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His words stung. She had been vaguely playing the part of his assistant and ambiguous plus-one since she’d arrived. A part of herself had been lost in Paris, and a voice inside her head screamed at her to stop bending to his wishes. “No, Francis. Go without me. I won’t be your mannequin. I will not prop up your ambition and sacrifice my own life. And I resign as your mute English assistant or whatever-the-fuck I am.” Fury surged through her. “I’m going home for Christmas, where I will be bloody welcome.” She needed to be home, whatever the consequence for her career.
His eyes blazed. If he tried to, he could sweep her up, dress her, and carry her to the dinner. She was exhausted and despite her momentary protest, she was a puppet, and he was more than able to pull her strings if he’d wanted to.
But he hurried down the stairs and strutted along the street towards the bright lights.
Her hands shaking, Elda checked her phone for the train times before calling Sylvie.
“Allo?”
“Can you meet me at Gare du Nord and lend me some money?”What a loser.But it was worth begging a few euros to get herself home and try to fix her life. Could it all unravel that easily? Saying no to Francis and walking away from the best opportunity she’d had in her whole life? She didn’t want the time to overthink it. She pulled the contents of her wardrobe into a wheelie case and made her way to the Gare du Nord with her coat buttoned up, holding in her scarf and her tears. There was only one person she wanted to see. She needed the arms of someone who cared about her, just for who she was, not for dressing up and acting like someone else.
Chapter Sixteen
“The city of love. It’s a bit of a death knell, isn’t it, Elderflower?” Jack held her gloved hand and dodged another frankfurter held aloft in the crowded Christmas market.
They were reunited, and Elda was living in Jack’s spare room, trying not to think about the career-ending move she’d just made. There, she could wallow. There was no expectation other than to be with him, listen to his stories, laugh at his jokes, and make the tea when the adverts came on between episodes of a TV program.
“Have you called your mum yet?”
“Don’t remind me.I’m dreading it. I can already hear the disappointment in her voice.” Elda nudged him toward the mulled wine cabin. “You owe me a drink.”
He didn’t owe her anything, but she needed to change the subject and had no real money of her own.
As they settled into a pine booth, Jack’s lips turned down and his expression grew serious. “Have you spoken to Charlie?”
Elda tipped the festive mug to her lips and scorched her tongue. “What is this? A rundown of my phone book? No, I haven’t called Charlie. Not yet.” Elda rubbed the rim of her mug. “Anyway, I’m not ready to see her. Maybe after Christmas, when I’m more settled. I’m a bit of a mess, aren’t I?”
“She’d be the first to straighten you out, so to speak.” Jack softened his smile and cupped Elda’s chin. He made a fake pout, and she laughed.
“I’d rather just get through Christmas without any more drama,” she said.
Jack leaned in, and his serious face returned. “I fancy a sausage. You want one?” And he was off with a tenner in his hand.
The next day, Elda was in Jack’s kitchen, covering it in flour and mincemeat.
“Why don’t we have one of those cutter things?” said Jack.
“Because we’re not grown-ups yet.” Elda sipped a sweet drink and let the warm alcohol sting the back of her tongue. She perched on a kitchen chair, enjoying the last days of freedom and obscurity before facing life. She’d avoided her mum’s calls and texted a promise to go home for Christmas Eve.
“So, are we going to talk about the C-word?”
“Carols?”
“Charlie.”
“What about her?” Her nerves fluttered, but she kept her eyes on the pastry.
“The chemistry between you two.” Jack smirked and flicked flour across the worktop. “I’ve seen you scrolling through your phone every night. When are you going to get your shit together and call her?”
“What the fuck, Jack? I’m still reeling from my career-ending flounce out of Paris. The last thing I need is more complications. And Charlie isn’t into me.” Elda was being dramatic. Part of her was thinking about her and Charlie together. It was the part that helped her drift off to sleep every night.
“Keep kidding yourself. You live for complication, and Charlie would love to see you. You just can’t swallow your pride and make the first move.”
“Really? You think so?”
“I know you. And I can see through Charlie’s tough exterior. She’s gagging for it.”
“Jack!” Elda threw a pastry star in his direction, and they both laughed.
