From Paris With Love Read online

  Once the bread, sausage and Brie had been polished off, Etienne opened the box of pastries offering one to each – again they were all different, although all equally delicious.

  “I’m full,” replied Isabelle as she finished off her religieuse pastry and wiped the cream from her lips. “That was delicious!”

  “Oh, but we haven’t finished yet,” said Etienne and took out the punnet of cherries. “We will have a competition – who can spit the further cherry stone!”

  Christina and Isabelle looked at each other in delight – how their parents would disapprove! This sounded so much fun!

  They each took a cherry, ate the soft sweet flesh and taking aim they spat the cherry stones out. Odile’s was the furthest.

  Determinedly they all reached into the punnet again, each one wanting to get the furthest cherry stone and win. And so they continued until finally the cherries had all been finished and Odile had been declared the winner and Isabelle the loser as her stones hadn’t gone very far at all.

  “Too ladylike!” teased Christina. And Isabelle nodded in agreement.

  With the picnic hamper empty except for wrappings and dirty cups, they folded the rugs and headed back to the car.

  “Tonight we have a special dinner,” said Odile. “As it is your last evening.”

  Isabelle felt her heart lurch and a lump form in her throat. Etienne’s hand tightened in hers, he understood how she was feeling.

  “And so, are you staying with us tonight?” asked Christina, cheekily. “Are you going to honour us with your company this evening? Or are you going to be out again?”

  Isabelle blushed as Odile replied, “Tomorrow we have an early start so it is best Isabelle stay with us. Of course, Etienne will stay too, n’est-ce pas?” and she winked at them both. “You will have to sleep on the sofa though!”

  Christina whispered to her sister, “It’s okay, Issy, you and Etienne can have the bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa, if you like.”

  Isabelle grinned at her and realised that her sister would never say anything to her parents, despite her teasing and mock threats. She could see that she was genuinely pleased for her. She felt a little thrill inside that she would have another night with Etienne when she had thought she would be saying goodbye to him after dinner. A few more hours and she would stretch them out as long as she possibly could.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Twenty One

  September 1980

  Jean-Luc breezed in through the front door like a gust of wind bringing a sense of energy with him. He whistled as he saw Isabelle and Christina who had both put on pretty dresses for their last evening. Isabelle was wearing her favourite cream dress that she thought made her look tanned and slimmer. Christina was wearing a dark blue dress that formed the perfect contrast to her blond curls. Odile, too, had dressed up and was wearing a bright red skirt and matching blouse. Etienne was wearing a shirt, but still wore cords. He obviously didn’t believe much in smart dress!

  “So we must have apéritifs!” exclaimed Jean-Luc reaching for five glasses and the bottles of Pastis and Martini. He poured out two glasses of the aniseed Pastis and three glasses of the red Martini, handing one each to Odile, Isabelle and Christina, who were fast developing a taste for apéritifs and red wine!

  “To Isabelle and Christina! May they come back soon!” toasted Jean-Luc and they all clinked their glasses. Etienne’s eyes caught and held Isabelle’s, confirming the toast.

  “To Jean-Luc and Odile, the perfect hosts!” toasted Christina entering into the spirit of the evening. “And of course, Etienne,” she added not wanting to leave him out. He grinned at her as he clinked his glass with hers.

  They sat down to the table as Odile fetched in the dinner and they chatted all evening.

  “Just think how much better your French is now!” said Jean-Luc. “Now I do not have to speak in English!”

  “It is much better,” agreed Christina. “I never thought I’d be able to understand what people were saying, much less have a conversation.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” said Isabelle cheekily. “I think you and Odile have just developed your own Franglais language actually!”

  Everyone laughed and Jean-Luc reached for the wine to pour them all another glass.

  “Tomorrow we will leave at 8.30 in the morning,” said Jean-Luc. “Your train is at 10 o’clock, n’est-ce pas?”

  Isabelle felt the now-familiar lump return to her throat and her heart lurch again at the reminder that they would be leaving tomorrow.

  “Yes, 10 o’clock from Gare St Lazare,” she said softly and quite sadly.

  “I think you will be sad to leave, no?” asked Jean-Luc.

  “Yes, very sad,” agreed Isabelle.

  “Me too,” said Christina. “We have had such a wonderful time with you.”

  The dinner finished, the girls jumped up to clear the plates. As they took them out to the kitchen, Christina put her hand on Isabelle’s arm. “Issy, I’ll do these. You spend the last evening with Etienne.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Isabelle.

  “Absolutely. You can make it up to me when we get home! Now, go!” and she pushed her sister out of the kitchen and turned to the sink to begin washing up.

  Etienne rose from the table as Isabelle went back in, he took her hand and led her out to the balcony.

  Here is where it had really all begun, thought Isabelle fondly. Their very first evening when Etienne had brought her out. As then, just a short week ago, Paris wore her evening gown, a robe of twinkling lights like thousands of sequins in the distance lighting up the sky. She felt Etienne’s arm around her and she leaned against his chest, her arm around his waist. Together they stood silently, looking out across Paris, each with their own thoughts.

