Christmas in Paris (A Master Chefs Series Standalone Novel) (4 page)

Bobby
and Leo nodded as Errol made his way inside.

But
the answer was the same.  No one had seen her.  No one fitting her description
had been brought in.  Back outside, he met up with the guys once more, his soul
broken.  “Nothing.”

Bobby
patted his shoulder.  “Don’t give up, man.  She’s out here somewhere.”

Errol
nodded, but his heart was heavy.

“A
few people told us that flowers, candles and photos are being laid out near
Le
Carillon
,” Leo said.  “We can go and ask around there.”

“I
heard about something like that at the
Place de la République
.”

“Let’s
go,” Errol said with growing pessimism.

They
made their way to the street that was filled with flowers and candles.

“People
are already laying memorials to the dead and wounded.  I’ve heard talk of a
vigil,” Leo said.  “Tonight, I think.”

“You
know, back in the states a number of cities are walking in solidarity with
Paris, showing their support,” Bobby added.

They
stopped when they came to a small group of young women crying as they set
flowers down before a picture of a smiling young man.

“I
can’t believe my city has become so gloomy, so heavy with sorrow,” Errol said. 
“My home is being torn apart and I don’t know how to help it.”

“Let’s
concentrate on finding Taryn for now,” Bobby said.

“Really? 
And how long do you think it will it be before I’m setting down flowers as
well?”  The thought hit him in the gut as the possibility struck him.

“Don’t
even say that,” Bobby said in anger.  “We’ll find her.”

Suddenly
a shot rang out in the distance and people started screaming and running.  The
calm crowd, so eager to heal from the open wound, soon found itself panicked
all over again.

“
Non! 
Non!
” a young woman cried as she ran for her life.  “
Pas encore.  Non!
”

In
their panic, some ran right through the flowers and photos, knocking over
candles with complete disregard for the memorials.  All that mattered at that
moment was getting away, and fast.

“Not
more shots,” Errol said as he watched the chaos take over the serene scene. 
“Not more shots.”

“Let’s
get out of here,” Leo said.

Errol
was about to argue, but the push of the crowd urged him forward.  Only after a
few blocks were they able to slow down and finally stop.

After
a while, word started filtering through; a false alarm.  It’d simply been a
firecracker.

“Who
in the world would set off a firecracker at a time like this?” Bobby said.

“Some
twisted mind who finds it amusing,” Errol said.  Looking around, over the heads
of the few people that dared come out on the streets, he prayed for Taryn to be
among them.  “She’s disappeared,” he finally said.  “She’s not among the dead,
not at the hospital… nowhere.”

“We’ll
try other hospitals, maybe even clinics.  Maybe she just has minor injuries,”
Leo said.

“Then
why doesn’t she call.  Surely she’s found of a phone by now.”  He couldn’t keep
his eyes from darting from one face to another, seeking the familiar features
he loved so much.  Then it hit him.  “Follow me.”

“Where?”
Bobby said as he fell in line behind Errol who’d already taken off.

“To
the television studio.”

“The
what?” Leo said.

“Yeah,
what do you want to do there?”

“I’ll
go on the air looking for her.”

Chapter 5

Taryn

On
opening her eyes, Taryn knew she wasn’t in her bed, in her home.  Sitting up,
she took in the pretty yellow curtains with blue flowers.  The French country
furniture was soft and feminine, with definite earthy tones that brought warmth
to the room and added charm and elegance. Where was she?

A
small Louis XVI chair upholstered in checkered blue and yellow was pushed up to
a small writing desk while a console held a tuft of bright yellow flowers in a
short white vase.  Above it, a small television set sat on a wood shelf that’d
been painted white.  The effect of the entire décor was delightful and cheery,
bringing a smile to Taryn’s lips despite feeling entirely lost inside.

A
scent tickled to her nostrils; buttery, flaky… fresh pastry.

If
she didn’t know any better, she would have thought she was at a bed and breakfast,
but snippets of the events of the previous night came trickling into her mind;
the stadium, Henri, a bomb, a second, and then a third.

She
remembered the relatively calm evacuation of the stadium, and then a strange
hand on her arm; an old man who guided her with such determination into an
alley only to duck into a tiny door leading to a small, but tidy apartment that
smelled of freshly baked goods.

Shifting
over, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand, but her
swollen limbs seemed incapable of holding her weight and she fell back on the
soft, cushy mattress.  She tried to look past her belly to her legs, but other
than ten fat toes, she couldn’t see much of anything.

As
if the pregnancy hadn’t done enough to swell her limbs, the impromptu run out
of the stadium had really added to the problem.  They ached more than she would
have thought possible.

The
door to the room creaked open and the older man’s daughter tiptoed in.  “Oh,”
she said, startled to see Taryn sitting up.  “You are up!  Papa will be so
happy to hear that.”  She came to the bedside table and set down a tray
carrying a bowl of piping hot stew and a fresh buttery croissant.  “Eat while I
go get Papa.”

“
Merci
,”
was all Taryn could say.

“
Papa
!”
the young woman called out as she headed to the door.  “
Papa, elle
est
reveillé.  Papa
,
elle est
…”  Her quietly excited voice faded behind
the closed door.

