The Little Bookshop On the Seine (26 page)

“YOLO is right,” I said. “Let’s hit the town and please say where we’re going has a heater!”

“Oh my two little bookish party animals,” Oceane said in a faux proud parent tone. “When you say hit the town, don’t tell me you mean the Bibliothèque nationale de France?”

The French library. Luiz had promised to show me around its cavernous halls later in the week, to read more of the love letters. I couldn’t get them out of my head, the romance was so intense and I was desperate to know how it would turn out. For some reason, I thought if their love managed to weather the storm of international travel, and so much time apart, then mine would too. Ridiculous, of course, but I was a romantic at heart and a lover of words so I couldn’t help compare our stories.

Oceane continued after a small pause, “Please say you actually mean a place where liquor is served. The harder the better.”

“Haha. I mean a place that sells liquor with nary a book in sight,” TJ said, throwing the front door open dramatically and gesturing out into the night. “It’s Friday, time to shrug off the weekday, and get sozzled.”

Oceane and I looked at each other and grabbed our coats ready to brave the night to see just where it would take us.

We sat under the flashing lights of the Eiffel Tower, on a rug, wrapped in dense puffer jackets against the cold. We had the place to ourselves. As if the spectacle, the immense theater of the flashing lights above, was just for us. We must’ve been crazy, sitting on the snow covered grass, but it was worth it to have the view to ourselves.

TJ had bought a few bottles of cheap wine, some cheeses and a baguette which he placed down on the rug. A nighttime picnic in Paris. A magical experience with friends I’d come to feel secure around, enough that I could just be, and live in the moment. Away from the shop TJ and Oceane were exactly the same people, kind, caring, and trustworthy. They both loved Once Upon a Time as much as I did, and I felt a real connection with them, despite our different personalities.

“How do you afford to live the way you do?” I asked Oceane, slightly brazen after a couple of glasses of wine.

“Trust fund, darling,” Oceane said laughing.

TJ and I gasped. “I knew it!” he said. We’d shared the better part of two bottles of wine and our stories were spilling just as fast as the burgundy was.

She shrugged. “I tried to play the bourgeois card, but it’s impossible. Everyone knows my family, so everyone knows me by default. When Sophie hired me I told her I was a struggling waitress from Eze with a penchant for reading, but I don’t think she believed me. I didn’t think she’d employ me if she knew who my family were.”

TJ laughed so hard he began to choke on his wine. “So you’re saying Oceane, thirty-three, from Eze, romance reader, man-eater, flower aficionado, isn’t true?”

Giggles spilled out from me at TJ’s shocked expression.

Oceane fell back on the rug laughing. “TJ, your people dossiers are sweet. It’s all true. But my parents are super wealthy. They live in Eze, have vineyards in Provence. They export wine all over the world. I’m not actually the man-eater I’ve portrayed myself to be. I can always swing us entry into most places, because people know my family, and when I was in my early twenties I worked in Paris as a representative for my parents’ business. I got to know the place well.”

“So you hid your wealth because of Sophie?” Somehow I couldn’t see Sophie worrying about what kind of background a person had, as long as they loved books.

“At first, because I thought I’d ruin my chances of working at Once Upon a Time. I’d been a customer there for years, and saw the staff, dressed like riffraff, struggling artists who somehow fit better among the books than I did. I wanted to do one thing on my own, get a job that wasn’t given to me because of who my parents are.”

“I really thought you were a man-eater.” TJ said sadly.

Oceane gave him a playful shove. “I’ve had everything handed to me my entire life. I love words, and I wanted to be surrounded by them. I thought I could be a regular employee, but too many people know me here. They know my family. So I had to invent that man-eater persona.”

TJ was right. Paris was a haven for lost souls. A place for reinvention. The type of city that would keep your secrets like the most loyal friend. I lay back on the rug and stared up at the stars winking at us; the fairy lights and Christmas decorations reflected in the Seine made a spectacular light show just for us. “What do you want from your life?” I asked Oceane, feeling like we were in a bubble where any question, no matter how strange, was there for the asking. “You don’t want to continue at your family business?”

“God, no. It’s absorbed my family for generations. While I love the lifestyle it provides, I don’t want to join. My siblings can run it, and bicker between themselves. I’m happy here.” She gestured with her wine glass, slopping a little onto the white snow.