  In the distance Isabelle could just make out the Eiffel Tower and she thought she could see the Sacré Coeur too. She wanted to capture it in her mind, like a photograph, to remember always.

  Etienne leaned down and kissed her. “I will miss you, Isabelle. Je t’aime,” he added simply.

  Isabelle felt her heart contract at his words. “Je t’aime aussi” she whispered back.

  “And I will show you – I am not a Frenchman who forgets. This Frenchman will remember you always. And I hope it will not be too long before we see each other again.”

  “I hope so too,” Isabelle didn’t want this evening to ever end. “Will you write to me?” she asked shyly.

  “Of course. You will give me your address and I will write. I hope you will write to me too?”

  “Oh yes, I love writing letters,” she agreed. “And I will love to get letters from you too.”

  They stood for a while longer in the chilly Paris evening until a tap on the window drew them back in.

  “We are going to bed now,” said Odile. “Here are sheets, pillows and a blanket. You can make up the sofa, Etienne, you know how it pulls out?”

  He nodded. “Thank you, Odile.”

  Isabelle slipped out to change into her nightie and to say goodnight to Christina. Their case lay there already packed and she realised she had her sister to thank for that. It had completely slipped her mind!

  Etienne had pulled out the sofa and together they made up the bed, climbing in and settling into each other’s arms. They left the curtains undrawn so they could gaze out at the Paris night until finally sleep claimed them both.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Twenty Two

  September 1980

  The morning dawned too quickly for Isabelle. The light streamed through the windows and she could hear the sounds of Odile and Jean-Luc up and about. She felt Etienne’s arms around her and she leaned into them, relishing the feel and smell of him, trying to keep it in her mind and in her memory. She didn’t want to forget a single thing about him. For a few moments, she lay there quietly. She knew he was awake too and they clung to each other. Finally he stirred and sighing she got up from the bed.

  Wordlessly they folded
the sheets and blanket, working together. They stacked the bedding with the pillows and Etienne pushed the sofa back together. The lounge looked as it always had done.

  Isabelle went through to the room she had shared with Christina and got dressed quickly. Christina looked across at her and smiled sympathetically. She didn’t say anything, she realised how Isabelle was feeling and she knew there was nothing to say that would make her feel any better.

  They pushed the last few items into the case and closed it. It felt like closing the lid on their wonderful holiday and their Paris experience, thought Isabelle. Each final act, each moment was bringing them closer to the time when she would have to say goodbye to Etienne and she was dreading it.

  They hauled the case out to the hall and stood it by the door with their own bags. The smell of hot chocolate and toasting bread drew them into the kitchen where Jean-Luc, Odile and Etienne stood quietly chatting.

  “So you are ready for breakfast?” asked Jean-Luc his voice cheerful. “Here you are, girls.” And he handed them each a bowl of hot chocolate.

  Etienne put more baguette into the toaster and the girls began to tuck in. Isabelle felt that each mouthful was an effort, the lump in her throat felt huge and swallowing was difficult.

  “We leave in five minutes,” announced Jean-Luc as they finished off their breakfast and quickly washed the dishes.

  Isabelle wandered through to the lounge. She wanted one last look at Paris from the balcony before they left. She felt Etienne’s arms slip around her as she stood at the window and she leaned against him.

  “Come, Isabelle, it is time we leave,” he whispered, kissing her tenderly.

  They sat together in the back of the car on the way into Paris, just as they had the previous Sunday. Only six short days ago, but how much had happened in that time! Isabelle felt she had changed so much. She had left England as a young girl who had never fallen in love, and was returning as a young woman so much in love. Her dreams had become reality – Paris really was the city of love.

  His arms around her, Etienne held Isabelle close whispering to her and kissing her, making the most of the last hour.

  Jean-Luc wove the car skilfully through the heavy Parisian traffic and Isabelle wished he would drive slower – anything to make the journey last longer, to delay the inevitable parting for just a little while more.

  Too soon, they pulled up in front of the imposing stone façade of the Gare St Lazare. Jean-Luc found a parking space quite quickly, too quickly thought Isabelle who wouldn’t have minded missing the train!

  As they got out of the car, Etienne whispered to her again, “Je t’aime, Isabelle, never forget that” and in English, he confirmed “I love you.”

  Isabelle couldn’t help crying now, tears streaming down her face. “I love you too, Etienne,” she whispered back. “And I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I know. I do not want you to leave either. But I will write and one day we will see each other again. Maybe not too long.”

  She nodded through her tears and arms tightly around each other they followed Jean-Luc, Odile and Christina into the station. Jean-Luc carried the case for them. Quickly they found the right platform, validated their tickets and found the train was there already.

  Jean-Luc found them two seats together and heaved the case into the luggage rack above them.

  “We have five minutes,” said Jean-Luc looking at his watch. “Just time to say goodbye.”

  Christina hugged him. “Goodbye Jean-Luc. Thank you so much for everything. It has been amazing!” She turned to Odile and hugged her tightly too. “Thank you, Odile. I will write to you and I hope you will understand my French!”

  Isabelle hugged Jean-Luc too and Odile, thanking them both for a wonderful time and for everything they had done. She found it difficult to speak through her tears.

