One Summer in Paris(37)

“I travel, but not usually alone.”

“The first rule is you’ve got to keep your bag close. Keep the strap across your body.” Audrey threw away the gauze. “And don’t stop in the middle of the street and look at the map. That shrieks tourist. Look up your route before you leave the hotel and if you have to check where you are, then do it discreetly. If you speak French, you can just ask for directions.”

“Yes.” What had she been thinking? It wasn’t as if she’d never left Connecticut. “I can’t believe you caught him.”

“You can thank years of almost missing the school bus. That’s my best running distance.” Audrey pressed a dressing to Grace’s head and taped it down. “Now let’s look at your ankle. Is it broken?”

Audrey was the most capable teenager Grace had ever encountered. What would Sophie have done in the same situation? She wouldn’t have chased after a man and brought him down with a few moves.

“It’s not broken. You brought him crashing to the ground. Where did you learn to do that?”

“I did martial arts at school. Can’t throw a ball to save my life, but I have a great turning kick.” Audrey ran her fingers over the bruising. “It’s swelling up a bit. Same thing happened to one of my friends at Sports Day last year. You probably shouldn’t walk on that for a few days. Put ice on it.”

Feeling a little better, Grace looked around the bookshop. “This place is like paradise.”

“I’m pretty sure paradise smells better than this. Also, shouldn’t paradise be sunny and full of drinks with those cute umbrellas in them?”

“But to work in a bookshop—it’s a dream, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. I’m mostly doing it for the apartment.”

“If you don’t speak French, how are you going to serve customers?”

Audrey shrugged. “Sign language? And I’m learning a few words. I’m using an app. It’s pretty good.”

“You seem to know plenty of swear words.”

“Yeah, a friend taught me the useful stuff.” The girl closed the first aid kit. “So how did you learn French?”

“I’m a teacher. I teach French and Spanish.”

Audrey’s expression blanked. It was like watching a door slamming shut. “We’d better get you back to wherever it is you’re staying. Can you walk or do you want me to get you a cab?”

The thought of going back to the hotel didn’t appeal to Grace at all. She would have liked to stay longer, but she sensed Audrey didn’t want her. Had she somehow upset her? “I don’t suppose I could buy a book while I’m here?”

“Go ahead. There’s enough of them. Where are you staying?”

“At the Hotel Antoinette.”

Audrey wrinkled her nose. “That’s the expensive one that looks like a palace.”

“That’s the one.” An idea came to her. “You should come over one evening and have dinner with me.”

“Are you kidding?” Audrey shoved the first aid kit into the cupboard. “Your husband would love that, I’ll bet. Me tagging along on a romantic break.”

“My husband isn’t with me. He’s back home, with the woman he left me for.” She couldn’t believe she’d blurted it out to a stranger. She expected Audrey to shift uncomfortably and make some excuse that meant she could leave, but the girl didn’t budge. She tilted her head, giving Grace her full attention.

“That sucks. So you’re here on your own?”

“It was that or cancel it. And I can’t believe I just told you that.”

Audrey shrugged. “Friends and family all have opinions and feel they have to fix things, and sometimes all you want is someone to listen.”

The girl had summarized the discomfort of it in a single sentence. “I don’t normally discuss details of my private life with people I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it. My old boss in the hair salon where I worked always said that we know more about people’s problems than priests and psychologists.” Audrey wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m glad you didn’t cancel. The bastard. I mean, it happens a lot, of course. People breaking up. Women come into the salon all the time wanting a makeover to make themselves feel better. But not after twenty-five years. You’d think after that long most people would know what they wanted.”

“David knew what he wanted. Unfortunately, it wasn’t me.”

Oh, shut up, Grace!

To take her mind off it, Grace browsed the shelves.

“I hope you’re posting happy pictures all over social media to make him jealous. #lovemylife or maybe #greattobesingle—that kind of thing.”

“Right now I’m not sure I do love my life, and it doesn’t feel so great to be single. I liked being married to him.”

She selected a book and flicked through it, more as a way of hiding her emotion than because she was interested.

“I still think you should show him you’re doing great. Living well is the best revenge, right?”

“I’m not sure I’m a particularly vengeful person.” She put the book back. “Nor am I living well.”

“So? The purpose of social media is to show everyone the life you wish you were living, not the one you’re actually living. Most people are living two lives. The one they let people see, and the real one.”