A Perfect Paris Christmas

by Mandy Baggot

‘I could murder a beer,’ Rach informed, taking the seat on the edge of the table for three, almost between Keeley and Silvie.

  For this, Keeley was grateful. It meant there was a little distance, the table between them and, for now, that felt right.

  ‘Keeley, would you like a little vin rouge?’ Silvie asked her.

  ‘I probably shouldn’t, but thank you.’

  ‘She definitely should,’ Rach replied before turning to Keeley. ‘You definitely should.’

  ‘You can order anything you want,’ Silvie assured her. ‘I am so glad you came all this way.’ She took a long, languid breath. ‘It really is so wonderful to meet you.’

  Keeley felt herself calm a little bit, and as she moved her chair a touch closer to the table, her insides twitched in that way they sometimes did, as if in acknowledgement that this was a big deal.

  ‘I’ll have a glass of red wine,’ Keeley agreed with a small smile. ‘If you will have one with me.’

  Silvie smiled back and gave a laugh. ‘But of course. And we will order some water too, non?’

  ‘And a beer,’ Rach added, unbuttoning her coat. ‘Une pinte.’

  ‘Bon,’ Silvie said, raising a hand to beckon back the waiter.

  *

  They had got their drinks, they had ordered food, then discussed the weather and the fact that Christmas would soon be here. But everyone knew there was a topic they couldn’t avoid much longer. It was, after all, their whole reason for being here. Keeley took a sip of her wine as easy conversation that had bubbled up with no effort at all suddenly dried up like a very poor comedian.

  Keeley offered a smile to Silvie, mentally willing her to break the ice. But then she watched the woman draw an expensive-looking handbag up from the floor, propping it onto her knee. Perhaps Keeley should take the lead…

  But, before she could, Silvie began. ‘I… was not sure what exactly to say when I met you, Keeley. I have thought for a long time, perhaps for all the time Ferne has been gone, that I would like to meet you. But it took me many many months to think about it with logic.’ She took a breath. ‘Do you understand what I say?’

  Keeley nodded. ‘Yes. Yes I do.’

  ‘To begin with I would think that to want to know you… to want to know how you are… that it would be selfish of me. And maybe it still is. But…’

  Keeley could see Silvie was becoming emotional and she had so many feelings too. ‘I understand.’

  ‘I am not putting all this very well, am I?’ Silvie asked. ‘Keeley, my reason for wanting to meet you is to thank you.’

  ‘Thank me?’

  Silvie nodded. ‘Just to know that there was someone out there, living their life, enjoying fresh air and… the red wine.’ She smiled. ‘And experiencing all the colour that life has… it gave me hope through the very darkest of times. But then, most recently, it became something else. My wish changed. Now, I would like to get to know you.’ Silvie smiled again. ‘I wish for you not to be a stranger. If that is acceptable to you, of course.’

  Keeley felt her tension ease a little and then she spoke. ‘Well, Madame Durand, I am here because… I want to thank you… to thank your daughter… for giving me that chance to keep on living.’

  Tears were glistening in Silvie’s eyes then. ‘Well,’ she started. ‘This…’ She paused. ‘This is Ferne.’

  From the handbag on her lap, Silvie pulled out a small oblong photograph and placed it in the centre of the table next to the glass of festive pinecones, silver swirls and condiments.

  Keeley gasped immediately. ‘Oh… goodness… she’s… so beautiful.’

  ‘So beautiful,’ Rach agreed. ‘Gorgeous hair.’

  Keeley lifted her eyes from the picture to meet Silvie’s gaze. ‘May I… pick it up?’

  ‘But of course,’ Silvie said, still smiling. ‘Please.’

  Keeley took the photo between her fingers and looked into the face of the woman who had saved her. She truly was so pretty and it was the most natural of poses. Ferne was wearing a bit of make-up – not that she needed any at all – her long blonde hair flowing loose like it was caught on a breeze. She had the widest most genuine smile and blue eyes that seemed to be smiling too. She looked so vibrant, so full of life. It was heart-breaking to know that she was no longer here.

  ‘I am so so sorry for your loss,’ Keeley breathed. ‘So sorry.’

