A Year Like No Other Page 4

  “Of course I wouldn’t be late,” Yves said, sweeping him up in his arms.

  “Say goodbye to Maman and Cosette and then off we go.”

  Pierre kissed both women and Sophie gave him an extra squeeze. She adored this solemn dark-haired child more than anything in the world. He was such a good little boy and very affectionate.

  “Have a good time, my little angel,” she said, waving them off. Then she turned to the nanny, whose day off it was. “Off you go, Cosette, and have a nice day.”

  Looking at her watch, Sophie saw that, if she hurried, she could have an hour in the gym before it was time to go and meet the English couple.

  Max and Felicity were hopelessly lost on the Paris ring road. They were going round and round in circles, unable to find the correct exit. Max’s temper was getting more frayed by the minute as Felicity kept issuing directions, which was why they were in such a muddle. In fact, if she hadn’t forgotten the bag with the GPS in it, they’d not have been lost in the first place. Eventually they found the exit for the Champs-Élysées and pulled into the Marriott Hotel there, which was where they’d arranged to meet Sophie.

  They paged her at reception and were unprepared for the charming girl who arrived, smiling.

  She’s very young and oh so pretty, Felicity thought enviously.

  She’s bloody gorgeous, was Max’s first thought. She reminded him of a young Audrey Hepburn. She had beautiful big brown eyes set in a gamine face and short black hair. She also had the same chic and elegance for which Hepburn had been renowned.

  “I’m Sophie. Welcome to Paris,” she said in perfect English, with just a hint of an accent. They shook hands.

  “I’m Felicity and this is Maxwell,” Felicity said, feeling quite old and plain beside her.

  “Call me Max, please,” he said, ignoring the dirty look his wife threw him.

  Sophie nodded. “You had a good trip?” she enquired.

  “I wouldn’t quite say that,” Max said, smiling.

  She laughed a lovely tinkling laugh. “Paris is not easy for driving, non?” She winked at him.

  “I’m famished,” Felicity said, wanting to break up this cosy little chat and steer the conversation away from driving in Paris. “Can we get something to eat here?”

  “But of course, forgive me,” Sophie apologised. “We will go on the terrace and have lunch. You have had a long journey.” She led them out to the terrace where they were seated at a table under a billowing white parasol.

  Over a delicious lunch, Sophie explained that the couple from America had arrived earlier that morning and were now sleeping and that the others would arrive later in the afternoon.

  “My husband Yves and I have arranged a lunch tomorrow so that everyone can meet. We will send a car for you, around noon. If you agree.”

  “Splendid,” said Max. He couldn’t wait to meet his future colleagues and hear more of the project.

  Felicity was apprehensive and hoping that they wouldn’t be seeing too much of Sophie during their stay. Maxwell was obviously very taken by her and it was Felicity’s greatest fear that one day he would leave her for a younger, more attractive woman. She knew she’d never survive without him.

  After they had finished eating, Sophie took them to their apartment.

  “She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Max remarked as they pulled out after her car.

  “If you like that type,” she sniffed.

  They followed Sophie to the apartment which was even nicer than the photos had suggested. Max then drove with her to the garage and deposited the car there.

  Ashling’s youngest sister, Fiona, who was still at university, drove them to Dublin airport.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take me with you?” she asked, fluttering her eyes at Kieran.

  “Quite sure,” he replied, laughing. “One Murphy woman is as much as I can handle!”

  “Well, don’t forget, if you need a baby-sitter, I’m always available. Paris! So romantic,” she sighed dramatically.

  “Well, it’s business actually but I’m sure we’ll find time for a little romance too,” he said, winking at his wife.

  “I certainly hope so, or else I might have to take a French lover while you’re busy working,” Ashling said coquettishly. “They’re famous for that, you know.”

  “Don’t you dare,” he said, smacking her on the backside.

  In a flurry of kisses they said their goodbyes.

  It was all so exciting! Ashling had never flown business class before. She loved the private lounge where there were free drinks and snacks and a lovely hushed, calm atmosphere – a far cry from the chaotic noise and bustle of the terminal below. The girls were very well behaved, loving the new pink Barbie pull-along cases that they were hauling around and not really understanding what was happening except that they would be going to a new school.

