by Lost
Once inside the house, Henri gently let Sophie slump down on the sofa and then he shuffled into the kitchen emerging with a frozen pack for her foot. He gently put it around her ankle and then sat heavily in a nearby armchair.
‘Thank God you came to get me,’ Sophie said, glad for the cold. ‘I’m so grateful, Henri. I know how hard it must have been for you.’
Henri clasped his hands together to stop them shaking and Sophie felt tears pricking at her eyelids. Poor Henri. What an ordeal that must have been for him.
‘Camille loved that garden,’ Henri mumbled.
Sophie struggled to sit up. ‘She did, didn’t she? I was trying to find her herbs.’
‘She just loved gardening.’ Henri stared out of the window. ‘She made it look so beautiful. The herbs and the flowers.’ He pointed. ‘Raff wanted to pull all the weeds up, but I wouldn’t let him.’
‘Why not?’ Sophie asked gently.
‘I don’t want anyone to touch it,’ Henri said sadly. ‘It was hers. She made it beautiful. I don’t want someone else doing what she used to do. I miss her,’ he added, his voice breaking slightly.
Sophie swallowed. ‘I know you do. It must be so hard without her.’ She could only imagine how hideous it was for Henri. All she could compare it to was walking away from Raff and that had broken her heart. Someone dying and being gone forever was more final, a different kind of grief.
‘It is.’ Henri nodded, his mouth downturned. ‘I feel so lost without her. Nothing seems as fun.’
Sophie winced as she shifted position, realising that Henri had just highlighted yet another contrast between Raff and Ryan. Why hadn’t she felt like that when Ryan had left? She had been thinking about marrying the guy and she’d been gutted when he’d left for Dubai, but it wasn’t as though she had thought life wasn’t going to ever be fun again. Whereas, when Sophie had left Paris, it had felt as though the lights had gone out. For a very long time.
‘Raff talks about you,’ Henri said, out of the blue.
Sophie was startled.
‘You’re the one who broke his heart all those years ago.’
‘Oh.’ Sophie felt crestfallen. Was she ever going to stop regretting leaving Raff and not giving him a chance to explain himself?
‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ Henri said reasonably. ‘And Raff is happy again. Happy that you’re back.’
‘I’m happy too,’ Sophie said, meaning it.
‘Are you leaving again?’ Henri fixed her with a piercing gaze.
Sophie wanted to drop her gaze, but she bravely held it. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered honestly. ‘When mum is back, I’ll know more.’
As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Sophie stopped and thought. Was it about her mum coming back? What difference did it make? She wanted her mum back because she wanted her back. But did that have any bearing on what she was feeling for Raff? No. It didn’t. It was just that with her mum still missing and having no idea why, there was too much confusion in her head. Once the mystery of her mum’s disappearance was solved, Sophie knew her head would gain much-needed clarity.
Henri shrugged, but it was obvious he didn’t want Raff hurt again. Sophie could understand that. She didn’t want to hurt Raff either, or herself.
‘Did Coco cook?’ Henri sniffed the air. ‘Boeuf bourguignon? It smells good. Better than it did earlier.’
‘We cooked together,’ Sophie smiled. She wasn’t going to mention Coco’s burnt onions.
The front door opened and Raff came in. His face registered shock at seeing Sophie sprawled across the sofa and Henri downstairs.
‘Dad! Sophie. What’s… oh my God, are you hurt? Dad, are you ok?’
Sophie and Henri looked at one another and nodded.
‘We’re both shaken up and we’re both ok,’ Sophie said. ‘I’ll explain later.’
‘Where’s Coco?’ Raff frowned. ‘I left her in charge and she’s not here.’
‘She’s popped out and she’ll be back shortly,’ Sophie said smoothly. ‘I told her I’d keep an eye on Henri, but actually, he kept an eye on me. He was incredibly brave and rescued me from the garden.’
Raff’s eyes widened and he stared at Henri. ‘What? You’ve been outside?’
Henri nodded. ‘She fell down the well hole.’
Raff dragged his hand through his hair. ‘That well hole. I should have had that filled in again.’
‘I haven’t let you sort the garden out,’ Henri said gruffly. He looked mournful again. ‘It looks terrible and it’s clearly a death trap. Maybe you should get it cleared, Raff.’
