by Mandy Baggot
He shuddered. It wasn’t from the wind as more patrons swept inside the café-cum-tabac he was sitting in, turning once more to alcohol as a coping mechanism, it was from that feeling people described as someone walking over their grave. Except it wasn’t his grave he felt Louis was stomping on, it was Ferne’s. How could Silvie be letting this happen?
Ethan slugged back a mouthful of drink and glanced around the high-ceilinged low-lit establishment where groups of people were happily drinking and dining, some wearing festive jumpers, others unwrapping gifts. It was December. It was the Christmas season. But in Ethan’s mind there was nothing to celebrate. How could Silvie and Louis try and make a decision about Perfect Paris now? Now when it was only a little over a year since Ferne had died. Now when they had also decided to engage with the person living because of his best friend. Instead of his best friend.
Although, it was also true, when Ethan had been caught not knowing the direction the chain should go in, when Noel had been talking ‘confetti canons’ and ‘giant baubles as big as the moon’, getting out of the business had crossed his mind. So why now was he thinking the sale was completely outrageous? Why was his brain saying a definite ‘no way’? Because he hadn’t raised the subject first? Because it was Louis’s plan? No, it was simply and definitely because the idea that Ferne’s hard work, her dream, was going to be handed to the highest bidder and that was simply too much to take.
He picked up his pen and made another dot on the map he had laid out on the table in front of him. Why he was doing this he didn’t really know. Except he had half a dozen places marked already. Places that were special and held memories. Most of them he had visited with Ferne. He marked the page then dropped the pen with an audible groan. Quickly he realised that the noise hadn’t gone unnoticed over the party atmosphere of some of the other patrons and they were now looking at the loner drinking brandy from Normandy. Why did everything still come back to Ferne?
Ethan shook his head. As much as he loved and missed her, he had thoughts of his own. Ideas of his own. He hadn’t simply been the extension to his best friend everyone thought he was. He needed to find himself again. And raging against Louis was going to help. They couldn’t sell the brand without him. He was certain of that. Well, he would be wholly certain of that once he had checked in with his lawyer. It was time for action.
He dotted another location on the map then looked out of the window onto the darkening street. It was starting to snow.
Twenty
Palais-Royal, Paris
Welcome to Paris. I hope you enjoyed the afternoon tea and Noel’s guided tour yesterday and I hope everything is satisfactory with your room. I would very much like you to join me for lunch today. I have booked a table at Café Marly for 1 p.m. The concierge, Antoine, can give you directions. I am so looking forward to meeting with you.
‘It’s not going to change you know,’ Rach said, nudging Keeley’s arm. ‘Messages don’t mysteriously alter their meaning on an hour by hour basis.’
Keeley’s eyes still tracked over the words again. This text from Silvie had come in while they were eating breakfast earlier. And it was about lunch. Today. She checked her watch. It was 11 a.m. now and she and Rach were visiting Palais-Royal and the apparently controversial Colonnes de Buren – black and white striped pillars of varying heights that were described as ‘a striking show of modern architecture amid the historic’ in one guidebook they had looked at. Antoine had described them as ‘grotesque cylinders that mocked the city’. Even Rach had laughed at that.
‘I know,’ Keeley breathed. ‘I’m just nervous that’s all.’ She lifted her head from her phone screen and stepped forward, her boots crunching on the fine layer of snow that had fallen last night.
‘I’d be more nervous about the fact some stranger knows your name and left you a map at reception,’ Rach said.
‘Oh, well, about that, Rach. Actually…’
‘Shit, that’s my phone ringing again!’ Rach said, dipping her fingers down into her bag and pulling out her mobile. ‘It’s Roland. The third time he’s called so I’d better…’ She answered and stepped a little away from Keeley, turning her back to the wind. ‘Hello.’