  “Champagne?” Kieran asked.

  “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

  “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” he grinned, pouring one for her and one for himself. “To Paris and an exciting year ahead!” he toasted her.

  “To Paris and a year like no other!” she replied, smiling up at him.

  Ashling drank her champagne and waved hello to some people that she knew from work. This was the life and it was only just beginning. She felt that she was on the brink of an exciting adventure.

  She felt quite special as she entered the aircraft and turned left into business class. The steward greeted her with another glass of champagne and she sank into the large comfortable leather seat. Once they were airborne she could recline it and snooze but she had no intention of missing a second of this fantastic experience. The meal served by the Air France steward was as good as in any top-class restaurant. And the wines . . . oh my God, they were divine! The girls were happily colouring in the books the steward had given them. They’d decided they wanted to sit together and were quite at home in this new environment. Ashling sighed happily as Kieran squeezed her hand.

  “Have I told you lately that I love you?” he asked, quoting her favourite song.

  “Not since this morning,” she said, smiling into his eyes.

  “Well, I do. Very much.”

  “Do you think it’s allowed to kiss in business class?” she asked him, looking around.

  “Why not? It’s Air France, after all,” Kieran said, reaching over and kissing her deeply.

  Over his shoulder, Ashling saw the steward pass by and pulled away, blushing furiously, but he grinned at her cheekily and sighed, “Ah, l’amour – c’est magnifique!” as he went on up the aisle.

  Ashling took Kieran’s hand and lay back in her seat. “Paris, here we come!” she said quietly, smiling to herself.

  Jazz had decided to take the TGV speed train to Paris. She preferred travelling by train as, since 9/11, flying had become a nightmare. She reckoned by the time she got to Frankfurt airport and checked in, she could be halfway to the Gare du Nord in the centre of Paris. That’s presuming the flight wouldn’t be delayed, which was happening more and more lately. They could keep their flights – train it was. It took just under four hours from the centre of Frankfurt to the centre of Paris. How cool was that! She travelled premier class, of course, and Sophie had organised a limousine to meet her.

  Things had been very strained with Hans since they’d decided to take this break. At times she felt panic-stricken and at other times she recognised that they were together from force of habit and she could not envisage being married to him for the rest of her life. How would she cope with being a singleton again – at the age of almost thirty-six? It scared the hell out of her, but was it better to stay in a dead relationship? God, I sound like Carrie Bradshaw on Sex and the City, she chuckled to herself.

  She knew that those she worked with considered her a confident, extremely capable woman. And she was – at work – but in her private life it was another story. She had no confidence in herself whatsoever but she would never let anyone come close
enough to discover that fact. Except Hans of course, and now he was probably gone.

  She sighed as the limousine drove up along the Seine and then caught her breath, feeling a flutter in her stomach as she spotted the Île de la Cité – with the imposing Notre Dame Cathedral – and the smaller Île Saint-Louis in the distance.

  Crossing on to the smaller island, the car pulled up at one of the tall narrow buildings that backed on to the Seine.

  “You must be Jazz?” said the very chic attractive girl who approached her, smiling. “Welcome to Paris. I’m Sophie.” She kissed her on both cheeks.

  Jazz had forgotten about this charming Gallic custom.

  “Hello, Sophie. Nice to meet you at last!” she said and turned to take her luggage from the trunk of the car.

  “Non, madame. Permettez-moi!” the chauffeur said, lifting the luggage out.

  “Merci, Claude,” Sophie smiled at him. “Claude will take it up for you,” she told Jazz, as she opened the front door of the house.

  “Careful, it’s very heavy,” Jazz warned Claude, in excellent French.

  “Oh, you speak French,” Sophie exclaimed, as they entered the cute old-fashioned lift. “Would you prefer to speak in French or English? I’m sorry I don’t speak German.”

  “No problem, and I prefer English – my French is a little rusty,” Jazz smiled as the lift ascended.

  Sophie was amazed at how flawless her English seemed to be.