I sat up and took another sip of wine. “What do your parents say?”

“They think I’m doing some literary course. If I even mentioned Sophie’s shop they’d set out to buy it or something over the top. They think of me as their crazy daughter, the one who floats through life without a goal.” Her eyes widened. “But they just don’t understand that I’d rather sell books than sell wine. They feel I should strive harder. If I want to read, let’s buy a string of bookshops! They don’t get
me
, they don’t get
it.
” She sounded so passionate, so sure of herself I was in awe. Had I ever known what I wanted to do so clearly? Other than my beautiful little bookshop, the last thing I had felt truly passionate about was coming here, to Paris. And the man mountain, but that wasn’t at the forefront of my mind as much now.

We were all here in Paris, searching for something tangible, something that would fix us. I would never in a million years have thought that Oceane wanted to be a different person to who she was. I supposed it was easy for her to shrug off any family pressure, and be who she wanted to be, even if that meant bending the truth about what she was doing in Paris. She exuded a confidence I hadn’t seen in anyone else – nothing bothered her, she’d simply wave away conflict, or roll her eyes dismissively when she disagreed with someone, and continue chasing the things that made her happy.

“What about Beatrice?” TJ asked, pouring more wine into his glass and snagging a purple grape from the basket. “She’s not who she says she is either.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, surprise making my voice squeak. Whatever insight TJ had, I tended to trust his instincts, because so many times he’d seen beyond the veil of what I’d meant to outwardly show the world.

“Have you noticed sometimes her posh accent slips away when she’s mad? It’s more Liverpudlian… She’s always dashing off somewhere, a watch checker, like there’s something else that takes up her time outside the shop.” he mused, and I felt Oceane leaning closer, enthralled by the story he was spinning.

“Maybe she works two jobs?” I said. I was still suspicious after I had accused her of taking the money, and this made me more so.

TJ’s ran a hand through his hair, “What do we know about her? Beatrice Lockhart. Twenty-five. Loves literary fiction, but doesn’t actually read it. Hates people. Huge fan of eye rolling. Claims to hail from Paddington, central London. Father is rich banker type, mother is a lawyer. Vegetarian and staunch coffee addict. Anything else?” He’d been ticking details off on his fingers, Oceane and I nodding in agreement. It struck me that I really had zero idea about who she was, and what made her tick. Guilt gnawed at me, as it always did. Should I have made pains to get to know her better? Just as TJ and Oceane had with me. There was something that had held me back, like there was an invisible wall between me and Beatrice, but maybe I should have tried harder to climb it.

“That’s very thorough, TJ,” Oceane said. “But after a year of working alongside Beatrice, I still don’t know anything about her. She runs hot and cold with me, but doesn’t give much away. Anyone else would have invited themselves when we drank a bottle of wine by the Seine. But not her, she hurries off like she’s got somewhere else to be.”

“So if she’s hiding who she really is, the question is why?” I asked.

TJ threw his hands up. “I can’t help feeling disappointed that my very in-depth dossiers are actually missing some crucial elements…like the truth!”

Oceane reached over him to sling her arm around his shoulder. “TJ you’re too much of a sweetheart to see the lies, that’s why!”

He snorted. “Aren’t writers supposed to be able to read people? Is that why I’m not published yet? I have one major flaw?”

I patted his arm. “You read people just fine. Besides, your characters are fictional, so as long as you know them inside out that’s all that matters.”

“So we’re saying we have a stranger in our midst? Beatrice, is not the girl she appears to be,” TJ said. “Who is she, then? And more importantly, why the charade?”

We sat in silence, wondering about her, watching the pretty lights dance in the water, and the beauty of the Eiffel Tower. “Maybe, like all of us, she came here to change an unhappy situation,” The thought made me feel slightly sympathetic towards her. There were times I saw genuine anxiety in her eyes. “Paris has that quality about it. You can shed your past and start again, and no one would ever know.”

“She’s the thief, right?” TJ asked.

