Christmas in Paris (A Master Chefs Series Standalone Novel) (3 page)

Errol
shook his head.  It had to be bad for the entire world to look in on Paris.  “I
feel like I’ve been plunged back into the early forties, back to the last world
war.  It’s like a battle zone out here.” For a moment, a picture of himself as
a young boy, lost in New York, running through the streets, looking for his
parents from France, flashed into his mind. He had seen devastation like this
before.  Had lost people before to something like this before. Long ago. In New
York. He was visiting the U.S. to New York with his parents from France. His
brother had stayed behind in France while the rest of the family came to New
York for a brief holiday. Then something went horribly wrong. There were
explosions and bombings. People were dying. Many were lost. Errol was separated
from his parents. Lost. He couldn’t find them. He looked for days, and right
before he fell down during one of the blast from a crumbling nearby building,
he found his mother’s purse. Smashed. His mother and father…they were nowhere
to be seen. Could they have perished and become ashes from the fire that
engulfed several people? The blast left him reeling and falling down. When he
woke up later, he couldn’t remember who he was except he had parents. Then he
was told they had died.

Errol
shook his head. He had almost forgotten September 11, the event that took his
memories and his parents from him. Now it seemed September 11, 2001 was being
repeated all over again, but now in his home country of France.  His entire
body shook. He lost his parents that day and the life he once had as a child.
He had to rebuild everything. He felt so alone then.

“Errol?
Errol?” Sam’s voice nudged him out of his darkness, and he listened to his
mother-in-law’s firm but gentle voice. “I know it’s rough.  Errol, we’ll have
to find Taryn.”

Errol
took a deep breath, pulling himself together. “I’ve got a list of places I want
to check.  Every restaurant we’ve ever been to, every cabaret, every patisserie
and café.”

“Godspeed,
Errol.  Godspeed.  Let me know the minute you find anything.”

He
hung up and stared at his phone for a long moment.  Getting around to all the
places he wanted to search was going to be complicated, nearly impossible, but
he had to start somewhere. He started the car and headed off to Taryn’s
favorite café.  It was empty.  Not even a single employee remained, although the
night was still young.  He then tried a few of her favorite restaurants, but
again, no one was around.  The lights were out, the doors were locked and the
air deafeningly silent.

Pulling
over to the curb, he stopped to look inside yet another restaurant.  Again, the
lights were out.  No sign of life.

Paris
was on lockdown.

“My
God, Taryn.  Where are you?”  He pounded the steering wheel and felt his
determination give way to such dismal fear, he wanted to cry.  Clutching his
heart, he called out her name.

His
breaths coming out in haggard puffs, he stared at the empty sidewalks.  “I’ve
got to stop running around in circles.  This is going nowhere.”

Tuning
into the radio, he hoped for more clarification of what was going on.  Maybe he
was going about the wrong way.  Instead of looking anywhere and everywhere she
enjoyed going, he’d concentrate on the places that had been hit.  The first
radio station he found spoke of nothing else but the attack.

“It
is now being confirmed,” the French radio news announcer said.  “Two bombs went
off at the Stade de France, and there is rumor of a third.  No word yet on
whether anyone was injured or killed.  Back at the Bataclan, the police are…”

Errol
switched the radio off.  The stadium.  Could she have gone to the stadium?  A
night out.  A good, friendly football match could be the perfect place for her
to take a friend.  Loud music and dense crowds weren’t really Taryn’s thing,
but sporting events were more up her alley.

Suddenly
determined and with a set goal in mind, he turned the ignition, put the car in
gear and headed off to St. Denis.  Once again, getting through the streets
proved difficult, and once again, he was met with a barricade once he reached
Le Stade.  A flood of people were still leaving the enormous stadium, and Taryn
was surely among them.

He
parked the car on the first available space he could find, even though he knew
he was in an illegal parking zone.  He’d deal with the ticket later, and even
if they towed his car away, he didn’t care.  All that mattered in that moment
was finding his wife; his wife and unborn child.

