The Little Antique Shop Under the Eiffel Tower (25 page)

The mood sobered, as we thought about love, and its sometimes crushing defeat. Did they let their love go too early and regret it always? I would never know. These pieces of furniture – his favorite high-back chair, the ottoman at the foot of his bed, the roll-top desk where he wrote his memoirs – would know. Over decades his tears would have salted the wood, his laughter thickened the fabric – they’d have absorbed part of him, and that’s what made them so special.

“I think you need more time with your papa’s belongings,” I said. Vivienne and her brother needed space to sit in the apartment and reminisce, and perhaps when their maman arrived, she might wander through the rooms, a scent, a photo, misty moonlight filtering in would bring her closer to accepting his death, and knowing he lived a good life in spite of it all.

She gave me a grateful smile. “I think you’re right.” She gazed around the room, as if she was looking for her papa. “I was thinking pragmatically, but being here, surrounded by my papa’s memories, it’s much harder than simply clearing the space. It feels almost like a betrayal moving so quickly. I’m sorry I made you rush over so soon.”

I shook my head. “Don’t apologize. It’s so hard to know what to do in circumstances like this. All practicality goes out the window, and you just have to be kind to yourself.”

“Thanks for understanding. No wonder everyone speaks very highly of you.”

I blushed. “You know where I am if you need a friend.” It wasn’t like me to offer friendship but I felt like Vivienne needed someone to talk to. Someone outside of her family who would just listen.

She hugged me tight and said her thanks.

I left her gazing out the bedroom window, the ghost of a smile on her face, as the Eiffel Tower flashed in the distance.

I trudged down the stairs, hands in pockets, musing about it all. Life moved so quickly, and when it came to death, rushing forward to expel grief didn’t work. But people in the midst of that pain did what they thought best, what they were told to do, when really it was better to do it at your own pace, and understand there was no quick fix for grief.

Footsteps sounded from below, and I moved to the side of the staircase to make room, only to blow out a sharp breath seeing his face. How could those innocent eyes hide so much cunning? His boyish good looks, and floppy brown hair led a person to believe he was the boy next door who’d grown into a sweet, funny guy. In actuality, he was the opposite.

“Well, hello, Anouk. You’re as lovely as ever.”

I scowled. “You leave her alone!” I demanded.

“Excuse me?” He donned a look of surprise. “I’m only here to price some antiques of course. Terrible loss. Such a great man,” he said. His voice was heavy with sarcasm. How I hated him!

“How did you find out?”

“A call from the family. Why, are you suggesting I’m being underhanded?”

I narrowed my eyes, knowing he’d been unscrupulous in order to get Vincent’s address. Vivienne wouldn’t have called him. Joshua’s so-called business didn’t even have a name. It was all done on the sly. “Don’t lie; it makes you even uglier,” I said.

His smile disappeared and was replaced by a stony glare. “Come on now, Anouk. This is business. You can’t expect me to walk away every time we see the same client.”

If it was purely business, I’d have to accept I’d lose to him every now and then, but it wasn’t just business. It was a cat and mouse game and I didn’t want to play. “No one in the family called you. So back off. They’re not ready to sell.”

He smirked. “Oh, no? A few suggestions about the stages of grief, and a little hug here and there, and I think she’ll be more than ready. Her husband just left her you know. Her father died, her stepfather died, poor woman’s bereft.
Vulnerable
. And I can help with that too. All part of the service.”

I shivered at the coldness in him. He’d take advantage of anyone if it furthered his cause. “You’re a vile excuse for a man.” I lowered my voice to a hiss. “Leave her alone. She doesn’t need you stealing her papa’s things.”

He laughed, nonplussed at my vitriol. “But it’s OK for you to play your game?” He pitched his voice to mimic me, ‘
Take some time, sit, reflect with your father’s things
.’ What a load of sentimental crap! Life is about living, and he’s dead, and his furniture will only gather dust. So maybe it’s best if I handle things from here?”

There were so many charlatans in the business and Joshua was at the pointy end of the pile. His lack of compassion and empathy disgusted me, and I only hoped Vivienne was no fool. I knew from experience how charming he could be when he switched that personality on. I fought the urge to run back upstairs and warn her, but it would come across as tacky, like two school kids fighting over a toy. Instead, I pushed past him, my heart heavy.

