The Pullman, with its sleek tiled floors and red accents was about as far away as possible from what I was expecting for the night. I stood admiring the opulence while William checked in and collected room keys. I think I asked more than once as we took the elevator up if we were in the right hotel. He assured me we were.
‘Totally selfish reasons.’ He tipped his head towards me sarcastically as we stepped out of the lift. ‘I’ve always wanted to try this place. You were just a good excuse.’
‘You’re so full of…’
Our door opened with a quiet swish to a room that looked like something out of a dream. I had thought maybe a couple of lumpy beds with flimsy pillows, a kettle with instant coffee, and a bathroom full of roaches that partied until midnight. I did not imagine a room with a prime real-estate view of the Eiffel Tower, a downstairs bar to make every cocktail dream come true, crisp white linen, Nespresso machines, complimentary robes, and … one king-size bed with linen whiter than white.
‘This is … wow.’ I pointed. ‘But just one bed?’
‘To be fair, it’s a king, so you won’t even have to touch me,’ William said. I flinched, wishing I hadn’t just asked the question. ‘You know, if you don’t want to.’
I looked at him. The air in the room changed, shifted from expensive hotel to awkward encounter. Words flash through my mind like a bloody Bob Dylan video clip; marriage, separation, divorce, homewrecker. No, there would be no penis involved in tonight’s activities. Also, it raised more questions for me than it answers. What about last night, the insinuation that I was the one who came in like the proverbial wrecking ball. And what about those blasted letters? I shuddered to think of what this all looked like from the outside.
‘I mean, unless you do want to.’ He grappled for the coffee machine behind him. ‘Like I said earlier, I’m happy to take one for the team.’
I crossed the room and pushed myself up against the window. A door lock gave way with a quiet click and I stepped out onto the balcony. The tower was so close and so bit it was almost as if I could reach out and touch it. I peered down at the tiny bodies making their way around the park and wondered exactly whether any of them held any answers for me.
While William answered a knock at the door, I pulled my hair from its limp ponytail and gathered it up again. A porter stood just inside the entrance, picnic hamper and blanket, champagne and drinking glasses, and an embarrassed smile, probably glad he hadn’t interrupted something seminal.
‘What’s this?’ I asked, hair tie between my teeth and arms up around my head.
He held up the wicker basket. ‘Just a little something extra I organised. You’ve always said croissants by the tower was your favourite memory of your last trip, so figured you might be interested in lunch under Gustav’s finest. If you’re still hungry, that is?’
‘Starving.’
We dumped our bags, along with anything we didn’t immediately need, and began our afternoon of exploring in the Champ de Mars. With grass greener than a frog’s rear end and trees perfectly bronzed for autumn, the only problem we had was in deciding where we were going to park ourselves. As it turned out, finding a spot with a clear view of the Eiffel Tower that wasn’t otherwise obstructed by tourists was a challenge.
‘Here?’ William pointed to the ground.
I dropped the blanket by my feet. ‘Perfect.’
Spread out with our lunch around us like a prized loot, I struggled to choose what to eat first, and I loved it – what a terrible, awful, horrible decision I had to make. Did I want the flaky croissants, salty butter, and jam? Or did I feel like any of the array of miniature cakes that seemed to keep appearing from the bottom of the basket like Mary Poppins had done a break and enter at a bakery?
William was content to kick back, resting on his side with an elbow bent and his head resting in the palm of his hand.
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘I think you’re incredible.’ I looked around. ‘Though, this does set the bar quite high for future birthdays.’
His eyes met mine, softly proud. ‘I meant the food. What do you want first?’
‘I don’t know.’ I pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure what to eat first.’
‘I’ll make it really easy. This has all come from my favourite café, which is not far from here. Whatever you like, we can get more of for breakfast in the morning.’ He plucked a sticky paper from around a cake and bit down before passing it to me. ‘Try this one.’
I bit down on the soft chocolate mousse centre, and hoped like hell there was another in the bag, because it was perfection. Also, because it would be the perfect antidote to the hard question that was swirling in my mind.
