Vanity (31 page)

‘Oh, my poor love.' Andy knew how squeamish Bella could be about certain things. She was fine with mice, for example, or even snakes, but insects gave her the heebie-jeebies. ‘How did you react?'

‘I tried to get the revolting creature off, of course, but it was clinging onto my eyelashes, so I screamed.'

‘Waking up both your mother and Max?'

‘Yup.' Bella was laughing again now. ‘Poor Mum. We must have been a bloody nightmare.'

‘On the other hand, you could say she brought it on herself, to take two children— how old were you?'

‘I was five and Max was seven.'

‘OK, then, two
very young
children to some fleapit in Montmartre.'

‘It wasn't that bad. Character building. Mum did the best she could, which was bloody brilliant under the circumstances.' Bella was always staunchly loyal to those she loved. ‘And she did prise the cockroach off my eyelashes with her fingernails.'

‘It was actually hanging off your eyelashes?'

‘That's why I screamed, you bugger. I'm not
that
pathetic.'

‘I think I'm starting to realize that.'

They walked out of the park, meandering through grand Napoleonic boulevards and kicking up the first fallen leaves. Before long, they hit Saint-Germain-des-Prés, in all its bohemian, Art Nouveau splendour.

‘Oooh,
Les Deux Magots
,' said Bella. ‘Perfect timing. I was just starting to feel a bit thirsty. Time for a pit stop?'

Andy laughed.

‘We're on holiday, we can do whatever we want.'

On such a lovely sunny Saturday, the legendary café was heaving, but luckily for Bella and Andy a couple was just leaving as they approached, so they sat down at a little round table under a green-and-gold umbrella, and ordered another bottle of Sancerre.

All around, people were smoking, sharing carafes of wine or sipping from thimbles of strong black coffee, arguing passionately about things that Bella assumed were terribly intellectual.

‘Can't you just feel the spirit of Sartre, and Simone de Beauvoir …'

‘… and Hemingway, with his pram-full of festering dead birds.'

This time the waiter brought their wine not in an ice bucket, but an ice bag – a clear plastic bag the same size and shape as the bags you get for gift-wrapping bottles, but filled with ice and water.

‘Oooh, what a great idea,' said Bella. ‘We'll have to get some to take home with us – they'd be brilliant for summer picnics. Though it's unlikely to be picnic weather when we get back, of course.'

‘They'd still be handy for keeping the wine cold at home.'

‘True. It's such a distance from the sitting room to the fridge, after all.'

They both laughed, and Bella gave another happy sigh, looking up at the poplar tree overhead, the cloudless blue sky, and around at all the well-groomed, chattering people surrounding them – though you could spot the tourists a mile off, of course. It was just so – well, so
Parisian.

The tables were squeezed pretty tightly together on the pavement, and Bella smiled at the woman sitting at the one to their left, reading
Paris Match
on her own. Probably in her mid-forties, slim and very chic in black capri pants, a boat-necked white T-shirt and enormous tortoiseshell shades, she looked utterly content in her own company.

She smiled politely back at Bella, then did a double take, lifting her shades up to inspect her more closely.

‘
Mais vous êtes très jolie, mademoiselle
.
Très, très jolie. Vous comprenez?
Belle
…'

Bella understood, sure enough, but could barely believe it. Was she really being complimented by a supremely chic Frenchwoman? This was the sort of thing that only happened once in a lifetime.

‘
C'est vrai, n'est-ce pas?
' The woman was now talking to Andy, who had a broad smile on his face. ‘
Très, très jolie
.'

‘
Oui, oui, c'est vrai. Je suis un homme très heureux!
'

Bella also had a broad smile on her face. Could life actually get any better?

‘
Et je suis très heureuse, aussi! Merci, madame, merci!
' she chimed in, and Andy and the nice woman laughed at her obvious delight in the compliment.

By the time they left
Les Deux Magots
, making their way down to the Seine in the late-afternoon sunshine, they were pleasantly mellow with wine. They had intended to visit the Musée d'Orsay, but realized they'd left it too late to do it proper justice.