“Oh, Anouk?” he said his voice silky smooth.

I didn’t bother to turn.

“Anouk?” He said more forcefully.

Grudgingly, I spun to face him. “What?”

His eyes twinkled and I knew he had a trump card. I stiffened in response. “Your boyfriend…” He paused for effect, and I willed myself not to cringe. “Quite the enigma, isn’t he? I wonder if you know him at all?”

I knew it would come up after he’d seen us in Saint-Tropez. I clenched my teeth at the retorts flashing through my mind, and eventually said, “You were good practice for me, a lesson in liars. Perhaps he’s going to rob me just like you did.” I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing the damage he’d done to my heart at the time.

His eyes widened. “Rob you? I have no idea what you’re talking about, Anouk! Perhaps you should be more careful when it comes to gift giving. Only a child would ask for her things back when the affair was over…”

Tears prickled but I fought them back. “I hope someone treats you the way you treated me. Then you’ll know. You almost bankrupted me, Joshua. I don’t know how you can live with yourself.”

He let out a chuckle, and I turned away unable to hold the sobs that threatened to spill. How could I have been so blind? Even Lilou had warned me, saying she thought he was duplicitous.

I sent up a silent prayer that Vivienne would see straight through Joshua. I had a feeling, vulnerable or not, that she’d see a predator like him a mile away.

My shoulders slumped south thinking of people like Vivienne who were trying to wade through their grief with Joshua types waiting in the wings with faux platitudes, and seemingly genuine concern.

There was no question I could have priced the contents of Vincent’s apartment, and made the deal simple and fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid, but it wouldn’t have been the right thing to do. It was so far wrong, it was headache-inducing, thinking that Joshua was up there, schmoozing, flirting if he thought he read her right, and doing whatever he could to tamp down anything I’d said. I shook the negative emotions away, and focused on walking home in the cool, dark evening, my steps heavier than before.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Summer swept in and days grew longer, the sunlight brighter, which lengthened time, making sleeping in a waste of such fine weather.

As I dressed for work, the apartment came alive with morning noise. Lilou was chatting into her phone about jewelry design and Maman was humming in the kitchen. I went to join her, and make coffee. Much as I hated to admit it, sometimes it was nice to wake to the sound of laughter, and know it wasn’t just me in the apartment.

As my parents’ rift dragged on, I expected Papa to turn up, to make amends, but he never did.

“You sound happy,” I said to Maman, noting her hair was done, she wore lipstick, and a new fitted dress covered in red roses.

“I have the chefs coming over for a cooking demonstration,” she said, taking ingredients from the cupboards and lining them up along the bench.

“Chefs? Plural?”

“Oui. They want to know my recipe for sorrel and asparagus vichyssoise. The scent wafted down when I made it last week, and it piqued their interest. Their taste buds are screaming for it, so I said I’d teach them. They’ve been serving pumpkin soup all year – can you believe that?”

I smiled. Maman’s soup recipes changed with the season. To make the same recipe over and over again was almost sacrilegious to her. All her food changed with the seasons, and she scoured the markets for the freshest ingredients.

“That sounds like fun, Maman.” The change in her was evident for all to see. She was back to humming, and baking, but still sadly not speaking to Papa.

“It
will
be fun. I’ve been honest and told them I’ve only cooked in a home-style Provencal kitchen for your papa, but they said they can’t learn everything from a book, and would I mind? Of course I don’t mind. If they’re not inspired at their age, they will never be, so it’s back to the traditional way for them.”

I kissed her head, happy that they’d made her feel important. “What about Papa? Have you spoken to him?” I knew full well she hadn’t, but how else to get her to open up about it?

She ducked her head. “
Non
, and I will not. This…” she gestured to the bench laid with ingredients “…is exactly my point. To the chefs, I’m not invisible. They’re interested in what I have to say. Today, they’ll get their hands dirty right beside me. Once we’ve made a mess, they’ll help clean it up. And then, when they go, they’ll thank me profusely. And those men are practically strangers. Do you see, Anouk? It wouldn’t take much for your papa, who is supposed to know me better than anyone, to do the same.” Her words poured out measured, calmly. Her anger had evaporated as the days marched on and had been replaced with resignation.

