That Night In Paris Page 10

  “No. But maybe she never took it in the first place.”

  “Mmm, true.”

  The phone beeped again, and I dropped it onto my towel like a hot potato. Lou laughed at me. When I picked it up, I flicked through the alerts at the top of the screen. “It’s him.” I stared at the phone. Why on earth hadn’t I left it in the room?

  “What does he say?” Lou said every word slowly, like she was talking to a child. It was apt, because I was behaving like one.

  I opened the message.

  Bonjour Catherine. We are now connected on the book of faces. ;) I imagine you are drinking some wonderful wine and enjoying the sunshine. Nice to think of you just a short distance from my family home. I always wanted you to visit. Have a good day and I will see you soon. J-L

  Oh, that’s right. I remembered how he used to sign off his letters with an invitation to visit. Of course, back then we were just kids with no money, so I never took it seriously.

  But being in that beautiful place on a warm October day, it was easy to imagine a giant family gathering in Lyon, relatives of all ages milling around a long table laden with trays of food and carafes of wine.

  Jean-Luc would hold my hand as he introduced me to everyone, and they would call out hellos in French and broken English. I would charm everyone with my bad French, because at least I’d made an effort.

  I would play chasey with the children after lunch, then help the women clear the table—very old school in this fantasy—and afterwards, play pétanque with the menfolk. From time to time, Jean-Luc would seek me out to share a smile and ask how I was enjoying the visit. Late in the day, he’d pull me under the rose trellis and kiss me.

  “Wow, that must have been some text.” Lou’s voice broke my reverie.

  “Hmm?”

  “You were in your own little world.”

  “Oh, yes. Here. You can read it.”

  She did, then handed back the phone. I pressed the “off” button and put the phone down next to me. I didn’t want to be tempted to go back on Facebook or re-read his message a hundred times.

  “I have no clue how he feels about me, Lou.”

  “Mmm. He didn’t really give anything away in that text, did he?”

  “No.”

  “I guess you’ll find out on Thursday.”

  “I hope so.” The thought of seeing him again washed away my confusion and replaced it with giddiness. Yes, indeed, I was deeply, utterly in lust.

  ***

  By the time Jaelee returned from the wine tasting, Lou and I were a little sunburned and a lot drunk. Dani had stayed in the pool the whole time, first frolicking—really, it is the best description of what she was doing—and then bobbing about with her legs wrapped around Jason. Apparently, they were happy to boldly publicise their “thing”.

  Good for her, I thought. If my bestie had run off and got herself married without me, I’d probably do something similar.

  “Hey, guys,” said Jae as she plopped down next to us on the lawn. She was grinning and lifted her very dark sunglasses to reveal that, like us, she was more than half-cut.

  “So, how was it?”

  “Oh, the wine was good, really good. We even got to taste some other varietals, but I think the gamay is their best—that’s what we’ve been drinking today. And Marc—the wine guy—he’s the grandson of the previous winemaker—he’s been experimenting with different grapes. Of course, in this region, everything is all gamay all the time, you know?” She was rambling; it was highly entertaining.

  “Sure,” Lou said, an amused smile on her lips.

  I adjusted my cover-up, so it was actually covering me. I’d had more than enough sun, but I really didn’t want to go inside. “So, how many people were on the tour?”

  “Oh, for the first part, there were probably ten of us?” She posed it as a question, her inflection going up at the end of the sentence. She sounded like a Sydneysider.

  “And was there a second part?” prompted Lou.

  “Um, yes, there was.” She picked at some blades of grass.

  “Jaelee, seriously,” groaned Lou, “you’re killing us. Spill already.”

  “Well, Marc—that’s the—”

  “We know,” we both said at the same time.

  “Well, Marc offered to show us the room where he’s been experimenting with some blends.”

  “How nice of him.” She flashed me a pointed look which I ignored. “And I’m guessing you were the only one who took him up on it.”

  “Well, me and this guy from the other tour group—Phillip or something. He’s into wine.”

