That Night In Paris Page 13

  “That was fun,” said Dani, as we picked our way through the streets of sun loungers.

  “You’re only saying that because Craig showed up,” teased Jaelee.

  “Hey! Not true.”

  “You didn’t even go in the water.”

  “Hey, in my mind beaches are for looking at, not swimming in. He is cute, though, don’t you think?” she cooed.

  We cleared the loungers and emerged onto the boardwalk. Lou put her arm around Dani’s shoulder. “He’s adorable. You’re both adorable.” Dani beamed.

  “Yeah, yeah, adorable,” said Jaelee, a bite in her tone.

  “Hey! Glass houses, Jaelee. Remember where you spent last night?” Dani’s not takin’ any yo’ crap, Jaelee. I liked seeing Dani stand up for herself.

  ***

  “… And it’s said that Prince Rainier placed a rose on her tomb every day until his death in 2005.”

  “Pretty hard to do after he died,” said Jaelee in a low voice. I stifled a giggle and Lou dug an elbow into my side.

  “Hey,” I whispered at her.

  “Shh,” she whispered back, her attention focused on Georgina.

  I had to admit, it had been a pretty good tour. Georgina knew her stuff and Monaco was, as Sarah had promised, beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere as perfect and pristine, before or since.

  It was like one of the worlds in Disneyland—Monacoland, where every streetlamp, every building, every staircase and footpath was designed to bring the greatest joy to adult children everywhere—and the views! If Paris was the city of lights, then Monaco was the principality of lights. And with it perched on—or it was clinging to?—a mountainside, that meant spectacular views and very sore calf muscles by the end of the tour.

  “I’m dying,” said Dani as we crested another hill. Georgina was fit, that was for sure. Her walking tour could have been rescheduled, relabelled and added to the itinerary as a fitness excursion.

  “Wanna piggyback?” Jason asked. I figured he was kidding. Dani didn’t.

  “Yes. Please!” He stopped, crouched down, and she climbed on.

  I decided they needed a couple name. “I’m calling you two “Jasni’” from now,” I said, a little out of breath myself.

  “Ewww, that’s awful,” laughed Dani.

  “Danson?”

  “Worse,” replied Jason.

  “How about—”

  “How about nothing?” Dani cut me off playfully, then giggled as he trotted ahead with her bouncing on his back.

  “The Love Bus …” sang Lou beside me, quietly.

  “… Soon will be making another run …” I joined in.

  My phone beeped in my clutch. “Oh, hang on.” I stopped walking and took it out, tapping the screen until I could see the message from Jean-Luc. I’d texted earlier to say I could meet him at 5:00pm on Thursday. I was taking Sarah’s advice about the Roman city tour.

  “Is it him?” Lou peered over my shoulder.

  “Yep.”

  “And?”

  I grinned at her. “He’s sent the name of a bar so we can meet for drinks. He says it’s near Piazza Navona.” I had no idea what that meant, but I’d look it up.

  “Just remember to invite me to the wedding,” she joked.

  I looked up at her through my lashes. “Hilarious.”

  She shrugged. “You never know.”

  But I did know—I didn’t do marriage. I sent a quick reply.

  Sounds good. See you there. Can’t wait. Cat x

  I’d tapped “send” before I could rethink the “can’t wait” part. I showed Lou and she nodded with approval. “C’mon, we need to catch up.”

  Georgina released us around ten, dropping us at the entrance of a casino. She made sure we had the pick-up location pinned in our phones and told us to meet her and Tom there at 12:30am. I stifled a yawn and Lou nudged me again with her elbow.

  “Stop doing that,” I chided.

  “Sorry.”

  “You must know you have at least eight inches on me. I’m going to have a permanent bruise on my shoulder.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her Canadian accent asserted itself as she dragged out “sawwreee”.

  “I forgive you, but remember, I’m just little.” It’s what I’d always said to Sarah when we were growing up. She’s around five inches taller and, though I am not proud, I definitely played the “little sister” card more than a few times—being younger and smaller. A shout of, “Muuu-uuummm,” and she’d get told to leave me alone. I was cheeky like that sometimes—I still am.

