P.S. from Paris(53)

At noon, Mia went for a walk up to Place du Tertre and said hello to the caricaturist. She ate breakfast outside at a café, and then went to the hairdresser. Then she stopped at a boutique and emerged with a pretty spring dress. She went back to the apartment around five o’clock and ran herself a deep bath.



At seven thirty, Paul checked the temperature of the oven, browned the crawfish, chopped the fresh herbs and mixed them into the salad, coated the lamb chops with a Parmesan-cheese crust, then went back to check that there was nothing missing on the table. Next, he opened one of the bottles of wine to let it breathe, went back to the living room to read, returned fifteen minutes later to the kitchen to put the rack of lamb in the oven, went back to the living room, looked out the window, examined his reflection in the mirror, tucked his shirt in and then immediately untucked it again, lowered the temperature of the oven, looked out the window again (leaning out this time for a better view of the street), decided to air the room, took the rack of lamb out of the oven, sat down on the sofa again, checked his watch, sent a text, started reading again, sent a second text at nine p.m., blew out the candles in the candelabra at nine thirty, and sent one last text at ten o’clock.



“Why do you keep looking at your phone?”

“No reason. Just a habit.”

“Mia, look me in the eyes. I came all the way across the Channel to win you back.”

“I am looking you in the eyes, David.”

“So just where were you headed when I rang the doorbell at Daisy’s?”

“Nowhere.”

“Right. Headed nowhere, all made-up with a new hairstyle. Why on earth would you cut your hair like that?”

“I just wanted a change.”

“You haven’t answered my question. Did you have a date with somebody?”

“Yes, I was off to go screw my lover. Is that what you want me to say? At least then we’d be even.”

“God’s sake, Mia! I came here to make up with you.”

“Have you seen her again?”

“No, I already told you: I’ve been on my own in London since you left, and I haven’t been thinking about anyone but you. I sent you so many messages, but you never replied to any of them. So here I am . . . to tell you I love you. That I made a stupid mistake. And I can’t forgive myself.”

“Yet you want me to forgive you.”

“I want you to give our marriage another chance. What can I say to make you understand? It was nothing more than a lapse of judgment. It didn’t mean anything.”

“To you, maybe.”

“I was in a bad place. That shoot was hard on both of us. You seemed inaccessible. I was weak. Mia, I would do anything for you to forgive me. I’ll never hurt you again. I swear it. If you could agree to draw a line through this mistake, move past it, and forget the whole thing.”

“Hit the delete key and make the past disappear like the pages of a manuscript . . .” Mia muttered under her breath.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

David grabbed Mia’s hand and kissed it. She watched him, feeling a lump rise in her throat.

Why do you have this effect on me? Why do I completely lose myself when I’m with you?

“A penny for your thoughts.”

“I was thinking about us.”

“Will you give us another chance? Do you remember this hotel? We stayed here during our first trip to Paris, after we’d just started dating.”

Mia looked at the suite that David had reserved—the Louis XVI writing desk, lyre-back chair and wing armchair in the sitting room, and the king-size bed with pointed crown canopy in the bedroom.

“We had a smaller room back in those days.”

“Yes, well, we’ve come a long way,” David said, taking her in his arms. “Let’s be young lovers on holiday again tomorrow. We can take a riverboat up the Seine. We can even go and have ice cream on ?le de la Cité . . . I can’t remember the name of that place, but you loved it.”

“It was on ?le Saint-Louis.”

“Then let’s go to ?le Saint-Louis. Please, Mia, stay with me tonight.”

“I didn’t bring anything with me.”

David led Mia to the wardrobe. Inside hung three dresses, two skirts, two blouses, two pairs of cotton pants, and two V-neck sweaters. He pulled open the drawers to reveal four sets of lingerie. Then he took her into the gleaming marble bathroom. Next to the washbasin lay a makeup bag and a toothbrush.

“I took the first plane here this morning and spent my day shopping for you.”

“I’m tired,” she said. “Let’s go to bed.”

“You didn’t touch your food in the restaurant. Can’t I order you something from room service?”

“No, I’m not hungry. I just want to sleep. And think.”

“What is there to think about?” David said, wrapping his arms around her. “Let’s stay together tonight, and tomorrow we’ll start again from scratch.”

Mia gently pushed him out of the bathroom and locked the door.

She turned on the faucet, picked up her phone, and scrolled through the texts she had received that evening.

It’s all ready. Hurry up!

Where are you? It’ll get cold.