Like
a man on a mission, he headed straight into the outgoing crowd, bumping
shoulders with people who were desperate to get out and as far from the stadium
as possible.  Every once in a while he managed to stop someone long enough to
show them a picture of Taryn, but time and again, the results were the same. 
No one had seen her.

And
even if they had seen her, they were all in such a daze, so confused and so
fearful, they probably wouldn’t have recognized her anyway. 

Errol
plowed forward despite the complaints of the sports fans who passed him.

“
Mais,
il est cinglé, celui la
,” an old woman shouted as she slapped at Errol’s
shoulder.

“Crazy?”
her British companion said.  “I’ll say, he’s crazy.”

Then
in the distance, Errol spotted a familiar face; a tall young man with a
distinct look of shock on his face.  As he approached the young man, he tried
to remember his name.  Where had he seen him?  Where did he know him from?  A
restaurant?  The studio?  An employee?

Then
it hit him.  The culinary institute!  Yes.  Henri.  A former star student who
had far too much talent for such a young man.  And a friend of Taryn’s.  Yes,
so close a friend that Errol had once found himself insanely jealous when Taryn
had headed off to Henri’s family farm.  While it had all been innocent enough,
Errol still smarted at the thought of the event.

Henri
had been just a kid then, a bright eyed student so eager to learn everything
about the culinary world and about the business of running a restaurant, but
now he seemed more mature, calmer and more grounded.

Or
perhaps it was just the devastating events that brought it out of him.

As
he continued to get closer, hindered by the ever pushing crowd, he wondered if
he might not simply been mistaken.  It wouldn’t be the first time his
imagination played tricks on him.  The few women he’d seen on the street seemed
to all have Taryn’s hair, her gait, her mannerisms.  Twice he’d run up to them
only to have them stare at him in horror, one of them screaming for help until
he backed away and left the scene.

In
his eagerness to find Taryn, or anyone who might have seen her, his eyes were
surely playing tricks on him again.  He shook his head and blinked then looked
at the young man once more.  It sure as hell looked like Henri.

It
was worth a shot.  Errol pushed through the crowd with increased determination
and came up to him.

“
Pardonnez-moi
,”
he said, holding his phone up to him.  “
Avez-vous vu cette dame
?”

The
young man turned to look at the photo, then looked up at Errol.  He seemed
confused at first, than strangely flustered.  His lips moved, as if in prayer,
but no words came out.

“Have
you seen this woman?” Errol repeated in English.

“
Oui
. 
Yes.  Taryn.”  He looked up at him with such deep sorrow, that Errol reached
out to hold him.

“You’ve
seen her, haven’t you?”

“Chef
Errol!  Yes, I’ve seen her.”

Errol
pulled him aside, out of the way of the crowd.

“No,”
Henri argued as he tried to get back into the flow of the outgoing crowd.  “We
have to leave.  Don’t you know what’s going on here?  We have to get out of the
stadium and fast.”

“Not
before you tell me about Taryn.”

“She
was with me,” he said with tears and panic in his eyes.  “We were enjoying the
game.  She told me it was to be her last outing with friends before the baby
came.  It was really a great evening, then all hell broke loose and everything
went nuts.  Some people are saying that two bombs went off.  I think they were
both outside the main entrance, or something… and there may be more.  Hell,
what a catastrophe this is turning out to be.  It’s a nightmare; a real
nightmare.”

“Calm
down, Henri, and tell me.  What happened to Taryn?  Why isn’t she with you
now?  Where is she?”

“I
don’t know what happened.  She was at my side one minute and then I turned
around and she was heading in the other direction with this white-haired old
man.  I tried to go after her, but the crowd pushed me in the opposite
direction.”

To
a certain extent, Errol felt relieved, and he breathed with greater ease for
the first time since the ordeal had started.  At least now he knew where she’d
been, who she’d been with and he had a clue as to what had happened.  It also
explained why she didn’t answer her phone.  In the rush to get out, she’d
probably left her purse behind.