  They took the lift up to the very top floor where Sophie opened the door to the sweetest little apartment Jazz had ever seen. There were casement windows in the bedroom and large French windows in the living room, which opened on to a balcony. Sophie waited for Jazz’s reaction as she stepped out into the sun.

  “Oh my God, Sophie, it’s fantastic!” she exclaimed as she saw the terrace with its little table and chairs and a sun-lounger. Best of all was the magnificent view. Across the rooftops of Paris she could see the Sacré-Coeur Basilica shimmering in the sunlight. Down below, the tourist boats chugged up and down the Seine. It was truly breathtaking.

  “This view is the pièce-de-resistance, isn’t it?” Sophie said, pleased that Jazz was as impressed as she had been with the bijou apartment.

  “It’s perfect, just perfect,” Jazz murmured as she looked out her bedroom window and saw the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

  “Shall I make us coffee?” Sophie asked her.

  “Coffee? Is there some here?”

  Sophie smilingly opened the cupboard which was full of jars and food.

  “Oh my God!” Jazz exclaimed again. “Where did they come from?”

  “I stocked up for you,” Sophie replied, opening the fridge to show Jazz that it was also full, with even a bottle of champagne chilling.

  “You’re so kind,” Jazz told her, mortified to feel tears coming to her eyes. “Thank you so much.”

  “Perhaps you would prefer a glass of champagne to celebrate your first day in Paris?”

  “Why the hell not?” Jazz replied, wiping her eyes. “As long as you’ll join me.”

  They sat on the balcony, feeling the heat of the sun and sipping champagne. Looking down at the tourist boats, Jazz murmured, awe in her voice, “I can’t believe I’m living here again.”

  “Please excuse me but I did not realise you were a banker. I thought you were a wife,” Sophie apologised.

  “Don’t give it another thought – and I’m definitely not a wife!” Jazz laughed, but it sounded hollow, even to her ears.

  Sipping the champagne she was surprised to find herself telling Sophie about Hans and how she suspected that it was over for them.

  “Maybe that’s good,” Sophie said. “You must be madly in love with the man you marry, otherwise what’s the point? I am sure that you will find true love in Paris. Everyone does,” she assured this beautiful girl.

  Jazz didn’t tell her that she already had – many, many years ago.

  Driving home, Sophie thought that Jazz would certainly have no shortage of suitors in Paris. Although she had been dressed in simple blue jeans and a white shirt, her long dark hair in a ponytail and wearing practically no make-up, Sophie could see that Jazz was a very attractive, sexy woman. Her eyes were amazing – a deep smoky brown and fringed with long curly dark lashes. Her legs were as long as any supermodel’s although she was not the skinny size zero of many of them. No, Jazz was all woman and Sophie suspected that Yves would fancy her – big-time.

  Ashling and Kieran enjoyed the drive in the limousine that had met them at the airport, craning their necks to take in all the famous sights they passed and pointing them out to the girls. When they passed the Café Les Deux Magots, Ashling let out a squeal of joy. Not far from there, the car pulled up outside a very grand townhouse. Sophie was inside, waiting to greet them. Ashling felt big and ungainly beside the petite Frenchwoman but found her extremely charming and liked her instantly.

  “What’s your name?” Sophie asked Orna, squatting down to her level.

  Shyly Orna told her. “And this is Ciara, my little sister,” she added, trying to pry her away from Ashling’s legs.

  “Ciara’s a little shy at first,” Ashling explained, “but once she gets to know you she’ll never stop talking!”

  “They’re so sweet, and what lovely names you all have,” Sophie remarked.

  “Yes, they’re Gaelic. Ashling means ‘dream vision’ in Gaelic. It’s usually spelt A-i-s-l-i-n-g in Ireland, but foreigners never know how to pronounce that!”

  “Yes, I would pronounce that Ace-ling,” Sophie agreed with her.

  Ashling loved the house. It was on three floors, very spacious and beautifully decorated, but most of all she loved the location. Opening the kitchen cupboards, she was surprised to see they were well stocked.

  “This is fantastic,” she cried. “Thank you so much, Sophie.”

