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“So, you’re in Paris. Again.” Sylvie had a slug of wine.
“It’s lovelier than I remember. Paris is miserable when you’re an outsider but charming when you’re a tourist,” Elda said, trying to convince them both.
***
The river swelled at Pont Neuf. On the right, the blunt towers of Notre Dame touched the sky. On the left, a web of streets led deep into the city. Elda had taken this route many times and she let her memory guide her while she was deep in thought.
She was on her way to meet Francis. Something was pulling her back into his orbit. She’d tried to ignore it, but she was curious about what he was doing. Elda crossed a cobbled path and turned left onto a tiny backstreet. Bistro tables nestled on the pavement, and Francis occupied one at the back, twisting a napkin ring in his fingers. He wore sunglasses and his hair was swept back higher than ever.
He stood to greet her and opened his arms. “Elda, my sweet. You look wonderful. Here, take this seat.”
Confidence leaked from every pore. Francis’s ability to manoeuvre her where he wanted her was well honed.
“Thank you for seeing me.” She scolded herself for sounding too formal.This isn’t a bloody job interview.
“Well, I’ve forgiven you for walking out on me and the department if that’s what you’re asking. You left me in quite the lurch. But at least there’s enough room in the apartment now.” A smile teased at his lips. “You’rein Paris. Of course I want to see you. Tell me how you are.”
“I’m okay. It’s been a hard few weeks looking after my grandmother. But I’m healing. Grateful for the break.” Elda held back. She omitted the parts where she’d fallen straight into Charlie’s arms and failed to get a permanent job. “I’m sorry that I ran out on you. It wasn’t fair to leave like that, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I’ve been successful at the university.”
She smiled as he took over the narrative.
“I’m going to New York in September for a secondment. They’re asking me to run a show there.” Francis flicked his hand through his floppy hair. “It’ll be hard work. Some sort of digital installation using new things. Nothing traditional. That’s all gone.”
Litter tumbled down the street and got caught at the downpipe next to their table. Elda noticed how filthy the pavement was around her.
“You want to come to New York with me?”
Elda raised her eyebrows, amused by his direct question. “No. But thank you for the offer.”
“You’ve been painting, no?”
His question was innocent, and she’d expected it. But it gnawed at her confidence.No, I have not been painting. I’m not the artist you thought I was.“Not really. Looking after my grandmother has been a bit full-on.”Understatement of the fucking year.
“Of course. Family is everything, Elda. I know that.”
Elda wriggled beneath Francis’s constant gaze. She tried to relax, remembering that she’d set up the meeting, and he wouldn’t have agreed if he was still angry with her. The strangeness of the situation sent her heart racing. This wasn’t how she’d seen the reunion play out. She’d imagined feeling something for Francis, just a hint of the mentor he’d been, but there was nothing. Instead, she was defensive, guarded, and wary.
“It’s a shame, Elda. There is space in the world for your take on it.” Francis sipped at a tiny cup of black, thick coffee.
Her neck stiffened. He was patronising her. When the waiter came, she waved him on. She wasn’t going to prolong the exchange.“I’m glad you’re happy, Francis. It’s very good to see you. I came back to Paris to see whether I missed it.”
“And?”
“I don’t. It’s been a good reminder of what I have at home, waiting for me.” Elda stood and patted her shirt down. Francis rose to his feet and put his arms around her. He kissed her on both cheeks and put his finger on her nose. Elda didn’t need his permission to leave, but she smiled. She walked back towards the river and squinted at the glass-domed boats floating away. Her mind was back in England on the semi-detached opposite the green.
She was glad she’d seen Francis. It crystallised in her mind what she’d already known. She hadn’t made a mistake going home, and Pariswasn’tthe place for her to create or to thrive. She was loved at home, and she deserved that love.
Tears sprang to her eyes. She missed Charlie more than anything. It was Charlie who held her in the light and showed her how beautiful she was. It was Charlie who made her feel alive every day they were together.
Elda’s heart raced, and she tried to piece together the fragments of her scattered thinking. Charlie hadn’t abandoned her at all. Elda had been the one to turn away.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The top floor of the chambers was a stark contrast to the rabbit warren below. Charlie shielded her eyes from the shards of sunlight which were flooding the space and walked towards Maureen’s office. She knocked harder than she meant to. She’d wanted to appear assertive and unwavering but feared she’d overplayed it.
“Enter.” Maureen beckoned her into the room.
