That Night In Paris Page 27

  But why would I need to live with any arrangement at all? He was my current lover and an old friend whom I hoped to stay in touch with. I had no proprietorship. Was I just testing my own waters? If Jean-Luc and I did become romantically involved, would I be all right with him seeing his ex-wife a few times a year? I supposed I’d have to be.

  It was moot anyway, as I didn’t want a relationship.

  We came to a part of the trail which gave us a two-hundred-and-seventy-degree panorama of the valley below, including the town of Lauterbrunnen—or at least, what I presumed was Lauterbrunnen. I hardly wanted to break out Google Maps and spoil the adventure. We stopped for a water break and I took a few photos. Avoiding a digital map was one thing, but I wanted photos of that vista!

  “Well, this is not terrible,” I said after I’d taken a series of shots my phone would stitch together into a panorama.

  He smiled. “No, it is not terrible.”

  “Can we take a selfie?” I asked, suddenly shy.

  “Of course.”

  “Here, you have longer arms.” I handed him my phone. He came and stood behind me, one arm around my waist as we looked up into the phone’s camera. He took the photo. “Oh, and one without sunglasses.” I didn’t know if we’d see each other again after Switzerland, and I wanted proper proof of how gorgeous he was, especially those green eyes. I lifted my sunglasses onto my head and he palmed his.

  “Ready?”

  “Yep.” We both grinned at the camera. That’s going to be a great shot.

  Before he let me go, he pulled me close to him and nuzzled my neck. “You will send those to me, yes?”

  “Absolutely.” I turned around inside the frame of his arms and put mine around his neck. “Kiss me.”

  He did. I liked it—a lot.

  A couple in their fifties were approaching us on the trail on their way up the mountain. I was self-conscious about snogging in front of strangers and pulled away from Jean-Luc. He handed me my phone and I sent him the selfies. As he responded to the ping of his phone, I turned back to the view and realised what it reminded me of. “I feel like Julie Andrews up here.”

  “Like …?” He cocked his head a little.

  “You know, from The Sound of Music.”

  “Ahh, yes, but that was in Austria.”

  “Yes, but it still reminds me of the opening scene.” I threw my arms out wide and started singing, “The hills are alive with the sound of music … ahhhh-ahhh-ahh-ahhhhhh,” to the valley below.

  Kissing in front of strangers, not so much. Singing? Why not?

  He laughed. “You actually have a good voice.”

  He was being nice. My voice is all right—mediocre at best. Instead of replying, I started walking and kept singing. “With songs they have sung for a thousand yeeeeeaaaaarrrs.” The last note was quite a high one and I almost hit it.

  “So, you know all the words?”

  To show that, yes, I did know all the words, I kept singing. He shook his head, smiling, and I knew there were eye crinkles behind those sunglasses. I sang the entire song at full voice, nodding to the few people we passed, who seemed rather amused, perhaps even entertained. When I got to, “And I’ll sing once moooooorrre,” I stopped still and directed the last line of the song back out over the valley.

  I couldn’t say if my bow or Jean-Luc’s whistle came first, but I was quite pleased with myself and grinned at him as I headed off down the trail. He jogged to catch up to me.

  “You are quite the talent,” he said. I took it as a straight-up compliment.

  “Thank you. I know.” He laughed, and we fell into step together.

  As we approached the valley floor some time later, we came to a paddock of cows—those extremely beautiful Swiss dairy cows. One of them had her head between the wires of the fence, eating some tall grass on the other side. I stopped and approached her slowly. Those big brown eyes looked at me, but she didn’t stop chewing. I pulled up some grass and held it out to her. She took it gently from my hand and chewed slowly, all the while watching me. I reached out and stroked her nose and she let me.

  “Look at her eyes,” I said over my shoulder.

  Jean-Luc stood a little way away watching me with a smile. “They are very beautiful.”

  “Hello, girl,” I said as I pulled her some more grass. Other cows started to make their way over. Very friendly, Swiss cows. I got a few more pats in and left them to eat their Swiss-green grass and the occasional wildflower.

  “I might have to become a vegetarian,” I said as we got back on the trail. We could see the town not too far ahead.

