A Friend in Paris

by Jennie Goutet

  “Oh!” She lowered her voice a pitch. “You’re engaged.”

  “Yeah. I’m engaged.” Victor looked at his feet, then back at her, and she could not be certain, but was that regret she saw in his eyes?

  “So is that a ‘yes’?” he asked. Only when she nodded did he press the button for the third floor.

  “Oh wait,” April said. “I need things from my room. Can we take the elevator further?”

  “Of course. I’ll go with you.” They took the elevator to the fifth floor and walked the last flight up the stairs. Victor said, “I’m not leaving you alone for a minute. At least not for tonight.”

  What will happen to me the rest of the time? April thought, but did not voice. At least she had a friend for today and she was safe for this night. She would worry about tomorrow when the time came.

  Entering her room, she saw her father’s paintings shrouded in white linen and felt reassured. Here was something continual. With the physical reminder of her father’s presence, she felt less alone. April grabbed the most modest pajamas she had—the ones with navy leggings and a white flowered top with long sleeves. She took her towel and toiletries and a change of clothes for the next day, and shoved it all in a cloth bag before stepping into the hallway.

  “Ready?” Victor asked with a smile.

  “Ready.” This time they took the stairs down, and she followed him into his apartment. As soon as he turned on the lights in the living room, smaller spotlights illuminated the blue and gold-specked contemporary paintings he had placed on the white walls. April took two steps in and saw another smaller room beyond, painted yellow. At her side, Victor suddenly looked unsure of himself, his gaze darting around his own apartment, as if he were looking at it for the first time.

  “These paintings.” April spun around once. “Where did you get them?”

  Victor shrugged. “I buy them when I see one I like. The streets between here and the Champs-Élysées have a lot of art galleries, as you may have noticed. When I have time, I go in and see what’s there. I buy whatever catches my eye. Plus, I like to support artists.”

  Wide-eyed, she turned to him. “You’re like a dream come true.”

  Victor laughed and rubbed his neck. “I don’t have any real taste. I just buy what I like.”

  “Well, taste…” she said. “It’s subjective. But it seems you knew where to hang them, and you knew to put that painting of the sunflowers that has the country feeling on the yellow wall in this…what is it? A library?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s the only room in the apartment that I decided needed a different color on the walls.”

  “And then you put these three modern fluid art paintings here on your white wall, above an embroidered sofa with threads in the same color scheme. You have great taste. I think hidden under that businessman exterior is the soul of an artist.”

  “Now that,” Victor replied, with exaggerated shock, “is not something anyone has accused me of before. Here, let me show you to your room.” He stopped and opened a linen closet in the wall that was distinguishable only by the tiny white knob and a thin crack around the cupboard. He pulled out crisp white sheets. “It’s in here.”

  April followed him into a medium-sized room, whose focal point was a simple bed with a wrought-iron bed frame and a mattress that seemed new. There were no paintings here, just black and white photos of what looked like an ancestor and shots of a stone house in the mountains.

  Victor walked over to the window and opened it so he could close the wooden shutters on the outside, then pulled the thin white drapes to hide the windowed alcove. The switch on the wall turned on the lights in the wall sconces, and the only thing overhead was the ceiling molding and a hook that once would have held a light fixture or a chandelier. There was a larger lamp on the antique wood desk in front of her bed, and to her right was a wooden cupboard, taller than her, that seemed to open with the key that was sticking out of the keyhole.

  Victor had taken the duvet that was folded on the bed and started stuffing it into the cover. He was efficient, and in two shakes it was made. Wanting to be useful, April took the pillow and slipped it into the white pillowcase while he put the sheet on the bed. It felt intimate, this making the bed together, but it didn’t feel weird. She sat on the bed and made a little bounce, looking up at him. “I think this is going to be the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.”

  Victor laughed. “I certainly hope so.” His smile faltered, then, as he reached out his hand and grazed her cheek with it. “Let me get you some ice for that.”

