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My assistant texted she uncovered the names and addresses of the embassy staff residences and I decide to go there myself and search for Juliette’s flat. I start ringing buzzers on the outside of the first elegant apartment building and only get one response. It dawns on me that as these are embassy staff homes, most of the residents are probably at work on Monday morning. One finally answers and asks me what I want in a French accent that isn’t Nathalie’s. She says she’s never heard of Juliette Laurent and, as far as she knows; she doesn’t live here.
The rain is lashing down and as I race from building to building, cutting through the perfectly manicured communal gardens, the water drips off my hair and bounces onto my face and shirt. I’m wearing a suit and no overcoat, and I’m drenched as I press buzzers and ask if Juliette lives there. I’m on a wild goose chase and curse my stupid idea.
Did I really think I’d ring a few buzzers in Knightsbridge and Nathalie would just miraculously be there waiting for me?
No one has heard of Juliette, and I’m losing faith in my plan and wondering if she is a figment of my imagination. It’s not as if I’ve ever met her. I might have got the wrong end of the stick altogether and she doesn’t even live in an embassy flat. Perhaps this isn’t all the residences and I’m in the wrong spot. The last tall buttermilk-hued Georgian building in the row looms before me, and I buzz the first doorbell. My suit is soaked, and I shiver as the ominous sound of thunder rolls through the sky.
I’m desperate now and for some reason, I decide to ask for Juliette in French. I’ve nothing to lose and they clearly all speak French, so maybe it’ll help.
No luck. Again. I’ve pressed all the buzzers now and have nowhere else to try. If Nathalie did come here to Juliette’s, they must both be out now. I linger, not wanting to give up, but not knowing where else to go.
I hover near the entrance as lightning cracks through the grey sky like rich veins of gold.
Grabbing my phone, I type another message to Nathalie:
I’m outside the embassy garden apartments in Knightsbridge. It’s raining. Hard! And thundering and lightning. Are you here?
Nothing. I try again. I’m persistent:
I’ve been a total fool. Forgive me. And if by some wild chance you are here, please let me in. My shoes are full of water, and I’m drowning!
My phone pings.
Nathalie:I’m here. But I can’t see you.
Me:Why not?
Nathalie:I explained in my letter. It’s too hard to leave if we see each other.
Me:Then don’t leave. Nat, please come out and talk to me. Or let me in!
I wait for what seems hours and there’s no response. It’s no good. She won’t see me and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I lean against the entrance wall to catch my breath and wait for the rain to ease. The thunder and lightning are still twirling through the sky and it’s a beautiful sight, but my heart is breaking. I’m a broken man.
After a few minutes, I try again:
I’m still here. Soaked. I might even die from pneumonia on the doorstep if you don’t let me in. You don’t want to step over my dead body when you go out, do you?
I add a sad face emoji to strengthen my case. A few more minutes pass and I’m too wretched to leave, so I just stand there waiting and hoping. The door clicks and startles me out of my pity-fest. And then she is in front of me and her beauty steals my breath away. My heart clatters so hard I can’t form any words and we just stare at each other.
Finally, I say, ‘Thanks for not leaving me to die.’
‘Well, you’re a hard man to ignore.’
‘I missed you.’
‘It’s only been a few days,’ she whispers, a light blush staining her cheeks.
‘A few days too long,’ I say. ‘Nat. Please. I should never have let things go on like this without talking to you. I figured we’d work things out somehow.’
Her cornflower blue eyes are shining, and she straightens her shoulders as though preparing for battle. ‘I told you. I can’t do this anymore. I’m Daisy’s nanny, not your girlfriend, and it’s obvious I can never be your girlfriend. It’s too painful.’ Tears spill from her eyes, and she looks away, embarrassed. ‘This is why I can’t see you and leave you at the same time,’ she mutters, pointing to her face.
‘So don’t leave me! I’ve been a fucking idiot, but I want us to be together.’ I drop onto one wet knee.
‘Nathalie Dubois, will you do me the honour of being my girlfriend?’
The tears stream down her face as she looks at me.
‘But I’m the nanny.’
