‘Bonjour!’
Blake realised someone was calling out to her, and she called out in return, approaching the desk to check in. To her great relief, the concierge spoke perfect English, and within minutes she was being directed up to her room. She’d learnt that the hotel felt so intimate because it used to be a nineteenth-century town house that had been converted, and when she opened the door to her room, her jaw dropped.
She’d never seen anything like it.
There were two bronze velvet-covered chairs beside a glass table, and the bedhead was made of green velvet that matched the patterned wallpaper adorning the ceiling and walls. Blake dropped her bag at her feet and left her suitcase as she walkedtowards what she thought was a tall desk but in fact turned out to be a private cocktail bar. But it was the view that truly made Blake’s mouth fall open—she could have stood and stared out at the city all day.
As she laughed out loud, finding it almost impossible to believe, she made a mental note to send Deborah an email. There was no way that a hotel like this would usually be in the budget for someone like her, and she intended on thanking her a hundred times over for the experience.
Fifteen minutes later, after changing twice in an effort to look as Parisian as possible and finally deciding on classic jeans, a white t-shirt and a honey-coloured trench coat with flats, Blake headed downstairs. But she’d barely set foot in the reception area before the concierge was calling out to her again.
‘Excusez-moi, mademoiselle.’
She turned and smiled, expecting that he needed to speak to her about her room.
‘Can I help you to navigate the city? Where would you like to go?’
‘This is my first time in Paris,’ she confessed. ‘So I have no idea at all where to go, but I do have the address of one place I need to visit.’
His smile was friendly, and he was rather handsome, and Blake found herself wondering whether he was just being polite or hitting on her. She decided she was overthinking it and passed him the address she’d written down.
‘If you’d like to explore tomorrow, we are only a five-minute walk to the Marché Saint-Martin,’ he said, ‘which is a covered food market. Or ten minutes to the Canal Saint-Martin, where you’ll find fabulous cafés to choose from.’
‘Merci,’ she said, nodding. ‘I want to explore as much of the city as I can, but first I must find this place.’
He looked down at the paper in his hands, and the address she was pointing to. ‘You are visiting someone there?’
Blake nodded. ‘I am. For work.’
‘This is the Saint-Germain-des-Prés neighbourhood,’ he said, pointing at the handwritten note. ‘That is far from here, if you’re walking. Perhaps forty minutes or more?’
She sighed. Why hadn’t she thought about that when she’d been travelling in from the airport? She could have gone to the address first, before checking in.
‘Let me get you a taxi,’ he said, waving her ahead of him. ‘You’ll be there in no time, I promise.’
‘Merci,’ she said, finding herself blushing as he held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary.
‘Mademoiselle, do you have dinner plans this evening? Because if you don’t…’
The heat in her cheeks intensified. ‘I do, but, ah, thank you.’ Blake cleared her throat, wishing she wasn’t so awkward. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had flirted with her in person, rather than on a dating app. ‘The taxi?’
He smiled and she had to fight not to laugh. Despite her self-consciousness, she found that she didn’t mind the flirting at all.
The next man to ask me that question…Blake glanced over her shoulder at the handsome concierge as he walked away, wondering if maybe she should go and tell him that in fact she had no plans at all, and would probably end up in her room alone.You’re in the city of love, she told herself.If a handsome man asks you out, next time you’re going to say yes.
She smiled to herself as she raised her face to the sky.Date or no date, I’m going to take myself to a fabulous restaurant, eat fabulous French food and drink champagne.
But for now, she had someone to look for. Blake patted her handbag, somehow reassured that she had the little box in there for good luck. And as she waited for the taxi to arrive, she got outher phone and took a selfie standing outside the hotel, deciding that if she was going to document her journey for their readers, she was going to have to get used to taking photos of herself as well.
Thirty minutes later, after the promised short taxi drive to Saint-Germain-des-Prés, and after walking around aimlessly as she tried to find the exact building she was looking for, Blake stood still on the cobbled pavement and looked around her.
‘Ah, excusez-moi,’ she said, calling out to a well-dressed chic woman walking past. ‘Je…’ Blake struggled to find the words; it had been such a long time since she’d learnt French at school. ‘Ah…’
‘I speak English.’
Blake sighed. ‘Thank goodness. I’m looking for Henri Toussaint, he is putting together an exhibition and…’
‘La mode du passé,’ the woman finished for her. ‘In there.’