‘You look like you want to say something.’ William sat up. ‘Do you?’
‘Me?’
‘Yeah, you kinda have that frowny thing going on again. You’re thinking, but you’re still working out the words.’
‘Last night at dinner, you kind of insinuated that I was a bit of a homewrecker.’
‘No, no, no, Emmy. God. I would never think that.’
‘I get that, really, I do.’ I put my cake down. ‘But, is that how everyone else sees me? Because, if so, then maybe you and I aren’t a good idea at the moment. I know this sounds completely ungrateful because this is just amazing, and you’ve obviously gone to a lot of trouble, but I don’t … should we wait until your divorce goes through? We should, shouldn’t we?’
God, I’d hurt him. His face was crestfallen. I may as well have asked him to shave his head and set fire to the remains. ‘I don’t think we should wait.’
‘No?’
‘Emmy, I want to tell you something.’
‘I’m all ears.’ I licked my lips and reached for the bottle of champagne nestled between us, because at least that was going to help temper whatever was coming.
‘That first day you arrived, I honestly felt like I was a colour wheel of emotions.’
I offered him a far too full glass of bubbles. ‘Tropical Cyclone Emmy.’
‘The night before had not been great. I’d asked her to move out, again. So the day already started with this black cloud following me around. Then the grey ambiguity of everyone we worked with who had zero clue, and I wasn’t about to tell them either.’
‘I haven’t told them. They don’t need to know.’
‘Pam was this little pink-faced loon looking at me to accept this gift she’d just brought to my attention.’
‘Some gift, huh?’
‘And there you were, and you were looking at me for this desperate level of approval. Like, “Please, don’t tell me I dreamt all this”, and I couldn’t give it to you.’
I swallowed around a strangled throat. ‘How could you have?’
‘I wanted to though, that’s the stupid thing. I desperately wanted to. It was ridiculous. Standing right in front of me is this incredible woman I had thought was long gone, who I dreamt of in the dark of night, who I hoped was okay, who I was scared I was never going to encounter again.’
I said nothing, instead choosing to down the last of my champagne before cuddling up on the rug next to William. He reached across and pulled me in under his arm.
‘It was terrifying,’ he laughed nervously. ‘Suddenly, I had to confront all this shit I’d left on the backburner.’
‘I don’t want people to think I did that, though. That had to have been your decision.’
‘I know that. And anyone who asks is getting the right story, at least from me.’
‘Just because I was back?’ I asked. ‘You were just settling? Why would you settle for that? You deserve better than that, anyone does.’
‘Seeing that that photo of you and him that night at the pub.’
‘You did look at it for quite a while.’
‘It tore at something in me.’ His eyes met mine. ‘I wanted you back. Right there.’
‘Oh, please,’ I scoffed. ‘I did have feelings for him. They just weren’t as intense as … anyw
ay.’
‘As for me?’
I nodded, closing my eyes and lifting my face to the French sun.
And there it was, the admission that had been pinballing around my head since the moment I stepped through the clinic doors. No one was ever going to live up to him, to Edinburgh, and all those whimsical wonderful feelings it evoked in me. Hell, all I had to do was hear bagpipes on the television at home, and it was all over bar the haggis.
My words hung in the air above us, close enough to touch. But, instead of reaching out to grab them, we stayed quietly as we were, tucked up with each other under the shadow of the tower. After I fired off a few photos, and a handful of selfies, I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed whatever this was.
‘Are you still awake?’ William whispered into the top of my head.
I was. Barely. I opened my eyes slowly, still wanting to pinch myself at the sight before me. How did I get this lucky in the lotto of life? Saturday afternoon, light breeze, full of sweets, direct view of the Eiffel Tower, and the most wonderful person I knew as a pillow. I lifted my head and looked at him.
‘Just.’
He tucked hair behind my ear. ‘Want to go for a walk and wake up before we lose the rest of the day?’
‘I would, yes.’
