Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) (25 page)

SUSPENDED ABOVE
the city, we
were in a holding pattern, waiting for a runway to clear so we could land. The
pilot finally announced we were next in line. The strain of the last week was
catching up with me. Each revolution over London perpetuated my state of
anxiety and angst.
I had gone to Aarhus hoping to discover
I didn’t want the job, and that hadn’t happened
. Instead, I found myself
excited by the possibilities that Flytning Værktøj represented.

They were pretty much what I had expected. Lots of work,
decent pay, tremendous enthusiasm, and an unknown future. Not something I would
have considered before now. Helping L’Oréal grow was exciting, but not enough,
as it had once been.

When I asked Aksel why he had undertaken this latest
endeavor, he’d spoken passionately about painting. “It relaxes me, helps clear
my mind so that I can think about other things, a different creative process.
Artists have it the other way around. Their heads are filled with things they
wish to create, but they don’t know how to or don’t have the money to make it a
reality.”

I confessed to having searched him on the Internet and found
the blog.

“Do you speak German? Did you read the blog?”

When I said no to both, he’d filled in the gaps. “The
blogger was an artist, a friend of my son’s. It was a fun interview, one I will
never forget.” The word
was
had been repeated twice, so I hadn’t pushed
for more.

As for Sébastien, he had politely
and succinctly responded to my emails since I last saw him, telling me he was
fine, life was fine, Chantal was fine, work was fine. But not that we were
fine. He was now my biggest reason for staying in Paris but had given me no
hope that he wanted to be factored into the equation.

In-depth trolling on the Internet
had revealed nothing more. I had thought of asking Tiziana if she knew
anything, but if she did, that would put her in the middle. I was desperate for
distraction, so, once again, I was heading to Charlotte’s doorstep. Hillary and
Marian would be there tomorrow. A houseful of people who loved me ought to do
the trick. Shouldn’t it?

I knocked
quietly on the front door. When Liam opened it, he was barely recognizable
beneath his dark stubble, sloppy hair, and hunched exhaustion. He wrapped me in
a drowsy hug and said, “Christ, I’m tired.”

I waved to the cabbie, who’d
insisted he wouldn’t leave until I was safely inside.

“Hello to you.” I wheeled in my
bag, pushed the door shut, and locked it. “Where’s Charlotte? Asleep?”

He snorted as I heard the wail of
a baby followed by tender clucking. “She’s feeding the wee little bastard.”

I inhaled sharply. He looked at me
with darkly shadowed eyes. “None of that. You came here voluntarily. Kathleen,
we are utterly knackered. No commentaries.”

I nodded, making a silent promise
not to pass judgement.

Charlotte, having heard me, made
her way downstairs and looked at me anxiously, but when I assured her my woes
could wait until morning, she gave me her son and led her husband upstairs,
calling goodnight over her shoulder.

A few minutes later, I was
strolling the living room, cradling Sean, and loving every minute of it. As I
took in his flushed face, contorting as he tried to decide what he wanted, I
gave him a gentle talking to. “You need to give your parents a break. Yes, you
do. I have never, not ever, seen your daddy as grumpy as he was tonight.” It
was true.

After putting the little boy in
his bed, I schlepped my bag upstairs, rushed through my nighttime routine, and
slid under the heavy duvet. Just as I fell asleep, I thought of Sébastien,
curled on his side, and wished him a silent goodnight.

That’s the way it was. He was the
first thing I thought of in the morning and the last at night.

“How serious are you about this job
at “Flit-knee Vairk-toy?” Marian asked.

I twizzled a strand of hair as I tried to find a way to
explain my interest in it. “Okay, you know how Charlotte has an absurd memory
and can remember every line from every movie?” I received three nods. I asked
Hillary and Marian, “Do you have any tricks up your sleeves? Special talents?
For example, can you sing really well and dream of being on stage. Or did you
take years of piano lessons and want to play in a jazz ensemble?”

Marian snorted. “I wish.” Hillary shook her head no.