‘Ooops.' Bella giggled. ‘Well, we can always be cultural tomorrow. Let's just wander along the river instead.'

As they ambled in the direction of Notre Dame, they passed a group of young boys and girls, probably students, dressed in jeans, stripy tops and a variety of quirky headwear, playing classic jazz on brass instruments. They were quite brilliant, so Bella and Andy sat down on a bench in the shade of a gold-tinged horse chestnut tree, to watch and listen for a few minutes.

‘I'm having such a lovely time,' said Bella, taking Andy's hand and smiling at him. ‘Thank you for being you.'

‘Thank you for being you, too. I love you.'

And, putting his glasses down on the bench beside them,
Andy took Bella in his arms and kissed her. Bella could feel herself melting into his strong frame, one hand entwined in his thick dark brown hair, the other roaming across his broad back, tracing the muscles underneath his navy-blue T-shirt.

She moaned softly into his mouth and Andy reluctantly pulled away from her, laughing slightly.

‘Sorry, Belles, I think I got a bit carried away there.'

‘You and me both.' Bella was looking into his dark eyes again. ‘Do you think we'll have time … back at the hotel … before dinner?'

‘Plenty of time,' said Andy, looking at his watch. ‘It's only five o'clock.' They had a reservation at a restaurant the hotel had recommended to them, for eight p.m. ‘How about we start heading back, maybe stopping at one more place en route to make the most of Paris in the sunshine …'

‘… and heighten the anticipation.' Bella laughed. ‘God, you tease. OK, sounds like a lovely plan.'

So they carried on walking hand-in-hand along the
cobbled, tree-lined riverbank, taking in the Bateaux
Mouches gliding past them, up and down the glittering sage-green water. There were plenty of other couples doing just the same as them, and occasionally they caught their eyes and smiled complicitly.

‘Are we being really, really cheesy?' asked Bella.

‘Probably, but I don't care. This is the happiest I've felt for ages.'

‘You look it.' The furrow between Andy's eyes had all but disappeared, and he looked carefree, elated, boyish even. ‘I know how much of a strain the last few months have been for you. I'm so sorry I haven't been more supportive.'

‘I've told you, Belles, you can stop apologizing.' He leant over to kiss her again.

Notre Dame was coming into view now, on the Île de la Cité, in the middle of the river.

‘We should really go and have a look,' said Bella. As soon as the words had left her mouth, they both shook their heads, laughing.

‘Noooo. Let's leave all the cultural stuff till tomorrow,' said Andy.

‘But we could stop there,' said Bella, pointing with delight at an exquisitely pretty, colourfully painted boat, whose flower-strewn deck was dotted with little round wooden tables. Hanging plants trailed down the boat's side, over the rails. ‘It's got a bar on it!'

‘Now you're talking!'

And with almost indecent haste they raced up the gangplank.

The view from the deck, directly over to Notre Dame on its leafy island, was stunning; in the other direction you could see hordes of people swarming over the bridge that led to it. The sun was just starting to set and the river taking on hues of pinky gold.

The trendy, friendly waitress brought them cocktail menus, and they looked at each other and laughed.

‘Cocktails?'

‘I suppose it is nearly cocktail hour,' said Andy. ‘We should probably have a snack of some sort though, or we'll be absolutely paralytic even before we get to dinner.'

‘Plate of charcuterie?'

‘Perfect. Margaritas?'

‘I think we may be starting to read each other's minds.'

The boat, which, due to its location, could easily be a tourist-trap hellhole, actually seemed to be a hang-out for bohemian, very Left Bank-looking Parisians.

‘Looks like we've stumbled on a hidden gem,' said Bella. ‘Shame there's nothing like this on the Thames.'

‘Yes, it's hardly the Tattershall Castle.' Andy was referring to the huge pub-on-a-boat located between Embankment and Temple Tube stations that became almost unbearably crowded with beer-swilling office workers the very moment the sun shone its weakest light on London.

One of the Bateaux Mouches motored past them and all its passengers waved cheerfully at Bella and Andy. They waved back, raising their drinks at them, beaming from ear to ear.