With no set plan, nor a destination, we dropped the picnic basket back at the hotel and wandered the streets of Paris for the afternoon. We slipped into museums if something appealed, or just gazed in shopfronts and took in the atmosphere of full cafés with bustling crowds and ancient bookshops. It was a shame that we’d arrived so late in the day, because the hours ticked away even faster than normal.
‘Did you want to climb the Eiffel?’ I asked, realising we were heading back in that direction, back towards the hotel.
‘I think they’d likely be sold out for today, I can try for tickets in the morning. We could go after breakfast,’ he said, busily tapping at his phone as we strolled over another ornate bridge, statues covered in gold and richly coloured paint. ‘We just don’t have the time to stand in a queue for hours. Sorry’
I grabbed his hand. ‘It’s okay.’
‘I just want you to have a great weekend.’
‘Great?’ I knocked into him. ‘It’s already perfect. Whatever we do now, it’s just a bonus.’
‘You really believe that?’
‘Yep.’ I hooked my arm through his elbow. ‘I love it.’
What I didn’t love were the layers of conflict fighting for top place. My brain said a very big no. There were a thousand reasons not to get involved with William, no matter the sleeping arrangements or the extra care that had gone into this weekend. I might be leaving again in the next few months, unless my contract was extended. He was still married; I didn’t need to get caught in the crossfire of divorce.
On the other hand, my heart was already dreaming of the country house, a clinic where he made his own hours and, the most important, the pocket full of children. I wanted that, desperately, and couldn’t imagine wanting it with anyone else.
‘You sure?’
‘William, you are enough.’ I grabbed at his hands. ‘That we’re here, just walking around even looking at all of this? I was kind of just hoping for a birthday cake, maybe a bottle of wine.’
‘Speaking of wine.’ He turned us around. ‘We have twenty minutes until our dinner booking’
‘What’s for dinner?’ I asked.
It soon become apparent we were heading off on a very fancy dinner cruise, with river view seats, a cute little candle, and unlimited alcohol. We floated through the centre of Paris, which began to glitter as the night got darker and street lights came to life. Bridges took on a magical quality, for their shared history as well as beauty, and landmarks were lit up in a show of national pride. We ate and drank some of the most incredible foods: seafood and pasta, pork, and panna cotta with a rich berry sauce. I didn’t dare question the cost, but I did help myself to as much wine as the waiter would allow.
When the boat returned to dock, we disembarked, completely buzzed and laughing hysterically at a joke that should have stopped being funny an hour earlier. I raced ahead of William, up the embankment and towards the street. As he reached me, he slipped and arm around my waist and pressed his lips against my temple. His spare hand came to rest against my cheek. Was there anything better than skin-on-skin contact? Whether it was hands, bodies, or lips, sometimes it told you more than the words you heard.
‘Where do you want to go now?’ he asked, mouth still up near my ear. ‘You pick. You’re in charge now.’
I tilted my head enough to kiss the palm of his hand. ‘Follow me?’
‘Anywhere.’
After a quick dash over the road, we scuttled through the doors of the hotel and past reception. I pulled up quickly, seeing the bar still open, and took a detour for a few late drinks. I wasn’t sure William, with his follow-you-anywhere ethos was particularly excited by the prospect, but he stood patiently by the bar with me.
‘I’ve always wanted a late-night drink in a hotel bar.’ I wriggled clumsily onto the stool.
‘One drink.’ He laced his fingers through my hair and scratched at my scalp.
‘Two.’ I held up the equivalent fingers. ‘And we get the second to go.’
We finally left the bar as soon as drink three was poured, right after I leant up from my stool and placed a kiss in the nook of William’s soft, warm neck. It was a race to see who could toss their credit card at the counter quickest as we rushed to the elevators and jammed down on the Close Doors button.
As the doors closed, he kissed me. Far from being the slow romance I was expecting, it was fast and urgent, deep breaths, and a fistful of my hair in his curled up hand. He tasted of sugar syrup, the lolly water of his last drink, which hung limply at his side. When he tried to stop, I let him, before giving chase for one long, last kiss.
