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‘Oui, monsieur.Madame Olivia Carmel.’
I turn back towards my door as though I can see through it, all the way down the grand staircase to the even grander reception desk. He cannot be serious.
‘Monsieur?Are you there?’
‘I’m here.’ I swallow. I can’t believe it. I don’t want to. To believe it would let in hope.
‘Shall I send her up?’
‘Oui...merci.’
‘Very well,monsieur.’
The phone cuts off and I stand there, the receiver in one hand, whisky in the other, stunned still. There’s only one reason she would be here...one reason alone.
But after a fortnight of nothing, would she really fly to Paris to see me? Or is it more that she’s in town on business, found out I was here too, and is bored?
I stride for the door, open it and wait.
Finally, the lift doors open and there she is, breathtakingly beautiful in a pale pink sweater, jeans and trainers. No coat. She looks like she’s run all the way here. Her hair has come loose from its ponytail, clinging to her flushed cheeks, her eyes over-bright and glistening in the lights from the lift. But she doesn’t move, doesn’t react.
The lift doors start to close and she leaps forward to stop them, the sudden animation waking me up.
‘What do you want, Olivia?’
It’s all I can say. I don’t want to let hope in, not again...
She walks towards me, her eyes wary, her hands wringing in front of her. She has no bag, nothing to suggest she’s travelled here from another hotel. She wets her lips, her nervous aura not unlike that very first night I saw her in the club. And how things have changed since then...
‘Can I come in, please?’ She pauses before me, so close I can smell her familiar perfume and it clutches around my heart, wounds as much as warms.
Silently, I step aside.
She walks around me, her eyes lost in the view beyond the glass. ‘Wow, you must have the best room in the hotel. Mine’s pretty nice, but this view...’
She gestures to my private garden terrace and the Eiffel Tower beyond, all lit up in gold. But it doesn’t matter how spectacular the landmark is, she’s the one I’m wrapped up in, starved of her for a fortnight. I’m hungrily taking in every detail even when I shouldn’t.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
I raise my whisky and she eyes it with a frown.
‘You drink now?’
My lips twitch at the corners as I take a swig. ‘Don’t worry; it’s not all down to you. Though you did teach me not to be ruled by my fears any more, so maybe it is.’
Her eyes stay fixed on the drink and I see her throat move as she swallows. ‘I’m good, thank you.’
‘Suit yourself.’
I walk to the balcony doors, slide them open and step out, a sudden need for air that isn’t tainted with her scent driving me there.
‘Valentine?’
I don’t turn. I can’t. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You came all the way to Paris to tell me you’re sorry?’ I lift the glass to my lips, take a small sip this time as I watch the tower twinkle in the distance, the traffic below, the people. Anything but her.
