The Last Dress from Paris(54)

She is not in control of whatever happens next.





13





Lucille


   WEDNESDAY


   PARIS


I’ve arranged to meet Leon in front of the Louvre so we can walk through the Jardin des Tuileries together. The Musée de l’Orangerie is at the far west end, and it’s where we know the next dress in the sequence was worn. Dress number six, the Debussy. The dress Granny breathlessly told me was exquisite.

I’m waiting under the arch in the place du Carrousel, looking back toward the giant glass-and-metal triangles of the Louvre, thinking how completely incongruous they look, seemingly floating on the water. One of the world’s most photographed architectural monuments, but it still looks so out of place surrounded by the ornate buildings that came all those decades before it. A little like me in this city? I might have said that six days ago when I first arrived and I was pathetically reluctant to leave the hotel room. But here I am, about to meet a beautiful French boy. Better than that, one who has asked to meet me.

I should feel nervous, but I don’t. The old me would be debating whether to leg it before he appears, to save myself the embarrassment of trying to be interesting and intriguing for him. But I can’t wait for him to arrive, camera swinging from his neck, that relaxed smile of his penetrating right through me. And I realize there was no old me.

This is me.

No one changes as much as I feel I have in six days. Maybe this confidence was always buried inside me, trapped beneath the surface, and I just needed Paris and Veronique and Leon to tease it out. Did Granny Sylvie know this too?

I’m early, and while I stand watching couples walk hand in hand into the gardens and open-top tourist buses glide past, their passengers hanging dangerously over the side of the top deck in pursuit of the perfect picture, my thoughts turn to Mum and what I’m going to do about her wanting me to return home. I wonder why she has never been able to just gently cruise through life as some people can. Be more accepting of and grateful for what naturally comes her way. Why does everything have to be organized and dictated with no room to simply relax into life, to let it take her where it will? She’s probably the most selfish person I know. Most focused, she’d say. But why? Veronique seems to think there must be a reason. Mum’s certainly not close to Granny, and I always assumed that was Mum’s fault. Is it me who’s been unfair? Have I missed something? Is Mum actually the product of her own unhappy childhood?

I’m chewing all this over and getting nowhere when Leon bounds up to me, energy levels brilliantly high. He grabs me by both shoulders.

“So, it was the Debussy next, wasn’t it? Worn to the Monet exhibition. Am I right?” I can’t fault his enthusiasm, or that he obviously paid attention and remembered the details from last night’s wine-fueled summit with Veronique and me.

“You are spot on. But is there any point in going now?” I glance at my watch. “It’s five thirty p.m. We’ve missed the last entry time and it will be closing.”

“Yes, it will. But not to us. Come on. I do have one or two connections in this city, you know.” He winks at me, and all I can think is how much I would like time to slow down tonight. For every hour to count as three so I can explore the parts of him he has yet to show me. To see if together we can tease out a little more of the real Lucille from inside.

We circle past the broad central fountain and down through the park’s wide pedestrian boulevard, our faces brought to life by the neon glare of the giant Ferris wheel and funfair rides to our right. Even by the time we reach the bottom, we can still hear the laughter and screams floating up into the night sky from children ecstatic about being out after dark. The park is like a giant pause button in the middle of this crowded, hectic city. I’m aware of the buildings looming over us on either side. But no towering concrete trespasses onto the footprint of the park, planted as it is onto the city for everyone to enjoy.

“You are very quiet tonight, Lucille.” I realize we have walked most of the way to the museum in silence, something that might have been horribly awkward with anyone else, but not Leon. I don’t feel the need to hide the reason why, so I tell him.

“My mum wants me to go home. She called today.” I may have told her I’m not returning yet, but I know I’ll have to. My conscience will get the better of me in the end.

“But your mission.” He stops and turns to face me. “We’re not finished yet.” And I love that he has anchored himself to this story, too, even if not directly for my benefit.

“I know. But, well, she’s lost her job and she’s very upset about it. She says she needs me.” My insides are flipping between a boiling rage that Mum is going to cut this trip short for me and a tender joy that Leon doesn’t want it to end either.

“Just a couple more days? That might be all we need to complete the trail. I think I made a little breakthrough today. Let’s get inside in the warmth and I will tell you.”

I feel my mood instantly level out. As we approach the doors, which are clearly locked, a security guard greets Leon, and the two exchange a few whispered words before he stands aside and lets us in.

“Seriously, how did you manage this?” I am mightily impressed. We are going to have the entire exhibition to ourselves.

“My boss at the Pompidou knows the boss here. I said I needed a big favor, that there is a girl I need to help. But we haven’t got long.” He holds my gaze for a second or two longer than necessary, and I wonder if he can feel the static between us like I can.