  Silvie nodded, her bottom lip trembling as she reached back into her handbag for a tissue. ‘Thank you.’

  Rach swiped up some serviettes from the table and passed them over to her. ‘Here, Madame Durand.’

  ‘Oh,’ Silvie said. ‘Thank you. You are kind. And please, both of you, call me Silvie. Whenever anyone calls me Madame Durand I expect my mother to materialise behind me… and she has been dead for twenty years.’ She gave a small laugh as if to belie her true feelings, then she dabbed at her eyes with one of the serviettes.

  ‘I thought about who my donor might be too,’ Keeley said. ‘But I don’t know, this will probably sound really stupid, but when I was recovering I felt so guilty knowing that someone had died but I had survived.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I almost didn’t want to know who they were. I think that’s why I didn’t try to find out.’

  ‘You have to remember,’ Silvie said, cradling her glass of wine. ‘Ferne did not die because of you, Keely. Ferne died because she was involved in an accident. You realise, that she had already passed… inside her brain.’ Silvie took a breath. ‘She spent three days on a machine until all the tests were complete and they told me there was no hope of a recovery.’ Silvie stopped and gathered herself before continuing. ‘It was Ferne’s wish to help others if something like this ever happened.’ Silvie shook her head. ‘Ferne was always helping others. Anyone actually. She had a particular affinity for animals. I cannot count the number of times I had to shoo strays out of our home… after they had stayed the night and eaten some of what was planned for meals during the week of course. I am a terrible cook. It was probably a deterrent to that.’

  Keeley laughed then, looking back to the picture of Ferne and trying to imagine this frankly glamourous-looking individual feeding a pack of hungry dogs. It just showed that you couldn’t tell that much about a person from that visual first impression. What would Ferne have thought about her from a photograph?

  ‘Keeley likes animals,’ Rach butted in. She had already almost finished her pint of beer and was obviously drinking Keeley’s share of Dutch courage. ‘Once she fed a rat some of her kebab on the Underground… you know… when she was allowed to eat kebabs.’ Rach hiccupped. ‘When she wasn’t, you know, looking after someone else’s body part.’ Rach looked startled then. Like Ant and Dec were in her ear telling her what words to say. ‘I didn’t mean it quite like that. I don’t know why I said that.’

  Keeley put a hand on Rach’s arm and gave it a squeeze. ‘It’s OK.’ She looked to Silvie. ‘I do try and look after myself,’ she admitted. ‘Second chances are precious. I want to make the most of mine.’

  ‘Feeding rats?’ Silvie asked, her eyebrow raising a little.

  All three of them laughed out loud then and it was like the unseen barriers gently fell away. Things immediately began to feel a touch more natural to Keeley, the previous slightly palpable nervousness eased by a tale about London vermin. She put the photograph back on the table.

  ‘Thank you for contacting me, Silvie,’ Keeley said softly.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to visit.’ Silvie looked to Rach then. ‘And you are a good friend, coming all this way with her to meet an old lady.’

  ‘How could I say no to all the free…’ Rach cleared her throat. ‘Free time to spend with Keeley.’ She gulped down the last of her beer.

  ‘Ah!’ Silvie said as the waiter arrived, arms filled with plates of steaming meals. ‘Here is our food. And I promise you, the monkfish really is exquisite.’

  Keeley smiled and settled back into her chair. Everything was going to be OK.

  Twenty-Two


  L’Hotel Paris Parfait, Tour Eiffel, Paris

  ‘Where is Monsieur Durand today?’

  Ethan asked the question of Antoine as he used the reception desk to lean on and write notes. He didn’t commit well to iPads or electronic devices, for him it always felt better to write things in ink. Whether it was the definite pressing motion as ballpoint met paper, or the secret thrill in being able to heavily strike out and eradicate that brought him some sense of security he didn’t really know. Perhaps it had more to do with his lack of anything but chalk and crayons when he was growing up. But what he definitely did know today, was that he was more determined than ever to find a way out of Louis Durand’s plan to sell the chain of hotels from under him. From under Ferne’s memory. The fact was, the hotels were doing well. OK, they were not doing exceptionally well, hence Ferne’s idea to branch off, but every business suffered lean times. Even Ethan knew it was moving with those times, keeping up and shoring the ship if necessary, that sorted the winners from the losers. Today there were lots of guests with smiles on their faces in the reception area, passing through to leave on an afternoon of sightseeing, or returning to their rooms for quiet time after lunch. The decorations here looked perfect. Yes, perhaps the tree was a little on the large side, but Noel and the team here had done an excellent job at making it a shining beacon of luxury. From the impressive crystal star at the very top, to the chains of really-able-to-tinkle bells that skirted the lower branches, it was a vision of exuberance.