I bit my lip, this was the one issue I knew neither Sophie nor myself could stand for any more. If Beatrice was the thief I would have to confront her, or worse – fire her. “I think so.” I mumbled, feeling regret in each word. How had I gone from disliking her to almost pitying her in one evening? I looked at TJ and Oceane. We had left Beatrice out, again. I couldn’t remember a time when I had asked her to play tour guide. Or for a coffee. I remembered when she asked to speak to me the day Ridge arrived and I’d blown her off. My own actions weren’t innocent either. If this was Ashford, I would have made the effort to get to know her, and if she was prickly, I would have got to the bottom of it, and found a resolution. In my busy daze, had I become selfish?

I felt a touch sad and wholly responsible for how we had excluded Beatrice, but TJ and Oceane pulled my spirits up, packed up our picnic and got me laughing again. I had time to fix things with Beatrice – time to find out if she was the thief and see if there was anything behind it. In a fit of giggles we wandered along the Seine, having drunk too much wine. We looped arms, and zig-zagged our way across another beautiful Parisian bridge.

“We’ll walk you back,” Oceane said. “You can protect me from Eiffel Tower keyring sellers, can’t you, TJ?” She giggled, gesturing to the ever present clusters of men who sold cheap keyrings and bottles of water to tourists. I’d heard sometimes they were a little desperate for a sale, and trailed after you offering one, then two, then three keyrings for a Euro.

“You’re safe with me,” TJ said, pulling his collar up. “We’ll speak French, and they’ll know we’re locals.”

The air chilled and I shivered under my coat. Our footsteps echoed in the late night, bouncing around as if there were dozens of us.

A solitary figure appeared in front, his head bent, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his long, black coat. His walk was familiar. As we got closer, he lifted his face.

“Luiz!” I said, my breath floating in the air like smoke.

He turned towards us and mock bowed. “Good evening.”

“That’s Luiz?” TJ hissed. “The writer?”

“Yes. He’s been writing in the shop for years, and none of you ever noticed,” I whispered back.

I laughed and gave TJ a shove in the back, pushing him forward. “Well…wow…I,” he sputtered. Seemed Luiz had the same effect on all of us, his fame, and our love of great fiction, turned us into incoherent fools.

“Are your characters misbehaving?” I asked, wondering if he walked when the words wouldn’t come.

Luiz chuckled. “A brand new book and they’re already being difficult. I’m giving them the silent treatment, and hoping that makes them rethink their actions.”

I cocked my head, surveying Luiz. The soft skin under his eyes was bruise colored, like he hadn’t slept for days, but he still had a certain vitality, the wind making his cheeks ruddy and his blue eyes luminous.

“So,” Luiz said. “It’s nice to see you all enjoying your time away from the bookshop.”

“We almost have frostbite but it was worth it.” TJ said, his eyes lighting up like he just had the best idea. “And we were just discussing our new project – author readings.” He made a show of rubbing his chin like he was contemplating. “Just trying to knuckle down some writers we know and love. They can’t be just anyone…”

I held in a laugh at TJ’s obvious hint. But it was a brilliant plan – and who knew, Luiz might even say yes. We could use a big name like his on the list. It would bring in readers from all over France, not just Paris. An exclusive reading from the elusive Luiz Delacroix would put Once Upon a Time on the map again! I stared at him and crossed my fingers behind my back – if Luiz said yes, it would be an omen of good things to come.

“I’d love to,” Luiz said, making us all gasp simultaneously, which we half drunkenly tried to mask with coughing and clearing our throats. He gave Oceane a shy smile, and something in it made me wonder, especially when she cast her eyes to the ground, which was very unlike her.

“Great!” TJ said, “I’ll make some arrangements next time you’re in the shop.” TJ tried valiantly to appear relaxed, but he fidgeted with his coat, and stared open mouthed at Luiz.

“I better go,” I said. The cold had seeped into my bones, and as much as I’d dreamed of chatting books with Parisians and foreigners alike, the midnight hour crept up and I wanted desperately to plunge into a hot bath and warm up.

“I’ll walk you back,” Luiz offered. “To make sure you’re safe. Paris at midnight is no place to wander alone.”

“Thanks, Luiz,” I said. Paris at night was beautiful, but somehow each road and boulevard took on another character and I knew I would get lost trying to find my way back in the dark.

“We should head home too,” Oceane reached over to hug me. “TJ you can escort me,
non
?”