One
thing for sure, she hadn’t been injured by the bombs that had went off.  Surely
she’d made it out of the
Stade
, but then what?  Was she still safe? 
Could she be lying somewhere injured by the pushing crowd?

“Okay,
so where are the other exits?  Where could she have gone out by?”

“I
don’t know.  But I do know we have to get out now. Come on.  There are bombs
going off.  Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“No. 
We have to go back inside and try to find her.  Who knows what happened to
her?”

“Are
you nuts?  Crazy? That’s a suicide mission.  Besides, I told you.  We were on
our way out.  She can’t still be inside.  No way would she have gone back
inside.”

“You
were still inside when you lost sight of her.  You have no idea whether she
came out or not,” Errol blasted.

“Look
at the chaos around you.  There’s nothing you can do for her now, but save
yourself.  Pray that she’s all right, and hopefully tomorrow, when the dust
settles, you’ll have answers.”

“I’m
not going to wait until tomorrow to get answers.”  He gave Henri a frustrated
shove.  “I’m going in there.”

“It’s
suicide,” Henri shouted.  “You’ll never make it in.”

But
Errol was already thick into the crowd.  Taryn was in no condition to rush or
run.  She couldn’t have made it very far.  Maybe she’d stumbled and was
crouched in some corner somewhere, or even worse; the panicked crowd had
trampled her, unaware of her delicate state.

The
thought sickened him and he doubled his efforts to get through the crowd, but
for every step he took forward, the crowd set him back two and sometimes three.

“I
have to find my wife,” he shouted in desperation.  “Taryn!  Taryn!  Where are
you?  Please, let me get to my wife.”

“Get
out and save yourself, fool,” a man shouted as he shoved his elbow in Errol’s
gut.

“Out
of the way, you idiot,” another one said as he pushed past him.

“
Allez. 
Allez.  Tassez-vous,
” a woman said with fear and agony in her voice.

As
a group of young man came barreling at him, Errol lost his footing and fell
back.  After a few kicks in the gut and the toe of a sharp shoe to the
forehead, he managed to get back on his feet, but yet another group, equally
eager to get out, sent him on his back once more.

This
time getting up was impossible.  His ribs were repeatedly kicked by the rushing
crowd and a few stepped over his legs, crushing him.  Blood trickled down from
his split lip, from his forehead and he quickly felt battered and bruised.  He
got on all fours and crawled a few paces before being shoved down to the floor
by the panicked crowd.

“Taryn,”
he mumbled as he slowly realized the futility of it all.  “Taryn.  Taryn.”  His
eyelids grew heavy and the sound of the passing crowd became increasingly
muffled.

Unable
to endure another blow, Errol collapsed, his bruised cheek hitting the cold
concrete floor.

Chapter 4

Errol

In
slow motion, almost as if pulled back by a vacuum, Errol ran through the
streets of Paris, dodging bullets and bombs, then ducking and jumping to avoid
elbows and knees.  Buildings crumbled around him and the city streets broke
apart shattering into tiny pieces of rubble until he was running through acres
of farmland.  Thick mud clung to his feet, weighing them down and hindering his
every step as he tried to get closer to Taryn.

Wearing
a pale colored dress that blew in the wind, she waited for him at the other end
of a long field of dry, dead flowers that swayed in the heavy wind.  Her hands
stretched out to him, she called his name and smiled, but no joy came to her
eyes, only sorrow.

He
trudged on, putting every ounce of energy into getting to her, but the mud only
became deeper and deeper, slowing him more and more.  Soon he was waist deep in
the thick mud that threatened to swallow him up.  The more he tried to move
forward, the deeper he sank.

“Taryn,”
he called out.  “Taryn, I’m coming.  Don’t move.  I’m coming.”