  April felt tears sting instantly in her eyes, but he left for the kitchen, giving her time to master her emotions.

  When he returned, he held a blue ice pack wrapped in a white cotton cloth and she pressed it, gingerly, to her face. “I forgot I had that,” he said. “Good thing because there was no ice.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  Victor watched her, unblinkingly, then cleared his throat. “Have you eaten?”

  When she nodded, he went on. “Okay, then that door leads to the bathroom, which is yours alone so you won’t be disturbed. Just call me or come knock if you need anything at all.”

  He came and stood in front of her, so she got up, too, and let her hand with the ice pack fall limply to her side. Facing her, he put his hands on her arms and rubbed them. “Good night, April. I’ll have breakfast for you in the morning.” He kissed her on each cheek, tenderly on the bruised side, and left.

  April kicked off her shoes and lay on the bed, the cold sheets soothing her aching head, lulled by the room and the sense of peace that pervaded her. Here she was, in a friend’s apartment in Paris, feeling secure for the first time since her dad was on this earth to root her to it. She sighed. How she’d missed that feeling of security. Shifting to her side, April left the cold pack to balance on her cheek so she could hug her arms to herself.

  With Victor, there sometimes sparked this awareness of how attractive he was that pulled at her insides. Most of the time, he was like a warm blanket, comforting and secure—surprising for someone whose attractiveness was sort of the first thing you noticed. April was grateful he treated her like a friend and not like a potential conquest. She was feeling vulnerable enough as it was. However, as she drifted off to sleep, her heart was not so reasonable. The image of Victor putting his arm around her to comfort her, and leading her to his apartment so he could keep her safe…his face, close, as he gave her the bises before going to sleep. These images caused little tugs on a heart that did not want to listen to reason.

  Victor had slept deeply and was shocked into reality by the insistence of his alarm. He had left it on the desk, and he stumbled across the room trying to get to it before it woke April. He wanted to have time to get some viennoiserie and fresh fruit before she woke, so she would have breakfast to wake up to.

  Having silenced the alarm, he grabbed a pair of jeans but was more careful in choosing a shirt to fit his mood. It was sunny out, and despite what April had been through last night and what had brought her to his apartment, Victor was feeling good. His olive green shirt was tight around the arms, showing his dedication at the gym, and girlfriends had told him it was the best color to bring out his eyes. The shower was quick, and he jotted down a note before he left the apartment.

  There was a line in front of the boulangerie with the warm smells wafting out to tempt the buyers. He was not used to getting up this early, but he saw the old ladies with their rolling caddies and a few young people in jogging clothes walking out with fresh baguettes under their arms. Perhaps he would get a baguette too, but did he have any jam in the house? He wasn’t sure. In the end, he purchased a baguette, a couple of croissants, pains au chocolat, and pains aux raisins. She would have a good selection to choose from.

  Next he went to the marché a half block away and bought fresh strawberries, a liter of freshly squeezed orange juice and a pot of homemade jam. He was fairly certain he had butter at home, so he headed in that d
irection, thinking, for once, how practical those rolling caddies were.

  Stepping through the heavy wooden doors of his building, he was aware of a feeling of excitement, or of well-being, that he knew came from seeing April. As he was about to cross the courtyard, Victor stopped short at the sight of Margaux raising her hand to press his buzzer.

  “Margaux,” he called out, his voice loud from shock. It reverberated throughout the courtyard.

  She jerked her head up and dropped her arm. Coming down the steps, she put her hands on the stroller, which was still perched at the base of the stairwell. “Hi, Victor. I was about to buzz. I’m glad to see you haven’t left for the day yet. Not that you have a nine-to-five job or anything.” She waited till he arrived and offered her cheek.

  “What are you doing here this early? I wasn’t expecting you.” Victor felt a strange sort of breathlessness, or a sense of foreboding. He wished she hadn’t come when April was here. How would he explain her presence? And how would April feel to see him walk in with Margaux?

