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“No, I’m sorry. Of course not. I just know how much your career means to you and that you weren’t trying to ruffle feathers when you got here.”
“Well, yeah, even I have my principals.” She says with an eye roll as she sits back down at her computer.
“So, what did Matthew say that had you charging down here?” She asks as she starts typing again.
“I don’t know what he was going on about Ad, but he was talking about your report and how he hoped we would be able to ensure it was coming from someone whose integrity we could be sure of.” I chuckle to myself, expecting Addie to join in.
When I look at her, not only is she is not smiling, she is completely expressionless.
“Hey, he was just being an asshole. He’s just trying to intimidate you. I mean, you work for one of the top firms in the world. You’re smart and successful; he’s probably just jealous of you, too.”
She doesn’t say anything, and I want nothing more than to take her into my arms and kiss her worries away.
“Fuck him. Finish your work. Let’s go to Paris and forget this shit.”
She looks up at me and tries to smile. “You’re right. I don’t know why I am even giving him a thought. This is going to take me the rest of the day. Then I’m going to run by my office. I’ll be home late and need to pack. So, let’s meet tomorrow, bright and early, at St. Pancras for our train, okay?”
There is a wooden quality to her voice and her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. I am tempted to press her, but I know she has work to do.
I walk round and kiss her, feeling her body relax. This makes me smile as I leave her office.
If I’d known I was leaving my woman in turmoil, and that the next forty-eight hours would be the last happy ones I would know for a long time, I would have pressed the conversation. I would have forced her to talk to me.
Later, I would wish I had these moments back more than I had wished for almost anything in my entire life.
November 28, 2014
Paris, France
The Eurostar over to Paris was uneventful. I slept most of the way and Simon worked on his laptop. We met at St. Pancras at the crack of dawn, grabbed coffees, got our tickets, went through check in, and waited in the Business Lounge.
When we got on board, I didn’t have to feign my exhaustion. I hadn’t slept the night before.
I had forced myself to focus on the rest of my work day. I couldn’t afford to get a single thing wrong in the report. Even if this was just an internal draft for Jack to review, I knew they had given me an assignment most new associates wouldn’t even dream of.
My conversation with Simon had left me uneasy. What the hell was Matthew playing at? Between that and the way he’d said my name, almost mockingly, the last time I’d seen him, I was nervous.
I know I am being paranoid, but I’ve never considered someone would find out who I really am.
I know I should tell Simon who my father is. I just can’t. I have been Adelaide Dennis for so long. Adelaide Hassan is a ghost.
I don’t want people to know about my ties to the man who was credited with the ruination of so many lives. The press would feast on us if they knew where we were.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Simon. I trusted him more than almost anyone else in my life. I just didn’t feel like that part of my life was relevant. He knew my dad was a criminal who had left my family. So why did my omission leave a terrible sinking feeling in my stomach?
Simon knew how important this report was to me. So when he sensed my stress, he bought my excuse of being worried about Jack’s feedback on my report.
We arrived at Gare du Nord and caught a taxi to our hotel in the artistic 9th Arrondissement, very close to Cara’s place. Her apartment, a tiny one bedroom on the very fashionable Rue de Provence, was too small to accommodate us.
In the early morning light, the street was full of people walking to work. The 9th Arrondissement, while known for being the home to the city’s art institutions, was also home to Google’s Paris headquarters and quite a few international banks. It was made for very interesting people watching as our cab zoomed down the busy, traffic congested avenue.
The streets of this neighborhood were lined with sidewalk cafes that promised cups of coffee and freshly baked pastries. The aromas wafted through the cracked window of our cab and my stomach grumbled.
We pull up to our hotel, The Maison Souquet, and the first thing I notice is it’s directly across the street from the famed Moulin Rouge. As I look up at the rather unassuming facade, I notice two red lanterns hanging on either side of the door.
We are greeted by a bevy of bellhops who help us out of the car and unload all of our luggage. Before I can even blink, we are checked in and then, I am on the tiniest elevator up to our suite. I can feel the knot of tension I’d been carrying since yesterday start to unravel.
This is going to be a fantastic weekend. I am in Paris with the man of my dreams. I am going to see my best friend and celebrate Thanksgiving with her. It is the first one I would spend away from my family, but find that I don’t mind.