“Charlotte, do you have a paper and pen I can use? Or a
pencil? Pencil would be better.” A minute later, I had a notepad and a pencil.
“Okay, give me a few minutes.” I knew my drawing wouldn’t look great, but I had
been drawing more and more, so, hopefully, it would look good enough to give
some foundation to my past passion and explanation.

I glanced back and forth between Charlotte and Sean,
snuggled on her lap, and roughed out a decent portrait then hastily filled in
some pertinent details. I held it up for them. “Ta da.”

They squinted at the drawing. Marian reached for it. The
three of them stared at it. Marian looked up and said, “You’re full of feckin’
surprises, aren’t you?”

I snickered. “This one wasn’t meant to be a secret. My first
love was art, but I chose to go down the path of something more practical,
something that would pay the bills.”

Hillary put the pieces together. “So, is that the reason for
all the apartments and renovations? To do something creative?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“And that’s the reason that this job appeals to you? You’d
be in a world where all your interests come together?” she prodded. I nodded
again.

The three mulled this in silence, passing the drawing I’d
done back and forth.

“So then, regarding
Sébastien,
that’s that?” Charlotte asked.

“Oh, for feck’s sake, of course not.” Marian looked at me.
“There are other companies out there that do something like this. Probably
hundreds in Paris alone. Have you thought about that?”

“I have, actually. There aren’t hundreds, but there are a
few. And they aren’t knocking on my door.”

“Well, you’re a smart girl. Figure it out. Find a company in
or near Paris and sell your services. If feckin’ Flit-knee Vairk-toy wants you,
maybe they will, too. I don’t know. What I do know is that there’s more to the
story with
Sébastien
. Ask Tiziana what she
knows.” I found Marian’s determination that
Sébastien
and I work things out sweet. Unlikely, but sweet.

Charlotte weighed in. “I don’t
know. I think, first, she needs to decide what she wants to do about
Flit-knee
Vairk-toy. If she’s really considering
that
job, she shouldn’t get his
hopes up.”

Sighing, I knew they were both right
.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m not sure that
Sébastien needs to be part of the decision-making process
.”

“Don’t be an eejit. Anyone just looking at the two of you
knows you’re perfect for each other. He’s upset, and he’ll get over it. He’s
overcome worse.”

I cringed at her words, but she was right. Heaven help me,
but I felt h
opeful for the first time.

Charlotte hesitantly changed the
subject. “Kathleen, how did it feel to be in Aarhus?”

I let out a deep sigh. That was
easy to answer. “Awful. I can tell you it was beautiful outside, bright and
sunny and really cold. What I saw of the city was from the window of an
airplane or taxi.
I thought I would wander around a little, but when it
came to it, it was just too painful.”

Marian squeezed my hand, and just when I thought she was
going to bring up a group trip to Aarhus for visiting Mikkel’s grave, she
surprised me. “I think we need to go shopping for knickers. Something
absolutely mind-blowing, something
Sébastien couldn’t
resist if you showed up on his doorstep wearing them—under a coat, of course.”

I laughed. “Of course. ‘Cause
lingerie’s going to solve my problems.”

Marian suddenly looked quite
crafty. “Three choices, my dear. Call Tiziana, talk about a trip to Aarhus, or
go lingerie shopping.”

As I looked at them, each wore an
expression of cautious optimism. “Lingerie shopping it is!”

Charlotte whooped and called for
Liam. When he appeared, she said, “You’re on baby duty. We are going shopping.”

I snorted when he asked, “Picking
up something for dinner?”

“Better! Knickers,” she
provocatively replied.

“Much better!” he added.

Marian told him, “We’ll be late.
We’re going to a wine bar after.”

I added, “And before.”

“I’m driving,” Hillary told him.

“Make it a proper bar. I want
something besides wine.” Wine reminded me of France, and France reminded me of Sébastien,
and I didn’t want to think about him right now.

SITTING AT THE
bar in Le
Delly, I felt a bit suspect. Returning to the scene of the crime and all that.
I had emailed
Sébastien
on Monday and asked
him to meet me. He suggested tonight. I picked Le Delly, because I was hoping
that going to a neighborhood bar, and one where we’d made some tender memories,
would at least make our meeting
feel lighter.