  “Matthias wakes me up early every day, so I’m used to being up. It’s just that today I felt like taking a walk with this beautiful weather. I didn’t think you’d mind if I came here. I thought we could start planning the wedding.”

  “Of course,” he murmured, averting his eyes, as he busied himself with getting out his keys. He reached down to grab the bottom of the stroller while she lifted it up the three steps. His mind was whirling with possible ways he might handle the situation.

  They didn’t both fit into the elevator without folding the stroller. “Here,” Margaux said. “You can walk up with Matthias, and I’ll handle the stroller.”

  Victor's heart gave a lurch as he was handed a sleeping baby, who shifted as he was transferred out of the warm cocoon of his stroller and into Victor's arms. Matthias immediately began to wail. “Um. I don’t think this is a good idea…”

  Margaux had already folded the stroller and pulled it into the elevator after her. Victor quickly handed her the heavier of the two bags with the orange juice, strawberries and jam while he adjusted the bag of patisseries plus Matthias in his arms and began the ascent. Matthias's cries resounded in the stairwell.

  Victor had hoped to reach the door before Margaux so he could see if April was awake, but now that was impossible. As soon as he got to the third floor, Margaux was already out of the elevator with the stroller open and the bag of groceries underneath. She reached for Matthias, and he stopped crying immediately. Victor was a little bothered at how easily Margaux was able to comfort the baby, while he seemed only to be able to make him cry.

  He opened the door, prepared to explain the presence of April and Margaux to each other, but was met with silence. She was not yet awake. Now what should he do? Should he explain to Margaux the reason April was here before she appeared? After all, he was innocent of any wrongdoing. It wasn’t like he had set out to seduce April. She was his friend, and she needed help. But Margaux would not see it that way, and he had not exactly created a good reputation for himself by his past behavior.

  His decision to explain did not exactly go as planned because Margaux began talking—loudly, he thought, when there was someone sleeping in the next room. And didn’t her voice scare Matthias? She barely paused to breathe. How could he not have noticed this before?

  “—so my father can get the Tiara Château Mont Royal. You know, the one in Chantilly that my family likes? It can host all our guests and yours too, although I don’t think you will have many coming, right? I suppose you’ll have your grandmother and your father, plus whoever his latest girlfriend is. And I don’t think you keep in touch much with your friends. What about Bertrand? Oh no—I think you had a falling out over a girl, if I remember. So your crowd is not likely to be as big but we’ll need a place large enough to host all the people our family has to invite, and we must be careful not to leave anyone out—”

  Victor heard the bedroom door open, and Margaux must have heard it too because she stopped short. “What’s that?” she asked.

  April appeared a moment later and, except for a pink tinge to her cheeks that accentuated her bruised eye, met with calm Margaux's look of shock and subsequent fury she shot at Victor. April, glancing at the baby carriage, smiled and advanced into the room. “Bonjour,” she said, then switched to English. “You must be Margaux, and this must be Matthias.” She met Margaux's gaze head-on, which must not have been easy since Margaux was rigid with anger.

  Turning to him, Margaux said, “I should have known when you came home with all those groceries you were not alone. And now you’re telling your amoureuses about me and my baby?” Her steely tone screeched upward. Our baby, Victor wanted to correct.

  “Margaux, this is April.” Victor strove for an even voice, though he was both angry and guilty. Though why should he be guilty? He had done nothing wrong.

  April took a step back. “Well,” she said. “I can see my presence is causing you problems, so I’m going to head home. Victor, I’m just going to get the rest of my things in the room.”

  She appeared at the entrance to the living room a moment later, and Victor left Margaux and went to April’s side in the hallway. In a low voice, he said, “I’m sorry. I bought breakfast for us, but I won’t offer it to you until I have a chance to talk to Margaux.”

  She gave a weak smile. “I wouldn’t dream of staying another moment. I hope you get things sorted out with your fiancée.”

