From Notting Hill with Love...Actually (18 page)

“So…you’re buying chocolate,” I said as he turned away from me, apparently about to continue down the road.

He paused and turned back. “Er, yes. I do that sometimes. You should go in—he’s one of the best chocolatiers in Paris.” I think he thought perhaps he’d get rid of me that way, but still I didn’t take the hint.

“It’s just it seems funny seeing you buying chocolate in a chocolate shop, with you being in that film—you know the one…
Chocolat
?”

Quizzically, Johnny raised one eyebrow at me, and I nearly passed out right there on the Champs-Elysées. “Er, yes, I do remember it.”

“And…and then of course you were also Willy Wonka so there’s a chocolate link there too.”

Oh
my
God, shut up, Scarlett. What on earth are you saying now?

Johnny smiled at me again.

Well, it was more like a grin this time.

OK, he was laughing at me.

“Yes, indeed there is,” he said, his face becoming serious now. “I’d never really thought about it like that. But the thing is I’ve also played the creator of Peter Pan and I can’t
really
fly. An astronaut but I’ve never been into space. A man with scissors for hands and a murdering barber, yet I can’t cut hair and I’ve never killed anyone. Oh, and as you so kindly pointed out a few minutes ago, a pirate, but do you know something?”

He walked back along the pavement, then, standing right next to me, he leaned in, his face close to mine.

“You’ve never been to sea?” I whispered, almost unable to speak. He was so close I could smell the aftershave delicately wafting from his oh-so-perfect skin.
David
is
so
getting
some
of
that
for
Valentine’s Day
, I thought, wondering if it would be rude of me to ask what brand it was.

“You got it. However,” he said, now whispering into my ear, “when I played Don Juan, the greatest lover in the world…”

He stood up in front of me now and winked. And while he’d managed to render me speechless for a few seconds, he took his chance and bounded off down the Champs-Elysées as fast as his seafaring legs would carry him.

***

When I finally got over first the shock and then the embarrassment of my encounter with Johnny Depp—I mean, what were the chances of that happening? I knew he had a home in Paris and a French girlfriend, but still—I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to calm myself down by doing the tourist thing of seeing as much of a city as I could in one day. I hadn’t been to Paris since I was fifteen on a school trip. Back then I was wandering around with about twenty other teenagers. But this time I was on my own.

I visited the Musée d’Orsay art gallery, staring up in amazement at the huge Monet canvases that adorned the walls of what was once a central Paris railway station. I went to Notre Dame and again gazed in wonderment at the inside of the vast Gothic cathedral, understanding now how it had been the inspiration for Victor Hugo’s novel and so many of the film adaptations that featured its infamous inhabitant the hunchback. In Montmartre, I wandered among the artists painting portraits of the tourists that flocked around them. Briefly I thought about Sean and wondered if he had any artistic leanings. Maybe he’d like to sketch me like Leo had Kate in
Titanic
—which would give me another movie to add to my ever-lengthening dossier of proof. Then I remembered what had happened after they had done that in the movie, and I thought better of it. I was already in enough trouble with David as it was. But maybe Sean and I could visit the Moulin Rouge while we were here to catch a show. I’m sure we wouldn’t have to sing or swing from a trapeze or anything to find something from the movie there…

Finally, I ended up visiting that tourist haven—the Eiffel Tower.

As I stood underneath the enormous iron structure and looked around me, I saw that even though it was now a very late afternoon in February, there were still people everywhere, mainly tourist groups and families…and couples, lots and lots of couples.

Ah, of course, it’s Valentine’s Day. Well, I suppose you can’t get much more romantic than Paris on Valentine’s Day.

I tried hard to think about David. He would probably have arrived back home by now and would be happily pottering away with his latest DIY project. But my thoughts kept disobeying me and returning to Sean.

Even though I’d enjoyed myself this afternoon, I knew I’d have enjoyed it even more if Sean had been with me. I’d had that familiar feeling that something was missing, but this time that something was him.

I watched the people rising to the top of the tower in the lifts, and climbing the long staircases together. I couldn’t go all the way up there on my own; what would be the point of getting to the top and then not having anyone to share the wonderful views with?

So I turned away and began to make my way back to the Metro. Then I stopped and smiled, as an idea began to blossom in my mind.

An idea that could help me make a decision, one way or another…

At the hotel, I asked the receptionist for some writing paper before heading upstairs. I knocked on Sean’s door as I passed to see if he was back yet. There was no answer.

Once inside my room, I found a pen and sat down and thought for a moment, trying to compose a note.

I screwed up three pieces of paper before I got the wording just right.

Meet me at the top of the Eiffel Tower tonight—Valentine’s Day.

Scarlett x

I thought I’d better put my name—after all, this wasn’t a real movie, and with my luck someone else would pick up the note and I’d be stuck up the Eiffel Tower all evening with a night porter called Pierre.