  “Something tells me there’s more,” I said to Lou, as though Jaelee couldn’t hear me.

  “He asked me to dinner.” Then she grinned like an idiot and squeaked out a little squeal. It was the most un-Jaelee-like thing I’d seen her do.

  “Wow, you move fast.” I was honestly impressed. We’d been there less than four hours and she’d teed up a date.

  Like I was one to talk.

  “It’s like Noah’s ark around here,” Lou added. Jae had said almost the same thing on the coach. I scoured Lou’s face for any sign of self-pity—none that I could see.

  “Are you all right with that, Lou?” I asked, just to make sure.

  She replied matter-of-factly, “Oh, totally. Romance is the last thing on my mind. Right now, I’m about scenery and sunshine and wine …” She picked up the now empty second bottle. “Speaking of which—” she cocked her head to the side “—I’m pretty sure it’s my buy.” And with that, she was off across the lawn, up the stairs and into the château.

  “That was insensitive of me.” Jaelee seemed to have suddenly sobered up.

  “No, I think she’s legitimately steering clear of romance right now. Remember on the first day when she said the thing about having time by herself to think things through?” She nodded solemnly. “Hey. You deserve a little fun. We all do. And I mean, look at Dani.”

  Dani shrieked on cue as Jason hoisted her in the air. She landed with a splash and emerged smiling. She tried to splash him as retribution, but it was like watching a mouse take on a bear. Jason was a big guy.

  “I think you might be right.”

  “I almost always am.” She rolled her eyes, then pulled out her phone to check the time. “One more swim before I need to get ready.”

  “What time is dinner?”

  “Seven.” She got up and performed a perfect dive into the deep end.

  I watched her, doubting it could take someone as put-together as Jaelee nearly three hours to get ready, but then again, maybe that was why she was also so put-together. I suddenly realised the reason she was travelling with her own bikini waxing kit and dismissed the thought immediately. TMI.

  “I got us food.” Lou took up Jae’s vacated spot.

  “Oh, thank God.” We were supposed to have bought our lunch when we’d stopped for morning tea, but Lou and I had been too focused on hot beverages to get anything else. Dinner wouldn’t be for hours, and two pieces of cold toast at breakfast didn’t sop up much wine at four in the afternoon.

  She started pulling things out of a paper carrier bag. “You’re supposed to buy this big picnic basket to go have lunch down in the vines or something, but that sucker was huge. So I convinced the rep to just sell me just the cheese, the olives and these.” She took out a small packet of crispbread. I saw the flakes of sea salt crusting them and started salivating.

  “Lou, as soon as your divorce comes through, I’m proposing.”

  She grinned at me. She was certainly holding it together way better than I would if my marriage was ending. I added it to the long list of things I already loved about her.

  She laid out the food and pulled the last thing out of the bag—a bottle of wine. “I also got us this.” I actually groaned. Maybe there was such a thing as too much wine.

  ***

  There is such a thing as too much wine.

  Even though Lou and I had snuck into the kitchen around
1:00am to steal big bottles of water, and even though we’d each drunk nearly a litre before bed, I was decidedly hungover when my eyes creaked open the next morning. I peeked around the room, not daring to open them all the way.

  Dani had snuck in around three—well, she’d stumbled in, attempting to be quiet, and had woken us when she called out in pain from stubbing her toe on the bed frame. She was sprawled across the top bunk on her stomach, her head under a pillow and snoring softly.

  I looked at my wrist and my watch taunted me with 7:18am. We were leaving at eight. Breakfast, for those who could stomach it, had started at seven. By the time I dragged myself out of bed and made myself presentable, it would be over. I groaned.

  “Morning, sunshine,” croaked a voice from above.

  “Lou, I hate you. Do not speak to me.” This was followed by a low rumbling chuckle. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn she had a smoker’s hack. “I’m serious. I never get hangovers. Never.” This was (mostly) true, because my method was (mostly) fool-proof. Water after every drink, a pint of water and two paracetamols before bed. On a particularly big night, add two ibuprofens and two slices of buttered Marmite toast to the mix—and voilà!

