, the midnight hour crept up and I wanted desperately to plunge into a hot bath and warm up.
“I’ll walk you back,” Luiz offered. “To make sure you’re safe. Paris at midnight is no place to wander alone.”
“Thanks, Luiz,” I said. Paris at night was beautiful, but somehow each road and boulevard took on another character and I knew I would get lost trying to find my way back in the dark.
“We should head home too,” Oceane reached over to hug me. “TJ you can escort me, non?”
We hugged our goodbyes, which went on forever in our tipsy states. I smiled to myself when Oceane’s gaze lingered a touch too long on Luiz, and the slight blush it provoked on him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Cupid was back and hovering somewhere above. Eventually we headed different ways in the inky night.
“Would you really consider doing a reading at the bookshop?” I asked as we walked with quick steps through the slithers of mist swirling around us. He didn’t usually do interviews, or book signings, preferring to be as anonymous as possible, even though he was instantly recognizable from the picture on the dust jacket of his novels. Though, I didn’t know it was him until he’d introduced himself. It was the icy blue of his eyes – intense, driven, deep like pools – that made women and men swoon. But everything I’d read about him, so far, had turned out to be utterly false. He was honest and open, and fun to be around. There was no hint of a reclusive writer who shunned the limelight.
He wrote about heartbreak in such a way that people wanted to seek him out, and fix him, offer him their heart, because it was easy to confuse fiction with reality, because he wrote it so well.
Back home, when the Wednesday night book club gathered to discuss their latest read, there’d been many a woman, hand on her chest, claiming Luiz wrote such melancholy love stories because he hadn’t found ‘The One’ yet, and the chatter would become animated as everyone stuck a hand up, offering themselves to the writer, who then was a million miles from my life. Their cackles would ring high and loud into the musty air of the bookshop.
Luiz turned to me, even in the dark of night his gaze was penetrating. “Of course, I’d love to do a reading. I owe it to Sophie and Once Upon a Time, since I’ve written so many novels there.”
I smiled. This night had been full of surprises. Not only did I have a new plan for dealing with Beatrice, our author reading event was going to start with a bang! When I first arrived in Paris I had only ever pictured a romantic stroll with Ridge, but now here I was spending an evening with friends and having more fun than I’d ever imagined. With Christmas around the corner my time in Paris felt like it was going so fast, I wanted to drink it in and make the most of it. I turned to look at the Eiffel Tower, it flashed in the sky and I felt that just for that one moment it was winking at me – so I winked back.
Chapter Twenty
“Why haven’t you called? I’v
e been worried.” Ridge’s voice had an edge of rebuke to it. It was early morning, and I was still a little lightheaded from the amount of wine I’d consumed at the foot of the Eiffel Tower with Oceane and TJ the night before.
I leaned back against the damp wall at the bookshop. The walls had a mildewy, river Seine smell about them when you were up close, like over the centuries the river was being absorbed by the brickwork. “I wanted some time to think, without being wooed by a gift in the mail or the promise of a visit that doesn’t eventuate.” In actual fact, I’d been enjoying myself so much Ridge had worryingly been far from my mind.
“It’s not like I plan to let you down. I hate not being reliable, and knowing you’re going to be upset with me when I cancel. You knew this year was going to be tough.”
“I did.” He’d warned me often enough.
“So what are you saying?”
Ridge could focus on his job, but he had to make time for us. He wasn’t the president, or a neurosurgeon on call. He was a reporter, who deserved down time just like anyone else. “I don’t know,” I said, truthfully.
His sigh came down the line. “I love you, Sarah, and I know those words sounds empty. But the thought of losing you…” his voice petered out. “I won’t let it happen.” And with that the phone went silent. Did he lose signal?
I’d get a card in the mail full of promises. Backed up by an email letting me down gently. I sighed. You couldn’t lose something you didn’t have. I made a Christmas wish as I stared outside; I wished things were black and white so I knew where I stood in the game of love.
***
“I bet you’re all ready for Christmas, and the town’s lit up like a spaceship,” I laughed down the phone line, picturing the wintry scene.
“Golly sure is! It’s been that way for a month or two now. You know what we’re like, no harm in starting early,” CeeCee’s loud voice filled the room, and the laughter in her voice made me smile.
Lil and CeeCee started decorating a month or so earlier than most, their display window was an edible Christmas delight, and they took great pains in making it more spectacular every year. “Is Lil back in the café?” I asked, wondering how she could drag herself away from Willow, but she’d no doubt strap her onto her with one of those baby wraps and work anyway.
“She’s still resting up at home, playing with that gorgeous baby o’ hers – I practically have to lock her in the cottage to keep her away from here. But we made one allowance that she could bake on Saturdays when Damon was home. I think she’d go crazy if she couldn’t.”
I smiled, Lil loved her business something fierce. Wild horses would have no chance of stopping her from visiting the café if she had her heart set on it. “I miss you all so much!” I exclaimed, picturing CeeCee stirring a gingerbread coffee and munching on a cookie with her feet up in the café. But it was easier to say now, and know that it only meant I loved them, and that I wasn’t feeling that need to rush back. Homesickness had packed up its bags and retreated when winter came. I straightened my new sweater, smiling as I remembered the ugly Christmas knits that Lil wore with pride every day in December back home. She’d sent me a Kermit green one that read Kiss me under the Mistletoe! It was knobbly, itchy, and so bright it almost glowed – everything an ugly Christmas sweater should be.
Back on the screen, CeeCee’s eyes grew glassy. “Ain’t nothing changin’ here. We miss you too, sugar plum, but you be home soon enough. It’s not the same sharing these big things with one o’ us missing. We know you’re having the time o’ your life though, so we happy.”
