From Paris With Love Page 6

  Soon it will be Christmas and the end of 1980. It is nearly three months since you were in Paris and I miss you. I don’t know when we will see each other again but I hope that the new year of 1981 will bring us together again. We will see.

  Please could you send me a photograph of yourself? One that you like very much. Maybe of you on your birthday? I would like to have it in my room so I can think of you at night before I sleep and in the morning when I wake. I am a romantic!

  Bon anniversaire, ma Belle. Je t’embrasse tendrement.

  Etienne

  PS – See, I still haven’t forgotten you. And I still love you.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Nine

  June 2015

  Isabelle folded the letter back into its blue envelope and carefully slotted it back into its carefully ordered space. Her eyes were dreamy, lost in memory. She sighed softly and reached to click the kettle on again.

  The loft was forgotten. It would all be there tomorrow. And the next day. And the one after that. Today was for remembering.

  She made another mug of instant coffee. How Etienne would scoff at her choice of coffee, she thought briefly. He always liked proper French coffee, but Isabelle had never acquired a taste for the bitter liquid, not since her first experience in his parents’ garden. Absent-mindedly she reached into the biscuit tin for another chocolate digestive. The diet, like the loft, could wait until tomorrow.

  Greedily she stretched her hand into the faded chocolate box. Her fingers grasped something hard and rectangular. A cassette! She had forgotten about the music they had made for each other. Each had pledged to fill a cassette with a range of their favourite music and send to each other.

  She wondered what she had put on her music cassette. Probably some Elvis Presley, Roxy Music, possibly Queen and she wasn’t sure what else would have made up the rest of the tape. It was a long while ago now and she couldn’t really remember all the music she’d liked, just the real favourites. Making cassettes had been a labour of love, carefully timing when to press ‘play’ and ‘record’ as the track began. She hadn’t seen a cassette for a long while. They had thrown all theirs out a few years ago as the tapes had stretched and CDs were so much easier. Although of course today, everything was about iPods, phones, playlists and downloading! Another thing the young people were missing out, she mused, as she fingered the cassette. It was a 90-minute Sony. The writing providing the song titles was faded, but familiar. The case was cracked and Isabelle wondered if the tape had survived the years. She took it out and looked at it carefully. It seemed to be okay. A folded piece of paper fluttered out too. Isabelle opened it to find the lyrics of one of the songs, Etienne’s favourites, written in his hand writing. She re-folded it in the same creases as previously and replaced it carefully. Of course now the challenge would be to find a cassette recorder in this digital age!

  She glanced at the radio in the kitchen. It was certainly old but not sufficiently aged to boast a cassette player. The player in the lounge had a record deck and multiple CD player, but no cassette player. It would be really frustrating if she couldn’t play it! She remembered seeing another radio in the loft this morning. One that had been marked for the charity shop and would now be lingering on the pile, still in the loft. Still holding the cassette, she went upstairs and climbed the ladder again. She found the dusty instrument. It did indeed have a cassette player! Wiping it carefully, she took it downstairs, plugged it in and popped the cassette into the slot, hoping that it still worked. It gave a satisfying chunk, she pressed ‘play’ and waited a couple of seconds until the music began to weave its way around the kitchen. She turned the volume up louder.

  Instantly she was transported back in time. The music that Etienne had loved had been a strange mixture of French folk, popular music and reggae. The first song was so familiar and Isabelle was surprised to realise she was soon singing along softly, remembering words she had long forgotten. Maxime le Forestier was singing about the brother that she had never known in the then-popular song ‘Mon frere’.

  The next track had been one of Etienne’s favourites. Isabelle remembered it from the party that first evening. It was another Maxime le Forestier hit called ‘Comme un arbre dans la ville’ and she recalled Etienne telling her about the words. She listened carefully to the mournful lyrics. So many years had passed since she had last listened to this music and in some ways she was surprised the tape had survived. She had played it so many times when she was younger, she was fortunate it hadn’t stretched or just disintegrated over the years it had spent shut away in the loft.

  Still listening to the once familiar music, Isabelle peered into the box wondering what further treasures she would find. In amongst the blue envelopes, she found an envelope that was different, squarer and white. Carefully she took it out and withdrew a postcard. It was an artist’s impression of Montmartre, one of the pictures abundantly available on the postcard racks of the souvenir shops. The picture was crisp and clear, un-faded by the years. The writing was stark, black and familiar.

  ‘Ma chere Isabelle,’ she read. ‘Voici un petit souvenir de notre jour à Paris. J’espère que tu n’as pas oublié Montmartre, et que tu ne m’as pas oublié non plus !’ he had signed it in the same way that he signed most of his letters to her. ‘Je t’embrasse tendrement’ – the words still tugged at her heart. Of course, she hadn’t forgotten Montmartre or Etienne. She remembered the day so clearly – every little detail was burned into her memory. After all, that first trip into the centre of Paris had been a catalyst for her. She had vowed she would return one day. And she had.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Ten

  Paris, 1980

  Despite feeling exhausted after such a wonderful day, Isabelle found it hard to sleep that evening. Her mind kept wandering over the day, recalling each special moment, every word that Etienne had said, every touch.

