From Paris With Love (2 page)

September 1980

Isabelle and her sister leaned against the salt-stained wooden railing of the rear deck of the cross-Channel ferry.  The wind whipped their long hair across their faces and they quickly brushed it away as they smiled at the stranger who had kindly agreed to take their photo.  Thanking the older man and retrieving her Kodak instant camera, Isabelle turned back to her sister.  Together they watched as the ferry pulled away from the dock at Newhaven.  The frothy white water churned by the propellers began to form into a neat wake as the ferry carved its way through the sapphire waters of the Channel.  A couple of fishing boats and a speedboat seemed like miniature versions as they scurried out of the path of the ferry as the Senlac headed proudly towards Dieppe.

And still the sisters stood, side by side, watching as the South coast of England with its formidable white cliffs of Beachy Head began to fade into the distance.  Despite the sun, the breeze was strong and chilly, both girls shivered in their thin white tops.  Dressed in the classic uniform for teenage girls in the ‘80s of tight blue jeans and white cotton sleeveless tops, both were reluctant to reach for their jumpers and spoil the effect they were so well-aware they created.  Isabelle with her long brown hair, Christina with her long blond hair – both received appreciative looks from others walking by, particularly the boys!

“We’re finally on our way!” whispered Christina to Isabelle.  “It’s seemed ages since we first heard of this trip, and now here we are on the ferry and actually on our way!”  She was clearly excited and a little bit disbelieving they had finally escaped.  At just sixteen, Christina realised she was incredibly lucky that their parents were letting her go to Paris with her elder sister who was only seventeen. 

Isabelle was equally excited.  Okay, she told herself, so they would be staying with friends of their parents whom they didn’t know and who would probably turn out to be quite old and dull.  But they were going to Paris!  And there was going to be nothing at all dull about Paris! After all it was supposed to be the most romantic city in the world.  Perhaps she would fall in love with a romantic Frenchman?  She grinned to herself in delight.  This was going to be such an amazing trip! Hooking her arm through Christina’s, she grabbed their case with her other hand and together they made their way inside.  They had four hours on the ferry and there was a whole ship to explore!

They strolled nonchalantly across the deck, past holiday-makers making the most of the sun’s late rays, past harassed parents trying to maintain control of their wandering toddlers and past an elderly couple sitting on a bench and taking out their flask of coffee and foil-wrapped cake to share.  They wandered into the ship and decided to hunt out the duty free shop.  Christina was testing one perfume after another, spraying the scents onto small card strips which she would save to later put amongst her clothes.  Isabelle was looking through the books, a keen reader, she liked to review the latest books and dreamed of being able to buy them all!  After they had exhausted the limited treasures of the duty free shop, they wandered around the other decks.

Finally they found the cafeteria.  Their parents had given them £10 and told them to buy lunch on the boat so they would have a good meal inside them.  Together they examined the menu of choices. 

“I fancy the sausage and mash,” said Christina finally.  “But I’m not having any vegetables!” she exclaimed rebelliously.

“I’m going to go for fish and chips I think,” replied Isabelle.  “Shall we have lunch now, or a little later?  It is only 11.30 and we still have another two and half hours until we dock in Dieppe.”

“OK, let’s find a table somewhere and play cards,” suggested Christina.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.  Come on, Chrissie.”

Together they found a table on the same deck and next to a window so they could gaze out across the smooth seas of the Channel.  After several rounds of Gin Rummy, Christina declared she had had enough.  “It must be lunchtime now.  I’m starving!”

Glancing at her watch, Isabelle was surprised to see they had been playing for over an hour.  “Come on then, let’s go and get lunch!” she said.

“We must be nearly there!” said Christina, who was finding the four hours aboard the ferry a very long time indeed.  “Can we go up on deck to see if we can see France?” she suggested.

Together they made their way to the forward deck where they could glimpse the coast of France and they waited excitedly as the ferry cut its way through the sea.  The coastline became clearer they could see the town of Dieppe as the ferry edged closer to the port.  Now the waterfront was clearly visible, a melange of shabby painted buildings looking typically French.  Several restaurants had tables spilling onto the pavements with parasols shading the diners from the weak September sun.  Souvenir shops boasting postcard racks became clearer. The quay was bustling with people. 