  The thing is, the method only works if you actually drink water in between drinks and take the pills. I had not done either of those things and I cursed myself as much as I cursed Lou. I’d been wrong—she was the enabler.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Meh, I’m okay. I haven’t let loose like that in a long time—since before …” She trailed off, but I knew what she meant. Once Jackson had started drinking, she’d become a teetotaller, the responsible one.

  “I get it.” I did. No matter how disgusting I felt, I wasn’t going to begrudge Lou letting her hair down. “Hey, Lou, you haven’t heard anything—”

  She cut me off. “Nope. I told him not to.”

  We were both quiet, and I contemplated the heft of Lou’s situation. A divorce. Just awful.

  I realised that the ripe smell stinging my nostrils was me. “Uh, Lou? Why do I stink?” I tried to remember what had happened after dinner, which was a stir-fry so dense with capsicum, that by the time I picked all the capsicum out, there was barely anything left on my plate. I came up empty.

  “The dancing.” There was dancing? A series of snapshots of a dark, musty bar and a throng of sweaty bodies flickered through my brain. Dancing + red wine – water = massively huge bugger of a hangover. Whose brilliant idea was that?

  “Oh, right. That was your idea?”

  “Nope. Yours.”

  “I suck,” I proclaimed.

  “Yes.” Lou paused then said, “Hey, Cat? Where’s Jaelee?”

  My head turned abruptly to see a perfectly made-up bottom bunk across the room. How had I missed that?

  “Huh. Well, would you look at that?”

  Lou started giggling and I joined in. “This trip is way cooler than I thought it would be,” she said.

  Dani’s head emerged from under her pillow as she made a loud snuffling sound, which made us giggle even louder. “What? Oh, uh, what time is it?”

  “Morning, Danielle,” replied Lou in a sing-songy voice.

  “It’s twenty past seven, Dan,” I said.

  “I’m dying.” She flipped onto her back and shielded her eyes from sunlight streaming in the window.

  “Get in line,” I replied, throwing back the duvet. I needed to shower to get the stench off me, and to pack. And somehow, I needed to scrounge up some tea for me and Lou.

  Anyone who thinks a coach tour is “going on holiday” needs their head read. We had a five-hour coach ride to the south coast of France ahead of us and if my seatmate didn’t let me sleep, I would have to start murdering people.

  Chapter 6

  There was a chill in the air that morning at the château. The tour group milled about in the shady driveway as a few of the guys helped Tom pack the luggage under the coach.

  Jaelee had shown up by the time I was out of the shower. She was wearing the previous night’s clothes and a contented smile. She changed clothes and packed quickly, then freshened up at the sink in the bathroom, giving me, Dani and Lou the chance to have a quick and very quiet conversation.

  “Ask her,” whispered Lou.

  “No.” Dani looked like we’d asked her to step into the lion’s den.

  “She’s your roommate,” I added, ganging up on her.

  “She’s yours too,” Dani retorted. Technically, she was right.

  “I’ll ask her later,” I said. “Or she’ll tell us. All right?”

  Breakfast was well and truly over by the time we got downstairs, so ten minutes before we were due to leave, Lou and I bribed one of the reps to rustle up some takeaway cups for tea. And by “bribed”, I mean we showed up with half a Toblerone and she humoured us.

  Georgina made her way noisily through the group wishing everyone a good morning before she climbed onto the coach. “I didn’t see her yesterday,” I said, blowing on the too-hot tea.

  “What’s that?” asked Lou.

  “Sorry—thinking aloud. I was saying I didn’t see Georgina yesterday. Did you?”

  She thought for a moment then scrunched her nose. “No, I don’t think so. Huh. I wonder what she got up to.”

  “Sarah told me that on days off all she did was sleep.”

  “All I want to do now is sleep.”

  “Actually, I’m hoping I can nap on the coach. Do you mind if I have the window today?”

  “Go for it. It’s super annoying, but I can’t sleep sitting up.”

