The Little Antique Shop Under the Eiffel Tower (35 page)

“He’s going to be OK. We will make it so.” Tristan’s eyes clouded. “My parents…” He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t get there in time. They were gone…and I was too late. But this time, things will be different. Whatever he needs we can get it…”

My heart tore in two. This was like reliving his own personal nightmare, and yet he’d still done it, tried valiantly to save my papa, when he could have just wound up his investigation and left. “What you’ve done, we appreciate it more than I can say.”

“I have a lot of apologies to make to your family once everything has settled.”

Exhaustion settled heavily in my limbs. I wanted to sit down, and wait. I didn’t want to think of anything else. “I’m going to the waiting room to lie down for a while. But thank you, again.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I know it’s not the right time, but will you ever forgive me? I’d like to be friends, or…”

The real world came crashing into my subconscious. “Won’t you leave now? Go undercover again and wake up in Brazil, or something?” There was zero point offering friendship when what we had was based on a lie. I knew absolutely nothing about the blond man standing in front of me. And I didn’t think I wanted to. Trust was important, and he’d broken it in so many different ways. In order to protect myself I’d have to walk away. It was the right choice. As I drifted away, my heart was heavy. Why did it have to hurt so much?

Chapter Twenty-Nine

A few weeks later I was back in Paris, eagerly awaiting the arrival of my parents. Papa’s surgery had been a success but he was still on bedrest. The doctor approved his travel on the stipulation he didn’t move much once he arrived. I was excited to see them, and help Maman search for an apartment to rent. Their house was up for sale but the property market in their village wasn’t exactly thriving, so in the meantime they’d find a rental in the Marais, the quarter Maman loved for its fresh food markets and bohemian style.

There was a knock at the door, so I raced to answer it. Instead of my parents it was a courier holding a big box. “Anouk?”

“Oui.”

“Delivery.”

I took the box, which was heavier than first appeared, and opened it.

Inside was the Henry Miller typewriter we’d argued over at the flea market on the Seine. Perhaps it hadn’t been the one the Postcard Bandit used after all, and I was grateful his grubby paws didn’t mar Henry Miller’s legacy. There was with a ream of paper and a neatly typed sentence.

“I miss you.”

It was bittersweet. I missed him too. There was no return address so I couldn’t send it back. I placed it on the side table and sighed. Would I ever be able to forget those brilliantly blue eyes…?

Lilou called from the balcony. “Let’s take a walk before they get here. My nerves are jangling with excitement.”

I laughed, ready for a distraction from the typewriter, and followed her into the glorious day. Summer was putting on a fine show. The air was fragrant with flowers spilling over planter boxes in balconies above. Red carnations and yolky daffodils, and an abundance of trellised roses met us at every turn.

Lilou wore a black and white striped dress that swished around her thighs. An American company had put in an order for her Je t’aime bracelets: silver links connected with a mini padlock in ode to the Love Lock Bridge that was no longer. I proudly wore one on my wrist, loving the symbolism. I’d always thought my sister needed guidance, a helping hand to set goals, but I just hadn’t been listening.

She’d known she’d find her path, the same way she knew she’d find the right kind of love one day, and she wouldn’t settle for anything less than the best, but in the meantime she really lived her life, by enjoying every minute of every day.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Ice cream in the passage Dauphine?”

“Oui. I love it there.” The passage Dauphine was a cobblestoned laneway off the Rue Dauphine. The streetscape was beautiful. We’d trip down the uneven stones in our heels, our necks craned up to take in the ivy climbing the rustic walls. It was postcard pretty, and had a number of bistros and cafés we loved, including one that sold homemade ice cream in the summer. When ice cream is churned properly with the best ingredients it tastes nothing like the bulk sugary supermarket brands you find everywhere. It was one of life’s greatest pleasures, taking time to enjoy the magnificence of summer with something to cool you down.

“Tristan keeps asking after you. He’s never going to stop,” Lilou said, turning to watch my reaction.

“Don’t respond. That’s one way to make it stop.” Lilou was still firm friends with Henry, chatting constantly by email and Skype, and often he passed along messages from Tristan.

She gave me the Lilou look, as if I was too silly for words. “Anouk, can’t you give him a second chance?”