Bella, mindful of how ‘
très, très jolie
' she was looking, and not feeling fat for the first time in months, felt as though she were starring in her own romantic movie.

‘Right, darling, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, and this seems as good a time as any,' said Andy.

‘What? What is it?' Bella asked, panicking. Surely this wasn't the time to be breaking some horrible news to her?

‘Don't look so worried. I think you may actually be quite pleased, but it will affect us both, so I want to run it past you before I go ahead with it.'

‘Right.' Bella took a large gulp of her margarita, her imagination running wild. ‘Fire away, then.'

‘I want to resign from the paper. After the last few months, I don't think I can take much more exposure to life's seedy underbelly …'

It took a moment or so to register. It had briefly crossed Bella's mind that he might have wanted to propose. But this news was probably second best. ‘I … I think that's a bloody brilliant idea! What will you do instead though? Have you had any other offers?'

‘Yes, actually, a couple, since the Lubanov exposé. But I don't want to take them up. I think I'll freelance for a bit. Without wishing to blow my own trumpet, I think I've probably got a high enough profile now not to be short of work, and I can decide what type of commissions I want to take on …'

‘Oh, yes, you could do travel writing, or restaurant reviewing, or … or … or …' Bella's head was spinning, somewhat selfishly, with all the fabulous freebies that might come their way.

‘Don't get carried away.' Andy laughed. ‘That's hardly the kind of writing I'm known for, now is it?'

‘Oh, all right, s'pose not.'

Bella smiled up at the waitress as their plate of mixed cold meats, garnished with cornichons and black olives, arrived, along with a basket of sliced baguette.

‘
Merci
.' She hated it when people didn't thank waiters and waitresses, and always overtipped too.

‘The thing is, it's a bit of a risk,' Andy continued, after also thanking the waitress. ‘Many people would say I was a complete idiot to give up the security of a pretty good job in the middle of a recession.'

‘I don't think anyone could ever call you an idiot.' Bella was absurdly proud of Andy's intelligence – it was one of the things she loved most about him. ‘You'll get loads of commissions, writing about – erm, politics and stuff …'

‘I hope so. I just wanted to make sure you're OK with it, though.'

‘OK with it? I can't think of anything better than you working from home – we'll hardly ever have to be apart again! Bugger the money – we'll be fine.' After a few drinks, Bella's optimism was second to none. ‘Jonty was so pleased with the painting of Mimi that he said he'd introduce me to all his other friends with pets, too, so that'll be another source of income …'

‘Do you really want to be painting spoilt Chihuahuas for the rest of your life?'

‘I can think of worse ways to earn a living.' Bella laughed. ‘In fact, I've probably done most of them!'

Andy looked at her seriously. ‘I'm also thinking about writing a book.'

‘What?' Bella was slightly taken aback, though not in a bad way. ‘Why haven't you mentioned this before?'

‘It's been on my mind for some time, but I've been so busy with the Lubanov stuff that I wasn't sure, and—'

‘I know.' Bella shook her head, angry with herself again. ‘I've hardly been that receptive recently … What sort of book, though?' She started laughing as she finished her margarita. ‘Vampire porn for teenagers? A misery memoir? Oooh – the first in a dark, Scandinavian crime trilogy?'

Andy laughed too.

‘Have you ever actually read anything I've written? No, I was thinking a history of the Balkans, post-World War Two.'

‘OK, yes, that does sound a bit more you. You could probably do it without even having to do much research. You know so much about everything!' Bella was gushing now, waving her tipsy arms about, thrilled at the idea of her beloved being a proper history writer. He might even get an OBE or something.

‘Well, almost everything.' Andy laughed again. ‘But there
will
be a lot of research involved. I may have to spend some time at the British Library.'

‘Oh, nooooo! I thought you'd be working from home, with me? Can't you just Google stuff?'

‘Googling stuff is the way that very bad, historically inaccurate books get written. Anyway, you have your Westbourne Studio …'

‘OK, fair enough. And you never know, we might really wind each other up if we were on top of each other all day in our tiny flat …'