The ferry began to make its way alongside the dock and beyond the girls could see brightly-coloured fishing boats moored alongside smart yachts.

“I wish we could stay here and explore!” exclaimed Isabelle.  “It all looks so exciting and so, well, so French!”

“Could we get a later train?” asked Christina hopefully.

“No, because Mum’s friends are meeting us at the station in Paris.”

“What time does our train leave?”

“Not sure, I think it’s about 4 o’clock,” replied Isabelle.  “I’ve got it written down somewhere safe with our passports.”

“But that’s ages away!” complained Christina.

“It isn’t really, Chrissie – don’t forget we have to put our watches forward so it’s three o’clock already.  We have yet to get off the ferry, go through customs and find where we get the train from,” replied Isabelle sensibly.

As the sailors made the ferry fast alongside the dock, the tannoy announcement declared that the passenger gangway would be open in five minutes for foot passengers to disembark the Senlac.  Isabelle listened carefully as they gave out information for passengers continuing to Paris by train.  She nodded, grabbed the case with one hand and her younger sister with the other.

“Come on, Chrissie, let’s make our way down to the exit”.

Together they managed to get through customs and to the quay where the SNCF train to Paris was waiting.  It was already filling up, so the girls quickly boarded the train and found two seats, stowing their case on the rack above.

“How long does the train take?” asked Christina.  She looked out through the dusty train window as other passengers heaved cases aboard the train.

“About two and a half hours,” replied Isabelle confidently.  “We get into Paris just before half past six.”

“Two and a half hours?” exclaimed Christina.  “On a train? Oh, Issy, that is such a long time!”

“Well, we can play cards or read.  And we have got some tea to have which Mum packed for us.  Shall we wait until the train leaves and then have our sandwiches?”

Christina nodded, slightly mollified and remembering that there were also two large slabs of chocolate cake packed with the sandwiches.

The train pulled away from the quay and chugged along to the main station of Dieppe, a short distance away.  More people boarded before the train moved out.  The girls stared through the window as the town of Dieppe moved past, slowly to start with and then more quickly as the train picked up speed.  Soon they were out of the suburbs and into the flat green countryside.

Isabelle reached into the bag and pulled out the package neatly wrapped in foil.  She spread them neatly on the table in front of them both and then took out a bottle of Coke and two straws so they could share.

Quickly they devoured the cheese sandwiches and chocolate cake although the two apples remained untouched as the train carried them through the countryside of Northern France.

Christina was dozing as Isabelle shook her arm gently.  “Wakey, wakey, Chrissie, we’re coming into Paris,” Isabelle whispered loudly. 

The train was indeed making its way through the grimy suburbs of Paris.  Isabelle’s face was pressed firmly against the window, looking through the glass, hoping to glimpse the Eiffel Tower or the Sacré Coeur or any well-known Parisian edifice.  Yet the buildings remained dirty grey and distinctly French with the wooden shutters.  Several tall tower blocks dominated the suburbs and Isabelle felt a shiver of disillusionment – this wasn’t how she imagined Paris!  Where was the Eiffel Tower and the romantic silver Seine river wending its way lazily through the most romantic city in the world? 

She glanced at her watch – another five minutes and they would be arriving.  She smoothed her creased blouse, combed her fingers through her hair realising that they both looked travel-weary and tired after the long journey.  She reached into her bag and took out a small brush to deal with her and Christina’s hair.  Christina yelped as Isabelle tugged at her sister’s tangled locks, trying to tame them again.  She snatched the brush from her, “Give me the brush, Issy! I’ll do it myself,” she said crossly.  Isabelle sighed and took out her lipstick.  She glanced at her small handbag mirror.  ‘Not too bad’ she thought to herself.  She really wanted to create the right impression – not so much for her parents’ friends, but for Paris and for whoever she may meet! 

The train was slowing down as it pulled into one of the many platforms of the St Lazare railway station. 

“We’re here, Chrissie!  We’re really here!”

