Flights of Angels (31 page)

He couldn’t really blame Claudie, though. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been promised a holiday only to have to tag along with him. But they were here now, and they had to face up to the fact that they were stuck with each other.

So what were they going to do? They could go their separate ways of course, but that wouldn’t be much fun. Anyway, he didn’t want to do that. He liked Claudie.

A little alarm bell went off in his head. He liked Claudie, and he was alone with her in a beautiful hotel in the capital of romance. What was he going to do about it? Something? Nothing? And what was it he wanted? Claudie? The signs were definitely there. He practically felt stoned out of his mind with desire for her. And this was where the crux of the problem lay. How could he be lusting after someone so angelic? She was just so ethereal. It didn’t seem proper to want to grab hold of her or do anything else remotely physical. Yet that was what his body was urging him to do.

He was sat there shaking his head and tutting to himself when he became aware that he was being watched. He turned round and saw a beautiful redhead leaning up against the bar, her hair waving down her back like Rita Hayworth’s, an obligatory cigarette held in a manicured hand. Simon felt as if he’d been sucked into a film noir scene, and it would have been so easy for him to flirt, to beckon her over with a few smiles, but he couldn’t, because his head was filled with somebody else.

He scraped his chair back noisily and paid at the till before heading out into the dark street. It had started to rain, light and feather-soft but enough to send people running back towards homes and hotels. In pairs.

Simon turned the collar up on his jacket and headed back to the hotel.

He still hadn’t made up his mind about what to do as he came out of the lift on the first floor. Part of him wanted to knock loudly on Claudie’s door and just kiss the living daylights out of her, but the other told him to go back to his room and get a good night’s sleep.

For a few seconds he hovered outside room twenty. She was probably fast asleep by now and certainly not dreaming about him.

He was just about to go when he heard the distinct sound of singing from behind Claudie’s door. He bent forward, almost pressing his ear to the wood. And then a smile crossed his face and, shaking his head, he walked towards his own room.

Only Claudie could have found
Singin’ in the Rain
dubbed into French and chosen to stay in and watch it rather than spending an evening in Paris with him.

Claudie woke up and stared at the ceiling. She’d have to have a quick shower before breakfast because she hadn’t made it to the shower the night before, having fallen asleep straight after the finish of
Singin’ in the Rain
.

If only it had done her some good, she thought.
Make ’em Laugh
usually had the desired effect, and
Broadway Melody
was a real happy pill, but there was one time when the songs couldn’t help her, and that was at night. The dark world of dreams still held the power to shake her to her very core. They were so vivid: as if Luke were really with her; a living, breathing Luke, his smile larger than life and his great rock-climbing hands so warm on her skin.

Sometimes, it was all too much because, when she woke, it was like losing him all over again. The wound was so raw that it really didn’t take much salt too make the pain unbearable. And how would Simon react to it all? How could she hide her alabaster face and wild eyes? She couldn’t.

She swung her legs out of bed and padded over to the window and pushed her head through the layers of curtain. They certainly didn’t give prize-winners rooms with a view, she thought, as she looked out into a long, thin street filled with traffic. She watched a moment, tutting at the cacophony of pips and toots, and grinning as a little green vehicle drove by, complete with little green man and cleaning materials. Paris, known the world over for its beautiful beige boulevards, its fabulously frivolous boutiques, and its shit-covered streets.

She could have spent the whole morning watching the world pass beneath her bedroom window, but the strangest of sounds halted her attention. It was coming from the bathroom.

Walking through and switching the light on, she stepped into the tiled room and listened. A tiny smile lifted her face as she realised what it was. Simon was singing in the shower next door. And she’d never heard such a funny rendition of
I Want to Break Free
in her life.

She didn’t mention it when they walked down to breakfast together. In fact, they were both a little on the quiet side, like two people on a terrible blind date, Claudie thought, thinking that that was exactly what Kristen had set them up on. Except most blind dates didn’t involve first-class tickets on Eurostar and a two nights in a luxurious Parisian hotel.

The hotel breakfast room was tucked away under the main part of the hotel and looked like a church crypt with its columns and arches. Tables were laid out in twos and fours, and the food was a grab-what-you-want-affair from a low-lying trestle table.

