‘Not really. Well, maybe a little,’ admitted Darcie. ‘I’m just used to organising everything.’
Chloe went over and gave her sister a hug. ‘And you do a splendid job but, honestly, we can manage. I’m working from home all this week, so I’ll be here for Mum. Aiden’s coming over to stay at the weekend …’
‘The weekend? But I’ll be back by then,’ interrupted Darcie. She watched as her mother and sister exchanged a look. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Now, darling, don’t be cross,’ said Lena, adjusting her position in her chair. ‘I took the liberty of extending your stay in Paris from two days to two weeks.’
‘TWO WEEKS?’ Darcie shouted the words out before she could stop herself. ‘Two weeks? What are you on about? I can’t stay for two weeks! What about you? The shop? The cost?’
Lena held up her hand to silence her. ‘You’ve not had a holiday in such a long time; you deserve a proper break from everyone and everything. We’ve already been in touch with the owners of the apartment and extended your stay there.’
‘But what about the shop?’ protested Darcie, still trying to grapple with the idea of two weeks away.
‘Ah, that’s where I come in,’ said Chloe, looking very pleased with herself. ‘Not only am I working from home this week, but I have the following week off. So, Hannah is looking after it for the first five days and after that, I get to be boss.’
‘And before you say anything about costs,’ said Lena, ‘Granny sent the money.’
‘So it’s a team effort,’ said Chloe. ‘You can’t say no. We all want you to have a holiday and we know how much you love Paris. You always tell me how much you would love to have lived there. I know it’s not a lifetime, but you can at least pretend for two weeks.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Darcie. She felt tears spring to her eyes. She was going on holiday. Her family and friends had come together to make this possible for her. ‘Thank you so much. You are all so lovely. I’ll phone Granny later and thank her.’
‘She said not to worry about that right now. Just phone her when you’re back and tell her all about it,’ said Lena. ‘We can visit her.’
‘Now, you’re not to worry about anything here,’ said Chloe. ‘Don’t, I repeat, don’t be phoning Hannah every five minutes. I’ve told her she’s to block your number. Any problems, which there won’t be, and she can come to me. Now, we’d better get going, otherwise you’ll miss your flight.’
‘Flight? I thought I was going on the Eurostar?’ said Darcie.
‘Oh, yes, you have Granny to thank for that. She offered before we had bought the train tickets,’ said Lena. She passed the printed e-ticket over.
Darcie took the ticket, knowing she was beyond the point of objecting. ‘I love you all very much,’ she said, picking up her backpack. ‘I shall miss you, but I’m so excited.’
‘You’re not allowed to miss us,’ said Lena. ‘Now go on; Chloe’s halfway out of the door with your case already.’
By the time the plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport and Darcie had transferred to the drop-off point in the city centre, she had resisted the urge to call home several times to check everything was OK. Using the directions Chloe had handed her, she took the Métro to the Montmartre area and, after a short walk, found herself outside the apartment building on rue Ordener. The double oak doors filled the stone archway, which separated two retail shops. She took a moment to take in her surroundings. The street was lined with trees, their bright green leaves a contrast to the cream-coloured stone of the buildings, which were six or seven storeys high with slate grey rooftops and dormer windows. Black wrought-iron balcony railings uniformly braced each of the full-length windows that opened out onto small balconies, where many window boxes were host to an abundance of brightly coloured flowers. Shops, cafés, restaurants, and banks, together with boutiques and independent stores, lined either side of the road. It was a bustling and busy road with cars and buses streaming by and people going about their daily business. It was a community within the wider community of the city, giving the feeling of being in a small town.
She pushed open one of the large oak doors and found herself in a communal foyer with a flight of stairs spiralling up to her left, while nestled in the embrace of the stairs was an old-fashioned birdcage elevator. Her apartment was on the fifth floor, and so she didn’t have to struggle with her case and backpack, she opted for the elevator. The old elevator was beautiful, and Darcie took a selfie to send to Lena and Chloe later that evening.
She felt very glamorous, as if she were in a 1960s black-and-white French film. As she slid the cage door closed and, after she pressed the button, the mechanics clanked into life, taking her upwards. Darcie had gone for a more conventional look with her clothing today, with her three-quarter-length black capri trousers and hadn’t been able to resist a black-and-white stripy top with a red neckerchief in her nod to French fashion.
Now that she had two weeks in the city, Darcie intended to check out some of the flea markets and second-hand clothing shops she had researched online. She had also marked the Printemps Haussmann department store for a visit. It was a world-leading department store for fashion and had a dedicated floor for retro clothing, as it acknowledged the need for sustainable fashion. Darcie doubted whether she’d be able to afford anything, but it would be worth a look all the same.
The elevator shuddered to a halt on the fifth floor. Darcie stepped out into the hallway and located her apartment. As per the instructions, she knocked on the adjacent door where she was greeted by a man, roughly her own age, who had been given key-holding duties.
In broken English, which was far better than her French, he said he didn’t need to show her around as it was only one room.
Darcie was quite happy with that, and it was indeed only one room. There was a small kitchenette space immediately to her right. Directly opposite the kitchen was a folding door into the shower room. A sofa was on the right-hand side with a high-rise bed above it and on the left-hand wall was a small square table and two chairs. The best feature was the full-length double window. Darcie pulled back the net curtain and was greeted with the rooftops of the city beyond. On the flight over, she’d checked out the location and found she was less than a fifteen-minute walk from Sacré-Cœur Basilica.
Not wanting to waste a moment of her time in Paris, because she had no idea when, if ever, she’d be back, Darcie left her suitcase by the door and threw her backpack on the sofa. With just her shoulder bag, she headed out in search of the famous Montmartre basilica. Her meeting with Chanel was scheduled for the next day at ten-thirty, so she wanted to spend as much time as she could being a tourist.
Sacré-Cœur was as beautiful as she’d imagined it would be. Set against the clear blue sky, the white stone building with its domed roof stood proudly on the hilltop. Darcie wondered if her mysterious Nathalie Leroux had ever been here. Had she sat on the steps just as Darcie was doing now? If she had, it was probably before war came to the city. Darcie couldn’t imagine there was any free time for the everyday citizen to wander around sightseeing or meeting up with friends during the occupation. No, it was probably German soldiers who had been here. She pushed the image from her mind, not wanting to tarnish the spot with such thoughts.
Using her phone, Darcie took some pictures of the building and the steps leading up to it, together with a couple of selfies. She wanted to document her trip so she could look back on it and relive her time here as much as possible.
‘Would you like me to take your photo?’ came a voice from behind her.
Darcie turned and saw a man, probably in his early thirties, with a sophisticated and very expensive-looking camera in his hands. His fair hair was cut shorter at the sides, leaving it longer on the top. He had the most amazing pale blue eyes.
Darcie realised he was waiting for an answer. ‘Oh, it’s OK, but thank you.’ It was then she realised he had spoken to her in English, although with an American accent. ‘How did you know I was English?’ she asked.