Keeley now had the promised map. Somewhen between their going up to their suite last night and coming down to breakfast this morning, the mysterious penguin-carrier – Ethan – had left the map for her attention. She really must tell her friend that the map-giver wasn’t a complete stranger. They had shared a tumble to the pavement after all…
Palais-Royal and the colonnes were one of the places marked on that map. Not exactly a hidden attraction but, admittedly, it wasn’t as Top Ten as the Louvre or Versailles. Except, with this impending lunch, Keeley didn’t really have the capacity in her mind to think about the hot guy she knew Erica would have told her to nail to the floor if she’d been allowed to finish her sentence on FaceTime yesterday.
Keeley looked up at the building with its many windows – some arched, some oblong and leaded, column-lined walkways making it reminiscent of ancient Rome. As she approached the black and white structures all over the large courtyard she was struck by a thought. Had Ferne Durand been here? Had she once stood in this very spot and admired it all? It felt a little strange to be standing here in Paris, Keeley’s reason for being in Paris and stood here, entirely down to someone else. She drew in a breath, kicking a little of the snow that was already starting to decrease as the temperature rose just a little. And then her phone began to ring. Straightaway she wondered whether it was Silvie, cancelling their lunch. Then she worried it was Erica or, worse still, one of the nurses with news of Erica. She grabbed her phone from her bag and checked the screen…
Mum
She answered. ‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Oh, hello darling! Or, should I say, “bonjour”? What time is it there?’
‘It’s an hour later than with you. Just after eleven.’
‘Are you wrapped up warm?’ Lizzie asked. ‘Your father’s been checking the forecast and it said snow for today. Is there snow? Are you wearing a hat? And gloves. Do you have gloves?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ Keeley replied. She wasn’t wearing a hat or gloves. She was still worried the hair dye would stain anything she put in close contact of it. There was definitely a taint on her pillow this morning completely like there had been the one and only time Bea had got her to try fake tan…
‘Yes, you’re wrapped up or yes, there’s snow? Are you outside? It sounds like you’re outside.’
‘I am outside,’ Keeley replied, taking a breath of the cold air and appreciating her surroundings with a little bit more awareness. ‘Rach and I are sightseeing this morning. And there is snow, but only a little bit.’ But it was fresh and white and crisp and was currently making Keeley feel a little Christmassy.
‘So… what’s she like?’ Lizzie blurted out. ‘I don’t want to crowd you, or interfere, or say or do any of the things I always get condemned for, but… you’re in France and I’m not and I… need to know!’ There was harried breathing then that sounded like someone on a bike. Except Lizzie didn’t do exercise unless it involved making shapes with her body or full-contact combat.
‘Where are you, Mum?’
‘Me? Oh, I’m… you know… just on errands.’ There was a spit of laughter. ‘Your father wants me to do something ludicrous with his darts at the sports shop. Sharpening the flights… or was it the tips? I don’t know. Phil Taylor issues.’
‘Mum—’
‘Anyway,’ Lizzie butted in again. ‘Don’t change the subject. Tell me… what this Silvie is like. Is she glamourous? Because I’ve been imagining her glamourous.’
Keeley glanced at her watch. Time seemed to be going super slowly today when she was both anxious and excited about the meeting later. ‘Well… I haven’t actually met Silvie yet.’
‘What?! What d’you mean you haven’t met her yet? You’ve been there for days! On her invitation! What’s going on? Keeley, you tell me now, what’s going
on?!’
She was surprised other visitors to the colonnes weren’t able to hear her mum’s ranting. She spoke a little softer herself. ‘Nothing’s going on. We arrived, we’ve settled in and I told you we have the most amazing room with a view of the Eiffel Tower…’
‘But she’s not met you yet? I knew this would happen! I said to your father, I said it’s all splashing out on Eurostar tickets here and sleek hotels there and it’s all very generous and attractive but now we know, don’t we?’
What did her mum know? ‘I don’t—’
‘She’s playing with you, Keeley. Toying with your emotions. In my book club we all read this story about this rich, perfect woman who we all imagined looked like Susan Sarandon and really it was all a façade. In reality “Susan” was a penniless whore who prayed on the vulnerable.’
