I Heart Paris (14 page)

‘Brilliant,’ I took her arm again, all forgiven. ‘There’s a restaurant in New York called Les Halles. It’s very swanky.’

‘Once, Les Halles was the main market place for all of Paris,’ Virginie explained. ‘But not now. I am surprised we are going there, but she has listed many places that are good nearby. And Cici says this is her favourite store in all of the city, her secret fashion weapon.’

‘And I have to give her credit, she does know how to put an outfit together,’ I admitted, almost breaking into a run when I spotted the
Métro
sign. ‘So let’s see this secret weapon.’

‘That fucking bitch!’ I stood and stared. ‘Pardon my French.’

‘I do not think that is French.’

I couldn’t quite believe it. ‘She’s screwed me over, hasn’t she?’

Cici’s secret weapon wasn’t an awesome super secret vintage store. It was a crappy, mass market teeny clothes store. It made Primark look like haute couture. Actually that was an incredible insult. I would wear Primark to my own wedding before I wore any of this stuff. Actually, I had worn Primark to someone else’s wedding before, but that was beside the point. Cici had completely screwed us.

‘I do not like to use curse words, but yes, I think you are right,’ Virginie agreed, feverishly flicking through Cici’s other suggestions. ‘This is the place, I have checked.’

‘Are all the places she’s suggested like this? Completely shat?’ I asked, really not wanting to know the answer. I felt sick as a dog and it had nothing to do with mojitos, sangria or cigarettes.

‘I don’t know what shat means, but I think maybe they are not the best places,’ Virginie said, taking out the original pieces of paper. ‘I do not know any of them. Some of the cafés, the hotels, they look real. They are in places I recognize, but the stores, I am sorry. I do not know.’

I looked around for somewhere to sit and sank on to a concrete wall. Les Halles was not the prettiest place in all of Paris. Although I could apparently get any image I wanted screen-printed on to a T-shirt for forty Euros. But why would anyone want the naked picture of Kate Moss they had on the T-shirt displayed in the window? Fashion capital of the world my arse.

‘Oh, here is one I recognize!’ Virginie piped up suddenly.

‘A good one?’ I asked. Hoped. Prayed.

‘Erm, no.’ She bit her lip and looked up from the bit of paper. ‘It is a shop called Tati in Montmartre. You do not want to go there.’

‘
Tati
? Seriously? It’s not an ironic name, is it?’

‘I do not think so. Tati is bigger than Mim. It has separate jewellery and wedding stores, but they are both…not what you are looking for.’ Virginie sat down beside me. ‘I am sorry, I should have checked these notes. Perhaps we can do some of our own research online?’

I looked around, trying in vain to find something worth writing about. I had a feeling that a fast-food place called Flunch was not going to be it. What was that? Were people eating in there? Oh God. I had left Paris and entered the seventh circle of hell.

‘Good idea, but I’ve got no charge on my laptop.’ I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to look for an Apple store. I was practically handing Cici my cock-ups on a plate. ‘And it’s what, almost five? I’m completely buggered.’

‘We have tomorrow,’ Virginie suggested, trying her best to talk me down. ‘And some time on Saturday maybe?’

‘Tomorrow is Alex’s birthday.’ I shook my head. ‘I promised I’d spend the day with him. But maybe Saturday, I’m meeting my friend for lunch, but I’ve got some time. I can’t ask you to work on Saturday though.’

‘But I want to help,’ Virginie offered cheerfully. ‘And I worry that you cannot manage in Paris without me.’

‘You’re probably right,’ I admitted, somewhat relieved. ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind.’

‘
Non
.’ She hopped up from the wall and gave me a half hug. ‘I say I want to help.’

‘No big weekend plans? No hot dates?’ I checked. Not that I was that bothered to be honest, if she wanted to help, I was not going to stop her. I was this close to cancelling Alex’s birthday, lunch with Louisa, the festival and Christmas to get this article finished.

‘I am all yours,’ Virginie promised. ‘Now, I do not believe we are going to find anywhere else today. We should go home and make you very beautiful for the party tonight. The shops they are closing and I have very exciting ideas about your hair.’

‘Let’s go.’ I knew when to admit defeat. And I really did want to look good at this party.

CHAPTER NINE

‘Oh my God,’ I stood in front of Virginie’s full-length mirror and stared hard. ‘Is that really me?’

‘It is!’ Virginie clapped her hands together before coming at me with a blusher brush. ‘You like?’