I quickly freshened up and changed my clothes to something warmer, but also more romantic-looking—which is a difficult combination to get right.

I tried to remember the type of clothes Meg Ryan had worn in
Sleepless
in
Seattle
but I could only remember the teddy bear bit at the end, and anyway that was on top of the Empire State Building. And in
An
Affair
to
Remember
Deborah Kerr had never even made it as far as that. So in the end I chose smart black trousers, a pale pink sweater, and my long black coat. I finished off the look by tying my hair back in a loose ponytail and arranging a brightly colored scarf that I’d bought from one of the market stalls in Montmartre casually around my neck. I say casually: it took me at least eight attempts to get it just right.

When I was finally ready, I crept out of my room—in case Sean had returned in the meantime—and as quietly as I could slipped the note under his door. Then I walked quickly to the nearest Metro station and made my way back to the Eiffel Tower.

By the time I arrived it was fully dark, and I stood in awe looking at just how beautiful the tower was, lit up against the night sky.

There were still queues to ride up in the lifts—even at this time of night. So I joined one, hoping it would be a while before Sean found my note.

When I reached the front of the queue, I paid for my ticket and rode up in the lift with the other tourists to the first, then the second, and finally to the very top floor—where we all climbed out. I wandered over to one of the barriers that surrounded the upper viewing deck to look out at the city and to wait for Sean. I glanced at my watch—it said 6:45 p.m.

By 7:50 p.m. I’d walked the perimeter of the platform five times. The views of Paris at night were indeed breathtaking, I couldn’t deny that—they almost surpassed the beauty of the illuminated tower—but it was starting to become embarrassing being up there all on my own.

Earlier today, the crowds riding up in the lifts and climbing the stairs had been a mix of families and large tourist groups. Now the majority of visitors were couples—they were holding hands and giving each other tender looks and loving kisses. I couldn’t blame them; after all, it was Valentine’s Day. But I felt like a big French gooseberry waiting up there all on my own.

Hurry
up, Sean
, I willed, looking through the wire barriers yet again. I shivered—this wasn’t fun anymore. I reached into my bag for my phone; maybe he’d tried to call and I hadn’t heard it? Or maybe the signal wasn’t that good up here?

It took a few moments of grappling about in my bag before I remembered I’d put my phone on to charge in the hotel room. I’d been so busy choosing what I was going to wear and deciding what I was going to write that I hadn’t remembered to pick it up again—damn!

***

By nine o’clock I was starting to get very cold, as well as extremely fed up. I sheltered as best I could toward the center of the tower, on one of the benches tucked away beneath the iron girders.

“If he doesn’t come in the next half an hour, I’ll go and get a coffee,” I promised myself, thinking of the cafeteria on the second floor. I daren’t leave just yet—I had to know if he would come.

Two cups of coffee later and seven “Would you mind taking a photo of us?” requests from fellow visitors, Sean still wasn’t there.

I looked at my watch again. It was now 10:20. The last lift came up at 10:30 in the winter—he was running out of time.

I went to look out at the view once more—the Trocadero Gardens and the bridges across the River Seine were becoming quite familiar by now—and if I squinted hard enough I could even see across to Montmartre and the illuminated Sacré-Coeur. I’d stood outside this huge Roman Catholic church—or basilica, as my guidebook had informed me it was correctly known as, this afternoon: the Sacré-Coeur was the Basilica of the Sacred Heart. All this waiting around wasn’t doing my heart or my nerves any good, that was for sure.

My gaze wandered back to the inside of the tower again. A couple standing a little way along from me were giggling and whispering to each other when suddenly the man dropped to one knee.

Oh no, this was all I needed right now.

The girl apparently answered his proposal in the affirmative because they were suddenly superglued together at the mouth.

Deciding to leave them to it, I dismally began to walk away.

“Excuse me?” I heard them call.

I turned around.

“Do you speak English?” the man asked.

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Would you mind awfully taking a photo of us? Only Helen and I, well…we’ve just got engaged!” They gazed happily into each other’s eyes again.

“Sure, why not?” I agreed.

“Just push this button,” the man said, holding out his camera. “It’s quite easy.”

I knew it was, because I’d already taken three photos of couples tonight on cameras identical to this one.

“Smile,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.

They didn’t need much encouragement.

I took the photo and passed the camera back to the man.

“Thank you so much,” Helen said, smiling at me. “It’s wonderful, Alexander and I will have this moment recorded for ever now.”

“Would
you
like a photo taken?” Alexander asked, looking around.

He was obviously sussing out whether I was with anyone.

“No, no, thank you,” I said. But not wanting to look too sad, I added, “I’m waiting for someone.”

“At this time of night?” He looked at his watch. “Bit late, aren’t they?”

“Alex, stop it,” Helen said. “I think it’s romantic; it’s just like in that film, isn’t it…the Meg Ryan one? What was it called now…”

“Oh, do you mean
When
Harry
Met
Sally
?” Alex suggested helpfully.