“Aww, Cee. It’s been up and down for me here, but I’ve fallen in love with the romance of the place.” I took a big breath and knew that I just had to talk to her. CeeCee would know exactly what to say and what I should do. “The only downside is Ridge. I don’t ever see him. Paris was supposed to be this big loved up getaway for us, but my tour guides are my new friends, or my own two feet.”
CeeCee grunted and sipped her coffee. “That boy love you, you know that. He said this year was gonna be tough after he quit the New York Herald.”
I trusted Cee’s opinion about people because she was always right, with her sixth sense and all, but she had a soft spot for Ridge and could overlook any fault of his. It was time for me to be completely honest and own up to all the worries I had. “We’ve spent a grand total of one day together, Cee.”
“Oh sugar, that is hard. Three months and only one day, but don’t you forget that relationships don’t come easy. If they was simple we’d meet Mr Right every day.” She was a little teary, and held her hands up like she wanted to reach through the screen and squeeze me tight. “But you mark my words, things’ll change. You’ll see.”
I smiled, CeeCee was taking the lead from her sixth sense and I had to put my trust in her. I went on to change the subject and stop myself going crazy thinking about Ridge and my future. “How’s Sophie going with the festivities?”
“She tried to avoid it all at first. Wasn’t going to decorate your shop, that kinda thing, but we marched over there and ‘fore you know it, carols were playin’ and the Christmas tree was lit up, and in the display window! I don’t think she’s in any rush to return to Paris… Think she’s hoping you’ll stay on for spring.”
Winter already held us in its clutches, and I relished the idea of seeing the landscape of Paris transformed to spring. Could I stay though, even longer? What would it mean to be here and not go home? How would it affect my relationship with Ridge? But I felt a shiver as I thought of all the exciting plans TJ and I had been cooking up – our authors events, the merchandise – getting to see that succeed and grow the business was a gift I wasn’t sure I could resist. The sales had not so much risen as cannon–balled their way into the atmosphere. Our marketing plans, after much tweaking, had finally worked, and Sophie was back to being the dear friend from the past. It was like a huge burden had been lifted, and I felt a new optimism in the air – the promise of success in whatever I chose to do.
“What about you, cherry plum? You think you’ll come back before spring?”
The bookshop exchange was supposed to end as brightly colored bulbs pushed themselves from the earth. But I felt a pull for Paris. And seeing it in riotous color, with fragrant blooms and clear blue skies… could I miss that?
“I haven’t decided yet, Cee. Depends what Christmas brings. But I want you to kiss baby Willow for me, and tell everyone how much I love them. I’ve sent you off a bunch of presents, but you aren’t allowed to open them until Christmas day! I got baby Willow the cutest little fur lined boots, and Missy some make-up that she’ll shriek over. And for you and Lil, well that’s a secret…”
***
Christmas was just around the corner and Luiz and I were cloistered upstairs in the conservatory reading through the love letters. They were mesmerizing and I felt this urge to find out exactly who Pierre was, then perhaps we would discover who the letters were addressed to. They were so beautiful I knew if they were mine I’d want to have them back, even if the love affair had ended badly, like Luiz continued to suspect. “Let’s go to the Bibliotheque like I promised. It’ll be deserted because everyone’s Christmas shopping. We can read the letters there.”
“OK,” I agreed and packed them away. It was my so-called day off, but I usually stayed close by in case the crowd thickened with the promise of Christmas. There were extra staff working, and if a customer asked for a book they went and helped them find it. It was like I’d found a simple yet effective cure for the bottom line. Simple customer service with a smile went a long way, and I only hoped they’d continue it when I went back to Ashford.
The Bibliotheque nationale de France was an imposing building that made me feel the need to take two large steps backwards in the attempt to take it all in. I couldn’t wait to dive head first into the stacks and sniff all the books when no one was looking. OK, I admit, I was a closet book sniffer. Outside Luiz’s scarf flew sideways and he shrugged deeper into his b
lack coat. “Let’s hope we don’t get blown away,” he said, his words carried away by strong winds.
“Let’s head in,” I said. We walked through the hallowed halls and Luiz whispered to me. “So who is this guy? If he’s this grand pianist shouldn’t we be able to find him pretty easily?”
Pierre Someone-or-other, in a city where I had met more Pierre’s than I had ever dreamed of – from the chef at the corner café, to the new baby of the resident on the second floor. I wanted to laugh. “We could Google piano players, but that takes the fun out of it! And I want to find out who she is too.” Luiz stared at me full in the face when I talked, like he was invested in every word that poured from my mouth. Even when I spoke of something inane like the weather, he looked like he was reading every nuance of my expression to get past the usual chatter, to the heart of what I was trying to say. The girls back home were like that, while they chatted as much as anyone, when you had something important to say, they stopped their fussing and listened up.
“Can’t rush a good story. You’re right,” he said and motioned to a seat.
“That’s it completely. And we can’t skip chapters either. It’s bad enough we don’t have her letters. We have to rely on his. OK, next…”
Luiz cleared his throat and read quietly:
My love,
Another season has passed, and I’m yet to return to Paris. The shows sell out as quickly as we announce them, so they add more to the tour. Like I’m a robot, or a trained monkey. They’re simply thinking of their profits, not about me, and what I want. Each night is spent in a different bed, on a different pillow, where I rest my weary head and dream of you.
There are times I want to flee. To wake up before dawn breaks, pack my bags, and fly home to you. Hide out. Pretend I am no one. But, when the calm light of day shines through dusty curtains, I know I would miss the music too much. My fingers would cramp without their release on those ivories I love so much. It’s as though I have two great loves, and somehow they entwine. I couldn’t live without either of you. Yet it’s the piano I spend all day caressing. I’ll come home soon, that balance must be restored. Christmas without you, is there anything sadder?
The Little Bookshop On the Seine Page 21