“It’s
too late, Errol,” she called out to him, her voice barely making it through the
din of the wind.  “You’ve come too late. I waited for you.  I called out to
you, but you didn’t come.  And now it’s too late.”

“No! 
No, it can’t be.  I’ve been looking for you all night, since the very first
moment I learned you were missing, I’ve been looking.  Come with me now.  Come
home.”

Taryn
shook her head.  “You were so busy with your restaurant,” she said with a hint
of reproach.  “Another restaurant.  And all the while, here I am, ready to have
your baby, alone, with just one last desire to go out and enjoy Paris.”

“I
love you.  You know, I love you.”

“Yes.” 
She turned and walked away.

“Taryn.”

“Go
back to Hong Kong, Errol,” she said without looking back.

“No! 
Taryn!  Come back!”

He
sat up suddenly, sweat running down his cheek and his fists filled with
sweat-soaked sheets.  “Taryn,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as if he’d been
shouting all night.”

“He’s
up,” a familiar voice called out.

“What? 
Where…?”  Errol looked around and once the fog of sleep lifted, he recognized
his room with all its familiar furnishings and objects, objects Taryn had
brought to his home to make it her own like the small jewelry box her mother
had given her and the tacky, yet amusing laminate of three kittens playing with
balloons that Bobby had bought her for her fourteenth birthday.  There were
also objects she’d purchased to add her sense of whimsy and style to his otherwise
masculine and somewhat austere décor, like the glittering lampshades that she’d
set atop one of his classic, yet admittedly stuffy lamps.

“Home,”
he said.  “Home.  Where’s Taryn?  Is she back?”  His eyes focused on Bobby. 
“Tell me she came back.”

“He’s
up and asking a lot of questions?” Bobby called out through the door.

“Well,
it’s about time.”

As
cool as a cucumber, Leo sauntered in, looking like the movie star that he was.

“Leo,
when did you get here?”

“Is
he really up?” Sam said as she came running in.  “Oh, Errol.  Honey, don’t be
so quick to sit up.  You really do have to rest.”

“Taryn,”
was all he could say.

The
trio looked at one another than back at Errol.  They didn’t have to answer
him.  He could see the answer in their eyes.

“I’ll
go fix you a snack,” Sam said.  “You must be starving.”

Errol
simply stared at his feet beneath the thick down filled duvet that covered
him.  All the luxury that surrounded him meant nothing if Taryn wasn’t there to
share it with him.  He’d gladly give it all up, move to a shack in the country
if only he could get her back.

“Hey,
don’t worry,” Leo said.  “We’ll find her.  I didn’t come all this way for
nothing.”

“How
did you make it here so fast?  I called you just an hour ago.”

“Try
several hours ago,” Leo said.

“What?”

“You’ve
been out like a light, buddy.  We’ve been watching over you all night, debating
whether we should bring you to the hospital or not.”

“Why
should I go to the hospital?” Errol said just as he felt a sharp pang in the
ribs.

 
“I tried to get here as fast as I could,” Leo said.  “But I didn’t make it on
time.  I arrived just as you received your final blow and fell unconscious to
the floor.”

“What
do you mean?  You were there?  At the stadium?”

“I
tried to get there as soon as I could.  The minute my plane landed, I tried to
reach you but you wouldn’t answer.  I figured things were probably a little
more chaotic than I’d imagine, and, man, was I right.  What a commotion.  What
a nightmare.”

“I’m
sorry I dragged you into this.”

“Hey,
anything for a friend.”

“How
d’you find me at the stadium?”

“I
was able to track your location via your phone, and rushed to the stadium just
in time to watch you fall under the feet of that crowd,” Leo said as he shook
his head in disbelief.  “I hate to think what could have happened to you if I
hadn’t made it in time.”  With a teasing grin, he patted himself on the back.

“And
what are those from?” Errol said, pointing to Leo’s scraped knuckles and
bruised cheek.