  “Mummy, look!” Orna called out. “The fridge is full too and there’s chocolate yogurt in it!”

  “I’ve left some champagne there too, to celebrate your first day in Paris,” Sophie said.

  “You’re so kind,” Ashling said, moved by this gesture.

  “We’d like you to join us for lunch tomorrow where you’ll meet all the others involved in the project. It’s very informal so please bring the girls with you and they can meet my son Pierre.” She smiled at Orna, who was taking all this in, fascinated by the lovely lady with the funny accent.

  “I’ll send a car for you, at eleven thirty. This is okay?”

  “Perfect,” Kieran and Ashling said simultaneously.

  When Sophie had left, Ashling threw her arms around Kieran’s neck. “Please pinch me to tell me I’m not dreaming,” she asked him. “Ouch!” she squealed, as he did what she’d asked.

  Kieran took the girls up to their pretty bedroom where they put away their dolls and toys. Meanwhile, Ashling explored the contents of the fridge and rustled up a delicious supper for them.

  They were all tired, more with excitement than anything else, and after the girls were tucked up in bed, Kieran took her in his arms.

  “I’m so happy and excited,” she sighed.

  “Me too. Come to bed and I’ll show you how much,” he grinned, grabbing the bottle of champagne from the fridge and opening cupboards looking for glasses.

  “I’m getting fond of this,” she said, smirking at him. “Bed early in the evening, with champagne.”

  “You better get used to it, woman,” he said huskily. “You’re in Paris now.”

  “And my husband has turned into a Latin lover. Yippee!” she cried, clambering up the stairs ahead of him.

  7

  Sophie had intended wearing a midnight-blue Balenciaga two-piece to the lunch but as the weather was so glorious she scrapped that plan and chose her simple dove-grey Roland Mouret dress. It suited her to perfection, showing off her very tiny waist and petite figure. Her legs were deeply tanned so she decided to dispense with tights and completed the look with pearl-grey Manolo Blahnik shoes which m
ade her look at least four inches taller. A silver cuff and silver earrings completed the ensemble. It was perfect for an informal lunch, she figured.

  Leaning on the doorframe, watching his wife twirl in front of the mirror, Yves remarked, “Simple but devastating, my darling. You’ll be the most beautiful woman there.”

  “You haven’t seen Jazz yet. She’s a knockout. I could never compete with her,” she said, making a little grimace.

  “You can compete with anyone,” he said, coming and putting his arms around her waist from behind. “Mmmm . . .” he buried his face in her neck, “if we had time I’d make you take it all off and come to bed with me.”

  “Stop it!” she cried. “We don’t have time. Our guests will be here in ten minutes,” but she was smiling as she said it.

  Secretly she would have loved nothing better. She adored sex with her handsome husband. She knew people thought he was too old for her but in bed he satisfied her totally. In fact she had a job keeping up with him. A far better lover than many men half his age! They still sometimes made love twice a day and she loved it. “Later,” she whispered to him as she brushed past him.

  Pierre was sitting with his nanny who was reading to him, when they came downstairs.

  “You look very pretty, Maman,” he said, reaching up for a kiss.

  “Thank you, my darling,” she replied. She was sure he would break some hearts when he was older. He had his father’s looks and charm. “Okay, men. We’re ready. Let them come!”

  Taking their hands, she led them into the courtyard garden.

  Ashling gave the girls’ hair a last brush before leaving. They looked beautiful. Their long hair, a red-gold colour just like their mother’s, hung like silk curtains down their backs and was held back with white rosette hairbands. They wore ballet-length, white smocked dresses and white leather Mary Jane shoes. They were a picture in prettiness and had been warned to be on their best behaviour.

  They were the first to arrive at the lunch and the door was opened by a beautiful young man who turned out to be the butler-cum-waiter. He showed them through the house – which Ashling noted was like something out of Homes & Gardens – into a beautiful courtyard where Sophie and Yves waited with the most adorable little boy Ashling had ever seen. He had a mop of black curls, big brown eyes and dark olive skin. He was like a mini-version of his father. She noted that he was wearing what was obviously a very expensive blue-and-white suit – probably Baby Dior, she thought.