‘Mum, it’s not like that. I’m actually meeting her for lunch today. Near the Louvre.’
‘If she shows up.’ There was an exasperated sigh. ‘In this book, “Susan” had a whole host of excuses why she couldn’t be one place or another. Of course really she’s burying bodies of the people that crossed her and—’
‘Mum, why did you give Rach a load of my medication to bring here?’
Keeley had pounced into the conversation with the only ammunition against this mad book club analogy she had. The fact her mum had pushed her anti-rejection drugs on her friend. Apparently, because she had to take tablets for the rest of her life and look after her well-being more than most, her mum had gone back to treating her like she was six.
‘I… didn’t know if you would remember so I was, covering all the bases… ow! Ooo! You’re alive!’
Keeley baulked, taking the phone away from her ear for a moment and looking at the screen. Had she been cut off? What was her mother doing? ‘Mum? What’s happening there?’
‘Nothing. Nothing. I’m just… opening a few windows and…’
‘Windows? It’s December. And you said you were out on errands.’
‘I’m on my way to do errands. In a minute. And a house still needs airing even in the winter and… your father unleashed his festive shallots last night. You remember the festive shallots? Bea always…’
Immediately Lizzie stopped talking and Keeley could feel the shard of grief coming down through the connection. Some of the Andrews family still seemed to be at the stage where the memories were still too painful to reminisce about.
‘Everything here is fine, Mum,’ Keeley told her. ‘I’m going to meet Silvie later today and I will call you and tell you how it went.’ She could see that Rach had finished her phone call and was heading back towards her, inappropriate-for-walking-heeled boots stabbing at the snow.
‘You promise?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Yes, of course. Now… tell me where you are because I don’t think you’re at home and you don’t sound quite like yourself.’ She had a sudden thought. ‘You’re not doing that circus skills course are you? Because you said you’d gone off that idea.’
‘Oops!’ Lizzie interjected. ‘There goes the dinger on the microwave. I’ll speak to you later, darling. Stay warm! Bye!’
And with that, the call was over. Keeley pocketed her phone and smiled at Rach. ‘How was Roland?’
‘Surprisingly calm for someone having to deal with a complaint,’ Rach said, sucking in a breath as she put her phone away.
‘It wasn’t the flat with the dog with two sets of teeth was it? I thought he wasn’t allowed to be left on his own anymore.’
‘No, it was Mr Peterson’s place,’ Rach replied as they walked forward across the square. ‘Jamie only went and showed an elderly couple around before Roland had got someone in to give it a once over.’
Keeley opened her mouth in horror. ‘Oh God.’
‘Yeah,’ Rach said. ‘Think a not-yet-dead badger pouncing from the breakfast bar and nabbing dentures.’
‘I can see it. I can actually visualise it.’
‘So,’ Rach said with a confident nod, ‘you might be a little apprehensive about this lunch later, but things could definitely be worse. You could be poor Mr and Mrs Ackroyd.’
‘OK,’ Keeley breathed. ‘A little perspective was exactly what I needed.’
Rach sniffed and stood in front of one of the black and white striped columns, regarding it like it was a still life model. ‘What do you think of these then? And why did some random mark them on a map for your attention? I think they look a little bit creepy.’
‘I think maybe them looking out of place is what makes them special. It’s the contrast. They’re different to everything else here.’ Keeley splayed her arms. ‘See?’
‘They’re totally ugly in my opinion,’ Rach said. ‘Look like a stick of rock. Or some trousers Miley Cyrus once wore.’ She smiled. ‘Come on, let’s go and try and see the Mona Lisa before lunch. Now there’s a woman with never-aging class. Sorry, Miley.’
Twenty-One
Café Marly, Paris
‘Are you sure this is the place?’
