A Sunset in Paris

Zoe stared moodily off into the distance. She had so been looking forward to this trip and now it just seemed dull and boring – just like home, except she could not understand a word anyone said! Just a few short months ago she would have been over the moon about being in a foreign country with her parents, no annoying elder brother to tease her by belching loudly in public and blaming her (laughing like a troll all the while) or to mess up her carefully tousled style.

She loved Jeremy, but usually was happy to not have him along on family outings. This trip was going to be different because of Zack. Zack was Jeremy's best friend; both of them were eighteen and had been in the same class all the way through school. Zoe had never considered Zack in any light other than that of annoying brother's equally annoying friend – until earlier this year. Zack had invited Zoe to the school prom, stuttering slightly and blushing whenever he looked directly at her. She had accepted, and the dance had not been a great success – Jeremy and his other friends had ribbed Zack and Zoe mercilessly, following them around constantly so they could barely have more than a word or two of conversation without being interrupted. Eventually, Zack had apologised to her and they had left early. But the few words they had exchanged and the few songs that they had danced to had shown her a different, nicer side of Zack. After that, Zoe had found herself thinking of him all the time, the way his hair curled up in a cowlick, his beautiful hazel eyes and that diffident shy smile that he had aimed at her once or twice, when Jeremy was out of the room.

After the dance, Zack had not approached her at all, but she did not think it was because he was not interested, she thought it was because Jeremy and Zack were always surrounded by their crowd, a group of raucous, cynical teens, mostly boys, but with one or two tomboyish girls – all of whom would be sure to shriek with glee at anything romantic going on. He had friended her on Facebook and messaged her once or twice, surely showing that he saw her as something more than just his best friend's little sister? When she heard that he was to come on the trip to France she was sure that if they were thrown into each other's company for a whole week, with no entourage to heckle and jeer, that something wonderful would happen.

Now, remembering her wishful fantasies of gentle kisses and hand-holding in the shadow of the Champs Elysees and the Eiffel Tower, she felt hot and cross and angry all over again. Instead of exploring Paris hand-in-hand with Zack, she would be trailing around endless museums and looking at dull examples of this fancy architecture or that while her parents billed and cooed at each other like honeymooners, for heaven's sake. As far as Zoe was concerned, a building was a building, it did not matter how much fancy decoration was added to it! Glumly, she sat down at a small table in the hotel dining room, not wanting to go up and see her parents happy completeness while she was alone and friendless.

Zoe felt tears prickle and blinked them back crossly, not wanting to spoil her carefully applied atmospheric make-up. She knew if she kept on brooding about Zack she would end up crying, so she turned her interest outward, to the other occupants of the dining room – or
salle a manger
as the beautiful gilt sign stated. She stared at the sign for a minute, translating the words in her head, summoning up the last vestiges of all the French she had studied for her recent GCSE. 'Room to eat,' she decided, or 'eating room'. Which was about right. Mentally shrugging away her linguistic efforts, she picked up the menu and read through it, delighted and relieved to see an English translation next to each offering. A young waitress approached and asked if she wanted anything. Feeling a little bit hungry but not wanting to spoil her dinner too much, Zoe asked for a cup of tea and a scone.

The scone was delicious, warm and crumbly and Zoe tucked in eagerly. A few minutes later she raised her head, conscious that there was a smear of cream on her chin and a dollop of jam on her lip. She met the eyes of an older man, a waiter, who was watching her with great amusement. Seeing that he had been noticed he came over to speak to her.

'
Mademoiselle
, was the scone good?'

His English was very good, but strongly accented. Embarrassed, Zoe raised her serviette, dabbing at the problem areas, and said coldly,

'Very nice, thank you.'

Unperturbed by her frosty tone, the waiter stepped a little closer and said,

'Are you here alone? Because so pretty a young lady should not be alone on a day like today.'

Zoe felt the tears rush back to her eyes, in response to hearing her inner thoughts voiced aloud. Mortified at the thought of crying in front of a waiter, she snatched up her purse and the hotel room key and raced off, running up the stairs two at a time. She heard a dismayed cry behind her,

'Oh, no,
mademoiselle, pardonnez-moi
…' and then the door to the stairwell shut softly cutting him off.

She burst into the room, barely noticing her parents jump apart as if they had been bitten, and rushed into her room to fling herself down on her bed, burying her hot clammy face in the cool plump pillow. She cried for a while, and gradually her tears gave way to sleep as she fell into an exhausted slumber.