I knew it wasn’t terribly becoming to stand staring at myself with my mouth wide open, but it was roughly a lifetime since I’d felt so pretty. After listening to me bleat on for two straight days about how badly I missed my hair straighteners, I thought Virginie was answering my prayers when she produced a pair of GHDs. But was my hair straight? No. Somehow it fell in soft, ringlety waves that bounced on my shoulders, while my make-up was better than it had ever, ever been. Virginie might not be into fashion, but she had a God-given gift with an eyeliner brush, and more make-up than Bloomingdales.

‘And the dress, it is perfect.’ She stepped back, satisfied with her work at last. ‘And the blue shoes, they are matching the cat. It is meant to be.’

‘I feel really weird about borrowing them,’ I said, twisting in the mirror to show the lipstick red soles. She was trusting me with Louboutins? The last person to do that had regretted it. ‘Really, they’re so expensive.’

‘They were a gift, I never wear them.’ Virginie dismissed my concerns by pointing to her Converse. ‘I would be so pleased if you would wear them. They are perfect.’

‘But I’ll knacker them, I know I will.’ I pouted, torn between wanting to wear the beautiful shoes and the vision of me getting the gorgeous covered leather heel stuck in between paving stones within three minutes of leaving Virginie’s flat.

‘I insist.’ Virginie turned away from the mirror, refusing to engage in the conversation. ‘You are so much prettier than Solène.’

I pulled a face not nearly pretty enough for the outfit I was wearing. ‘Not quite, but I feel like I can take her on at least.’

‘You will fight her?’ Virginie asked, concern creasing her forehead. She wanted to stop that before she needed Botox.

‘I don’t think it’s going to come to that,’ I said, picking up my bag. Although I couldn’t pretend that punching her (hard and in the face) if the worst came to the worst hadn’t crossed my mind. Solène might be hotter than me, cooler than me and have all sorts of sexy French history with my ex, but I reckoned I could definitely take her in a fight. She was a twig, I was at least a substantial branch. If not an out and out trunk.

‘So, I’m ready,’ I said, trying not to touch my hair too much for fear of the curls dropping out before I left Virginie’s tiny flat. ‘Sure you don’t want to come?’

‘No, I cannot.’ She frowned, wrapping the long cord around her cooled straighteners. ‘I promised that I would meet some friends. But you and Alex will have fun?’

‘Fingers crossed.’ I checked my phone for the fifteenth time that evening. Nothing. ‘I told him to meet me at the hotel in a bit, but I’m not sure my phone is working properly.’

There was a slim chance that was true. There was also a slightly more substantial chance that no one wanted to talk to me. It wasn’t just Alex who was giving me the silent treatment, Jenny hadn’t emailed me back either. OK, so it was a very slim chance. The facts all pointed towards my friends giving me the cold shoulder.

‘He will and he will tell you that you look beautiful,’ Virginie predicted. ‘You would like to call him from my phone?’ she offered, holding out a knackered old handset.

‘It’s fine. I’m just going to stop in for a moment, just to say hello and then leave.’ I took one last look in the mirror for reassurance, and then turned, allowed Virginie to spritz me with her perfume and give me a quick hug. ‘OK, I’m ready.’

‘The taxi is waiting downstairs,’ she said, squeezing me back. ‘You look too good to take the
Métro
.’

‘You are an angel.’ I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Please, no,’ she said, hurrying me out of the door. ‘I am just so happy to be working with you, Angela. It is an honour for me.’

Oh Lord. And just when I thought I’d snapped her out of that.

I stood outside Solène’s apartment for eight full minutes before I went in. It really didn’t matter how great Virginie had convinced me that I looked (and for all of ten minutes in the taxi I really had believed it) I just didn’t want to go in. I was being stupid, why on earth was I standing outside my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend’s party when I could be at dinner with him? And why was I wearing a dress with a great big cat on the front? My phone was in my hand, a new text message to Alex open and ready to send, when I heard someone shout my name across the street.

‘Angela, hey!’ Craig and Graham crossed the road towards me.

Bugger. And there went my plans for ditching.

‘Hi.’ I waved half-heartedly and slipped my phone back into my bag. The knackered brown Marc Jacobs satchel didn’t really go with my new grey silk mini dress or the baby blue Louboutins I’d borrowed from Virginie, but I always felt better for having Marc around.

‘You meeting Alex?’ Craig asked, popping a breath mint before offering them around. ‘I didn’t think he’d show.’