  “Christina, are you asleep?” she whispered loudly to the shape snuggled into the bed next to her.

  “Mmmm,” her sister replied sleepily, obviously tired.

  “Wasn’t today wonderful?” asked Isabelle, determined to wake her slumbering sister.

  “Today?” she murmured. “Or Etienne?”

  Isabelle felt herself blush at her sister’s observation. “Well, both of course!”

  “You really like him don’t you?”

  “Mmm, yes, I really like him. In fact, I think I love him!”

  “Love? Are you sure? You’ve only known him two days!”

  “That has nothing to do with it,” huffed Isabelle. “It’s not how long you know someone, it’s how you feel about them.”

  “Well, you said you loved Andy. And before that there was Mike. And before that Chris,” Christina was provoking her.

  “I didn’t love them, any of them,” replied Isabelle indignantly. “They were just crushes. Childish crushes.”

  “And of course now you’re SO much older! And so much wiser!” teased Christina.

  “No, silly. But it feels different,” replied Isabelle thoughtfully. “It feels like …. I don’t know quite how to put it. It’s as though I’ve known him forever and I can’t imagine being without him. I never felt like that before with anyone, I just wanted to have fun before. This feels different, special, as though he’s part of me and I’m part of him.”

  Christina sat up and peered at her sister through the night gloom. “You really do love him, Issy, don’t you?” she said softly. “At least that’s how I imagine true love to be like.”

  Isabelle nodded dreamily.

  “You do know we only have another five days though? And you know nothing can come of it don’t you? Mum and Dad would be furious if they knew!”

  “I know,” Isabelle sighed. “But we have five days and I have to make the most of them. And that means spending as much time with Etienne as possible and really getting to know him. You never know, if we really love each other, we’ll find a way.”

  Christina
stayed quiet. She might be younger, but she was more realistic. She knew exactly what her parents would say and they wouldn’t be supportive of the relationship! It was probably just a holiday romance and Isabelle would soon forget again when they got home and absorbed back into the daily grind of school, chores and life. She nestled back into her pillow. “You know, I’ll do anything I can to help you spend time together?” she nestled back into her pillow.

  “Thank you,” replied Isabelle softly. “Go to sleep now, Chrissie, you’re tired. Sleep tight!” And she too pulled the duvet up around her. She lay with her eyes closed and finally night-time dreams claimed her attention.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Eleven

  Monday morning dawned and as the girls stumbled out to the kitchen, they found that Jean-Luc had already left for work.

  “He leaves early, but he will be home for lunch,” exclaimed Odile.

  They breakfasted on toasted baguette and hot milk chocolate. “And today we go to a shopping centre this morning,” said Odile. “You girls like to shop?”

  “Oh yes, we like to shop!” they chorused.

  “Isabelle, Etienne called. He is working this morning, but he will come for lunch and he is not working this afternoon. He asked if you would like to go for a walk in the park with him? I said yes for you!” she winked at Isabelle.

  Isabelle felt her cheeks blushing and she was secretly thrilled that she would have Etienne all to herself this afternoon.

  “Etienne only works mornings since his accident. He too starts early, at 7 o’clock but finishes at lunchtime. So you will have time together. You are pleased, no?” Odile grinned at her, causing Isabelle’s blush to deepen.

  They went in Odile’s smaller Renault to the shopping centre. Her driving was a little less erratic than her husband’s, but she was equally impatient with the other drivers on the road.

  The shopping centre was a new, modern centre called Rosney 2. It boasted a fine selection of boutiques and different stores. Odile seemed to enjoy having young friends to entertain as they wandered through the various fashion shops. Isabelle and Christina took turns to try on outfits and give a little fashion display for Odile.

  Enticing smells of freshly baked patisseries wafted from one of the stalls. Isabelle said she would treat each to a pastry and they all chose the meltingly delicious chausson de pommes. Sitting on a seat, they munched on their apple turnovers, although these were by far the best they had ever tasted with the rich buttery pastry and the cinnamon-tinted apple centres.

  Fortified after their break, they resumed their shopping, deciding that they would each buy something so they would have a Parisian item of clothing in their wardrobes. So finally after trying on so many different items that even they were beginning to weary of shopping, they each bought a new shirt. Isabelle’s was navy and white in a striking block pattern that looked stunning with her jeans. Christina’s was bright pink with a broad white horizontal stripe. Both were delighted and determined to wear them the next day.

  “Now we go home and we get lunch ready” said Odile firmly. She had obviously forgotten how teenagers can shop!

  The girls helped prepare lunch and were surprised it was almost as formal as dinner. A bowl of salad was prepared, a glass of wine poured for each of them and the baguette placed on the table. Jean-Luc breezed in just after 1pm followed shortly by Etienne and they all sat down to eat.

  They dined on chicken, salad and then fruit washed down with the inevitable red wine. They would save the cheese until the evening, declared Jean-Luc as time was short and he would have to get back to work. He planted a kiss firmly on Odile’s cheek and left again.