  ‘You wish me to locate Monsieur Durand?’ Antoine asked in loud tones.

  ‘Sshh!’ Ethan hissed, looking over his shoulder to the hotel entrance. Why was he cowering in one of his own hotels thinking his adversary was going to sneak up on him and strike him down with fancy speech? ‘No,’ he told Antoine. ‘I do not want you to find him. Is he… here?’

  Antoine shook his head. ‘No. He left this morning. After breakfast.’

  ‘Where did he go?’ He shouldn’t be asking but desperate times…

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Antoine,’ Ethan said, looking at the man and seeing the wavering expression on his face. ‘How long have we known each other?’

  Antoine stood a little resolutely. ‘Is this related to the dates on my employment contract?’

  ‘Antoine!’

  ‘Yes, Monsieur Bouchard.’

  ‘You must know where he is. You asked me if I wanted you to locate him.’

  ‘I did not say I could.’

  ‘Am I not your superior?’

  ‘If you wish to discipline me we will need to have a meeting and I will be entitled to have someone present from my union.’

  God! What was this? He couldn’t seem to get a simple answer from his own staff members anymore. Had Louis bribed Antoine to keep quiet about his whereabouts? That would be just like Louis, already throwing his weight and money around and trying to take over a business he had never cared about before. Louis would have seen the potential to make money and not seen the love and energy his sister had breathed into the brand. Ethan went to answer Antoine, but his attention was drawn to a small boy loitering near the revolving door. The boy’s head was covered in a black beanie hat that was way too big for him and he was wearing jeans with holes – and not the designer meant-to-be-there kind of rips. Over his top half was a very thin and aged sports jacket. However, it was the expression the boy was wearing that stood out to Ethan. He could feel that expression. It dug into his soul, bringing back the sharpest of uncomfortable memories. He watched as the boy inched towards the Christmas tree. Ethan knew that slide-cum-walk. The boy was trying to be invisible, blend in somehow, even though everything about him was only sticking out.

  ‘Monsieur Bouchard? I said, we need to deal with the health and safety aspects of the ice rink before we allow members of the public on it. At present we just have Jean and Jacqueline performing routines from a traditional Nutcracker suite, Sleeping Beauty and, for the children, a number Mickey Mouse skated to in Disney on Ice. Although one person has said the head of Jean’s outfit looks more like the evil twin of a character called “Cat Noir”. I have no idea who Cat Noir is, but we should look into making the face of the costume more joyous.’

  Ethan watched as the boy reached out towards the branches of the tree, hiding a little behind two guests who were perusing a gastronomic guide to the city.

  ‘Stop! You!’

  Ethan jumped at Antoine’s tone and for a second he was blindsided as his concierge leapt out from behind the desk, pacing across the floor.

  ‘Do not think about touching the tree!’ Antoine ordered.

  He was snarling at the boy now and had all but scared off the couple reading about restaurants who were walking quickly towards the door. Ethan moved towards the scene.

  ‘You are not staying here,’ Antoine continued. ‘I have not seen you before… hey! Wait!’

  Before Antoine could say anything else, the boy grabbed at the tree, then span a hundred and eighty degrees, swivelling towards the exit with all the panache of a seasoned free runner.

  ‘Stop! Thief! He has taken something from the tree!’ Antoine yelled.

  Ethan didn’t waste any time. As the hem of the boy’s jacket whipped through the non-revolving door, he followed, shooting from the hotel’s entrance lobby and out onto the street. The boy was quick, but Ethan tracked him, running to his left and skirting around a group of pedestrians who had their mobile phones trained on a street artist dressed as a snowman, painted head to boots in glittering white and silver spray.