Kids’ laughter peppered the bright day, their clamoring footsteps echoing between the buildings. “What for? I don’t see the point.” The lie caught in my throat.

“That is the biggest load of rubbish I’ve ever heard! You’ve been walking around with those moony eyes, and long face, like your whole world has ended. You can’t lie to me because I can read you like a book.”

I sighed. “Lilou, he was all set to send me to jail… Who does that to someone they supposedly have feelings for?”

“He said at the market that day, when you fought over the typewriter, he told you to run. He risked his career saying that much to you.”

I thought back to that day. Did he? How foolish I’d been thinking he was the robber! “I don’t remember that. But I was alluding to
him
that he should run. And what does that make me? A hypocrite in the world of antiques.”

“So you’d let the first man who really loves you lose you, over his job, which is protecting antiques, the things you adore most?”

We came to the café and took a table out the front. “He doesn’t love me.”

“He does; he told Henry. And Tristan quit his job! Just like that. He’s been offered security work, in Paris. Gustave, the guard you so admire, hired him because the owner keeps leaving the building unlocked. That’s how you got in that night.”

I inhaled sharply. “Why did he quit?”

She gave me a dazzling smile. “Why do you think?”

“He can’t quit and expect that will change my mind.”

She shrugged and took the menu from the wooden holder. “Apparently…” she drew out the word “…it was the first time he’d ever let his feelings get in the way of a job. And that was the death knell. If he can’t separate the two worlds, he can’t commit to it properly. It’s time, he said, for a new life, a
real
life.”

I made a show of reading the menu. I didn’t want him to quit his job because of me. Hadn’t he said he thrived on his job? But was that even true, or just part of the backstory of Monsieur Black who was in fact fictional?

“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” I said softly.

What would he do with his life? It was one of those careers I thought might make a person feel lost if they had to give it up. Did this change things? I ordered my ice cream, Violette, and wondered about him. The man he really was. The one who lost his parents, who had no siblings, no ties, except that job, and now he didn’t even have that. Perhaps he could create the man he wanted to be…

“I’ll have the Sabayon,” Lilou said, giving the waiter a saucy smile. “He’s cute,” she said, watching him walk off. “So, if you happen to see Tristan can you be nice? He saved our papa, in case I need to remind you. Really stepped in when no one else did. That makes him a great man in my eyes.”

It suddenly dawned on me; an intense pain flickered in my chest. “Did he get fired, Lilou? Is that what happened?”

A flash of guilt crossed her features.

“Lilou, tell me.”

She sighed dramatically. “I’m not supposed to tell you, but if it’s the only way to get into your steely heart, then so be it. Henry told me that Tristan’s superiors said if he used the plane for personal reasons, he’d get fired. Well, he chose to use the plane, twice! Once to get you there, and the second time to send the cardiologist,
which
he had to pull a million favors to get the man to agree to go. His bosses weren’t happy but they couldn’t stop him. And then he quit. Henry told me when he threw down his badge he had this huge smile on his face, like he was free of that life and he was goddamned happy about it. But it was you. He was thinking of you and what might be.”

“I can’t believe he did that for us.” It was one thing to quit, but choosing to leave a career in order to save someone’s life, well that was something else entirely.

Back home, an hour later, our parents arrived. Maman pushing his wheelchair through the door with a few knocks and bumps and cries of “careful!” from Papa. He didn’t need it long term, just long enough to recuperate, and keep any exertion to a minimum.

After effusive greetings and lots of hugging, Maman and I set off to see some apartments. The first one was too small, a bedsit really in the upper Marais. “Maman, you couldn’t fit the wheelchair in here.”

The next was bigger and better, suited to their needs, but the agent said they’d had lots of interest and people were now offering above the advertised price.

“We’ll keep looking,” Maman said.

The third apartment overlooked the Musée Carnavalet and its manicured hedge gardens. The balcony led out from the living room, and was wide enough for Papa to get out in his wheelchair and have plenty of space to turn.

The balustrades were full of hanging pots, ready for Maman to work her magic, plunging her hands into the fertile soil, planting herbs, and salad vegetables for her cooking.