‘Why the hell did we wait so long for that?’ I asked breathlessly.
‘Well…’ His eyes searched mine. ‘That’s my thing I’ve always wanted to do.’
A loud ding announced our arrival at the fifth floor. We poured out into the hallway full of electric charge and nervous energy. Our door was second on the left.
‘Emmy, before we go inside, I want to ask you something.’ He boxed me in, his hand against the door, and the handle pressing into my back.
‘No.’ I took another sip, gurgling the last of my drink. ‘Let me ask you something.’
‘Sure.’
‘What side of the bed do you want?’ I arched a brow and waited for the slow spread of surprised recognition to register on his face. It was beautiful and illuminating all at once in the dimly lit hallway.
‘I want the middle.’
I dragged my bottom lip through my teeth. ‘So do I.’
With a mechanical click and a beep, I tumbled backwards through the door, pulling William in behind me. Somewhere in the corner of my mind, hidden behind a kiss, I registered that our glasses had landed upright on the counter by the door. I reached for his shirt and pushed it up over his head. William fiddled with the buttons on my shirt, turning the unbuttoning into an advent calendar style event, revelling in each new piece of skin he caught sight of. As the edge of the mattress met the back of my knees, I stumbled backwards and dropped my jeans over the edge.
‘You okay?’ William asked, slipping off the rest of his own clothes.
I laughed at how … simple that question seemed right now.
‘What?’ he chuckled, climbing onto the bed, above me.
‘I’m great.’ I mumbled against his mouth as he pressed his lips to mine again.
And, as for the whole ‘no penis’ idea I was toying with early today? Yep, no, there it is right there. Definitely broke that rule. And, by God, was it incredible.
Chapter 27
I stared blankly at the computer screen in front of me. My brain was still skipping giddily along the Seine, my mouth was still savouring the hot coffee and pastries of Sunday’s break
fast, and my heart was still stuck in bed with William and his white-knuckled grip. What was he thinking, I wondered, as he criss-crossed the office, patients in and out, and collecting his files with little more than an office regulation smile.
‘Are you okay?’ Pam leant into my vision, twisted smile on her face. ‘You’ve been doing that thing with your hair for ages now.’
I pulled my hand away from my head. ‘My hair?’
‘Wow, you are out of it today.’ She chuckled. ‘Good weekend, then?’
I wasn’t sure either of us got a lot of sleep that night. We talked, fumbled, and spent an inordinate amount of time exploring each other’s bodies. William strolled across the room naked and made coffee at two o’clock in the morning, just in time to watch some evangelical Christian television and, eventually, I fell asleep in a contented bliss somewhere near the first purple wisps of dawn.
A breakfast rich in butter and jam was provided by the bakery next door. We hopped on the Metro again, preferring this time to stroll through shopping centres that showcased brightly coloured stained-glass ceilings, drank champagne in the food court of another, and William bought a small handful of French novels to take home. As if he hadn’t spent enough time showing off already, he wanted to add bilingual books to his shelves at home.
Heading home didn’t exactly feel like punishment but, after stepping off the train at St Pancras, I did feel a little like someone had put a pin in my bubble. All those lazy cuddles, unconscious touches, and words we didn’t need to say were now all coupled with the reality of going our separate ways and preparing for the week ahead.
Now, as I typed in new patient records and tried to keep my mind on the job, all I wanted was to go back there, back to bed, and back to him.
‘It was.’ I nodded. ‘Lots of fun.’
‘What’d you do?’ she asked. ‘I went to Westfield. Yay for payday, right?’
She wasn’t wrong, I could have done with some new clothes, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell anyone what I’d really been doing. In the excitement and flurry of trying to cram in as much as possible, and sleeping most of the trip home, we hadn’t even talked about what this was. And until it was more than a flash-in-the-pan naked weekend, perhaps it was best to keep everything under wraps and separate. Our office was tight-knit. The last thing I wanted to do was jeopardise that. Before my big mouth let me down, I slipped away to the staff room for a few minutes.
An Impossible Thing Called Love Page 21