‘Erm, no.’ I took a mint and tried to find a boyappropriate explanation for my being at the party of my boyfriend’s ex who I had met twice in my life. Without said boyfriend. ‘He couldn’t make it, but I told Solène I’d come so, you know, I just thought I’d say hello.’

Craig looked confused.

‘And then I’ll go.’

Graham looked even more confused.

‘And meet Alex.’

‘Solène invited you?’ Graham asked, gesturing towards the front door. ‘To the party?’

‘Yes,’ I nodded, jumping into the lift and watching Craig press the penthouse, button. Of course the penthouse. ‘We were talking last night, she said me and Alex should come and meet her boyfriend, but you know Alex, he didn’t fancy it.’

‘Hardly a surprise,’ Craig scoffed. ‘Dude is not OK about—’

‘Craig, man, I don’t think Angela wants to get into this right now,’ Graham cut him off as the lift pinged and the doors slid open. ‘You look great by the way. Cool dress,’ he added taking my hand in his and giving it a squeeze.

Lovely Graham.

‘Yeah, is that like, a cat on the front?’ Craig asked, giving me a once-over. ‘And I’m pretty sure I’ve said this before, but great legs, Angie. Killer.’

Not so lovely Craig.

‘You sure you don’t just want to bail? Go hang out with Alex?’ Graham asked, holding open the doors. ‘I mean, won’t it be a little weird?’

‘I know she and Alex had a thing,’ I tried not to choke on the words. ‘But she was really nice the other night and you know, she’s got a new boyfriend and everything. I just thought it would be fun to come to a party and stuff.’

‘She told you that they had a thing?’ Craig asked. ‘Wow.’

‘It wasn’t a thing?’ I looked at Graham, who was pulling an entirely unreadable expression. ‘Well then what was it?’

Before either could answer, the lift doors slid open right into Solène’s apartment. And it was amazing. Stepping out of the lift, sticking close behind Graham, my jaw dropped at the beautiful floor-to-ceiling window in front of me. It was just like Alex’s place, except instead of opening out on to the spiky skyline of Manhattan, I could see all of Paris. I had no idea how many floors we’d travelled to get up here, but the view was incredible. The bright blue sky was settling into dusk against the white and grey buildings that rippled up and down along the banks of the Seine, broken by wide boulevards and leafy squares. The Seine was right below us, the Louvre was almost directly opposite, and when I looked downriver, I could see Notre-Dame. The inside of the apartment was almost as impressive. The cool white walls were lined with black-and-white photographs, some of Solène and the band, some of other bands I didn’t recognize, a couple I did. None of Alex.

A spiral staircase in the middle of the room lead up to a mezzanine level that had two huge overstuffed cream sofas either side of a low coffee table. Three matching sofas dominated the main part of the lounge and were covered with an assortment of pretty people. And I’d been staring at them for far too long.

‘Angela, you want a drink?’ Graham asked, still holding on to my hand. ‘Come on.’

He pulled me into the busy room, weaving in and out of all the people. Every available surface was covered with half empty drinks, plastic cups, cocktail glasses and bowls of snacks that were really just for show. This was clearly not her first party. I couldn’t help but wonder which of the assorted hot, hot men present was her boyfriend. There were more than a few Alex-alikes, but all pale imitations of the real thing.

‘You know, I think I will just go back to the hotel,’ I said, letting go of Graham’s hand. ‘I don’t feel that well and me and Alex have got a big day tomorrow. The big three-oh and everything.’

‘That’s cool,’ Graham gave me an understanding nod. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

‘Graham, can I ask you something?’ I pressed the, button for the lift, feeling a weight come off my shoulders when it lit up.

‘Sure,’ he agreed, even though he didn’t look convinced. ‘What’s up?’

‘How come you came tonight?’ I leaned against the wall, taking the weight off the balls of my feet. Best made shoes in the world or not, I would never be a natural high-heels wearer. ‘It doesn’t seem to me that you’re Solène’s biggest fan.’

‘And that’s ’cause I’m not,’ Graham admitted. ‘But I made a deal with that asshat over there.’ He pointed to where Craig already had Marie pressed up against the window, his arm blocking her escape. They were both laughing, but I couldn’t help but feel that Marie was laughing at Craig, rather than with him. ‘I would come here with him so he can try and get in Marie’s pants and then he has to come to the museums and galleries with me tomorrow.’