Keeley whispered the question through juddering teeth. It wasn’t the cold. There was actually the brightest of winter sunshine now and a cloudless blue sky, the wind had also dropped away. It meant the snow on the pavements was starting to melt even further, a lot of the cobbles and concrete now only containing the faintest smudges of white. No, Keeley’s lips were quivering with nerves, and coupling that with the fact they were standing at the edge of an eatery that looked very much like it had been placed inside a holy building, she had never felt more out of place. Tables lined the cream-stone arcades as if they were intruding into reverential cloisters. Outside of the colonnade was the impressive Pyramide du Louvre – all sharp edges of glass and metal compared to this stoa of soft granite and age.
Rach didn’t immediately answer and Keeley saw her friend was tapping on the screen of her phone. ‘Rach, are you sure this is the place?’
‘Yes!’ Rach said, not even looking up. ‘We followed the directions Antonie gave us and we set Google Maps. Sorry, I’ve just got to reply to this email a minute.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be on holiday?’ As soon as the words were out, Keeley felt immediately guilty for saying them. She had asked Rach here and Rach had said yes almost straightaway. A free vacation or not, there were many other things Rach could be doing with her precious time off from the estate agency…
Keeley put her hands in the pockets of her coat and tried to look natural. Easier said than done when your heart was thumping as if someone was bashing it like a Scottish pipe band drummer. Was Silvie here already? She scanned the diners for the vibrant fifty-something with a glossy handbag to match her hair she had conjured up in her mind.
There were quite a number of people enjoying the winter sunshine and the food. Others had simple coffees and an accompanying biscuit. Was there a woman sitting on her own? Would Silvie actually be on her own? What about Ferne’s father? She hadn’t thought to ask. Maybe this meeting wasn’t going to be just the three of them…
Then her breath caught in her throat as her eyes met with a woman seated in the middle of the arcade. She was wearing a taupe-coloured coat and had her fingers entwined in front of her on the table. She was nothing like the stylish icon of fashion Keeley had made up in her head. This woman had silver hair, smartly kept, modern, simple and her face was subtly made-up, a sheen of apricot colour on her lips.
Keeley didn’t know how she knew but she knew. This was Silvie. This was Ferne’s mother.
‘Rach,’ she whispered. ‘That’s her.’
‘What?’ Rach said, looking up from her phone.
‘The lady over there, halfway down… I don’t know why… I just… that’s Silvie.’
Keeley looked to Rach then and watched her friend narrow her eyes, as if tuning in to the potential Silvie with a truth-finding glance. Before Keeley could say anything else, Rach had taken a waiter by the arm.
‘Excusez-moi,’ Rach greeted. ‘We are here to meet Madame Silvie Durand.’
> ‘Oui, Mademoiselle. Just this way.’
And now it was happening. Before she had a chance to process further, Keeley felt her knee joints lock together as every step she took down through the rows of tables and chairs under this elaborate and regal ceiling led her towards the decision she’d made to do this. Her face flushing, her eyes almost too scared to leave the stone of the floor, she shrunk into Rach’s shadow letting her friend lead the way and take the initial impact of discovery.
It seemed to be taking such a long time to traverse mere metres. And she remembered the last time life had slowed like that. One moment she had been singing along to Dua Lipa, the next there was a horrendous squeal of brakes, glass shattering and shards of it were flying through the air along with her handbag, the contents of her handbag and her unsecured sister…
‘Bonjour.’
It was her. It was the woman Keeley had locked eyes with and she was standing up now, her expression warm and welcoming, her eyes kind.
‘I…’ Keeley began. She didn’t know what to say. It was like she had lost her ability to form any kind of sensible speech. How hard was it to say a simple ‘hello’? Just start with a smile and maybe the ‘h’. ‘I’m… Heeley.’ She shook her head, embarrassment painting its red hue all over her face. ‘I’m sorry, I… I’m Keeley.’ Her eyes were smarting with tears all of a sudden.
‘And I’m Rach,’ Rach said quickly. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’
‘It is OK,’ Silvie said gently. ‘This is a very… unusual situation, I realise. Please, both of you, sit down. Let us order some more coffees or perhaps something stronger.’
Keeley had to gather herself together. Except when you were about to sit opposite the woman whose daughter had saved your life as she left hers, it wasn’t quite so simple.
