Million Love Songs(41)
One that involves just the two of us, I gather from that. His concern is touching and I feel my disappointment recede. When Mason is like this, he’s good company and the silly mistakes of last night start to fade away.
Taking a deep breath, I reason that there’s no cause for this to continue to be difficult. We’re both grown-ups. What happened, happened. I was a willing – if slightly inebriated – participant. I could have said no and didn’t. I blame my own insecurities for agreeing to do it. I can’t change what’s happened, but I can simply brush it under the carpet, think of it as a life experience that I hadn’t necessarily anticipated and set about enjoying what’s left of the day. That perks me up considerably and, with a renewed lift to my spirits, I say, ‘A boat would be nice.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
So we finish our brunch but, by the time we do, the rain has swept in once more and high winds are batting over the pavement tables and chairs, sending the staff scurrying out to retrieve them. Instantly, the pavements turn to rivers and the gutters are ankle-deep with water.
‘We might as well stay put and have another coffee,’ Mason says. ‘Paris in the rain is appalling.’
I’ll have to take his word for it. Though I’m up for Paris in any weather. I’m more than a little disappointed as I was hoping to get out and about today.
‘We could go to the Louvre?’
‘The world and his wife will be there,’ Mason dismisses my suggestion. ‘It will be hell.’
‘Any other museums?’
‘Yes, but not really my bag.’
‘I suppose the boat’s out of the question?’
He shrugs to indicate his lack of enthusiasm for the joys of the Seine dans la pluie. I think that’s right – it’s a long time since the French language and I were associated. ‘You won’t see Paris at its best.’
I won’t see Paris at all at this rate, but I say nothing. I could go off on my own to explore, but that seems unfair. Mason has funded everything so far and I feel in his debt. It hardly seems right to leave him by himself and head out. So I’ll do what he wants to do. Plus, it’s still pouring down heavens hard and I have no umbrella. Or rain jacket. Or suitable footwear. In my attempt to pack light, I did not pack for all climatic occasions. I thought Paris would be hot and sunny. I thought I’d be strolling round all day under a cloudless sky. I was wrong on both counts.
‘We could get a bottle of wine,’ I suggest when all other options seem to be off limits. My hangover has just about abated enough to cope with more alcoholic input. ‘Stay put for a while. Maybe the rain will pass.’
‘A decent red sounds very appealing,’ he agrees.
So while Mason orders us a decent red, I abandon any plans or hopes I had to see Paris in any kind of weather and settle in, trying to content myself with absorbing the atmosphere in this very traditional café. Perhaps I should just be happy to enjoy this time with Mason and get to know him better – or at least in a way that doesn’t involve his gentleman’s playthings. We had a nice dinner last night and I could try to recapture some of that mood.
Mason pours us the wine and, as it disappears too rapidly, the rain gets worse and worse. You could say it’s raining chats and chiens. I know. I’ll get my coat.
I study Mason as he talks to the waiter. His French sounds pretty good to me and he has the confidence that I so badly lack. There’s a lot that I do like about him. He has loads of potential as partner material and has some great points. Despite the little erm … interlude … with Valerie, he’s pretty hot in bed. So much to offer and yet, even though he’s not that much younger than me in actual years it somehow seems like a vast age difference. He might be running a successful business, yet he still seems quite immature in so many ways.
If there’s one thing that this weekend has taught me – apart from the fact that I don’t particularly like kissing other ladies – it’s that I want to be in a settled and secure relationship. I want to be part of a couple again. Not straight away, but I need to look for someone solid and dependable. Mason is too fickle, smooth and fly-by-night. All the things that Charlie warned me about. I’d probably like a family one day and, while time is running out for me, Mason seems to be a million miles away from that kind of commitment. He said he just wanted fun and he’s certainly proved that.
As people soaked through to the skin rush in and a few brave souls dash out into the deluge, Mason and I stay hunkered down. We mainly talk about Mason’s business plans for the future. He tells me a bit more about his family who sound like a totally fucked-up bunch despite their privileged lifestyle.
‘My dad was never around when I was growing up. He was always at work, building his empire.’ Mason gives a cynical snort. ‘My mother spent her time at charity lunches and Doing Good. We were all packed off to boarding school. The minute I hit the age of eight, I was shipped out. We weren’t even at the same school. As a result, we don’t have what you’d call a close relationship.’
Fancy sending your kids off to school at eight. Why would you bother having them, if you’re just going to farm them out to someone else to look after? Perhaps this is why he struggles with close relationships. I’m not trying to analyse him. It’s just a thought.