  “Those are dairy cows,” he said.

  “I know, but still … I mean, I try not to think about it, where meat comes from. I go to the shop and buy it on a tray. If I spend any time thinking about the actual animal, I don’t want … ugh, maybe I’m a closet vegetarian. Maybe it’s right there below the surface. You’ve never been a vegetarian, have you?”

  “Mon dieu, non.”

  “As you know, Dad raised us as total carnivores. I still eat everything, beef, lamb—oh, God, I love lamb.”

  “I remember the barbecues at your house.”

  “Oh, I miss those. And right before I moved to London, Dad learnt how to make his own sausages. They were unbelievable.”

  “You could learn.”

  “Probably not. I am rather hopeless in the kitchen—and, besides, meat is far more expensive in the UK than Australia. Mostly, I stick to single-girl dinners. I make a great cup of tea though—and toast. I’m good at toast.”

  “Toast?” he sounded amused.

  “Yes. Most people don’t know this, but it’s easy to mess up toast. I do it correctly.”

  “I see. So, it is your kryptonite, but toasted, it is okay …?” At first, I wondered what the heck he was talking about. Then I remembered Anna’s restaurant in Rome and the breadbasket.

  “Good catch. I do occasionally buy bread, but only proper artisanal bread. And when I do buy it, I make excellent toast.”

  “I see,” he replied, a mock-serious tone to his voice. “And what is a ‘single-girl dinner’?”

  “Oh, uh …” I was suddenly self-conscious.

  “I am curious, because most of the time I am by myself in the evening. I wonder if it is the same as a ‘single-man dinner’.”

  He was teasing me, and I could feel my cheeks getting hot. I’d been able to talk to him about anything when we were teenagers—big picture, life-changing stuff, right down to the minutiae, so why was something so trivial getting a rise out of me? I was annoyed—at him for teasing me, but mostly at myself. He was getting under my skin.

  I forged ahead regardless.

  “A single-girl dinner is usually something like frozen peas or asparagus cooked in the microwave, a handful of cherry tomatoes, maybe some olives, and a tin of salmon—for protein. Or, I eat a Lean Cuisine, or some ready-made soup from Marks & Spencer. I certainly can’t cook fish like you did last night and even if I could, I probably wouldn’t bother just for me.”

  How on earth had I ended up defending eating salmon from a tin as though it was my basic human right? I stole a glance at him. Still amused, the bastard.

  He reached down and took my hand. “So, we should buy some bread when we get into town—for dinner. I think it is your turn to cook, yes?”

  There was a beat before I burst out laughing. “All right, very funny. How about we go out for dinner instead?”

  “A very good idea.” Still teasing me.

  “Hey!”

  “We could perhaps meet your friends, ask them to join us?”

  “Oh, fun! Yes, let’s do that.”

  “Bien. And, Catherine, it is okay that you do not cook.”

  “I know.” Touchy much? Lighten up, Cat.

  He pulled my hand up to his lips and kissed it. “I am happy to be the chef.”

  What? I suddenly realised why I’d been so apprehensive about the whole cooking conversation. It was about real-life—domest
icity—and it had led exactly where my unconscious mind was worried it would—to Jean-Luc thinking about us in a relationship, sharing a home, divvying up domestic duties.

  I’d stepped into the rabbit hole.

  Chapter 17

  We met the others, Craig and the girls, at a family-style restaurant close to where Jean-Luc and I were staying.

  “Hey,” I said, giving Craig a big hug. “How are you?”

  “Great. I went up Jungfrau today.”

  “Oh, wow, I want to hear all about that.” He and Jean-Luc shook hands and started chatting, and I took the opportunity to hug my girls.

  “You look happy,” said Dani, a grin on her face.

  “I am. Very.”

  She giggled with approval, then walked around to the other side of our table and sat down. Craig took the seat next to her, still chatting with Jean-Luc, who sat opposite him.

  “You’re sitting with me tomorrow,” said Jaelee. “I’m living vicariously through you. I want details.” It wasn’t the time to remind her that she’d had her own adventures at the château. She took the chair next to Dani.