“Hey,
you don’t rush into an evacuating crowd without having to pay for it with a few
cuts and bruises.”  He chuckled.  “Seriously, I thought you would have known
better.  You had to know you’d get nowhere with that tactic.”

“I
wanted to find Taryn.  I was desperate. I would have done anything.”  He looked
directly into Leo’s eyes.  “I will do anything.”

His
grin faded and he looked solemnly at his friend.  “I understand, but that was
still a suicidal mission.  As soon as you’re on your feet we’ll head out.”

“She
was there, Leo, at that stadium.  She was there when the bomb went off.  I met
up with one of my former students who was at that football match with her.  He
lost sight of her in the crowd as they evacuated.  She was there.  She was
there, and now she’s gone and I don’t know…”  His voice cracked and he looked
up to the ceiling, silently begging the powers that be to keep his wife safe.

“Calm
down,” Bobby said.  “We’ll find her.”

“Well,
look, since you’ve been out things have calm down a bit.  Paris isn’t back to
normal yet, mind you, but it’s relatively calm.”

“The
city is in mourning.”

“And
in shock.”

“How
are you feeling?” Leo said.  “You got hit in the head a few times.”

“I’m
fine.  No dizziness.  No headache.  I’m just a little sore, that’s all.”

“Okay,
good.  We can go and help you with the search once you’re up.”

Errol
pressed a grin.  “I’m happy to see you guys.  This is hell of the worst kind.”

“It’s
even worse than I imagined,” Leo said.  “In addition to the stadium bombings
and the shooting at the Bataclan, several restaurants were hit – drive by
shooting style.”

“What
restaurants?” Errol said.  He had a wide circle of friends who owned
restaurants and dozens of his former students worked in them.

“
Casa
Nostra, Le Carillon
and
Le Petit Cambodge
.  Fifteen were killed.”

“Also
Le Belle Equipe
and Sushi Maki,” Bobby added.  “Another nineteen killed.”

“And
a suicide bomber set himself off at
le Comptoir Voltaire
.  Some were
seriously injured there.”

While
he didn’t know the owners or employees of any of them, he closed his eyes to
offer a quick prayer to all the victims.  He couldn’t fathom the horror of
having people killed in his restaurant.

“How
long have I been out?” he finally said.

“All
night and all morning.”

“Shit. 
I’ve lost precious time.”  He threw the sheet off of him and sat up, but was
immediately hit with a dizzy spell.  “Damn,” he muttered as he held his head. 
The blows to his head were more serious than he’d thought.

“Yeah,
slow down, buddy.  You were trampled pretty badly,” Leo said.  “So you do have
a headache after all.”

“Maybe,
but that’s not going to stop me.”

“You’re
not going to be of any use to Taryn if you’re out of it.”

Sam
came rushing in with a bowl of thick hot soup and slices of crusty bread with
melted cheese on top.  “This will stick to your gut and get you up and out of
that bed fast enough, you’ll see.”

Errol
tried to smile at his mother-in-law, who tried to smile herself.  Her face was
pale, emphasizing the dark bags under her bloodshot eyes.  She probably hadn’t
slept at all.  As she set the lunch tray over his lap, he grabbed her trembling
hand.  “We’ll find her, Sam.  I promise you, we’ll find her.”

She
nodded.  “It’s beef and barley with tons of vegetables.”

“Smells
great,” he said softly.

“And
this is fresh bread with a good strong cheddar.”  Her voice cracked and she
could barely maintain eye contact with him.

Out
of respect for her, and a grumbling stomach, Errol ate, despite the lack of
appetite.  Each mouthful was delicious, and satisfied his empty belly, but was
difficult to get down all the same.  Funny how emotions could wreak havoc on
the system, he thought.  His gut was in knots and his throat wanted to seize
up.  He’d be lucky if he could get it all down without any of it coming back
up.

Without
saying a word, Sam patted his calf through the thick duvet and left the room.

