“It’s rush hour, sir,” he said. “I could try a different way, but it might take even longer.”
Paul begged him to do his best.
Tossed back and forth in the backseat of the limousine, he rehearsed what he would say to Mia when he saw her again: the resolutions he had made, what he’d told Kyong, whose name was actually Eun-Jeong, and who wasn’t even Paul’s translator at all. She had actually been his Korean editor all along.
An hour and a half later, Paul paid the chauffeur.
He ran into the terminal and looked up at the Departures board. There were no flights for Paris displayed.
At the Air France desk, the agent informed him that the plane had taken off thirty minutes earlier. There was still one free seat on the next day’s flight.
19
As soon as the wheels of his plane touched ground, Paul switched on his phone and tried calling Mia. After getting her voicemail three times in a row, he hung up. The things he had to say to her could not be left in a message.
A taxi dropped him off at Rue de Bretagne. He picked up the keys to his apartment at the Café du Marché, went home, and dumped his suitcase in the hall, without bothering to read his mail or call Cristoneli to return his messages.
Showered and dressed in clean clothes, he drove to Montmartre, parked on Rue Norvins, and walked to La Clamada.
Catching sight of him from the kitchen, Daisy came out into the main room.
“Tell me where she is,” Paul said.
“Sit down. We need to talk,” Daisy replied, slipping behind the bar.
“Is she up at your place?”
“Can I get you a coffee? Or a glass of wine?”
“I need to see Mia. Right away.”
“She’s not at my place. I couldn’t really say where she is. Back in England would be my best guess. She left over a week ago, and I haven’t heard a word from her since.”
Paul peered past Daisy’s shoulder. She followed his gaze to the old spice box, on the counter beside the percolator.
“All right,” she conceded. “She was here yesterday morning, but only very briefly. Was that present really from you?”
Paul nodded.
“It’s beautiful. I’m very touched, thank you. Could I ask what’s going on between you two?”
“No, you can’t,” Paul replied.
Daisy didn’t insist. She poured him a coffee.
“Her life is more complicated than it seems, and she is a more complicated woman than she’d like to admit. But I love her just the way she is. She’s my best friend. She’s finally decided to make a rational choice, and she has to stick to it. Let her. If you’re truly her friend, let her do what’s best for herself.”
“You’re telling me she’s back in London? Or back with her ex?”
“Listen, I have lots of customers and lunch isn’t going to cook itself. Come see me tonight after ten. It’ll be quieter then. I’ll make you dinner, and we can talk. I read one of your novels, you know—I loved it.”
“Which one?”
“The first one, I think. I got it from Mia.”
Paul said good-bye to Daisy and left the restaurant, noticing a missed call from Cristoneli. He drove to Saint-Germain-des-Prés.
Cristoneli came out of his office and welcomed Paul with open arms.
