One Summer in Paris(46)

She scribbled on her notepad, compiling a plan for the next few days with the aid of the guidebook. She’d filled in four days when it occurred to her that she was doing it again. Organizing everything.

Last time she’d been in Paris, there had been no plan.

She and Philippe had drifted from hour to hour, as absorbed by each other as they had been by Paris.

It had surprised her to discover she was capable of spontaneity. It was Philippe who had dragged out that side of her.

She put her pen down, ripped the page out of the notebook and scrunched it into a ball.

Today there was not going to be a plan. And not tomorrow, either.

It was time to find that side of herself again.

Her heart beat a little faster. She’d eat lunch where and when she fancied it. She’d stay in the Louvre as long as she wanted to. Or maybe not go at all.

The waiter returned with her coffee, and Grace ordered from the menu.

“Scrambled eggs and coffee, please.”

He bowed his head. Clearly, he was wondering what sort of anniversary celebration it was when the wife didn’t know when her husband was going to show up.

She closed the guidebook and turned to look out of the window.

The sun beamed down, bathing the streets in sunlight, as if determined to show Paris at its very best. Grace watched through the window as people strolled down the wide boulevards.

What was David doing now? Did he ever think of her? Did he ever feel regret?

She was jolted from her thoughts by a commotion at the far end of the restaurant and the sound of a high, shrill voice.

“What do you mean you have a dress code? It’s breakfast, for God’s sake. What do you expect me to wear? Bloody silk pajamas?”

The voice was familiar, and Grace peered across the restaurant and saw Audrey glaring fiercely at the uniformed waiter standing in her path.

Her hands were on her hips. “I’m here to see a friend, okay?”

Grace’s heart lifted. As the days had passed and she hadn’t heard from Audrey she’d assumed she’d scared her off, but maybe that wasn’t the case.

She stood up and hurried across the restaurant. “Audrey!” She gave the waiter a smile and switched to French. “She’s with me.”

The man didn’t return the smile. “We have a dress code in the restaurant, madame. I’m sure you understand.”

“I do understand.” She had her own codes and rules and she rarely diverted from them. She was starting to realize how irritating that might have been for David. “On this one occasion, I’m sure you’ll be willing to overlook it.”

The waiter eyed Audrey’s ripped jeans. “I don’t think—”

“If you could lay another place at my table and bring a menu, that would be appreciated.” Without giving him the opportunity to protest, she shepherded Audrey back to her table.

Audrey slumped into the chair opposite Grace. “Okay, that was pretty cool. I have no idea what you said, of course, but you, like, shriveled him with your eyes. He was going to throw me out. I’m not polished enough for this place. They don’t approve of me.”

Grace heard the wobble in her voice.

“It’s a hotel. We don’t need their approval. I’m paying a fortune for the privilege of staying here, so the least they can do is let me choose my own dining companion.”

Audrey chewed her fingernail. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

Grace knew a teenager in crisis when she saw one, but that didn’t explain why Audrey had come to find her at the hotel. Why not call her own mother?

Maybe she felt awkward admitting that her Paris dream wasn’t going well.

She studied Audrey’s face and saw the blotched pallor that suggested a fit of crying. She reminded Grace of a flower that had been drenched in a storm and lost all its petals. “Did something happen?”

Audrey finished mauling one nail and started on another. “She fired me.”

“Who?”

“Elodie. She owns the bookstore.” Audrey sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “A woman came in this morning and asked me something in French, she wouldn’t even speak slowly, and I had no idea what she was saying and then Elodie arrived in the middle of it and this woman complained about me. Not that I understood the words, but there was no misinterpreting the tone. Turns out I’m fluent in angry voice. After she went, Elodie told me I can’t stay. She wants a French speaker, or at least someone who is willing to learn French. She’s given me a week to find somewhere else to live. And I have a job at the hairdresser now, but that doesn’t pay enough to cover rent and food. So I’m totally stuffed.” There was a hiccup in her voice, and Grace reached into her bag for a tissue.

“Here—” She handed it across the table.

She badly wanted to fix this but last time she’d offered help, Audrey had fled. This time she was not going to push her help on anyone.

“Why don’t you eat something?” She gestured to the waiter who approached hesitantly, sending a glance toward his boss.

“Madame?”

Grace ignored both the menu and his disapproving expression and thought about what Sophie liked when she was miserable. “We’d like a large pot of hot chocolate, please. Also, a plate of toasted English muffins, scrambled eggs and crispy bacon.” She froze and glanced at Audrey. “You’d probably like to order for yourself.”