P.S. from Paris(52)

Paul opened a cupboard when he got home too. He hesitated between two suitcases, chose the smaller, and put it at the foot of his bed. For most of the night, he sat in front of his computer, trying to find the right words. At about three in the morning, he sent an email to Kyong, reminding her of his flight number and his arrival time. Then he went to bed.



Daisy was sitting at the breakfast table. When Mia came out of her room, Daisy poured her a cup of tea and told her to sit down.

“What was the story with you yesterday?”

“I was going to ask you the same question.”

“You mean, why did I come to your rescue? Why did I spend all Sunday morning cooking so you could, once again, be the wonderful, extraordinary Mia, who is just perfect at everything?”

“Oh, spare me! You were going all out to lure him in. I’ve hardly ever seen you act like that.”

“Coming from an actress as talented as you, I’ll take that as a compliment. Anyway, didn’t you want the two of us to meet?”

“Yes, but not so you could flirt with him. I felt like the third wheel!”

“Oh, how tragic! The poor movie star realizes the world doesn’t always revolve around her.”

“Go on, be like that. You always have to be right.”

“Well, I was right about one thing, anyway. You are far from being as innocent as you claim to be in this little game of yours. And maybe you’ve started to like it.”

“You know, you’re starting to be a real pain in my ass, Daisy.”

“You’re already a real pain in my ass, Mia.”

“Fine, I can tell where I’m not wanted. I’ll pack my bags and go to a hotel.”

“Jesus, when are you going to grow up?”

“When I get to be as old as you are?”

“David called me.”

“What?”

“I may be three months older than you, but apparently you’re the one who’s going deaf.”

“When did he call you?”

“Yesterday, while I was making chard pie for your Swede.”

“Stop calling him that! What did David want?”

“He wanted to use me to convince you to reply to his messages and give him another chance.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I wasn’t your secretary. I told him that what he did wounded you deeply, and that he’d have to be extremely creative if he hopes to win you back.”

“Why should I give him another chance?”

“Because he’s your husband. ‘I’m not over David yet.’ Your words, as you may recall, when you were pouring your heart out to me the other night. So. David had an affair, he had a fling, but you’re the one he loves. Mia, you need to get your head straight. The day you turned up at my apartment, you said you wanted to live in the present and have some time alone. Now you’ve done that. But your new American friend will be leaving for Korea to join his girlfriend in just a few days, and what will you do then? Keep waitressing at a bistro in Montmartre? Is that how you plan to escape your life? For how long?”

“I don’t want to go back to London. I can’t, not now. I don’t feel ready.”

“All right, but think about it. If you want to save your marriage, you’d better not wait until David finds a new girlfriend. And don’t forget, you’ve never had a very high tolerance for solitude. Don’t try to claim otherwise—I’ve known you too long for that. I can’t help it if someone else makes you suffer, but I’m not going to sit by and watch while you suffer for your own mistakes. I’m your friend, and if I don’t say anything, I’ll feel responsible.”

“So let’s go in on the restaurant together. You can deal with the cooking and I’ll take care of the dining room. We can plan our holidays. We could go to Greece for a few days, just the two of us, in September . . .”

“September is a long way off. In the meantime, let’s just enjoy these last two days without fighting.”

“What do you mean, last two days?”

“I’ve hired a new waitress. She starts on Wednesday.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I did it for you.”





14


On Tuesday night, Paul set his alarm and went to bed around midnight. At nine the next morning, he left his apartment, stopped for some coffee, waved good-bye to Moustache, and went off to do his shopping. His first stop was the greengrocer, with its radiant display of colors. Next, he made stops at the butcher, the fishmonger, the cheesemonger, and finally the patisserie. Back outside his apartment building, he did a U-turn in the direction of the wine merchant. He chose two bottles of a grand cru Bordeaux, checked his shopping list, and finally went home again.

He spent the rest of the day in the kitchen, set the table at four p.m., took a bath at five, got dressed at six, and sat on his sofa, skimming his latest chapters with one eye while checking his watch with the other.



Mia had allowed herself a lie-in. The night before, she had celebrated her last shift at Daisy’s restaurant with a few drinks too many. Feeling very tipsy, the two friends had ventured outside to Place du Tertre, hoping the fresh air would sober them up. They had sat on a bench talking about life, and getting nowhere. Except Mia did manage to make Daisy promise she would close La Clamada at the end of September, so the two of them could spend a week together in Greece.