Taryn
looked at the food, wondering if she dared eat.  Her stomach felt queasy at
best and she doubted any of it would stay down.

“I
heard you, Lisbeth,” the old man said as he opened the door and barged in with
Lisbeth close behind him.  “I heard you.”  He turned to Taryn.  “So, I hear you
are up.  Good.  Good.  It’s good news.  I hope you know how lucky you are; how
lucky we are.  Things could have turned out so horribly.  Are you feeling
well?”

“Not
bad, I guess.  My legs are pretty swollen and sore. All that running…”

“I
am sorry I made you run, but…  A pregnant lady… and by yourself. I had to get
you out of there, right?”

“Yes,
thank you,” Taryn said, remembering how she thought Henri was close by but had
been separated from her during the rush out. “Thank you.”

“I
was starting to think I should bring you to the hospital, but they are already
so busy taking care of injured people from the shootings. You had been out for
a while. I was going to give you another few hours and then, I bring you, busy
hospital or no.”

“Injured? 
Were there many?”

“More…
so much more than there should ever be.” The old man shook his head. Such a
peaceful day for friends and family to attend a game or go out to enjoy the day
only to end in tragedy and terror.

Taryn’s
stomach dropped as she realized the stadium was a mere part in the extent of
the attacks. “How bad is it?

Lisbeth
made her way to the small television set on the shelf.  “I have listened to
radio and tv all night, all morning.  It’s so awful.”  She flicked the
television on.

The
first image was that of police officers at the Bataclan with shots heard in the
background, then a shot of the sports fans at
le Stade de France
flooding the field in confusion.  Taryn saw in their eyes the fear she’d felt
as she’d made her way out.

Realizing
now that the event she attended was part of an orchestrated terror attack
against Paris, brought tears to her eyes.  It was like 9/11 all over again.
Taryn, who lived in New York all her life until she married Errol, was brought
back to the horrible day in world history that changed the innocence of the
world. September 11, 2001. She was a child then at age 10 or 11, but she
remembered how devastated and lost the people of New York felt when commercial
planes that were hijacked crashed into the Twin Towers. 

Taryn
was in school at that time, and she was on pins and needles with worry as she
tried to get in touch with her mother at the family restaurant Sam’s, which was
close by the Twin Towers. She found Bobby in his class and together they waited
at school until someone would pick them up. 

She
had never been so scared in her life, and when the school lost electricity from
a power failure, leaving Taryn in darkness, she felt herself beginning to
panic. She was gripped with terror as one of her biggest fears seized her. 
Then she felt Bobby’s small hand on her shoulder, “Taryn, Taryn, it’s okay.”

Taryn
slowly opened her eyes, while Bobby pulled at her sweater.  “We’re going home.”

“Mom’s
here?” she asked. “Is Mom alright? She’s here?  Oh thank God!”

She
turned to look at where Bobby was looking, and instead of seeing her mother,
she saw the outline of a broad-shouldered large man walk towards them.

“It’s
Sous Chef Tom,” Bobby said. “Mom must have sent him to get us.”

Taryn
took Bobby’s hand and walked with him towards Sous Chef Tom, who was still
wearing his apron. He must have been in such a rush to get to them that he didn’t
have time to change.

Tom’s
face looked like he was about to cry as he bent down to wrap his big arms
around Taryn and Bobby.

“What
is it?” Taryn asked.  “Is it Mom? What happened? What’s going on?”

Tom
shook his head.  “No, your mother is safe at the restaurant, but people are
pouring in, injured, covered in ashes and dust.  We have firefighters in there
who were telling us how they’ve lost some of their colleagues trying to rescue
as many people as they could from the building. Sam’s become a makeshift
hospital and shelter as people tried to walk their way to someplace safe.”

“Can
we go home?” Bobby asked.

Tom
nodded and said, “For now, it looks like the streets to your apartment is
clear. I can take you two back or you can come with me to Sam’s to be with your
mom. I know your Mom could use my help at Sam’s right now, but it’s probably
not a good place for you kids to be right now.”

“We’re
going with you,” Taryn said looking at Bobby. “We’re going to be where Mom is.
We’re not going to be separated again. Right, Bobby?”

Bobby
nodded. “I don’t want to go back to the apartment if we have to stay there
alone. What would happen if our building was blown up? What if we all get lost?”

“Home
is where family is,” Taryn said. “Mom’s all we’ve got since Dad left. We’re not
leaving Mom alone while we stay home. We’re going to her. Please take us to
her, Tom. We will feel safer knowing where she is and that she’s alright.”

For
the first time since seeing the large burly sous chef, Tom’s face broke out in
a smile, as he said, “Alright. We’re all go back to Sam’s. We could use both
your help handing out drinks to the firefighters.”

Taryn
remembered the look on everyone’s faces when they arrived at Sam’s. She would
never forget how shock and in disbelief everyone looked as they realized their
beautiful homeland had been attacked, and the way of life they knew before
would change. That day on September 11, the innocence of before was shattered
as people faced the reality that there were some bad people out there who
wanted to hurt as many people as they could and destroy places in order to get
attention for their agendas. Taryn didn’t understand their reasoning, nor could
she understand why people would want to hurt so many people.

