I take the box and envelope along with my coffee back to the kitchen. I open the card and it reads:
Christmas chocolate and a love note, what could be sweeter? Would you like to go to a Christmas concert at Sainte-Chapelle this evening? Send me a love note back. Noah
I grin. It’s a sweet and utterly romantic gift and he’s put a lot of thought into it. I open one of the chocolates, a rich dark chocolate delight that melts on my tongue while I think of a reply.
I find a piece of notepaper in a drawer, not as fancy as Noah’s card, but needs must, and write:
Merci beaucoupfor the Christmas chocolates, they are my favourite. I’d love to go to Sainte-Chapelle this evening. Herewith is your chosen chocolate. I hope you like hazelnut. Anais.
I wrap the note around the chocolate.
‘Manon!’ I yell. ‘Can you deliver this to Noah?’
‘Now I’m UberEats?’
I laugh, picturing Manon on a vespa ferrying food all over Paris. ‘You’d eat their chocolates if you were an Uber driver, wouldn’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t be able to resist.’
‘Take one of these for your trouble.’ I hold up the box and she chooses an almond praline for herself.
‘Just the one. Wow. So generous.’
We laugh as she cradles the note and chocolate as if it’s sacred and goes to deliver Noah’s.
We take a pew inside Sainte-Chapelle. It’s one of the most beautiful churches in Paris, from the rayonnant period of Gothic architecture. But what makes it particularly stunning are the stained-glass windows, shooting prisms of colour around the church. It’s breathtaking and, no matter how many times I visit, I’m still rendered speechless by its beauty.
The carollers start, the young choir who have the voice of angels. My eyes well up at the pure sound that’s so haunting and sweet and I try surreptitiously to dab at my eyes, wishing I’d thought to bring a tissue, or at least not worn a white jumper.
I’m sniffling and snuffling when Noah exits the pew, before returning with a small sachet of tissues. ‘The usher said it happens all the time.’
I send him a grateful smile. It’s the magic of Christmas, their cherubic voices, being bathed in pools of light, like we’re actually in the belly of a kaleidoscope, it’s Noah, the warmth and strength of him right beside me. It’s grace for myself and letting go of what came before. It’s a new start. It’s a new stronger me. Once bruised and battle scarred. Now healed.
I lean my head against Noah’s shoulder and put my hand on his chest. The beat of his heart is in symphony with mine.
After the concert, we take a walk along the Seine, hand in hand. Stars sparkle overhead as dinner cruises decorated for Christmas chug along the river. There’s a festive air as families walk in large groups, out late to attend markets. Revellers spill from bistros, smoking cigarettes. In a doorway, a couple embrace, laughing breathlessly before kissing. I catch Noah’s eye and we exchange a smile. ‘Love is in the air,’ I say.
‘Oui,’ he says, and he turns to face me.
I don’t hesitate; I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. The world around me fades to black as I melt into his arms and our kiss deepens with an intensity that feels right.
40
19 DECEMBER
Loud banging wakes me up. Squinting, I check the time. It’s not even six. Our first guests aren’t due to arrive until later in the day. I throw a jumper over my PJs and slip on my boots and head to the lobby to see who is making so much noise so early in the morning.
Is that MargaretandFrancois-Xavier?
Mon Dieu.Margaret’s arms are flailing and Francois-Xavier has his crossed tight against his chest. Uh oh, my literary agent is giving him a mouthful and by his scrunched up features he doesn’t like it one little bit.
I twist the lock and they spill inside.
‘Now you listen to me, you snivelling, snide sex fiend…!’
Sex fiend? I press my lips together to stop laughter escaping.
‘Excusez moi!You cannot talk to me in such a way. I demand you stop.’