Simon and Claudie hid themselves away under an obliging arch, sitting down in silence. Claudie was sure she wouldn’t be able to eat anything, even though she was starving. She was just too aware of herself, and the fact that Simon was within touching distance. If she reached too far for her knife, her hand would crash into his. She felt herself blushing at the thought. It felt like a long time since she’d shared breakfast. It was such a strange, intimate meal: the first meal after getting out of bed, when your face is still soft and swollen with sleep.

‘Claudie? You okay?’

Claudie looked up, startled by his question. ‘Yes?’

‘You look a bit red.’

She put her hand up to her face. ‘It’s rather warm in here, isn’t it?’

Simon nodded. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I know how awkward this is.’

Claudie gazed down at her bread roll. As much as they needed to clear the air, she didn’t fancy participating in it herself.

Simon sighed. ‘I had no idea this was going to happen. But it has, and we’re both here now, so we might as well enjoy it. Claudie?’

‘Yes. I agree,’ she said quietly, looking up from her plate.

‘Good,’ he said, his eyes smiling and his shoulders relaxing a little.

Claudie felt her own body beginning to relax too. She hadn’t realised how uptight she’d been, but now he’d said his piece, she felt a little more comfortable about being there.

‘Thank you for letting me come with you.’

Simon’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’re welcome.’

Claudie smiled at him, and no more was said on the subject.

They began breaking open their bread rolls. Claudie had it down to a fine art, her roll neatly sliced in two equal portions, but Simon was making a major hash of his, sending a snow cloud of crumbs over the tablecloth and down onto his un-napkined legs.

‘Would you like me to do it for you?’

‘No, it’s okay,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘I’ve got it covered!’

Claudie smiled at his effort. ‘What happened to a good old bowl of Cornflakes?’

Simon looked up in surprise. ‘You really sounded English when you said that. Apart from the French accent, of course.’

‘I
love
Cornflakes.’

‘But you’re French! You’re meant to like croissants, and all that dry stuff for breakfast.’

‘Just because I was born here, doesn’t mean I have to like everything about it.’

‘You were obviously meant to be British,’ Simon said thoughtfully, buttering what was left of his butchered bread roll. ‘And what exactly is this butter about? Look! It’s an anaemic, unsalted excuse for butter.’

‘I agree. Tasteless! And look at this strawberry jam - it’s brown. There’s no red here at all.’

Simon looked up and narrowed his eyes at her. ‘I w
as
hoping for a good argument.’

‘Well you’re not going to get one here.’ She smiled at him, thinking that the weekend wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Once back in her room, Claudie bid good morning to the angels. Although they’d been granted special dispensation for accompanying Claudie to France, they warned her that they weren’t early risers. It had, Jalisa said, something to do with a kind of angel assembly which everyone had to attend. Claudie had tried to picture a giant school hall filled with tiny angels singing hymns, but couldn’t quite imagine it, and she hadn’t dared ask questions for fear of being told off again.

‘How are you getting on?’ Jalisa asked as Claudie sat down at her dressing table.

‘With what?’ Claudie asked, combing her hair and pretending not to understand Jalisa’s meaning.

‘Not with
what
- with
Simon?
’ she said impatiently.

‘Fine!’ she said, deliberately keeping things nice and vague.

‘I don’t think he’s quite as good-looking as Daniel,’ Lily mused.

‘Who’s Daniel?’ Jalisa turned to face Lily.

‘Nobody,’ Claudie interjected, lest Jalisa should find out about Lily and Mary’s impromptu visit to her house.

‘I think Simon’s very handsome,’ Jalisa said, head cocked to one side to gauge Claudie’s response, but she obviously wasn’t going to give one. ‘What do you think?’

Exasperated by the route of the conversation, Claudie turned round. ‘Handsome is not an issue here.’

‘A handsome man is always an issue, isn’t it?’ Jalisa said.

‘I’m on holiday,’ Claudie began, ‘albeit by some warped notion of Kristen’s - and I intend to enjoy it.’