Fourteen
years later, despite the large number of deaths and destruction, she still didn’t
understand why.

“President
Hollande was at the game,” Lisbeth said.  “They were able to get him out
safely,
Dieu merci
. He was just as shocked at first like the rest of
France, but he said he will take action.”

“How
could we not? France was attacked on our own soil. Must we just sit and wait
for further attacks? Be an open target? It is such a grim day,” the old man
said, his brow creased with worry and chagrin.  “Once the Nazis were defeated,
I thought I would never have to live through another war, but if we have to
pick up arms to defend our country, even I at my age, will do my part.”

Taryn
was shocked to learn there had been so many attacks throughout the city, so
many wounded, so many dead.

The
news announcer on the screen spoke of pain and sorrow as the image behind her
showed people setting down flowers in several locations; in front of
Le
Carillon
and
Le Petit Cabodge
among them.  It was heartbreaking.

Taryn
looked at the old man with a little more appreciation.  “Thank you for taking
care of me.”

“It’s
my duty… our duty, to help one another,” he said with pride.  “
Fraternité,
egalité, liberté
.  Paris is strong.  We’ve been through a lot, and we’ll
make it through this as well.”

“Absolutely,”
Taryn said.  They were silent for a moment as the weight of the situation sunk
in.  “How long have I been here?”

“Almost
a day and a half.”

“What?”
Taryn exclaimed. “I’ve been out that long? I knew I was exhausted and bone
tired after everything, but I didn’t realized how much! What time is it?”

“Almost
eleven.”

“At
night?”

He
shook his head.  “In the morning.”

 “My
family, my friends. They have no idea where I am.  They don’t know if I’m alive
or dead.  I have to contact them.”

“We
tried to find identification on you, but you had nothing on you,” Lisbeth said.

“I
lost my purse.  I must have left it at the stadium when we ran to get out.” 
She sat back and sunk into the pillows.  “Oh, poor Henri.  He must be so
worried.”

“Dis
is your husband?” Lisbeth said.

Taryn
chuckled.  “No, he’s a good friend.  My husband is out of town and Henri was
nice enough to take me out before I had my baby.”

“So
sweet.”

“Yeah,
he’s a really good guy.”  Taryn clamped her jaw tight as she thought of him. 
He must be beside himself with grief.

“We’ll
get in contact with your loved one soon enough,” the old man said.  “We don’t
have a phone. I’m afraid I lost mine during our run out but I will go to my
friend and he will loan me his portable phone.”

“That
would be…”  The image on the television screen suddenly caught her eye.  The
reporter had been giving people the opportunity to show on air their missing
loved ones when a familiar face, though a little cut and bruised, came on.

“
Elle
s’appelle Taryn
.  Her name is Taryn.” He held up a photo; a wedding photo. 
“She’s my wife, and she’s pregnant, very pregnant.  Please…”

“
Mais
,”
Lisbeth shouted.  “
C’est vous
!”

The
old man gawked at the screen then back at Taryn.  “Yes.  Yes.  It is you.”

Taryn
brought her hand over her mouth as she smiled.  “Oh, Errol.  When did you get
back to Paris?”

“Errol?”
Lisbeth said excitedly.  “Errol King?  The world renowned chef? I thought he
looked familiar.”

“Lisbeth,”
the old man said in reproach.

Blushing,
she clasped her hands before her and looked to the floor then demurely said, “I
took a few cooking classes a while back, and dreamed of studying with Chef
Errol.  I run my small
boulangerie patisserie
and try to save enough
money to take more classes.  I love to cook, and I love to create.  I am a
really big fan.”

The
old man smiled and his disposition softened.  “And she has real talent, too.”

“I
think we should call the number on the screen,” Taryn said politely, trying to
bring the conversation back to her need to contact her husband.

“Yes!”
the old man said.  “Absolutely.  Lisbeth, write down the number.  I am going to
go see Bertrand to borrow his phone and be right back.”  He patted Taryn’s
swollen ankle.  “Don’t move.  It will only be a minute.”

Taryn
nodded and smiled as he hurried out of the room.  “You don’t have to write down
the number,” she told Lisbeth who was frantically looking for a pen and paper. 
“I know it by heart.”

“Oh,
of course.”  Lisbeth came to the bedside and glanced down at the bowl of untouched
stew, her face suddenly sad.

“I’d
almost forgotten,” Taryn said quickly, taking the tray.  “I’m famished.  And
now that I don’t have to worry about contacting my family, my appetite is
back.” But before she could bring the fork to her mouth, Lisbeth stopped her by
gently setting her fingertips to Taryn’s wrist.

“It
is embarrassing.  You are the wife of a talented chef.  My food is, well, I am
just a humble…”

Taryn
took a bite despite Lisbeth’s protest and took the time to savor it.  “Your
food is delicious.  This is wonderful.”

“You
are just being kind.”

“I
do not lie about good food, believe me.  If this was bland or badly seasoned or
under cooked, I would be the first to tell you.”  She held up another
mouthful.  “Chef Errol would be proud.”