  “I’ve missed you, Lou.” I reached up for a hug. Only a day had gone by since I’d seen her, but when you go cold turkey on your bus bestie, it stings a little.

  “Me too.”

  “Sit next to me?” I asked. I ended up in the middle of Jean-Luc and Lou. I could hardly talk about him with him sitting right there, but she and I would catch up when we left Lauterbrunnen. At the thought, my stomach lurched. Leaving Lauterbrunnen meant saying goodbye to Jean-Luc until the next time—if there would be one.

  As the table filled with plates of wursts and varieties of potatoes and as we ordered a second round of Appenzeller, a beer, the conversation whizzed between us as we filled each other in on our days.

  Craig, Dani, and Jaelee had all gone up Jungfrau and I was a little jealous as they described the view from the mountain top, though not so much of Craig’s depiction of the ice caves—far too closed in. I got a little breathless at the thought of them.

  Lou had gone on a valley hike with some of the others from the tour group. “Oh, I totally agree, Swiss cows are the prettiest cows I’ve ever seen,” she said.

  “See?” I asked Jean-Luc.

  He raised his hands in surrender. “You are right. They are the most beautiful cows in the world.” Teasing me again. “Actually, I got a good photograph of Catherine feeding a cow.”

  He did? “You did?”

  “Oh, I want to see!” Dani was like a kid sometimes.

  Jean-Luc took his phone out of his pocket and scrolled to the photo, then handed it to Craig. It went all the way around the table before I got to see it. It was actually a nice photo of me. I looked at Jean-Luc over the top of the phone. “You like it?” he asked.

  “I do, yes.”

  “I will put it on Facebook?” I’d seen his Facebook feed. He hardly ever went on Facebook and now he was going to post a photo of me to it.

  “Uh, sure.” He smiled.

  “And, there is one more thing,” he said to the table, taking the phone from me. “Catherine, she is quite the singer.” He was scrolling on his phone again and I frowned at him.

  “You didn’t.”

  “But, yes, I did.” He tapped the phone, then laid it in the middle of the table. My terrible singing erupted from the phone and everyone leant in to watch the video. My frown was met with a grin, and when I looked around the table the expressions ranged from amused—Jaelee and Craig—to outright delighted—Dani and Lou. When I took a bow on the screen—how had I missed that he was filming me?—Lou clapped.

  Jean-Luc took his phone off the table and pocketed it. He reached around my shoulders and pulled me towards him so he could kiss the top of my head.

  Like a boyfriend would.

  Just friends. Madly in lust. Do not let him fall in love with you.

  At my next thought, however, the wurst hardened into a knot in my stomach.

  Whatever this is, I want it. Want, want, want.

  ***

  “So, are you coming?” Lou pressed. She and the others had invited us to the chalet for a party—a “what were you doing when the cops knocked on the door?” party.

  “But what does that even mean?” I asked.

  Jaelee butted in. “Exactly what it says. That’s how you dress. Say the cops are knocking on your door—what are you doing at that exact moment? And you wear that.”

  “I think it’s clever,” added Dani.

  “Yeah, it’s so we can dress up from whatever we have in our suitcases,” said Lou. The three of them were fully drinking the Kool-Aid.

  I looked at Jean-Luc. “Do you want to go?”

  He shrugged, smiling. “Sure. We have drink, some dancing, oui? Sounds fun.”

  What sounded fun to me was going back to our apartment, cracking open the third bottle of wine and giving the bathtub another go. I looked at the expectant pairs of eyes. Even Craig was ganging up on me.

  “Sure,” I said, resigned.

  “Geez, don’t go out of your way to hang out with us or anything,” said Jaelee. It was a little snarky, but maybe I was being selfish wanting to spend the rest of the evening with Jean-Luc, just the two of us.

  He and I returned to our apartment, promising to meet Lou in the chalet’s lobby before going to the party. It was being held in the basement and I wondered if that was a Ventureseek thing, the subterranean dance parties.

  Jean-Luc and I couldn’t walk through town in just our costumes. We donned enough clothing to be appropriate and when we got to the chalet, Lou took us up to the room she was sharing with Jaelee, Dani, and three others, so could we put the finishing touches on our costumes.