Raff put his hand on Henri’s shoulder and squeezed it. He met Sophie’s eyes, on the edge of tears. His father hadn’t wanted that garden to be touched in a year.
‘I think mum would really love that,’ Raff said, choked up.
Henri rubbed his eyes and struggled to his feet. ‘I’ll be down for dinner.’
Raff gaped. His father hadn’t had dinner downstairs in months.
‘Thank you so much, Henri,’ Sophie said, wishing she could get up and give him a hug. ‘I’d still be lying in the garden now if it wasn’t for you.’
Henri gave her a smile. ‘De rien.’ He shuffled away and went upstairs, climbing them slowly but with slightly more spring in his step.
‘Well.’ Raff sat down on the sofa. ‘I didn’t think I’d be coming home to this, that’s for sure. I thought Coco would be here burning dinner and dad would be upstairs asleep.’
Sophie smiled inwardly at the irony as that had been the reality an hour or so before. She lifted the ice pack from her foot and grimaced at the sight of it.
‘Putain de merde!’ Raff swore uncharacteristically and looked at it in more detail. ‘That looks terrible. We need to get you to the doctors.’
‘No, no. I just need to rest it, I think. I think I’ve twisted it. It’s happened before when I was five and it was as right as rain the following day.’
Raff looked unconvinced. ‘Hmmm. Then I’ll wait on you here and serve you dinner. We’ll move our plans to tomorrow. It’s probably a bit late to check out that wedding venue now anyway.’
‘Fair enough.’
Coco burst through the door, clearly flustered that Raff had arrived home before her.
‘I just popped to Aimee’s house to get my homework and Sophie said it was alright and I’m…’
Raff waved a hand. ‘Yes, yes, Coco. Calm down. I’m not about to shout at you.’
‘Mon Dieu! What has happened?’ Coco rushed to Sophie’s side.
‘Twisted ankle,’ Sophie said, mentally crossing her fingers. She hoped to God it wasn’t broken; she didn’t need that. ‘Henri rescued me from the garden.’
‘And he’s coming downstairs to have dinner with us,’ Raff interjected.
Coco looked stunned. ‘I only went out for half an hour…’
Sophie laughed then stopped as she moved her ankle and a bolt of pain shot through her. God. Maybe not just a twist after all.
Raff watched them, feeling contented. Why did this all feel so right?
‘I’m thinking Sophie could stay in your room overnight and you can have the sofa?’ he said.
Sophie protested and Coco shushed her. Coco nipped out into the garden, skipping round the side path and returned with the parsley.
‘The least I can do,’ she said, pulling a face.
Sophie sighed. The bloody parsley.
Raff’s phone buzzed and he glanced at it.
Don’t be silly, Raff! Can’t wait to see you all, will be there soon. Estelle X
Raff’s heart sank deeply. He had messaged Estelle two days ago advising her that it was a bad time to visit, but she was clearly ignoring him. He was doing his best to protect Coco from the pain her mother’s visits usually caused. Raff wanted to protect Sophie too. He wasn’t sure what from exactly, but Estelle was always, without fail, bad news. Raff just hoped to God this was one of the times Estelle was a no-show.
Chapter Eighteen
> ‘Wow,’ Raff said in awe.
‘Wow,’ Sophie echoed.
Having gone through the cast iron gates that framed the hotel outside, Sophie and Raff were now standing in the foyer of the Shangri-La Hotel, the venue for Esther’s sister’s wedding. Inside, Raff and Sophie took in their surroundings. Opulent, elegant and quite simply breathtaking, the façade of the hotel was reminiscent of the former home of Napoleon Bonaparte’s grandnephew, Prince Roland Bonaparte, and was located in the very heart of Paris, overlooking the Seine and the Eiffel Tower. Inside there was a grand staircase, which was so commanding, it was hard to tear one’s eyes away from it. Sophie knew there was an incredible restaurant in the hotel called La Bauhinia, which took its name from the iconic orchid flower gracing the flag of Hong Kong and it had a magnificent 1930’s, Eiffel-inspired steel and glass cupola, as well as a Murano glass chandelier.