She was woken an hour later, by her dad gently knocking on the door.

'Zo… Zo… wake up, hon, we're going down for dinner now.'

Groggily, Zoe went to wash her face, removing the ruined remains of her 'sultry, smoky eyes' and the last vestiges of the dark red lipstick she had applied. She thought about applying a fresh layer, but decided not to bother; most of it would come off as she ate anyway.

Dinner was actually kind of fun. Her mum and dad treated her like an adult, asking if she would like a glass of wine and both laughing at the sight of her face.

'Don't worry, we haven't gone mad! In France, sixteen year olds can drink alcohol, as long as their parents are with them!'

Zoe brightened up and accepted the offer, feeling very grown-up as she sipped at the wine throughout the meal. They all chattered happily and Zoe felt her spirits rise as her dad cracked silly jokes and her mum made amusing comments and observations about their surrounding and their fellow diners, managing to be very funny without being cruel. The all had a sweet from the dessert menu and finished the meal with a small cup of strong dark coffee.

Finally sated, they all pushed their chairs back and meandered back into the lobby to take the lift up to their room. As they waited for the lift to descend to their level Zoe looked around, feeling properly happy and 'on holiday' for the first time since Jeremy had casually dropped the bombshell that Zack and he would be going to a week-long music festival on the other side of the country and, therefore, would not be coming to France. She saw the waiter that had spoken to her earlier, dressed in civilian clothes and looking very tired and drained. He was obviously heading home after a long shift, and she felt a sudden wave of regret for the way she had run out on him. Impulsively, she told her parents that she would catch them up, and hurried over to him, hoping to catch him before he exited the hotel.

She caught him, just as he went out onto the street, and he stopped when she called,

'Oh,
m'sieur
, please wait!'

He stopped, looking back with a wariness that might have been comical if she hadn't been formulating the words of here apology in her head. He recognised her and raised a questioning eyebrow,

'Oh,
mademoiselle
, are you well now?'

'Yes, very well, thank you.'

She paused for a moment, then burst out with,

'Listen, I wanted to apologise to you. You were so very kind to me, and I rushed off rudely – I was tired and a bit upset, will you please forgive me?'

He smiled now, his face relaxing completely and she thought that he must be a very kind man to have such a lovely sweet smile.

'Oh,
mademoiselle
, I am so … so happy… that it was not me who upset you. I thought you were angry because of me.'

'Oh, no, no!' Zoe interrupted, 'It was something else, not you at all!'

He smiled even more broadly, and said,

'
Bon
! That is good! Now we can be friends, yes?'

'Yes, of course, friends.'

Zoe said, feeling a little awkward now, but relieved that she had not let the waiter leave, believing that he had upset her. They regarded each other for a moment, and then the impatient beep of a car horn made the waiter turn away.

'Ah, that is my boy, my…ah son. He has come to pick me up to save me the walk home. Good night,
mademoiselle
, sleep well.'

'
Au revoir
.' said Zoe, 'and sorry again, for…' she gestured with her hand, and he nodded understandingly.

'
Pas de probleme
.' He turned to go, 'Good night.'

He ran down the stairs and went to a small car, pulling the passenger door open and climbing in. The little car's engine revved then the driver neatly turned the vehicle and drove away. As they went, the waiter leaned across his son to wave at her. She raised her hand automatically, as they turned the corner and were lost to sight. She stared in the direction they had gone for a moment, bemused but glad that she had apologised. A small group of people pushed past her, trying to get into the warmth and light of the hotel, so she stepped back and returned to her parents, who had waited for her.

She joined them and they ascended, feeling happy and replete. Zoe felt that they were a strong family unit for the first time in ages, despite Jeremy's absence. She even thought, although she tried to repress this awful thought, that she would not be quite so content if Jeremy and Zack HAD been there…

The next morning Zoe was up early and showered while her parents were still sleeping. She sat in the lounge area of their suite for a little while, then, bored, scribbled a note explaining that she was going down for breakfast and then would explore a few blocks in each direction. She added that she had her mobile with her, all loaded up with a local sim card and a few euros-worth of credit if they wanted to join her when they got up.