  Finally lunch was complete. The girls cleared away as Etienne and Odile drank coffee. Isabelle had decided to steer clear of the coffee after her last attempt.

  “So, Isabelle,” asked Etienne softly, his brown eyes gazing at her. “I thought this afternoon we would go for a walk together. There is a lovely area not far from here with a lake. I think you will like it.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” breathed Isabelle. She didn’t care where they went, she just wanted to spend time with Etienne. And time alone would be even better! “I’ll just grab my jacket,” she finished.

  “And Christina and I are going to visit a neighbour of mine. She has just had a baby and I think she would like a visitor,” said Odile.

  Isabelle looked at Christina to check she was happy with that and was relieved to see Christina nodding in agreement. She and Odile had really hit it off, which was quite lucky, thought Isabelle. Although she did wonder how they managed to communicate and understand each other. Briefly she hugged her sister, then followed Etienne out.

  He took her hand and led her to his car. It was a brown Ford Taurus and he opened the passenger door for her. “It is about twenty minutes away,” he said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “It won’t take long.”

  Isabelle felt tongue-tied. She hadn’t been alone with Etienne for more than a few minutes before and it felt a little strange. She’d also never had a boyfriend who had a car so this was a real luxury!

  “So where is the lake?” asked Isabelle, more to make conversation than because she was interested.

  “It is an area called Les Jablines. There is a lake, golf, a small boating centre and lots of green, They are slowly making it into a leisure centre and adding new things to it. There is a café there too. It is lovely there and very natural.”

  It wasn’t long before they pulled into the car park.

  Holding hands they walked along a path that threaded through deep grass and shrubbery that led down to the lake. The path gave way to a broad expanse of grass that stretched down to the edge of the lake where the quiet waters lapped on the mud.

  “It is lovely here,” said Isabelle.

  “Yes, it is romantic, n’est-ce pas?” smiled Etienne. He stopped and pulled Isabelle into his arms, kissing her gently.

  “I think you are quite young, Isabelle?” he asked.

  “I’m seventeen,” she said indignantly.

  “That is young,” he sighed. “I am twenty-two. An old man in comparison!”

  “Not at all,” she replied. “Anyway I’m not too young!”

  “Too young?” he teased her and she blushed. “You are very beautiful Isabelle, particularly when you blush!” He reached a hand up to brush her hair away to the side of her face, put his finger under her chin and tilted it up so that was looking into his eyes just inches away. “And now, as you are not too young, I am going to kiss you very properly.”

  As his lips met hers, Isabelle closed her eyes and felt her body melt into his and his tongue probed her mouth tenderly exploring hers. Butterflies were running riot in her stomach and she hoped her legs which seemed to have turned to jelly, would hold her up!

  Reluctantly he pulled away some time later. “Come, Isabelle, let’s sit down and talk.”

  “You don’t have to stop kissing me,” said Isabelle cheekily.

  “So are you enjoying your trip to Paris?” asked Etienne as they lay on the grass. He pulled a blade of grass and tickled her face with it.

  “Of course! How could I not enjoy Paris?”

  “So it is the City you like?” he teased.

  “Amongst other things,” she replied coquettishly.

  “Such as?”

  “Well, Jean-Luc and Odile are great fun and really good to us.”

  “And anyone else?” he probed.

  “Everyone we’ve met has been very friendly. The people at the party were great.”

  “And anyone special?” he looked at her expectantly.

  “Maybe,” she flirted.

  “Only maybe?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” he looked at her half amused and half puzzled

  “Well, what do you think?” she turned it back to him.

  “Mmmm, what do I think? Well, I think I have met someone who is pretty special. And I
was hoping she thought I was special too, but now I’m not so sure!”

  “Oh, you mean YOU!” she exclaimed in mock surprise.

  “Mais, bien sur, Isabelle!”

  “I guess you are special too,” she mused.

  “But?”

  “Well you’re a Frenchman!”

  “Yes, I’m a Frenchman. And what do you mean by that?” he looked at her indignantly uncertain whether to be flattered or whether she was finding fault.

  She demurred briefly. “We say that Frenchmen have a certain reputation,” she didn’t meet his eyes.

  “And what is that reputation?” he asked.

  When she failed to reply, he asked again: ”Well, Isabelle, what is that reputation? How can I accept or deny it if you will not tell me?”

  “That Frenchmen love passionately and you forget quickly,” she replied, still unable to look at him for fear she may see the truth in his eyes and be right.

  “Really? The English think that of us?” he wasn’t sure whether to be indignant or flattered.

  “Well, some English do, yes.”

  “And you, Isabelle. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think” she replied honestly. She was forced to meet his gaze as he tilted her face up towards his. “You’re certainly passionate!”

  He stopped her with a kiss to confirm her opinion and for a while they didn’t speak.

  “And I do not love easily. Nor do I forget quickly.” His voice was soft and serious.

  “Isabelle, you are the first girl I have kissed or felt anything for in two years. Doesn’t that tell you something?”