  They had arrived at the door, and Victor kissed her on both cheeks before seeing her out.

  Margaux's posture was glacial when he came back in, and now the baby was crying too. With a brusque movement, she took the baby out of the stroller and sat down to feed him. “Honestly, Victor. I was a fool to think we could pick right back up where we left off. Were you cheating on me when we were together, too?”

  He sat. “No. It wasn’t like that then, and it’s not like that now. April stayed here because she was attacked last night. Remember Lucas who lives on the fifth floor? His grandmother rents the service room to April, and he took advantage of her. He was waiting for her when she returned home last night. I just happened to hear the struggle and came to help her. There is nothing between us. She stayed in the guest room.”

  Margaux said nothing, and Matthias squirmed on her lap. “You’re making him fussy,” she said in a peevish tone. Settling the baby more comfortably, she looked at him. “I don’t want to be made a fool of. Are you sure you want this wedding?”

  “Yes,” Victor said. His voice cracked on the one word, and he felt how weak his persuasion was. But it was the right thing to do for the baby. And hadn’t he spent an entire year dreaming of just this? That Margaux would honor him by agreeing to marry him, and he would now be a full member of her family? He had to say more. “I definitely want to be there for you and Matthias. We can start planning the wedding now if you want. I’ll set out the breakfast.”

  “Wait.” Margaux put the baby up and burped him. He gave a feeble cry, and Victor wondered if he’d had enough to eat. How much did babies eat anyway? “I’m not in the mood to plan the wedding now. It was a stupid idea to come—”

  “No,” Victor protested.

  “Let’s just plan it with my parents. They’ll probably nix any idea I come up with on my own.” Margaux stood to leave and put the baby back in the stroller, securing him in place. “Shall you come by later this week?”

  Victor kissed one frosty cheek, then the other. “Sure. Just call me and let me know when.” He opened the door and watched her walk to the elevator. “Let me help you with that.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m used to folding the stroller with one hand. Goodbye, Victor.”

  Chapter 13

  Victor's door clicked shut, leaving April in the silent, dim stairwell. A bead of light streamed through the narrow glass pane on the wall and made a diagonal patch on the floor. The morning had been idyllic up until that point, with her waking up slowly to the yellow morning light that poured thr
ough the sheer curtains, and stretching her toes in the soft down duvet. The room was almost feminine in the way it cocooned its inhabitant. April had had time to shower and get dressed before she heard the door open. Had Victor gone out for breakfast? Her stomach rumbled in anticipation.

  But then she heard him talking to a neighbor from the sound of it. And there was an answering voice, but this time it was the proprietary, nasal tone of a Parisian woman inside the apartment. April went still. Her mind whirled with whom it might be and came up with only one solution. His fiancée.

  Noiselessly, she pulled on the clothes she had brought, taking care not to touch the ones she was wearing from the night before. Those she wanted to burn. Then she squared her shoulders and reached for the door handle. In the living room, Victor's expression was one of private agony, and any embarrassment over the situation fled. Her one thought was to reassure him. She wouldn’t give his fiancée any cause to feel she was competition. So she had tried to put her at ease and admire the baby and show that she was nothing to Victor. The stiff French woman did not bend. Well? April would let him do the explaining as to why she was there after she’d left.

  She climbed a flight of stairs. All the fear from last night was gone, but she knew the sense of security would be short-lived until the police found Lucas. Surely he couldn’t hide forever, could he? As she rounded the stairwell, she calculated what she’d need to do now. There was no question of her staying in the same apartment. She’d need to find a new place to live. Even if there were no security issue, how could she continue to live in an apartment owned by the relative of a man who had attacked her?

  At the top of the stairs, the sun beamed through the skylight, and she stopped, lifting her face to its warmth and letting it wash over her. When her eyes adjusted to the dim corridor beyond, they settled on the door to her apartment.

  It was cracked open.