  ***

  Somehow, we ended up at the Grand Casino.

  And by “we” I mean, the four of us, Craig and the Kiwi four-pack. And by “ended up” I mean we completely ditched our tour group and made our way to the Grand Casino on purpose.

  It was both sublime and surreal.

  The architecture was incredible, keeping right in with the adult Disneyland theme. It looked like the palace Belle and the Beast moved into right after he transformed back into the prince—lots of ornate flourishes—and for some reason, there were palm trees in the forecourt.

  But the real attraction was the cars parked out front. Name a super car and it was there. My dad loves cars, and Sarah and I were brought up to love them too. Consequently, we are total rev-heads. I’ve watched Top Gear since it began and when it became Grand Tour, I switched allegiance and followed Clarkson and the boys. I still have a mad crush on Richard Hammond, and my dream car is a Bugatti Chiron. You can Google it. It’s gorgeous. Lego even made one—that drives! Sorry, I digress …

  That night, the boys and I did walk-arounds of all the cars. We weren’t the only ones, and I suspect if you park your car out front of the Grand Casino, you’re fine with people gawking. We did this under the watchful eyes of two security guards—looking, but not touching, guys. No Chirons, but still …

  “So, are we going in?” asked Jae, loudly. Her impatience was obvious, but I could have happily spent the whole evening in the parking lot.

  “In there?” asked Dani. She looked dubious.

  I made my way over to the girls. “Uh, Jae, we can’t get in there.”

  She looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, there’s no way we meet the dress code.” We were all dressed in the nicest things we had in our luggage, but dress jeans and wrinkled button-down shirts and equally wrinkled dresses weren’t going to cut it.

  Jae looked down at her outfit. She looked great in her tiny black skin-tight sheath, but that wouldn’t cut it either. The Grand Casino was strictly black-tie. “But—”

  “Jae, look.” Mama Lou pointed to the men and women who were ascending the staircase. Tuxes and gowns abounded.

  “Oh. I … in Miami …” She stopped before she finished the thought.

  “You look great, Jae, really,” I said. “Beautiful, but this isn’t Miami.”

  She nodded, clearly baffled. I doubted Jaelee had ever been refused entry anywhere. With her looks and her wardrobe, she’d probably never paid a cover charge either.

  “It’s cool,” she said, shrugging it off. “But I’ll be damned if I’m not placing a bet at a table in Monte Carlo,” she added.

  And that is how we ended right back where we’d started in a lesser-known and kinda-seedy casino well off the main drag. Right back with our tour group.

  “Hi, guys!” Georgina locked onto us as soon as we walked in, far more effusive than usual. My eyes zeroed in on the glass in her hand. Ahh, that explained it.

  “Georgina!” Oh, darling Lou.

  “Where have you guys been?”

  Walk away. Walk away.

  Lou started in on a newsy report of where we’d been and what we’d seen. Jae sidled up to me and nodded towards a blackjack table. It seemed far more interesting than a tipsy Georgina. The rest of our little group had dispersed, Dani tucked under Jason’s arm as they both watched one of the Kiwi guys—Paul?—throw dice onto a craps table.

  I followe
d Jae. We took side-by-side seats and she laid a fifty-euro note on the table. The dealer took it and signalled a guy who replaced it with a stack of chips. She halved the stack and gave me twenty-five euros worth of chips. I started to protest and she shushed me.

  I’d played pontoon when I was at uni in Australia, but I’d never played blackjack and I’d certainly never sat at a casino table. Excitement revved inside me. I threw Jae a smile and she shut it down with a look that said, “Cool it.” I cooled it.

  On the dealer’s signal, she placed a five-euro chip on the table; I did the same. He dealt and when I peeked at my cards, I saw two tens. Holy crap! I’d seen enough films to know I needed to split the pair and up the ante. I did both. My next cards were a seven and a nine. I sat on those. The dealer was on fifteen, so he had to turn over another card. It was another seven. He was bust, and I won both hands. On my first ever time playing blackjack. In a casino. In Monte Carlo. I won!

