Guillaume takes great care unpacking my wares and hands me a handwritten invoice. He detests the march of technology and will most likely never adapt to using a computer for his business. He did eventually capitulate and purchase a photocopier, but he only agreed to that in order to keep the stock safe in his office and to not cart valuable prayer books, first editions and other accoutrements around Paris to show his buyers.
‘Did you sign up to Paris Match, Guillaume?’ I say, pretending to be distracted, rifling through my new stock.
‘It’s Paris Cupid, Lilou. Must I keep reminding you?’ He gives me a stern look.
I make a face at my obvious stupidity. ‘Sorry, I keep forgetting.’
‘I did, I’ll have you know, but I’m expecting precisely zero from it. The more I think about it, the more I envisage this is a young person’s game. It’s not meant for old men like me.’
‘Ah, but you’re so very wrong! Love is a game for all ages.’
He purses his lips as if trying to stop scepticism leaching out. ‘That’s all well and good when it comes along organically, but not like this. A newfangled website, a matchmaker. I had to go to the Bibliotheque Nationale de France to use their computers to sign up to the infernal Paris Cupid site. I’m not sure this is the right course for me.’
The Bibliotheque Nationale de Franceis arguably the most famous of all Parisian libraries. The reading room features a glass domed ceiling and archways full of bookshelves. It’s near the Place Vendome, home to the Ritz and quite a distance from where Guillaume lives and works.
‘Why didn’t you go to the library in Montmartre?’
‘I didn’t want any nosey friends to question me.’ He lets out a long sigh as if all his friends converge at the library in Montmartre and question him relentlessly, which I’m surethey do not. He lowers his voice as he says, ‘Those fandangle machines never work for me either so I knew I’d have to plead for thebibliothécaireto assist me, and the last thing I want is Kellie from Montmartre library knowing my business. You know what she’s like, always hovering around.’
Kellie does no such thing but now is not the time to mention that.
Have I left it too late to send Guillaume his match? If his feet get any colder, they’ll be blocks of ice. ‘Give it a chance, like you promised, and if it doesn’t work out, you can say “I told you so” for the rest of your life.’ The sentiment produces a glimmer of a smile.
‘Thatistempting. Must dash.’
‘Au revoir.’
Once Guillaume takes his leave, I make a note on my phone to send his match this evening. As I pocket my mobile, I notice Benoit across the hall, staring off into the distance as if lost in thought. Every now and then he glances in my direction with a faraway look in his eyes. What’s on his mind? Probably his new stamp collection.
I turn back to my delivery, thumbing through my loot, hunting for Margot’s diary that I’d read one tantalising page from the other day in the cemetery. The adventure-seeking woman who broke off her engagement with poor Elliott because he didn’t set her soul on fire. When I find the diary with its worn leather cover, I peek outside. The market is quiet, so I settle on a chaise to read. When I gently creak the cover open, I’m assailed with a scent that takes me a moment to recognise. Lavender. It’s as though clues are seeping out from the very pages themselves, exposing me to hints of her past.
Did Margot live in a chateau in Provence where lavender grows in abundance?
Maman has given me an ultimatum. I’m to rekindle my romance and marry Elliott or I’m to leave the village and give up my monthly allowance. I asked Maman, ‘If Elliott’s family weren’t wealthy, would we be having this conversation?’ and she didn’t even have the audacity to lie! My dreams lie outside this village. Outside of these crumbling chateau walls. I’m not getting wed, having children and living a humdrum life because it’s what someone of my station is expected to do. There’s no other choice, except pack my bags and leave. Adventure awaits!
I close my eyes and picture her running her fingers along blooms of lavender as she made her escape from a life she didn’t care for, the purple flower leaving an indelible mark on her fingertips and these very pages preserving the perfume. What a gift.
So she did pack up and leave? How did she support herself after relinquishing her monthly allowance? Guillaume mentioned the diary had been found in achambre de bonne. Did she swap her upper-class lifestyle and lasso herself the life she wanted? Total freedom and the power to choose. I understand her need to be more than a wife, a mother. To explore the world and live on her terms, but just how difficult would it have been in the early sixties?
I read half of Margot’s diary before a regular customer wanders in. With some reluctance I stash the diary in my desk and greet her. ‘Bonjour, Giselle.’ I give her a bright smile. ‘Are you looking for anything in particular today?’
Giselle shakes her head as she picks up a prayer book and flicks through the pages. ‘Just killing time before I meet a friend for lunch. I can’t be this close and not visit Ephemera.’
I smile. Giselle is one of my favourites who has a keen eye and enjoys hearing a good backstory on her purchases. ‘Takeyour time. On the shelf by the grandfather clock is a folder of new love letters. One of my suppliers sourced them from a small estate in Brittany a few weeks ago. They span decades.’
‘And they haven’t sold yet?’ It’s always risky knowing what to invest in. These beautiful letters haven’t sold, despite being a one-sided sweeping love story told over a lifetime.Forbidden love.
‘Not yet. The cursive writing is difficult to read, especially the letters towards the end. The penmanship is shakier then, but to me, that adds to the appeal. You canseethe author age as the script changes. Once again, showing us the fragility of life…’
Giselle groans. ‘I knew this would be an expensive lunch.’ She laughs and goes to find the letters.
That evening, as Paris Cupid once more, I email Guillaume about his match. I don’t give him many details, except her first name and that she runs a successfulfromageriein Paris. It’s up to them to share their stories and get to know one another at their own pace. I explain that they’re compatible in many ways and they have many shared interests, but I don’t delve into what they are. When I hit send, I cup my face. I always want love to win, but I want it even more for Guillaume. I shoot up a prayer to the love gods and will them to make it so.
9
The next day, by some miracle I arrive at Ephemera early. The neighbouring stalls are shuttered. The halls are bereft of customers so I open my laptop and set about designing a feedback survey for Paris Cupid while no one is here to catch me. My set-in stone rules forbidding working on the site at the market are a thing of the past as I struggle to keep up with demand.
Ideally, I’d like to send the survey to all members – their happiness in the game of love is my main priority – but there’s no time while I’m still assessing the influx of current applications and debating whether I will pause new applications for a while in order to keep a handle on it.