“She
went out early this morning, showing pictures of Taryn to anyone she passed,”
Bobby said as he watched his mother close the door.  “Even though she doesn’t
understand a word of French, she could see in the faces of the people she
stopped that they hadn’t seen Taryn but that they were sympathetic to her
cause.”

“She’s
a strong woman.”

“And
so is Taryn,” Bobby said.

Errol
finished off the soup and bread and set the tray aside.  “What’s our next
move?”

“Let’s
hit the streets,” Leo said.

“I
already went to the hospital.”  Bobby gagged suddenly and his eyes filled with
tears as he shook his head.  “Man.  It’s a nightmare.  A real nightmare. 
Dozens of people from Le Carillon and Le Petit Cambodge, and then dozens of
kids from the Bataclan, but no sign of Taryn.”

“And
I went out to the police department.  Nothing on her there either.”

Errol
got out of bed, and after steadying himself, he grabbed his pants and pulled
them on then grabbed a shirt.  “We’ll split up and scour the area around
le
Stade
.  You’ll take
Villa Thierry
, you’ll take
rue du Progres
,
and I’ll go down
Villa du Belair
.  Then we’ll move onto the next three
streets and so on.”

“Sounds
like a plan,” Bobby said.

“The
blasts were on
rue Rimet
,” Leo said.  “We can have a look there, too.”

“Good.” 
A question burned him, one he was reluctant to ask.  He turned to the guys. 
“Were there any fatalities at the stadium?”

Leo
nodded.  “I think I heard of four deaths.”

“Shit.”

“From
what I heard, it was outside the stadium,” Bobby said.  “Apparently the bombers
weren’t able to get inside, so it’s unlikely Taryn was hurt if she was inside
watching the game when they went off.”

“But
wasn’t there another detonation outside some twenty minutes later?” Leo said. 
“Were people on their way out by then?”

“Either
way,” Errol said as he went around the room picking up picture frames with
photos of Taryn.  “We’ll check it all out.”

He
handed Bobby a photo of Taryn sitting out on the terrace with the sun
illuminating her face and one of her working at the restaurant to Leo.  He kept
the small wedding photo for himself and left the room.

“We’ll
find her,” Errol told Sam one last time as the trio boarded the elevator.  The
ride down to the parking garage was heavy with silence as was the drive out to
St. Denis and the stadium.  Killing the engine, Errol looked to Leo at his
right and back to Bobby in the back seat.  “We’ll start right here, where she
was last seen.”

They
popped out of the car and headed to the guards on watch at the main entrance.

“
Ma
femme
,” Errol said, holding up Taryn’s picture.  “Have you seen my wife?”

The
guard shook his head at first, then took a closer look at the photo.

Errol’s
heart skipped a beat.  Had he seen her?

“
Un
moment
,” the guard said.  He headed inside then returned with something in
his hands.  “We found this.  The photo on the driver’s license looks like your
wife.”

Stunned,
Errol stared at Taryn’s purse, the small brown leather Gucci purse she’d bought
on their last shopping spree.  “Yes, it’s her bag.”  He grabbed it and rummaged
through its content to find her phone.  “That’s why she never answered.”

“That’s
all I have,” the guard said.  “There’s no one left in the stadium.”

Errol
stifled a sob.  “Thank you. 
Merci
.”

He
turned back to the guys.  “I guess we’ll start going up and down the
surrounding streets.  Ask whoever you see, and knock on doors.  Someone
somewhere has seen her.”

For
over hours they walked up one street and down another, widening the circle
around the stadium, but every time they met up, the results were the same. 
Nothing.

“We
can go back to the hospitals,” Bobby said.  “Maybe she’s been brought in since
I last checked.”

“We’ll
start with St. Louis.” 

They
packed back into the car and Errol drove back into Paris and pulled up to the
curb as close to the hospital as he could get.  After walking a few blocks,
Errol said, “I’ll go inside and see if she’s there.  You guys ask around
outside.”