Watching the door, I saw him the instant
he walked in. He looked tired and downcast. When he looked my way, I gave him a
nervous smile. “Hey,” I said.

“Hello.” No kiss on each cheek or
one cheek, no handshake or a poke in the eye. My stomach clenched tighter.

Once the bartender had served us
our drinks, I asked, “How are you?”

“Tired. I have been traveling for
work. I got home late last night.” He downed half his glass of wine.

I sipped my cocktail, a French 75,
hoping he would begin. He didn’t, so I took a deep breath and told him, “I went
to Aarhus.”

He stared straight ahead, and when
he spoke, he surprised the shit out of me. “I know.”

“What?”

“Aksel told me you’d come.” He
finally looked at me as he spoke.

Okay, we’d come back to that.

“Sébastien, I know you’re hurt,
and I know you can’t say much, but can you tell me something, anything, to help
me understand what happened between you and Aksel?”

He shook his head, which shocked
me.
Still refusing to talk to me? Why meet me here, then?

“Is it that you can’t or won’t?”

He surprised me further when he
said, “Chantal will be here soon. I invited her.” I was so confused that, when
the bartender asked if we wanted another drink or food, I ordered in English. Sébastien
requested another glass of wine and a menu then ordered grilled steak and
fries. I ordered the same thing, my brain unable to select anything. Then
Chantal arrived.

She swept in as if all was perfect
in the world, which made me wonder about her role in my conversation with Sébastien.
“Kathleen, how are you? Busy at work? Papa has been working around the clock.”

“We ordered dinner. Would you like
something?” He handed her the menu.

The bartender flirted with her as
he took her order then disappeared to serve the masses.

***

We moved
to a table, where he and I pushed our food around on our plates while Chantal
happily dominated the conversation. Gradually, she seemed to notice that, while
we were answering her, we weren’t speaking to each other. She and I exchanged a
worried look, and then she spoke softly to Sébastien. “Papa, you still haven’t
told her?”

He shook his head and placed his
knife and fork down on his plate then turned to me. “Are you taking the job at
Flytning
Værktøj?”

Chantal swiveled her gaze to me and said, “Of course not.
She wouldn’t want to leave Paris or work for Thomas’s father.”

Who was Thomas?

“Are you taking the job?” he asked again, when I didn’t
respond.

“I haven’t decided. Who is Thomas?”

Chantal answered without hesitation, “Thomas was my
boyfriend.” She looked uncomfortable but determined to see it through. “Last
year, over the holidays, we were out celebrating with friends. We drank way too
much, and I got sick. While my friend helped me in the bathroom, Thomas left
us, along with her date and some other girls. They also left behind our purses
and coats. Everything was stolen.”

So far, not a great story, but was it enough to make
Sébastien and Aksel mortal enemies?

“My friend and I decided to walk
home. I stumbled and fell and ended up needing surgery. Thomas came to visit me
in the hospital, and Papa overheard us fighting about the other girl and my
stolen things. When he confronted Thomas, Thomas was frightened and left.”

Sébastien finished the story.
“Chantal and Thomas met while Aksel and I were in business together. Thomas was
studying at the same school as Chantal, at my recommendation. They grew close
and started dating. Aksel and I decided to keep our situation private from
them, as it wasn’t their problem. But after Thomas went home from the hospital,
he told Aksel that I had threatened him and blamed him for Chantal’s injury.
Aksel called me, furious, and told me he was going to the police.”

“But he didn’t?”

“No. Nor did Thomas. Instead of
taking any responsibility for Chantal, he simply ended their relationship. Both
of them behaved contemptibly.”

While I had no way of knowing what
Aksel was really capable of, nothing he had done toward me indicated he was as
bad as the picture they were painting. But then again, why would I disbelieve
them? “Your concern at the fashion show was because you thought what, exactly?”

“C
hérie,
sometimes one does not think. One reacts.”

One word that changed the world. “
Chérie
.”
I leaned across the table and kissed him.