“I totally understand, Maman. And I’m glad you’ve found some happiness here, but I do worry about Papa, all alone, too stubborn to apologize.”

She stopped, and rested her hands on a mixing bowl, gazing out the window like she was weighing up what to say. “Anouk, this once I won’t give in. If he loves me, then he will apologize and change his attitude. To talk and your words to float through the air not being heard eventually cuts you like the blade of a knife. Was what I had to say so unimportant to him? I felt like a slave, working so hard, and so unappreciated. Enough is enough. Here when I talk, people listen,
really
listen. And it’s a beautiful thing. Does Papa miss me? I don’t know, because it’s not like he ever heard me when I was there. All he’ll miss is his cook, his cleaner, and his gardener.”

What could I say? There’d been no hint Maman had been so unfulfilled until the day she arrived in Paris and my heart tore in two for both of them. “OK, Maman. Hopefully he’ll come to his senses soon. Enjoy your day with the chefs.”

She kissed my cheeks, her hands squeezing mine, the same that had squished my face as a child, that held me when I cried.

“I will, and say hello to Tristan for me.” She arched a brow.

I gave her a long look. “I haven’t seen him, Maman.”

“You will,” she trilled.

I shook my head. “He’s not my boyfriend, nothing like it.” He’d disappeared, just like that. Off to America, if what he told Madame was true, and I often wondered if I’d ever see him again. It wouldn’t have hurt him to let me know. Did he owe me that? I wasn’t sure. Maybe he knew I suspected him as the thief, and vanished. Nothing was clear anymore, except I was back to living my life the same, monotonous way.

Back to singing under her breath, Maman simply shrugged, as though she didn’t believe me. I couldn’t confide in her about my suspicions – she had enough to worry about with Papa. “He’s a nice boy.”

I made a face. “Au revoir, Maman.”

***

Warm weather bit my skin as I walked along the boulevards. Paris was pulsing with tourists. The endless queues to climb the Eiffel Tower were thick, and snaked backward, people mostly patient waiting their turn to trudge up seven hundred and four stairs to be rewarded with a spectacular 360-degree view of the bustling city.

Alone, I admitted I was confused about my feelings for Tristan. The night at the book bar played on my mind. In my attempts at prying information, I’d been bold, hadn’t overthought anything, and I had enjoyed it. And then shame washed over me. How could I enjoy spending time with someone like him? Did I have no moral compass? Why would I be a magnet for men like him, and Joshua? I should have just dated Lilou’s magician friend and be done with it. I shuddered at the thought.

Opening up the shop, I stowed my bag, and filled a watering can. I went outside and gave the peach roses in the planter box a gentle drink.

I emptied the watering can, feeling the sun on my back, and wanted to lounge like a cat in the warmth, but I had things to do and went back inside. It was the height of summer. The promenade was filled with people clutching melting ice creams.

The door of the shop flew open and Madame Dupont rushed in. She was decked out in a shimmery silver dress, as if she was off to the opera – not just another day in her Time Emporium.

“Madame Dupont, are you OK?” Her hands fluttered nervously as she stopped to catch her breath.

“Anouk.” She nodded. “It’s happened again,” she said, her chest heaving from exertion.

I gasped. “Another robbery?”

“Oui! Last night. This time it was The Louis in the 7th arrondissement.”

My hands flew to my mouth. The Louis was the most exclusive auction house in all of France, and their security was top notch. “The Cartier jewelry?” I asked, despondency making my eyes cloud. I’d been counting down the minutes until I could bid on a piece of Cartier history.

“And this time he was more brazen; he stole almost half of the lots.”

This was a huge loss for all of us. There’d been lots of buzz about the upcoming auction because it was to feature Cartier jewelry that dated right back to the 1900s. The entire collection had belonged to Catherine Lacroix, a French actress who was famous in the fifties. She’d passed away a day after her ninetieth birthday and had stipulated her entire collection be auctioned and the money go to PETA, a charity she put her name and fame to, to further their cause, and help save animals everywhere.

The Cartier range was exquisite from simple solitaire studs, to magnificent necklaces, thick with diamonds. Madame Dupont had wanted to buy one of their famous designs, aptly named the mystery clock.