Then she left the door, making sure it closed firmly behind her. She breakfasted on a delicious freshly made croissant with a cup of hot milky coffee and a glass of fruit juice, enjoying every flaky, buttery morsel. The waiters and waitresses were all unfamiliar to her and she realised that they must be the morning shift, who would have finished work before Zoe's family had even checked into the hotel the day before.

She drank the last dregs of her coffee and headed out into the bright sunshine of early morning Paris. She had picked up a small map from the reception desk and she spent a few moments working out the orientation of the hotel and making sure she knew which roads ran past the building, then she headed off, choosing to go north for her first foray. Cars whizzed by, seeming to go twice as fast as they did at home, and she was a little bit nervous at first. The narrow pavements did not help, but she soon relaxed as she realised that the drivers were comfortable going at such high speeds because the roads were very wide, giving them plenty of room to manoeuvre.

North was quite dull, although she did linger as she passed some small boutiques that looked as though they might be fun to pop into later, when they were open. The clothes on display were unique and attractive and Zoe was particularly taken with a dress with a slender, fitted bodice that swirled out into a frothy skirted confection of lace. To the south Zoe could only see ranks of dull office blocks, interspersed with the occasional shop, so she did not venture very far in that direction. Returning to the hotel once more, she set off again, going east this time. After just one block the scene widened out into a lovely open square, packed full of kiosks, food and drink vendors and bright and colourful clothing stands. There were artists, buskers and street performers of all kinds setting up their equipment.

Utterly charmed, Zoe wandered along the paved paths, admiring the skills being shown off. An acrobat was warming up, slowly performing stretches which bent her back into a most uncomfortable looking curve; a juggler was warming up, juggling four small beanbags and rotating his wrists in between each contact. An artist was setting up his easel and laying out his paints, moving with the speed of long familiarity with his tools and chatting over the top of his work with a young girl who was setting up a face painting stand. A small group of dancers switched on their music and Zoe drifted towards the sound, admiring the precision of the dancers' moves as they limbered up and practised a few short sequences.

Not wanting to leave the scene of bustling activity and creativity just yet, Zoe bought an apple from a vendor and sat on a nearby bench, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face and soft fresh smell of the air. While she sat, another busker came along, carrying a guitar in its case, with a bowler hat on his head. He took the hat off and shook his hair out, raking it into place with his fingers. He glanced across the path and met her eyes and she felt a shock of primal recognition go through her. He was very good-looking, but it was a gut instinct that kicked in, something ancient and unstoppable – she must know him! He seemed to shake himself and continued setting out his equipment, hat on the floor in front of him, guitar case stashed neatly behind his small stool and himself on the stool with the guitar held comfortably in place. He was obviously very aware of her though, constantly glancing up to see that she was still there. She was almost overwhelmed by the strength of feeling – it was ridiculous! She didn't know this boy at all, he was a perfect stranger to her, yet the feeling that she must go and speak to him was growing stronger and stronger all the time!

She liked Zack! Didn't she? Suddenly, she could barely remember the attraction of his cowlick and found the thought of him to be as dull as it ever was before the prom. Suddenly, he was nothing more than her annoying brother's annoying friend again, and she accepted that with barely a pang of regret. Besides, Zack had never cared enough to stand up to his friends about her…

'Etienne, cretin! Vous avez oublie votre porte-monnaie!'

The boy jumped his hand going to his back pocket as though he was checking for something. Then he grinned, abashed and got up, walking towards an older man who had just entered the open square.

'Gosh, thanks dad!' He held out his hand and the older man slapped a wallet into it. The boy pushed it firmly into his back pocket and hugged his father affectionately.

'What would I do without you?' his English was excellent, tinged with an American accent with a slight foreign inflection.

'You would get into trouble with the gendarmerie, is what. Your licence is in there!'

'Oh, gosh, yeah. I forgot.'

He smiled at his dad and Zoe suddenly realised that the older man was the kindly waiter from the hotel! They both had the same sweet smile. He turned and looked around, seeing her. She waved timidly, not sure if he would recognise her away from the hotel, but he did. His face brightened up and he pulled his son over to her.

'Ah
mademoiselle, bon jour
to you!' He tugged his son closer and put his arm around the boy's shoulders. 'This is my son, Etienne,
mademoiselle
. He is soon to start his studies at University, but he is earning some… how do you say… the pocket money by playing his guitar and singing during the holidays. Etienne, this young
mademoiselle
is staying at the hotel, we became friends yesterday.'

