“Ha, not yet,” I said. “But I’m sure it will occur to him sooner or later.”
“It better not,” said Laurent fiercely. “I’ll kill Alice if she lets this happen again.”
There was a pause.
“Aren’t you going to go and see him?”
I was expecting Laurent to do his usual furious denial, but instead he went quiet for a little while.
“I should, shouldn’t I?” he said.
“Yes!” I said.
“What if he gives me a load of grief?”
“Well, you sit there and take it like a good boy, then you thank him once again for giving you the tools to go out and make your own life.”
“Which he doesn’t respect.”
“I know,” I said. “The difference between making artisan world-class handmade chocolates in a shop and making them in a hotel is unbelievably huge. I can’t imagine how either of you can bear it.”
“Are all English girls as sarcastic as you?”
“Are all French men as silly as you?”
Suddenly, his voice changed and deepened.
“Do you think I’m silly?”
In the distance, a fire alarm sounded. It chimed so closely with what was going on in my heart, I almost laughed. The sky was changing now, shades of pink and purple stranding in through the blue, and the streets were filling up with excited young people, mopeds, bikes, everyone out for the evening, meeting their friends, chatting and laughing, up for adventure. It was like a river of brightly colored life below me and here I was, up in my eyrie, watching other people’s lives pass by below me like a bird.
“No,” I said quietly.
His voice was now totally and completely straight.
“I could come and show you how serious I am.”
There was no flirting, no messing around. I had never heard a man be so direct in my life.
I glanced around at the tiny flat—just waiting for Sami to burst in, dressed as whatever bird of prey he was going out as that night, full of light and music. He was living his life. Claire was living her life with this ridiculous train scheme. I was thirty-one years old, in the heart of Paris, and an incredibly attractive man had just made me an incredibly attractive offer.
Could I hold out, coquette with him, buy time, flirt? I could. I expect he would lose interest pretty fast. But, really, was that so important? Did my little life code matter, when every second since I’d arrived had filled my life with more new experiences and expectations than I had ever imagined? I bit my lip. Then I thought, sod it.
“When?” I said, and there was no trace of a joke in my tone either.
Laurent had to finish his shift, which gave me several hours to pace about, panicking and changing my mind every two seconds. Perhaps I should just go out. This was crazy. Maybe just pop out and turn off my phone and go for a walk or something and hide for a few hours.
But then he’d just think me an idiot, a child. And anyway, what did I want to happen?
I phoned Cath, even though Cath would probably have recommended I sleep with a tramp on the Bois de Boulogne if she thought it would get me laid. She screamed with excitement.
“He makes chocolate! Oh God. So you’re going to spend the rest of your life eating chocolate and having sex. In Paris. I hate my life. An old woman came in today and asked for a purple perm, Ans. A purple perm.”
“Well, it’s not quite that simple,” I said.
“You’re telling me! The purple reacts with the perming lotion! Half of it fell out and she wasn’t exactly Beyoncé to start off with.”
“So…” I tried to trace back the situation. I was marching up and down the tiny apartment, feeling incredibly anxious.
“Are you saying yes, I should?”
Her voice took on a more considerate tone.
“Is he an arsehole?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “He’s a bit…troubled.”
“Oh,” she said. “Because, you know, arseholes can be totally amazing in bed, whereas troubled might mean he’ll start crying all over you.”
“I’m sure he won’t do that,” I said.
“Is he hot?” she said.
“Yes,” I said, without hesitation. “Very French looking. But bigger.”
“Hmm,” she said. “Does he have, like, a really big nose?”
“Yes!”
“Excellent. I like those.”
Her voice turned serious.
“The thing is, Ans, you have to get back on the horse some time, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said grudgingly.
“I mean, you’re not going to go without forever, are you?”
“I suppose not,” I said.
“Give him a go then. Plus, Darr was sniffing around, asking when you were back.”
“You are kidding,” I said. “What, sick of ‘all the single ladies’ already?”
“Looks like it.”
Suddenly, compared to Darr, Laurent became even more attractive.
“Okay,” I said, “I’m doing it.”
“Atta girl,” said Cath. “Save some French totty for me, by the way. I’ve had every decent-looking man here, and they’re all rubbish.”
- - -
Sami was even more to the point when he returned with a trunk stacked high with night work. He really was working hard for a change.
“Well,” he said, sighing. “That’s not going to work.”
“What?” I said. I had changed into a black top and a black skirt, which wasn’t very sexy really but was just about the best I could do from my small suitcase. I was too nervous to go shopping; I would probably buy the first thing I saw, even if it was a rubber miniskirt and thigh-high boots.
“You look like you are going to work on the Bourse,” he said. “Not like a seductress.”
“I’m not a seductress,” I said. Sami arched a carefully plucked eyebrow.
“Well, you’re something,” he said. “I haven’t seen Laurent down the Buddha Bar in weeks.”
“Perhaps because his dad’s in the hospital?”
“Perhaps,” said Sami. He looked me up and down then dived into his room.
“I’m not wearing the Speedos!” I yelled.
“Be quiet,” he said, muffled. After five minutes, he reappeared. As well as an armful of clothes, he was carrying hair curlers and straighteners.