‘I can’t believe I’ve never been here before,’ Raff said.
‘Me neither. It’s gorgeous.’
‘The wedding is going to be stunning,’ Raff said, shaking his head. ‘But I can’t even begin to imagine what it must cost them.’
Sophie did a mock-shudder. ‘It even smells expensive in here.’
‘How’s the foot?’ Raff asked.
Sophie tested it on the beautiful floor of the Shangri-La foyer. ‘It’s ok. Definitely not sprained or broken. I’m lucky it turned out to just be a twist. I seem to get over those quickly.’
She’d spent the night in Coco’s room, which had been slightly odd, but she had had a surprisingly good night’s sleep. The evening had been lovely; her boeuf bourguignon had gone down very well and the best thing had been that Henri had kept his word and joined them downstairs for dinner. Raff had beamed all night, which was a relief as Sophie had detected an edge to his behaviour earlier on, but she’d no idea what was on his mind. He’d been on the phone early in the morning to arrange cover at the macaron shop, so perhaps it’d been that, Sophie wasn’t sure, but after they’d checked in at the shop and she had had a shower and changed, Raff seemed to relax.
‘So. How are we doing this?’ Raff wanted to know.
Sophie tugged her camera out of her bag. ‘Well, I spoke to the manager this morning before we came here and I need to check in at reception. Someone is going to show us around so I can get an idea of the kind of photos I can take on the day.’
Raff lead the way and Sophie spoke a young lady called Agathe in a smart uniform and a tight chignon who started to efficiently show them around.
‘The hotel has 101 rooms and the bride has booked out a number of those for some of her guests who are coming from outside Paris,’ she said, talking and walking.
Raff raised his eyebrows at Sophie as they minced after her, struggling to keep up with Agathe, especially with Sophie’s weak ankle. She took them upstairs in the lift.
‘The rooms are a fusion of European empire with Asian aesthetics,’ Agathe continued.
‘I don’t even know what that is,’ Sophie whispered to Raff.
‘Sounds impressive,’ he shrugged.
‘This is the salon Roland Bonaparte,’ Agathe said, throwing an arm out grandly. ‘But your friend is not holding their reception in this one.’
‘It’s amazing,’ Sophie said, blown away by the frescos and the chandeliers. The tables were all set for a function, with immaculate cloths, shining cutlery and pink and white flowers in the centre of each one, plus an extravagant arrangement at the end of the room with trailing blooms.
‘Looks just like my living room,’ Raff joked as they strolled through it.
‘This might seem odd but we’re now going back downstairs for the room you need to see; I just didn’t want you to miss seeing this one.’ Agathe led them back to the lift and downstairs again.
‘This is the room your friend has booked,’ she announced.
‘No way,’ Sophie breathed as they stepped into it.
‘This is one of the largest banquet rooms in the hotel and I think, the most superb,’ Agathe commented. ‘It is steeped in history and it has been restored to its former Louis-XIV décor.’ She gestured to the large white-marble fireplace embellished with gold bronze. Glass trumeaus and original chandeliers enriched the room which was cream and gold in its colour scheme, apart from the stunning, heavy drapes in a gold and blue hue.
‘This holds 180 guests in total for a reception-style wedding breakfast,’ Agathe added.
‘I’m not sure how many people Savannah has at the wedding…’ Sophie asked, almost rendered speechless by the lavish beauty of the space.
Agathe consulted her leather-bound folder. ‘180,’ she confirmed.
Raff let out a low whistle. ‘I hope you have plenty of film in your camera. Or gigs on your memory stick or whatever it is.’
Sophie wandered around the room, finally remembering to take some photos. Wow. What a venue. The place was absolutely stunning. Sophie could visualise it set up with gorgeous flowers and all the personal touches a bride would no doubt add. She took her time taking photographs from different angles, focusing on where the top table would be so she could get the best shots of the bride and groom. It wasn’t going to be hard to make the photographs look show-stopping in these surroundings.
‘Wait until you see the terrace,’ Agathe said gleefully, leading them out of the salon and back through the hotel. ‘We have a few terraces and several rooms with views of the tower, but this main terrace has the best perspective. Your friend would be mad not to get some photographs from here. It’s called La Terrace Eiffel.’
