One Summer in Paris(38)

David had been living two lives, hadn’t he? With two women.

Grace wondered what Audrey’s other life was like. She seemed both incredibly young, and unusually mature at the same time.

“I mean it about dinner. Please join me.” She pulled a pretty edition of Madame Bovary off the shelf. “If not tomorrow, then any night.”

“Dinner in that place costs, like, a million euros.”

“My budget for this holiday included two people. Now there’s just one of me.”

“So what you’re saying is that I’d be doing you a favor.” Audrey grinned. “I guess I could choke down a prime steak if it would help you out, although I should warn you that I left my ball gown at home.”

Grace thought about the stuffy restaurant. She didn’t want Audrey to feel uncomfortable and she wasn’t in a hurry to go back there herself. “We could order room service. The suite has a balcony. We can eat there.” She opened her purse and handed Audrey enough money to cover the book.

“You’re in a suite? You must be seriously rich.” Audrey stuck the money in her pocket. “I probably should have swiped your bag myself.”

“I’m not rich. I’ve saved for this trip for a year and they gave me an upgrade. Shouldn’t you put the money in the till?”

“I’ll do it later. Dinner tomorrow.” She pondered. “Shame to waste your upgrade. Thanks. I won’t say no to a free meal.”

Grace gazed around the bookshelves, wondering how much the place had changed since Mimi was here. She took a few photos to send to her grandmother. “How long have you been here?”

“Arrived today. Tomorrow is my first working day.”

Grace scribbled down her phone number. “I hope it goes well, but if you need translation help—or anything at all—call me.”

Audrey shrugged. “It’s a load of old books. Books don’t talk. How bad can it be?”





Audrey


It was bad.

Hardly surprising really. Here she was, Audrey Hackett, the girl who everyone had agreed was least likely to succeed, working in a bookshop. Not only that, she was in charge of a bookshop. She had the keys in her pocket. She could hire and fire, although that power was limited by the fact she was the only person here.

Her and about a million old books.

If she sat here long enough, maybe the contents of the books would seep inside her brain and make her clever.

She spun around on the chair. It reminded her of the roundabout in the park where she’d often met Meena for lunch. She felt a pang. She didn’t miss the chaos of home, but she missed Hardy, and Meena of course, and she missed the buzz of the hair salon.

The bookshop was eerily quiet.

As she was the only person here she stood up, posed in front of one of the bookshelves and took a selfie while wearing her new glasses. Meena had typed some hashtags into the notes app on her phone, so Audrey pasted them next to her picture. #bookishAudrey #loveParis

She wondered if she should add #boredrigid but decided it had too many letters.

Also, there was no way she was admitting that her life was less than perfect.

With luck her old English teacher would see her post and feel shame that she’d so badly underestimated Audrey. She could imagine the chat in the staff room—Audrey, working in a bookshop? I feel terrible that I didn’t encourage her more.

She allowed herself a little daydream where she won the Nobel Prize for fiction, and gave a big speech thanking her teachers for giving her the motivation to prove them wrong.

Except that they weren’t wrong, were they? What was she good at, really?

She was good at washing hair and good at making people laugh. She’d been told she was a good listener. Not exactly the “marketable skills” the careers department were always talking about.

On paper, working in a bookshop looked impressive. It was a shame it was about as thrilling as waiting for nail polish to dry. And she was starting to panic that she might not get a job in a hair salon, after all. So far, they’d all said no to her. She was ticking them off her list one by one and she had more to see this afternoon, but she was starting to lose hope. There was an upmarket salon a few steps away from the bookshop, but Audrey hadn’t bothered talking to them. A place like that was never going to employ someone like her.

What if she couldn’t get a job? How would she eat?

The door opened, the bell clanged and an elderly man stepped through the door. Something about the way he held himself—straight, spine elongated—made Audrey think that perhaps he’d once been in the military. But that would have been a long time ago. His hair was white and stuck out in uneven tufts at the side of his head. Her fingers itched to reach for scissors. She knew she could improve his look.

“Bonjour.” Audrey hoped that if she dazzled him with her smile, he’d be too distracted to ask her a question about the books. Fortunately he didn’t seem to want any assistance. He greeted her politely, walked stiffly to a section at the back of the shop and browsed for half an hour.

Audrey watched, curious, as he selected a book from a shelf, flicked through it, then put it back and picked up the one next to it. After half an hour he left, giving her a nod and a smile on his way out.

Totally weird. Still, he hadn’t slipped one into his pocket as far as she could see, so what he was doing with those books was none of her business.