One Summer in Paris(58)

Philippe, bare chested, hat pulled low over his eyes, standing on an endless curve of sand.

Philippe, playing at the Carnegie Hall in New York, and at the Wigmore Hall in London.

Was there a wife? Had he married?

She flipped back to her own profile, trying to see it through the eyes of someone who didn’t know her. The photograph was one Mimi had taken at a backyard barbecue that David held every year for the neighbors. Her hair was neat, her makeup securely in place. Her smile was fixed. Controlled. What had she been thinking when that photo was taken?

She didn’t look like a woman who had once drunk too much red wine and kissed a Frenchman on a riverbank.

She returned to Philippe’s page. It would be simple to send him a friend request. What would his response be?

Better late than never.

Or maybe he’d ignore her.

Her finger hovered and then she flipped her laptop closed and picked up her book instead, closing her hands over it to make it harder to do the one thing she knew she probably shouldn’t do.

Beyond the windows, the sky was darkening, streaks of red giving way to midnight blue.

She wondered what Audrey was doing.

She checked her phone, but there were no messages, just an email from Sophie with few photos uploaded from Rome. The Colosseum. The Trevi Fountain.

Having a brilliant time, Mom. How is Paris?

She emailed back, Paris is great.

For once it didn’t feel like a lie. Since moving into the apartment, she was beginning to enjoy herself. It was as if she’d left a part of her life behind at the hotel.

Yawning, she stood up and took her plate and empty glass into the kitchen.

She’d call Mimi and then have an early night.

She brewed coffee on top of the stove, the way Philippe had taught her and carried it back to the table. The scent of it was enough to make her contemplate moving to Paris permanently. This was coffee the way it was supposed to taste.

Normally when she rang, Mimi answered immediately, but tonight there was a delay and when her grandmother finally answered she looked flustered.

“Grace! How are you?”

“How are you?” Grace adjusted the tilt of the screen. “Are you out of breath? Don’t tell me—you were having wild sex with a former Russian spy you met when you were a dancer.” She heard a noise in the background. “Is someone there with you?”

“John, the gardener, came over with fresh peaches, but he was just leaving. Tell me about you. Are you lazing around in pampered luxury?”

“Better.” Grace curled her legs under her on the sofa and settled in. It was good to have something positive to chat about at last. Over the past few months it felt as if all she’d done was cry and complain. “I’m staying in an apartment and living like a Parisian. Are you impressed?” It was a superfluous question. Her grandmother would be thrilled that Grace had found the energy to be proactive.

“An apartment? Grace!” Mimi’s face brightened. “What happened to the hotel?”

“I found a French lover and the hotel complained about the noise. They weren’t wild about us swinging from the chandelier, either. Apparently it was antique.”

Mimi’s laugh was higher than usual. Her eyes flitted beyond the screen.

Grace froze in mortification. Was John still standing there? If he was, then she’d never be able to face anyone at Rushing River Senior Living again. She’d have to give her French classes with a bag over her head. “Mimi? Are you on your own?”

“Yes. I am a little distracted, that’s all. Your call was a surprise.”

Her grandmother loved surprises.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Tell me about the apartment. Does this mean you’re thinking of staying longer in Paris?”

The Mimi Grace knew would have asked about the French lover.

Or maybe her grandmother knew she was joking.

“I can’t stay longer because of Sophie.” But once Sophie left home, she could do anything. A few months ago that thought would have terrified her, but now? She explored her feelings gingerly, like someone staggering to their feet after a bad fall, and realized that the breathless panic that had gripped her since that awful Valentine’s Day dinner had left her. She no longer felt scared. Sad, yes, but fearful of the future? No. Maybe it was the wine. Or maybe it was simply that she’d removed herself from her old life. This new life she was living had never included David. Here, the loss was more of an ache than a stab. She could feel her strength returning. “It’s a short-term rental. I’ll email you the address. I think you’ll approve. I’m living above your bookshop.” Why wasn’t her grandmother looking at her? “Mimi?”

“Yes?” Mimi’s eyes slid back to the screen. “Tell me about it.”

Grace tried to read her grandmother’s expression, but the signal wasn’t brilliant and the image was a little blurred. “Is something wrong?”

“What could be wrong? I live in paradise. Now tell me about the bookstore. Is the door still blue? Does it still have a bell that clangs like a ship about to sink?”

“It does. I don’t think it has changed in the last hundred years. We’re probably wading through the same dust you did. It’s owned by a woman called Elodie. She mentioned her grandmother, Paulette. Did you ever meet Paulette?”