Sophie and Raff stepped out and looked at one another wordlessly. The terrace was vast, with glass panels surrounding it, to make the most of the view. It was decorated with huge white candles in glass globes and ornate rattan-style tables and chairs but all of that was completely irrelevant because seemingly rising majestically out of the earth, was the Eiffel Tower, the picturesque Seine at its base.
‘I literally have no words,’ Raff said. ‘This is a view I’ve not seen before, not in all the years I have lived in Paris.’
Sophie couldn’t help breaking into a smile. How incredibly romantic this was! How beautiful this wedding was going to be! She started to take photographs, but she knew she didn’t need to worry too much. The view spoke for itself and the backdrop to the bride and groom, when they were in residence, could not be more extravagant, nor more exquisite.
‘God, I love the Eiffel Tower,’ Sophie breathed.
Raff nodded. ‘I never tire of looking at it, even if I occasionally feel blasé about living in this city.’
Even the stoic-looking Agathe seemed impressed by the view. ‘You can have drinks on this terrace while you enjoy this wonderful view. I think it’s a fairy-tale end to a wedding, personally.’
‘It really is,’ Sophie said.
‘Can I help you with anything else? Would you like to see the room the bride will be getting ready in?’
Sophie shook her head. ‘No, that’s ok, thank you. I can figure out my angles on the day, I think. As long as it has good lighting in it, I think we’ll be fine.’
‘Trés bien. The lighting is superb. I’ll show you out.’
They followed Agathe back through to the foyer and headed outside into the sunshine.
‘Well, that was more fun than I thought it would be,’ Raff admitted.
‘Definitely. This is going to be a fantastic wedding to photograph. Hey, isn’t there a Pierre Hermé shop near here?’
‘Yes, you’re right. I’ll grab us a taxi so you don’t have to walk on that foot.’ Raff signalled for a taxi and they were on their way. They embarked on Avenue Paul-Doumer, admiring the front of the shop, which was suave and modern with MACARONS & CHOCOLATS emblazoned above the Pierre Hermé name. They went inside, admiring the clean lines of the shop with its smooth chocolate-brown hues and the brightly coloured blocks of relief around the upper curve.
Like the contemporary feel of the shop, the macarons followed suit. Colour-wise, there
were mostly pastels with the odd rich shade dotted in, but flavour-wise, the macarons featured sophisticated flavour combinations: vanilla, violet and blackcurrant; olive oil with mandarin orange and red berries; lemon and candied grapefruit. Some were dusted with sugar or cocoa but they all looked sublime and they had names such as Eden for the peach, apricot and saffron combination, Mosaic for the pistachio, Ceylon cinnamon and Morello cherries, Plenitude for the chocolate and caramel and Pomposa for the delectable-looking chestnut and rose macaron.
As well as the rows of pretty macarons, there were individual, miniature cakes and larger versions of them. The signature Pierre Hermé was the ‘Ispahan’ which was made up of a rose macaron biscuit of the same name, rose petal cream, whole raspberries and lychees.
‘I love the way the flavours are layered,’ Raff said. ‘Like this one.’ He pointed at the glass cabinet. ‘Rose and rose petal. Not just rose. Jasmine flower and jasmine tea. Citrus fruits with honey. Sharp, with sweet.’
‘They look so delicious.’ Sophie ordered a selection so they could taste them later. ‘But I think they’re maybe a little too modern for mum on the flavour front. This one has foie gras in it… and this one, balsamic vinegar. I think mum would keel over at the mere thought of such ingredients in a macaron.’
Raff laughed. ‘Agreed. But I think there’s much to be learned from the way they do things here. And I still think we could be a tiny bit more daring with our flavours, using essential oils or candied elements for instance. But perhaps they could be in a separate section, not part of the main macaron selection. What do you think? Like… a limited-edition section. A specialist corner.’
‘I think that could work. As long as we keep all the traditional flavours as well, because that’s what Mariele’s Macarons is known for. But I love the idea of three flavour combinations… that might be a way to bring something fresh to the macarons.’
Walking out of the shop, they talked non-stop about macarons and possible flavour blends before Sophie’s ankle started aching again.