‘Good for you, Claudie,’ Bert said. ‘Don’t let them get all silly and girly on you.’ He scratched behind his ear and then examined his hat for rough patches of tweed. ‘You enjoy Paris.’

‘I thoroughly intend to!’

‘Of course,’ Mary smiled, ‘Paris is the capital of romance.’

‘Yes,’ Claudie agreed, ‘it is. So we’ll probably see lots of couples as we go sight seeing.’ And, picking up a handbag you could have fitted a small armchair into, Claudie waltzed out of her room, humming
The Last Time I Saw Paris
to herself and slamming the door on five very bemused faces.

As predicted, there were couples everywhere. Handholding, bum slapping, earlobe nibbling couples. There was no getting away from them. They were strolling down the Champs Elysees, kissing on the Arc de Triomphe, snoodling in the Tuileries. Claudie tried not to stare, she really did, but she found her eyes positively dragged towards them, watching as lips gingerly found lips, or tongues gently probed. It was as though a hundred love scenes were being played out before her.

And then there was Simon. Had he noticed the legions of lovers? What did he make of it all? She watched him as he walked a couple of steps ahead of her. But he didn’t seem to notice the acts of amore around him. Were all men like that, she wondered? She remembered a weekend in the Peak District with Luke. They’d been walking up some mountain or other, Claudie could never remember the names of them all, and there’d been a family having a picnic. It was a scene straight out of HE Bates but, when Claudie had commented on it, it appeared that Luke hadn’t even noticed them. But perhaps that marked the difference the sexes: men noticed things; women noticed feelings.

Simon had his eyes firmly on the tourist sights rather than on the tourists themselves, but it didn’t bother her. If she were perfectly honest, it rather amused her. He had all the awe-inspired glee of a child.

‘Look!’ he’d shout excitedly above the traffic. Or ‘Wow!’ he’d point, making sure Claudie got an eyeful of whatever it was he had spotted. His enthusiasm was addictive, and it seeped into Claudie quite without her noticing, so that, before long, she was shouting and pointing too.

Of course, Simon
had
noticed the courting couples. It was impossible not to. But he did make a valiant attempt not to stare. And he made an equally valiant attempt not to stare at Claudie, which was hard in the extreme because she looked so beautiful. He distinctly remembered that he had never seen her wearing any colours other than navy or charcoal. Even at Kristen’s, she’d chosen a grey sweater and matching skirt. Beautiful, yes, clinging in all the right places, yes, but not exactly a beautiful, young woman’s colour.

Perhaps she was still in mourning, he thought. But today, she was in a fantastic dark amber sweater. Simon really didn’t mean to stare but it made her eyes the most incredible colour - like autumn conkers, and her face positively glowed against it; lovely and luminous like a Botticelli angel.

She was also wearing the most incredibly sexy boots: long, black and leg hugging, leaving just enough leg to admire between their tops and her short black skirt. Why didn’t she wear more clothes like this, he wondered? He almost felt that it was his responsibility as a man to point out how fantastic she looked, and that she really must dress up more often.

But he really mustn’t stare. He was also doing his utmost to keep his eyes away from her breasts, but he couldn’t help the occasional gaze, bouncing loose and lovely as they were under her amber sweater. He cursed himself for being a man. He really shouldn’t be eyeing up the assets of a woman so recently widowed, but how exactly was he meant to respond to her? When he’d first seen her that day in the bookshop, she hadn’t seemed real at all. She’d been more like an angel. But she was turning into flesh and blood before his very eyes.

‘Are you all right?’ Claudie asked suddenly.

Simon started visibly, as if she’d dipped into his mind and found out what wicked things he was thinking.

‘Simon?’

Was it his imagination or, when she said his name, was it really as if she was saying ‘Sigh - mon’ lengthening the first syllable as if she was luxuriating the sound in her mouth?

‘Er -’ he stumbled for something intelligent to say, something that might explain the strange expression his face was obviously wearing. And then he thought of something. ‘I’ve been meaning to explain about the other night. When Felicity came round.’

‘It’s all right,’ Claudie said lightly.

‘But I feel awful about it. I meant to call you, but I didn’t know what I could say in the circumstances.’