  ‘Wait! Stop!’ Ethan called as the boy continued to sprint ahead. The boy’s desperate pace was sending him off course, causing him to knock into people, completely off balance, broken trainers showing sock-covered feet with more than a few holes. Where was he running to? And why was Ethan making it his mission to chase after him? He was out of practice with real street running. The most he could manage these days was a few kilometres in the hotel’s gym and it was definitely showing now.

  Instead of drawing the pursuit to an end he called out: ‘Stop that boy!’

  Then, all at once, there were raised voices, cries and a large amount of decorated balls bounced onto the slushy pavement. Ethan tried to avoid them, still running on, until he got to the midst of the chaos. The boy had upended a small stall and its wares were on the ground, being trampled by people-traffic and rolling into the road. The boy was on the floor too, trying to backpedal his way out of trouble, his trainers slipping and sliding on the pavement as he attempted to scoot away at speed.

  Ethan grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him onto his feet before he fell into the path of an oncoming cyclist.

  ‘Do not touch me!’ the boy hissed.

  Something was a little off, but Ethan couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He held his hands up. ‘You took something from my hotel. And… I think I know what it was.’

  ‘I have nothing,’ the boy replied, walking away from the stall and its annoyed owner who was busy trying to pick up what was salvageable from his goods.

  ‘Hey,’ Ethan said, still following. ‘You are not in trouble. Not with me anyway. It is just… I think you only took chocolate from the tree and… if you need food then… I can get you some food.’

  The boy faced him then, fierce attitude in the look. ‘Are you the police?’

  ‘No,’ Ethan replied, a bit softer. ‘I—’

  ‘Then I do not have to talk to you, or do anything you say.’ The boy turned away again, Ethan suspected ready to flee.

  ‘You are right,’ Ethan answered. ‘You do not have to talk to me or do anything you do not want to do. But maybe you would like a warm brioche and a hot chocolate or… anything you like.’

  He watched for a tell-tale flicker of acknowledgement in the boy’s eyes. There was nothing. Until… there it was. Not in the boy’s expression, but instead in a quirk of his body. Hunger pangs. The mere mention of food and drink and your instincts gave you away.

  ‘Come on,’ Ethan sa
id. ‘What have you got to lose?’ He knew he couldn’t push, just make a suggestion. But his heart rhythm was telling him he wanted the boy to accept his offer so much.

  ‘Hey! You there! You need to come back here and clear up this mess!’

  It was the stallholder, the festive hat he was wearing at odds with the fierce look on his face. The expression was all anger and grumpy beard. Ethan knew what was going to happen now if he didn’t step in.

  ‘Listen,’ he began, addressing the man. ‘I will pay for any damage and…’

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the boy turn away and Ethan couldn’t help himself. He reached forward, intending to gently halt his progress. Instead, his fingers found the boy’s oversized beanie and, before he knew it, the hat had come off in his hands.

  Ethan gasped, the stallholder gasped and traffic on the road next to them continued as if nothing had happened. Except something had happened. Ethan was holding onto the black woollen hat and he was staring at the small figure whose long dark hair had come tumbling out of its knitted captivity. He was not now looking at a boy… he was looking at a girl.

  ‘You’re a…’ Ethan said. ‘You’re a girl.’

  ‘And you,’ the girl retorted. ‘You are the real thief!’

  She snatched the hat out of Ethan’s hands and before he could do or say anything else, she turned and sprinted away up the street into the crowds.

  Twenty-Three

  Café Marly, Paris

  ‘I have talked too much, I know I have.’ Silvie took a sip of her coffee.

  Keeley smiled at the woman with real affection. As every moment of the past couple of hours had passed she had grown to like Silvie more and more. There was nothing not to like about her. She was kind and warm and she had put Keeley at immediate ease. Perhaps it was because she had been through a similar tragedy, but more maybe it was because they had Ferne as their common denominator. They both seemed to understand how each other was feeling and it hadn’t felt at all awkward or uncomfortable. It had been light and undemanding. In fact, it was probably the only undemanding conversation Keeley had had since the accident. With her own mother, every conversation had an underlying theme of well-being…