‘And I know it’s horribly girly but I’d like to go shopping at some point. I need a dress for the wedding now that I’m not a bridesmaid.’ Hattie sighed happily. Everything was suddenly coming together perfectly. Fliss was in seventh heaven practising the different components of her menu every day, with Solange encouraging her. They were quite the double act all of a sudden and Solange was almost a different person, buzzing with energy and enthusiasm.
‘Although I haven’t got a clue where I should go but I just have to buy something in Paris, it seems a terrible waste not to.’
‘Don’t worry, I have arranged for us to meet my friends Nina and Sebastian. I gave Nina a call and she suggested that you go see her tomorrow morning while I meet with the distributor of the wine press I want to buy. You can have a coffee with her and she’ll tell you the best place to go.’
‘That would be brilliant, if she doesn’t mind.’ If the worst came to the worst, she knew they had Zara and H&M, but she wanted to treat herself to something a bit posher. After all, she was in France – the home of fashion. ‘I was worried I might have to wear my dungarees.’
‘They are cute,’ said Luc, hugging her and giving her a kiss before taking their bags down from the overhead rack.
‘Not sure anyone else would agree with you.’
When the train pulled in and they stepped onto the platform, Hattie’s head darted around trying to take in everything. Pigeons skimmed the air overhead while travel announcements, whistles and the hydraulic whine of train brakes echoed together under the huge arched glass roof. Hattie stood for a moment, transfixed by the thought of beingin Parisuntil Luc tugged at her hand.
‘Come on. I thought you wanted to seeeverything.’
They were both travelling light, with small rucksacks on their backs. Hattie had worn jeans and trainers but had packed her red dress for dinner tonight along with a pair of sandals. She wished she had something a bit more glamorous, like the floaty dress Marine had worn, but her wardrobe reflected the sad state of her social life over the last couple of years. Even her red dress wasn’t that exciting.
The Métro was bewildering and she lazily left Luc to navigate as he knew what he was doing. She studied the place names, rolling them around her tongue silently: Château d’Eau, Strasbourg St-Denis. Once they changed ontoLigne1 fromLigne4 some of the names like Palais Royal Musée du Louvre, Tuilleries and Concorde were more familiar.
‘The centre of Paris is quite small. We can cover a lot of ground on foot and then maybe get a boat later,’ said Luc, getting up at their stop.
They surfaced at the Charles de Gaulle–Etoile Métro station and immediately, looking down the street, Hattie could see her first landmark.
‘The Arc de Triomphe!’ she cried. ‘Gosh, it’s huge. So much bigger than I imagined.’
‘Didn’t you say that last night?’ teased Luc.
‘Oh dear, men are just so predictable,’ said Hattie tapping him lightly on the arm.
As they entered the underpass beneath the busy road, the traffic thudded above them while the chatter of fellow tourists echoed and bounced off the walls.
When they emerged, Luc insisted on buying their entry tickets.
‘You don’t have to pay for me,’ she grumbled half-heartedly, unused to being looked after.
‘I want to,’ said Luc, before leaning in and whispering against her ear. ‘It gives me pleasure.’
She nudged him with her elbow and giggled. ‘When you put it like that, how can I refuse?’
Up on the observation deck on the roof, Hattie eagerly drank in her first proper view of Paris. Although the air was filled with the scent of melting tarmac and car fumes, she felt she could also smell the essence of the city. To the south, she could clearly see the Eiffel Tower and away to the west, as Luc told her, the office blocks of La Defénse. The roads radiated around the monument like perfectly even bicycle spokes and the traffic … well, Hattie couldn’t figure out how anyone managed to get where they wanted.
‘It’s mad,’ she said staring down, listening to the cacophony of impatient horns tooting, each one trying to outdo the last. Below, the predominantly black shiny tops of the cars reminded her of ungainly beetles, lumbering about the road, stopping and starting, barely missing one another. It was like an insane dodgem ride.
‘It is a little crazy but it is the only roundabout in France where drivers give way to the traffic coming onto the roundabout from the other roads.’ He pointed to the stream of cars filtering onto the road from a wide boulevard on the left. ‘See.’
‘How many roads are there?’ she asked. It looked utterly bamboozling to her. ‘And have you ever driven round it?’
‘Twelve and yes, many times. It’s not so bad.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ she said with a visible shudder.
After they’d had their fill of watching the kamikaze drivers they descended the steps back to ground level.
‘Where next, Mr Tour Guide?’ asked Hattie.
‘Straight down Avenue Kléber to the Trocadero where you get a really good view of the Eiffel Tower and then we can cross the Seine to see it. It will be busy. I probably should have booked tickets.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll be happy that I’ve seen it.’