  “Do not worry,” whispered Jean-Luc. “Etienne will not forget you. He told me what you think of Frenchmen and I promise you he is not like that at all. He loves you. Besides he will have me to answer to if he does forget too quickly!”

  Isabelle laughed through her tears and hugged him again. “Merci, Jean-Luc, for everything.”

  Then she turned to Etienne, hugged him tightly and whispered, “Please don’t forget me. I love you”. He kissed her, whispered a final “Je t’aime”.

  They left the train just as the doors were being slammed shut along the platform. Isabelle sank into her seat next to her sister, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared out of the window at her new friends and her first love.

  Both girls waved as the train pulled out and continued waving until they could no longer see the platform. They were on their way home and Isabelle knew that, for her, this week in Paris had been more than a wonderful holiday. It had been a dream come true. An experience of a lifetime. She had fallen in love for the first time and she knew she would never forget the way she was feeling nor would she ever forget Etienne. For her, life would never be quite the same again.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Paris, le 7 mai 1986

  Ma chere Isabelle

  This is a difficult letter for me to write as I know you will be disappointed and I hope that you will receive it in time. I had promised to come to your wedding with Ghislaine. We have the ferry and hotel booked, but now I find I cannot come.

  You see, Isabelle, although we cannot be together, I cannot watch you marry another man. I have loved you for so long and although we have both moved on in life and we have new partners now, a part of me will always love you. Just as I hope a part of you will always love me.

  I hope we will always be friends, but I cannot be at your wedding. I also hope now that you realise that not all Frenchmen forget quickly. This Frenchman has not forgotten you!

  Be happy, ma Belle. Smile for me, or for another, always.

  A toujours,

  Etienne

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Twenty Three

  June 2015

  Isabelle carefully folded the final letter, slotted it into its envelope and put it back into the box. It had been dated June 1986, a few days before her wedding. The letters spanned six years, although most had been written in the first couple of years. They were special, something to keep, to cherish and to remember. She put the lid back on the box, dusted it reverently and wiped the tears that were sliding down her cheeks, once again feeling like the 17-year old Isabelle leaving Paris and leaving Etienne behind. So many letters, so many memories.

  She rinsed her mug in the kitchen sink and decided she ought to start thinking about cooking dinner for the family. She decided on lasagne with salad and garlic bread – easy and popular with the family. And whilst she prepared the dinner, she would continue to remember. Just a little while longer until the memories would be put away for a while and her normal life as wife and mother would resume again.

  She glanced at the clock. The day had flown by. Her daughters would be back from college soon. And her husband would be back from work. The routine would begin again. A routine established over nearly thirty years of marriage. A comfortable routine which varied little from one day to the next, from one year to another.

  In half an hour the girls would barrel in, bags dumped on the kitchen floor (they never learned!), one would swoop into the fridge to grab the juice and the other would snatch the biscuit tin. With phones in hand, they’d head into the den supposedly to do homework, most likely to chat to friends by text or to catch up on the latest news on Facebook.

  Next would be her husband. He would come in at the same time as every other day. Around 6pm, depending on the traffic. He would kiss her cheek and she would feel the stubble of the day on his chin. He would take off his coat and wash his hands whilst she made a cup of tea for him and another for herself. She would ask him how his day was. He would reply ‘fine’. The same as he always did and perfunctorily ask her about her day, although she knew he wouldn’t really listen.

  Today she would tell him that she had made a
start on the loft. Well, she had. She hadn’t got very far, but she had at least made a start. She would tell him that there wasn’t much worth taking to a boot fair, although she would be making several trips to the charity shop and the local dump when she had finally sorted everything out. There certainly wasn’t anything worthy of Antiques Roadshow. And the evening would flow as every evening did – smoothly, routinely and mundanely. Dinner would be at 7pm. They always ate together. Then they would watch television for a little while, depending what was on, whilst the girls did their homework. Around 9pm he would go to the study and work on the computer. And she would play the piano. At 10pm she would go to bed and he would follow shortly afterwards, as soon as he had seen the news headlines on the BBC. The days varied very little.

  She carried the chocolate box upstairs. Deciding it was too precious to live in the attic, she placed it on the top shelf of her wardrobe. One day she would take the letters out again and read them. Or gaze at the photograph and remember. Or listen to the cassette of music and think back to her first love. She put the cassette player back in the loft, but on the pile to keep.

  She didn’t regret the decisions she had made in life. She knew they had been the right ones for her. She didn’t even regret the decision to leave Paris, although it had been so very hard at the time and for a long while afterward she had thought she had made the wrong choice.

  After living in Paris for eight months, living her dream in the garret near Montmartre, she had been forced to face some harsh realities. Her dream of marrying Etienne was just that – a dream. They had both changed. Both moved on with their lives in the intervening years. They both loved each other, but they were travelling in different directions now and somehow love was no longer enough. It should have been, but it wasn’t. Reluctantly they agreed that what they had was special, always had been and always would be. And although they still loved each other, it had changed. Although she had loved living in Paris, she often felt lonely. She missed her family and friends. What they wanted now was different.