Zoe was very glad that the waiter hadn't told his son that she had run off in a strop during their first meeting! She held out her hand to Etienne and said,

'Hi, I'm Zoe. I'm pleased to meet you, and must say – your dad is great!'

He laughed, nodding in agreement and took her hand,

'Yes, he's grea…'

His words trailed off as their hands touched. She was almost breathless with the jolt of sweet electricity that stabbed through her; it felt as though the nerves in her hand were sizzling gently. Etienne could feel it too; she could see that he was struggling to speak naturally.

The waiter laughed a little and spoke,

'As Etienne seems to have lost his words, I shall introduce myself. You may call me Marcel, and I will call you
mademoiselle
Zoe?'

'Oh, no, call me Zoe, please.'

'
Eh bien
, Zoe it shall be.'

He looked at his son, a slight frown of perplexity crossing his face, perhaps seeing that the young people were still holding hands. Then he said,

'Ma… Zoe? Would you like me to escort you back to the hotel?'

Zoe looked at Etienne, almost desperately, seeing the same incipient panic at the thought of being separated.

'I DO have to get started…' Etienne said reluctantly, 'but…'

He turned to his father, and rattled out a burst of French too quick for Zoe to follow. His dad looked at them both with an expression of tremendous surprise and growing comprehension, laughed and shook his finger at them,

'Two minutes, and not one second more!'

Then he headed off towards the gate, where he leaned negligently against a tree, deliberately turning his back to them. Etienne looked after him, his expression a mixture of love, affection and rue.

'Dear pops,' he said, 'He tries to be cool, and can't really pull it off.'

'How come your English is so good? And so American?' Zoe asked curiously.

'My mum is American. We go over every year or so for long holidays. I learned to speak English so I could talk to her family; aunts, uncles and cousins…'

Zoe nodded, suddenly feeling shy and tongue-tied. Etienne did not seem to notice, carrying on,

'Listen, I do have to get to work in a minute, but I would really like to see you again. Could I call for you this afternoon at about two o'clock?'

Desolate at the thought of leaving, despite being internally blissful at the thought of spending time with him, she pulled a face.

'Why the
moue
?' he asked, 'Do you not want to see me?'

She laughed a little, 'No, I do, I do want to see you… what do you mean moo?'

They stared at each other, then both realised what the other had meant and burst out laughing at exactly the same time.

They quickly agreed that Etienne would come to the hotel after he had finished his set routine. If Zoe and her parents were out he would wait in the lobby in one of the comfortable chairs that were set out for exactly such a purpose. They stood and Etienne tenderly took her face in his hands, whispering,

'It is incredible. I have heard of such things, it is called a
coup de foudre
but I never expected to experience one myself… I probably didn't even believe in such a thing.' Then he kissed her cheek, softly and quickly and let go, standing back as though he did not trust himself to touch her again. 'I will see you at two, Zoe, take care.'

She smiled, unable to find a single word, and then walked slowly over to Marcel, who was still studiously looking away from them.

The walk to the hotel passed in a dream, and she and Marcel did not speak. She was aware that he glanced at her every now and then, but he did not speak and she was glad of that. As they got to the steps of the hotel the door swung open and Zoe's parents came out, yawning and stretching, obviously having just finished their breakfast. Zoe's dad said,

'Oh, hello love, we were just thinking about giving you a ring. Find anything good out there?'

Zoe blushed bright red and laughed, and Marcel, standing politely to one side, had to repress a small smile. Instead of replying, Zoe indicated Marcel,

'Mum, Dad, this is Marcel, he works here at the hotel and he has been very kind to me. We bumped into each other, just down the road and I am going to go for a walk with Marcel's son Etienne at about two or thereabouts. Is that ok?'

Her parents exchanged glances with each and stared at Marcel, dumbfounded by this apparently sudden turn of events. Marcel stepped forward, shrugging lavishly, and shook their hands, saying

'You know the young ones; they are quick to move forwards in these days. My son, he is a good boy, and he will look after your little Zoe very well.'

'Well, it's a bit sudden, but I suppose it's alright…' Zoe's mum sounded like she was not very sure about it at all, but did not know how to say so.

Marcel beamed delightedly at them all and sketched a farewell with his expressive hands as he headed off to the kitchen to sign in and change into his uniform.