  My mouth formed an O and when I looked at Jae, she was smiling at me, her cool façade gone. “Nicely done. First time?” Was it that obvious? I nodded. “Nicely done, rookie.”

  I pushed twenty-five euros in chips over to Jae. “No—”

  “Yes. I’ll play with my winnings.”

  “Okay,” she acquiesced.

  We stayed at the same table—my lucky table—until Georgina rounded us all up. Beginner’s luck accounted for an extra one hundred and twenty euros of spending money.

  Hello, Italy!

  Chapter 8

  There is scenery and there is scenery.

  We’d been riding in the coach for days and we’d seen some beautiful landscapes, especially on the approach to the château, but the drive from Antibes to Florence was something else.

  After another late night and another early departure, Lou and I were both content with minimal conversation and looking out the window. Nice was stunning and as we drove through it, I wished we’d gone there the day before instead of Cannes.

  Tom took us right along the seaside boulevard—palm trees and neat pastel-coloured buildings on our left and wide stretches of sand on our right. There were a few private beach clubs with their standard rows of coloured sun loungers, but most beaches were open and there were quite a few morning beachgoers, strolling and swimming.

  I could see the similarities to Cannes, but it seemed a little more welcoming, less harried, less “French Riviera”. Our excursion to the beach had mostly been about checking off a bucket-list item, but I got the sense that Nice would have been nicer.

  We skirted around Monaco, not dipping into the principality like we’d done the night before, but looking down on it—high-rises and terracotta roofs in equal measure encircling a brilliant blue marina, with dozens, maybe hundreds, of luxury boats moored in neat rows.

  Leaving France, we stuck mostly to the coast and I was glad Lou and I had purposely chosen seats on the right side of the coach. We were welcomed across the invisible border with a perfectly blue sky, which reflected off the Mediterranean in a million points of light.

  But despite the views, a knot of nerves was starting to grow in my stomach. I was seeing Jean-Luc the next day, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d ended our friendship. I’d been an utter coward. Yes, it all happened fifteen years ago, but even so …

  And what if he thought dinner was the start of something? An actual relationship? I hadn’t been in one since Scott, and I certainly wasn’t looking for one. A lover, definitely. A friend, absolutely. But a boyfriend, a partner—or, like Lou had alluded to the day before—a husband? What a horrendous thought.

  There was a very good reason I owned a permanent site in “Camp Single”.

  For a decade, I’d avoided meeting the parents or the best friends, had never been a “plus one” at a wedding, and I’d managed to avoid being introduced as someone’s girlfriend. I’d never been anything more than a casual fling, a fuckbuddy, or a lover.

  And I was completely fine with that. Fuckbuddies did not get fucked over.

  I realised, as I stared out at the incredible Apennine Mountains, I was a big fat hypocrite. I was a champion of love—if it was for other people. Sarah and her boyfriends—I had huge hopes that it would work out with one of them. And I often bragged about my parents’ forty years of marriage. I even wanted Dani and Jason to work out, although I suspected it was just a holiday fling.

  “I think I’m in love with Italy already,” said Lou, leaning past me to get a better look at the mountains. Speaking of love.

  “It is kind of ridiculous, isn’t it? Makes France look like a poor cousin.”

  “I won’t tell the entire country of France you said that.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do, yes. You’ve been before, right?”

  “To Italy? No. I am ashamed to say I’ve lived this close to Europe for a decade and I’ve never been.” I omitted that Scott and I were supposed to have gone to Italy after France.

  “I’m so excited about Florence.”

  “Oh, right, it’s on your list.”

  “Uh huh. Although I can’t believe we only get a night there.”

  “Mmm.” I’d thought the same thing.

  “Remember when you asked me if I wanted to see the heck out of Paris?” she asked, swapping “hell” for “heck”.

  “Of course, Lou. It was only three days ago.”

  “Well, how about we do the same in Florence?” My snarkiness had flown right over her head, and I softened. “Sure, Lou. I’d be up for that. I mean, other than the Duomo, I don’t really know what’s there. I saw A Room with a View about a million years ago. I loved it, but I don’t remember much about the city.”

  “Yeah, so the Duomo—” she was ticking destinations off on her fingers “—then the Uffizi, the gallery where The Birth of Venus is.”