Christina grinned at her sister, her annoyance over her hair forgotten, her enthusiasm contagious. “We’re really here, in Paris!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Gare St Lazare was located in the 8e arrondissement in the heart of the business and shopping district of Paris, one of the more salubrious areas. It was close to six thirty in the evening and the station was teeming with people.  As most Parisians finished work at 6pm, they were arriving at the peak of the rush hour and Isabelle was shocked at how busy it was.  How on earth would they ever find Jean-Luc? she thought in despair.

Holding tightly to Christina’s arm so they didn’t lose each other, she gave the case to her sister whilst she unfolded a piece of paper with a map of the station.  Scrutinising it carefully, she looked up and spotting a sign that indicated the ‘sortie’, decided on the direction they should take and determinedly steered her sister towards the top of the platform and the main concourse. 

As they reached the platform entrance, they were assuaged by the delicious aroma of fresh croissants and both girls sniffed appreciatively feeling hungry suddenly.  All around them people hurried off to their own destinations and Isabelle looked around slightly bewildered.  A tall man with bushy black hair and sparkling dark eyes caught her eye, grinned at her and waved his hand.  He wore tight jeans, a white shirt open at the neck and a denim jacket.  He stood out amongst the commuters with his casual dress and confident air.

“Isabelle?  Christina?  Is it you?” he queried in broken English, hurrying towards them. 

“Yes, yes, I’m Isabelle and this is Christina,” said Isabelle in relief.  Then, remembering her manners and her perfectly practised first phrase in French, she dropped Christina’s hand and extended her hand, “Bonjour Monsieur, je suis Isabelle et voici ma soeur, Christina”.

The man took her hand gallantly. “Enchanté, mademoiselle.  Et je suis Jean-Luc,” he beamed at her and then at Christina.

Jean-Luc took the suitcase from them and began to steer them towards the exit.  “The car is outside here in a parking.  Not far,” he said in broken English.

Well, he certainly wasn’t old and he didn’t look at all boring, thought Isabelle as she grinned across at her sister who responded with a beam as they followed him out of the station into the bustle of Paris.

The car was a dark blue Renault with a couple of dents on the side.  It was parked haphazardly half on the pavement and half on the road, in a place where it obviously shouldn’t have been left.  An irate French official stood by it with a notebook in hand and Jean-Luc retaliated with wild gesticulating and a stream of French, which Isabelle couldn’t follow although she could guess at the meaning.  Jean-Luc flung their case in the boot, Christina got in the back and Isabelle the front seat.  Both immediately grabbed for their safety belts, both thinking alike – this could be a hairy ride!  Jean-Luc jumped in, started the engine and quickly pulled out into the flow of traffic – and the path of another car who hooted wildly, the driver’s hands waving furiously.  Jean-Luc just took it all in his stride though as he carried on weaving through the rush-hour traffic of central Paris.

As he drove he also tried to point out some tourist sites to the girls, one hand on the steering wheel, the other waving madly in different directions as they sped along.

“Ici les Galleries Lafayettes,” his hand waved vaguely to the left, “and Le Printemps”, again waving wildly.  “Big shops, lots of goods, big prices,” he explained obviously keen to try out his English.

“Over there is the Madeleine, and the Opera house”.

The girls tried to keep up and look for these famous landmarks, but it wasn’t easy with the speed they were going and the other drivers getting in the way.

Isabelle sank back into her seat.  So this was Paris!  And so far it was living up to everything she had dreamt about.  The magnificent buildings, the wide boulevards, the crazy drivers.  This was going to be an amazing week, she thought, as she concentrated on seeing Paris through the car window and not on Jean-Luc’s erratic driving.

The traffic eased as they pulled away from central Paris and headed out to the East of the city.  The girls hadn’t really thought about where Jean-Luc and his wife lived – they’d assumed it would be in the city and were disappointed as they headed further out towards the suburbs, the exciting buildings of Paris giving way to concrete apartment blocks.

“Tonight we have quiet dinner.  Tomorrow, we have soirée for you!” he announced proudly, turning to look at Isabelle who wished he’d keep his eyes on the road instead, particularly as she had just clocked the speed on the odometer which read 90km an hour!  She wasn’t sure about the mile to kilometre conversion, but it seemed to be awfully fast.

“What is a soirée?” asked Christina.

Jean-Luc turned to the back to look at her, causing Isabelle’s heart to plummet further in fear. “You not know what a soirée is?” he asked amazed.