“This is the one, Anouk. The kitchen is perfect. That island bench is big enough for the chefs to sit around…”

I couldn’t hide my smile. Maman was flushed with happiness. “It’s beautiful; the afternoon sun streams right in. Once Papa is back to himself, why don’t you think of opening a cooking school? Something boutique?”

“Do you think I could do it? What about those who’ve had training in patisserie, and fine dining – things I know little of? They’d probably call me an imposter.”

I tutted, running my hand along the smooth granite of the bench. “Non, Maman, you’re catering to a different clientele. Ones who want to learn the traditional ways, the best ways for everyday meals. Family meals, meals for celebrations.”

“Once Papa is better…”

She’d do it. I knew how to recognize the quiet determination in the women of my family now.

“Have you got the paperwork?” Maman asked the estate agent who’d been on the phone outside.

“Maman,” I said, “Don’t you want to see more first?”

“I’m sixty, Anouk. I don’t have time to waste!” She cackled and the sound bounced around the room.

***

The long, hot days tired Papa out so easily. Even on bedrest, he was gray, so we took pains to keep quiet and tiptoe around the apartment while we sorted their new life in Paris.

Movers had taken the boxes to their new abode and we were meeting them to unpack, and then coming back for Papa so he could go from one bed to another.

It was so much fun having my maman here, happy, making plans. I couldn’t wait for Papa to get better so he could enjoy Paris too.

I was lugging a box of delicate items downstairs. Maman didn’t trust anyone with her kitchenware, so we had to take it by taxi ourselves, all eight boxes of it.

Putting the box carefully on the pavement I arched, stretching my muscles. I was counting down the minutes until I could flop on a chair and enjoy a cold glass of wine.

“Moving?” My body tingled, and I spun to face him. The real Tristan wore washed-out denim jeans and a tight white tee. He appeared younger, maybe because he was a little more ruffled. His hair was windblown, and attire casual. It suited him.

“No, not me. Maman and Papa are moving to the Marais,” I said, struggling to keep my voice in check. He was breathtaking to stare at. How could I have forgotten the sheer presence he had? My body betrayed me. My legs were jellylike, my hands quaking with nerves.

“I wanted to visit him and see how he was, but thought it better to ask you first.” He gave me a half smile, flashing his beautiful white teeth.

“He’s doing great. A few more weeks and he’ll be up on his feet.” I looked up at him, couldn’t stop myself. “Tristan, I know you lost your job because of what you did. I’m so sorry. I know, well I
think
, you loved your job. I feel responsible.”

He waved me away. “I’ve spent the last fifteen years with no fixed address. That takes a toll. And when I let my emotions get in the way of my job, I knew I’d made the right choice.”

“So what will you do?”

“I’ll spend my days getting lost along the boulevards, and wear a geeky hat, and some really bad shades, and then when summer is over, I’ll start as head of security at Cloutier Auction House. Gustave’s been showing me the ropes. I think I’ll be happy there.”

“You really are staying in Paris for good?” I stood stock-still, not daring to breathe until I heard his answer.

“There’s this girl, you see, and she doesn’t know it, but she’s stolen my heart…”

I smiled and gave him a playful shove. “Stolen? I don’t think she
steals
.”

“You’re right she doesn’t steal.” He laughed. “But if she’s willing to give love a chance, and leave her soup bowls to gather dust, I think I can help her out.”

Oh God, he’d heard everything and still he wanted to be in my life, with my quirks and all. Could I give my heart away again? What if it got broken? Staring into Tristan’s azure eyes, I thought maybe I could try. Life was for living, and because of what Tristan had done Papa would have the best chance. I could feel something like hope settle over me.

“Maybe the girl might give you a chance. You never know.” And with that he took me in his arms and kissed the very breath out of me.

Epilogue

Over the next few months Tristan’s eyes lit up like stars when they saw me, those full lips of his twitched because he wanted to plant kisses all over me. I’d given in to the sensation of falling in love. It was like jumping off into an abyss. I was weightless, butterfly-bellied, and thrilled all at once. How could this be real? I hadn’t ever felt this profoundly love-sick before. Some days I couldn’t eat; my nerves fluttered and my thoughts grew hazy just thinking of him.