  “Yep.”

  “Ponte Vecchio, for sure.”

  “Sure, yes, Ponte Vecchio.” I had no idea what she was talking about.

  Lou must have been onto me. “It’s the old bridge that crosses the Arno,” she explained. “You know, with all the tiny different-coloured stores on it?”

  “I think I know the one you mean.” I did not. I was an utter fraud.

  “And I definitely want to go to Piazza della Signoria. They have all these incredible statues there, including a replica of David—we could try to fit in going to Accademia, where the original is, but that could be cutting it close, timewise.”

  “Wow, this is going to be quite the afternoon.”

  “I’m going to set up a map for us.” She pulled out her phone and I returned to gazing out the window.

  Can you fall in love with an entire country?

  ***

  “Okay, so this is a really quick stop—just fifty minutes. And this is our pick-up point. We’ll have to move the coach while you go and see the tower, but we will meet you as close to here as possible at—” Georgina checked her watch “—twelve-fifteen. Please be on time—today especially. We need to get you to the campsite, then into Florence for the walking tour. Have fun everyone!”

  I was eager to see the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but to get to it we had to dodge dozens of hawkers selling everything from knock-off handbags to cheap bracelets and nylon scarves, all arrayed on giant blankets on the ground. Add a huge milling crowd of tourists, who clearly had all the time in the world, it earned its place as my least favourite attraction in Europe before I even saw it.

  “Oh, my heck!” exclaimed Lou when we made it through the gates. “It really is leaning.”

  “Really? And you expected what exactly?” I may have been a little tetchy. I hate crowds—most short people do.

  She made a face and softly backhanded my arm.

  “Here,” she said, fishing out her phone, “take a picture of me.”

  “You sound like Jaelee.” If I’d been given a euro every time Jaelee had said that, it would have paid for the tour.

  “Just—here.” She thrust her phone at me, and I nearly
dropped it. Her eyes widened.

  “Sorry. All good, I’ve got it.”

  She found a spot amongst a hundred other people all doing the same thing and adopted the pose that every person who has ever been to the Leaning Tower of Pisa does. I took the photo.

  “Now you.”

  “No, that’s fine.”

  “Catherine. You will absolutely take a stupid touristy photo. Now stand over there.” Sometimes Lou didn’t take any of my crap and I kind of loved her for it. I did as I was told and was rewarded for my efforts with one of her infectious smiles.

  “Come on. Let’s go walk around it.” We did. I had to admit, it was cool being there, even with the masses and the fake Gucci handbags.

  “Is it time for gelato yet?” I whined.

  Lou tutted, then acquiesced. “Okay. You can have a gelato—for being good.” She looked at her phone and tapped away on Google Maps. “Come on.” She led the way out of the giant stone walls that surrounded the tower grounds, and down the street to a gelato shop with a queue out the door.

  “Oh,” I said, eyeing the queue.

  “It’s got four-point-eight on Google Maps,” she said.

  “What about the second-ranked place?”

  “This is the second-ranked place. I thought the lines would be better here.”

  I looked at the time. “I think we’ll make it. Plus, it’s lunchtime and I’m starving.” Gelato is a perfectly acceptable lunch food—please don’t judge us. We took our place at the end of the queue.

  “Hey, that’s Dani and Jason,” said Lou.

  Dani turned around at the sound of her name and waved at us frantically. “Hey, you guys, come up here.”

  “Should we?” I asked Lou.

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “It’s just … I’m British. The queue is sacrosanct.”

  “Well, today be an Australian and cut the line with me.”

  We cut the line. I didn’t feel good about it, but the people behind Dani and Jason didn’t seem to mind. Also, we only just made it back to the coach in time, laden with giant cones of gelato we wouldn’t have had if we’d played by British rules.

  Georgina eyed the melting cones of gelato and asked the four of us to be careful with them on the coach, like we were children. Of course she did. I wondered if she knew she was a tour manager and not a primary schoolteacher. I slipped past her, licking drips of molten chocolatey goodness from the cone. At this rate, I was going to put on a dress size before I got back to London.