“It’s a sort of party,” explained Isabelle.

“Yes, yes, party!” confirmed Jean-Luc.  “We have some friends coming.  We make crêpes and we dance.  You like to dance?”

Both girls nodded – this sounded fun!  And they had been worried they would be bored.  It certainly didn’t sound like it!

“Sunday we go to Paris.  We show you the sights,” said Jean-Luc.  And he proceeded to tell them what they would do.

Soon they were pulling up outside an apartment block.  He parked the car carelessly, although at least it was mostly in a space this time, Isabelle noted.  Flinging the boot open, he grabbed their case, locked the car and they headed towards the door.  Inside, he called the lift which took them to the seventh floor.  Everything he did seemed to be done quickly and carelessly.  There was an incessant energy about him that was both compelling and exhausting.

“Now you meet my wife, Odile,” he announced as he produced a door key to open the front door.  “She not speak good English like me,” he said, not at all modestly.  “She no speak English at all!”

Christina’s face fell – her French was certainly on the dodgy side.  It was her least favourite subject at school as she preferred the sciences.  Isabelle was the linguist in the family – she loved French, although she certainly wasn’t fluent.  It could be an interesting week trying to communicate!

Odile came forward to meet them, wiping her hands on her apron.  She was a slightly plump woman with shoulder length chestnut hair, chubby cheeks, smiling blue eyes, red lipstick and a huge grin.  Whilst she may not have been the chic Parisian lady that Isabelle had imagined, she certainly seemed friendly and very happy to see them.

“Mais, alors, enfin!” she exclaimed giving each of the girls four kisses on alternate cheeks.  “Tu es Isabelle?” she indicated Christina who had understood this much French.

“Non, je suis Christina” she replied carefully.

”Je suis Isabelle” and she stepped forward.

Odile made them feel very welcome, even though her knowledge of English seemed to be completely non-existent.  She showed them the bathroom and the small bedroom at the back that they would share.  The room was small with an old wooden wardrobe in one corner which had been polished to a high sheen.  A matching chest of drawers nestled under the window.  Cornflower blue curtains hung at the window which looked out across the car park towards a small green park where children were playing on swings.  There was a double bed with a matching blue duvet they would share and two clean towels laid out.  It was cosy and clean. 

“Now you come to lounge,” said Jean-Luc as he dumped their case in the room.  “We have drink.  You like wine?”

Isabelle and Christina looked at each other – they didn’t really drink, although they knew it was the practice in France.  Wine!  That would be so grown-up!  And it really would be churlish to refuse.

“Yes, please!” said Christina quickly before Jean-Luc changed his mind, or before sensible Isabelle intervened. And she secretly hoped her mother would never find out.

They followed him through to the lounge.  Along one side was a beige sofa and in the corner stood a round table with six chairs around it.  It was already set for dinner with cutlery, a pile of plates and a few glasses.  The girls looked across, despite their ferry lunch and the sandwich picnic on the train, both girls were starving and they were pleased to see that dinner was planned.  A delicious smell wafted in from the kitchen where Odile was singing to herself as she prepared.  Tearing their eyes from the table, they looked around the room.

There in the corner, sitting in an armchair was another guy.  His hair was straight, longish and dark brown, flopping over his eyes.  He wore a V-neck navy jumper and brown corduroy trousers.  Neither were smart, but he gave an impression of being very French.  He glanced up as the girls entered, his brown eyes crinkled at the corner and he smiled in a friendly Gallic way as he stood up.  Isabelle took one look at him and thought ‘wow, he is gorgeous!’

“Bonsoir,” he said politely and came over to shake their hands quite formally.

“This my little brother, Etienne,” grinned Jean-Luc.  “He not live here, he live nearby, but he here a lot.  He no speak English.”  He followed with something very fast in French directed at Etienne who came over and dutifully kissed Christina on both cheeks, the customary four times. 

Then he leaned towards Isabelle to kiss her.  She caught a whiff of citrus after-shave and glanced at his eyes.  And as their eyes met, something passed between them.  Isabelle knew she was about to fall in love for the first time, as Etienne leaned a little closer and gently kissed each cheek in turn, just as he had her sister.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~