  Tom slammed the three doors to the luggage compartments in quick succession, the unofficial signal to board the coach, and I started making my way over with the rest of the group.

  A whispered exclamation from Lou stopped me short. “Oh, wow!”

  “What?”

  “Look.”

  She pointed towards the entrance of the château where Craig was hugging one of the reps, the curvy blonde Aussie girl, Kayla. They shared a quick kiss and then he walked towards us, throwing a smile over his shoulder. She waved and smiled back, then disappeared inside.

  Craig saw us watching him and walked over, grinning.

  “You sly dog,” teased Lou.

  He went beet red, which made him even more adorable. “Morning,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh … I’m getting on the coach now.” He trotted off and I burst out laughing.

  Lou started singing, “The Love Bus, soon will be making another run …” to the tune of The Love Boat theme song, which made me laugh even more.

  “Owww. Don’t make me laugh. The drugs haven’t kicked in yet.” I’d taken two ibuprofen and a paracetamol after my shower. I’d also eaten a squashed muesli bar I found in my messenger bag. I desperately hoped I would feel better soon.

  “Time to board the Luuuv Buuus,” sang Lou. She really needed to stop that. I didn’t want to have to find a new bus bestie.

  ***

  I did manage to nap. I finished my tea, half-listened to Georgina explaining the day’s itinerary—I was finding it hard to concentrate—then took my beach cover-up out of my bag and scrunched it up to use as a pillow against the window. Even hungover I’d managed to plan ahead, and I was a little proud of myself. Not for the hangover—that was gross stupidity and never to be repeated—said every hungover person ever, right?

  I slept until right before we stopped for morning tea and a wee, which was terrific timing, because I needed both.

  “I’m starving,” said Lou as we shuffled off the bus.

  “Where are we?” I yawned, looking out the window. So far, all French rest stops looked the same—an acre of concrete and a building that looked like it was built in the 70s.

  “I don’t know—halfway between the château and Antibes, I guess.”

  Inside I ordered, “Deux grands thés, s’il vous plaît.” I emphasised “grands” and was pleasantly surprised when two one-litre hot drinks were handed over the co
unter. I felt like someone from an American television show.

  “This is the best tea I’ve ever had,” said Lou.

  “Hangover tea. It always tastes better than regular tea.” She nodded in solemn agreement.

  Back on the coach, I let Lou have the window seat and sat down heavily beside her, hoping the tea would kick in soon.

  The Love Bus pulled out of the rest stop and onto the motorway. I saw signs for Avignon and promised myself to stay awake and pay attention to the scenery for the rest of the drive. We were heading into Provence and though I’d never been, I hadn’t been living under a rock. Provence was bound to be as beautiful as promised.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “What’s up?” Lou was looking out the window too.

  “So, all this Love Bus stuff …”

  “Yeah?”

  “How are you about all of it?” She let the question hang in the air a moment, still watching the view.

  “I’m okay.” She turned her head and gave me a less than convincing smile.

  “Does that mean just okay or totally okay?”

  “Just, heading towards totally.” She leant her head back against her seat. “Oh Cat,” she sighed. “Sometimes, when I think about being single again after all this time, I feel sick. I mean, I’m thirty-one and I know that’s not old, but it’s old enough that just the idea of starting again—and I mean everything, new apartment, new commute, new couch, new towels—maybe down the line, a new relationship … all that change, all at once … it’s overwhelming, you know?”

  I did know, yes, even though my first and only serious break-up was ten years before.

  I would never forget those few months after Scott and I broke up—they were the hardest of my life. Every day I rode out a maelstrom of feelings that eventually dulled into something else, but never truly went away.

  Once I’d decided that there was nothing for me in Sydney and I wasn’t going back, I exchanged one life for another. I made dozens of changes all at once and when I finally settled into my London life, I made sure that very little changed from then on. On purpose. I’d been a happy creature of habit ever since, so considering the tsunami of changes Lou was facing when she got home, I felt for her.