“No, not that one, er…it had Tom Hanks in it…”

“Hmm…” Alex thought again. “Oh, I know—
You’ve Got Mail
, they were both in that!”

“No…oh, it’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“
Sleepless
in
Seattle
,” I answered quickly, before they carried on all night.

“Yes, of course,” Helen said with relief. “That’s it. But she was on top of the Empire State Building, wasn’t she—waiting, I mean?”

“Actually, the son was. But it’s a similar situation, yes.”

“Oh, how wonderful. Is it your husband you’re waiting for?”

“No.”

“Fiancé?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes,” I lied. “My boyfriend.” I tutted. “I’ll kill him if he doesn’t get here soon.”

“Quite right too—it is Valentine’s Day, after all.” She looked up adoringly at Alex again. “And you need to be with the one you love on Valentine’s Day.”

As if I needed reminding.

“Well, I hope for your sake he gets here soon. I think it’s so romantic arranging to meet someone here tonight. Isn’t it, Alex?”

Alex nodded lovingly at Helen. “Indeed it is, darling.” Then he looked across at me again. “You must love him very much to wait this long. I hope he deserves you.” He put his arm around his future bride. “We’d better get going, Helen.” He smiled at me. “Thanks for the photo, hope everything works out for you.”

“Yes, never give up on someone you love,” Helen said dreamily. “Good-bye now.”

I watched them walk off, their arms tightly around each other, and suddenly I felt very alone.

How I could I have been so stupid? I could have spent Valentine’s Day in Paris with a man that truly loved me, that wanted to marry me and spend the rest of his life with me. And instead I’d spent it running around overpriced luggage shops, sightseeing on my own, and freezing my arse off on top of a pointy French tourist trap. Although…there had been the Johnny Depp incident…I shook my head. No, even that had hardly been a great success.

And if my life really
was
like a movie, I’d turn around right now, just as the last lift of the night was arriving, the doors would open, and Sean would be standing there with a look of desperation about him and have a wonderful story of how he’d been delayed by something dramatic, like a bank heist or a bomb scare.

I turned around, and sure enough the last lift of the night
was
just arriving. I watched hopefully as the doors opened…and inside there was a man standing there…but unfortunately it was just the lift attendant, who did indeed have a look of desperation about him—but desperation of a different sort.

I took one last poignant look out over the Paris skyline before climbing into the lift beside him. While we waited for the last few remaining visitors to be rounded up, I glanced at the uniformed man standing opposite me. He was middle-aged and balding, with a lazy eye and a pot belly that hung over the top of his leather belt. He smelt of tobacco and something else—which I think was his aftershave but smelt more like furniture polish. He grinned at me and I caught sight of his nicotine-stained teeth. Politely, I smiled back then looked away, but not before I’d noticed the badge pinned to the front of his overall, which confirmed my fears from earlier, that if this idea of mine went wrong, like it had so spectacularly, I would indeed end the evening with a Frenchman called Pierre. The lift deposited me safely at the base of the tower again, and as I sat on an almost deserted Metro train, I could think of nothing other than what a complete disaster tonight had been. I was so sure that Sean would meet me at the top of the Eiffel Tower that I hadn’t given any thought to what would happen if he didn’t.

Had he not seen my note lying at the base of his door? And if not, why not? Why hadn’t he come back to the hotel tonight? What if something had happened to him today…an accident…or worse?

Actually the “worse” could be that he
had
come back to the hotel,
had
read my note, and I’d scared him off. Maybe I’d taken it a step too far by suggesting something so romantic as meeting me up there. Maybe Sean did only want to be friends.
Just
friends.

My head was spinning with so many thoughts and scenarios when I finally reached the hotel that I had to stand outside for a few seconds, calming myself with deep breaths before going in.

It was a busy street we were staying in, full of lively bars and pretty restaurants. As I stood outside, the clink of wine glasses and the sound of happy, excited voices wafted down the road toward me. I glanced at the bistro opposite—it looked a charming place. The tables were adorned with red and white checked cotton cloths, and in the center of each one a wine bottle covered in wax held a lit candle. It reminded me of…where? Ah yes, the little Italian restaurant Sean and I had dined in together the night we arrived in Glasgow.

But that wasn’t the only thing that reminded me of that night. For sitting at one of the window tables was a couple.

They were chatting and laughing—much as Sean and I had done that night. In fact, when I looked at them more carefully I noticed the man actually resembled Sean quite a bit—he had the same build, hair color…eyes. But as the waiter moved away from their table and the couple stood up to leave, that’s where the similarity with my night in Glasgow ended—because the man then kissed the woman on the cheek, and they hugged.

Sean certainly hadn’t done that to
me
in Glasgow…but he was definitely doing it tonight, right in front of my eyes—to the woman he was having dinner with in the restaurant across the road.