  And by “finishing touches” I mean we took off some of what we’d worn to traverse the town.

  What we were doing when the cops knocked on the door was making love. I was wearing one of Jean-Luc’s dress shirts and nothing else and he was wearing jeans and nothing else. Undressed in our costumes, we needed to make a couple of tweaks before we were ready—I mussed up my hair, planted some lipstick kisses all over Jean-Luc’s face, then smeared my own lipstick.

  “Wow. You guys look hot!” said Lou.

  “Thanks, Lou. You too.” She was half-dressed, and she’d taken it literally. One half of her was dressed, and the other half was in a bra and undies. It was an impressive feat of engineering, and at least I wasn’t the only woman showing some flesh.

  We met the others in the lobby. Dani was dressed all in black—black leggings, black turtleneck T-shirt and black ballet flats. “I’m a cat burglar,” she said. Cop out, I thought. Jaelee, in a shocking lack of vanity, had rollers in her hair—she brought rollers?—and some sort of goopy green mask on her face, and she was wearing pyjamas. I applauded her creativity and her willingness to look so ordinary—definitely off-brand for her.

  Craig was in drag. “Oh, my God, you look amazing!” I laughed.

  “Dani and Jaelee helped with the makeup, and Louise with the outfit.”

  “Amazing,” I said again, genuinely in shock. At eighteen, I would have been far too self-conscious to wear something that outrageous. I just adored our baby bro. When we got to the bar downstairs, the Kiwi boys were also in drag. I gave Jason a hug. “You look great,” I said over the music. “You’re a very pretty guy!”

  He shook his head. “Stop it.”

  “No, really!”

  “Really?” He genuinely seemed to care.

  “Yes! You look great!” He beamed. I waved to the other guys and gave them the thumbs up. Lachie looked me up and down and gave me one in return. I was fine with that; I knew I looked good.

  “Drink?” asked Jean-Luc in my ear.

  “Yes, please!” He kissed my neck and I nuzzled against his lips. When I watched him walk to the bar, I saw many sets of eyes following him. The tour’s ratio of women-to-men was not in our favour, and Jean-Luc wearing only jeans was a sight to behold. I was looking forward to beholding
him all over our apartment later.

  “So, things are going well with Jean-Luc?” asked Lou.

  “Yes. It’s been lovely.”

  She looked at me, dubious. “Lovely?”

  “Fine. It’s screaming bloody hot. Oh, my God, Lou, it’s the best sex I’ve ever had!”

  She held up a hand, wanting a high-five. I gave her one. “I’m living vicariously through you, you know.”

  “That’s what Jaelee said at dinner,” I replied, laughing. “No pressure.”

  She smiled at me. “I’m gonna go dance, okay?”

  “I’ll see you out there in a little bit.”

  I looked out over the venue. It was dimly lit, but much bigger than the converted wine cellar under the château. There was a mirror ball—of course there was—and a DJ, who was playing a decent mix of noughties dance music.

  With the energy in the room—the music, the costumes, my friends—I was already glad we were there. I saw Jean-Luc heading back to me from the bar, two tumblers in hand.

  “Vodka tonic,” he said into my ear.

  “Great, thank you.” We clinked our glasses against each other and I took a sip.

  “You look magnifique, Catherine,” he said, his breath warm on my ear. I wondered if we were going to last long at the party. “Very sexy.”

  I threw him a coy look and shook my mussed-up hair. “Even with my bed hair?”

  “I think especially with your bed hair.”

  “You look pretty damned hot yourself, Monsieur Caron.” I lifted my chin to him and pursed my lips. He rewarded me with a kiss.

  “We could finish these and go back to the apartment,” I said.

  “Uh, well, I know you can sing, but before we leave, I want to see if you can dance.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Oui.”

  I was actually a pretty good dancer—far better than I was a singer, in any case. “Well,” I said, putting my barely touched drink on the nearest table. “Let’s dance then.”

  Not waiting to see if he followed me, I made a beeline for the dance floor and when I found a spot, started dancing. I felt him come up from behind and press against me, wrapping one arm around my waist as we moved in time with Justin Timberlake.