‘You look like you’re in love.’
He considers it. ‘I am, I think.’ He flashes me that same winning grin of his, but it’s laced with something else – wonderment, anticipation? Well, who wouldn’t be feeling those same emotions being bathed in vivid light like this?
‘It’s not just the beauty or majesty of these cathedrals that tug on the heart strings, it’s a bigger feeling than that. I struggle to put it into words…’ I say, unable to express the complexity of what I mean.
Jasper and Princess wear the same rapt faces so perhaps they feel it too.
Jasper nods. ‘There’s a word that might fit: numinous, which describes a strong religious and spiritual feeling signifying the presence of divinity. I take it to mean it’s that bolt you feel deep in your soul when you walk into a place like this.’
How can this man be so perfect? A wordsmith who understands big feelings, big thoughts. The philosophy of things. ‘That’s exactly it, Jasper. Numinous.’ I roll the word on my tongue; it feels right. While I don’t follow any one religion, you can’t help but feel the presence of the divine inside these walls. It adds a buoyancy to my spirit. This is why people truly believe. It’s hard not to when it touches you like this, like it’s an almost physical thing.
We leave Sainte-Chapelle and are driven to the 1st arrondissement and stop at Place Vendôme to share a bottle of champagne and canapes at the Ritz, which Princess insists on. I’m not going to argue. It’s all very fancy. The limo door is opened by a doorman and we’re ushered inside to the sumptuous hotel famous for so many reasons, including being the home of Coco Chanel for over thirty years.
‘Let’s sit in Bar Vendôme,’ Princess says. It’s as lavish as you imagine, and I pretend for a moment that I eat canapes in swanky places all the time. The bite-size morsels are exceptional, the company more so, Jasper surprising me with his intellect and his big heart. Just as I suspected, the guy is the type to shovel snow off his neighbour’s drive and carry shopping to the car for a frazzled mum. One of the good ones that you only see in romcoms. But there must be a flaw under all that, right? There always is. Maybe I can ask Rox to do a deep dive on his background… Until I remember I’m not interested so there’s no point.
After Bar Vendôme, we’re driven to Montmartre. Princess buys gifts at A la Mère de Famille, an artisanal chocolate shop, and I buy a book about the history of the shop, which is so utterly Parisian it’s hard to leave.
Princess points out Café des Deux Moulins, where the French movieAméliewas filmed. We drive past the Vignes di Clos Montmartre, the last operational vineyard in all of Paris. I’m grateful we’ve had the car in which to zoom all over Paris as we covered some distance and managed to fit so much in.
As the day escapes and night falls, my energy ebbs. Princess is still lively chatting away with Jasper and the driver, while I soak up the view of Paris at night, a sepia-hued river Seine, the Eiffel Tower sparkling against the inky night.
‘This is the last stop,’ our driver informs us through the speakers. ‘Marché de Noël de Notre-Dame.’
The facade of the Notre Dame cathedral looks different as evening falls. The gothic structure fills with brooding shadows, the gargoyles perched above like sentinels guarding the city.
Square Rene-Viviani in front is alive with Swiss chalet-like stalls, selling an array of delights such as mulled wine, roasted chestnuts, Christmas ornaments and artisanal crafts. With the medieval towers of Notre Dame as a backdrop, and the lapping of the Seine close by, it’s the perfect place to stretch our legs and do some Christmas shopping.
‘There’s a Ferris wheel! Who’s keen?’ Jasper asks. ‘I bet the view will be even more stunning from that vantage.’ He points high into the sky. It’s sweet to see his childlike spirit come alive when faced with a carnival ride. If Miles were here, he’d insist that was for kids and no way would he be seen dead on it. Why am I comparing the two of them?
‘I’m keen!’ I say. ‘What about you, Princess?’
Excitement shines on her face. ‘I’ve got my eye firmly on my prize. Those big, thick, fat sausages. Look at the girth on those things.’ Before we can respond, she’s marching towards a choucroute stall. I have to practically bite my lips off to stop laughter spilling out.
‘I’m noticing that Princess sees many objects as phallic,’ Jasper muses, trying to rein in his own grin.
I don’t dare tell him about our bauble-decorating experience. For a widow, she sure knew a lot of inappropriate jokes about balls. But who am I to judge?
Is the bawdy humour just a bit of schtick, a persona that Princess puts out to the world in an effort to hide her real heart, a heart that is hurting? Don’t we all do that to some degree? Show the world what we think they want to see? Act a certain way to protect the vulnerable parts, the scars, the damage that we hide from the light?
‘Should we get one too and then ride the Ferris wheel?’ Jasper asks.
I’m not sure I can now eat a sausage without thinking of penises and not choke to death on it, and with Jasper in such close proximity. I swallow back a giggle.
‘You’re thinking of penis sausages, aren’t you?’
I bite my bottom lip and fumble with an appropriate answer. ‘Yes.’ We knock into each other, laughing.
8
18 DECEMBER, PARIS, FRANCE
Later that evening, Princess bursts into my cabin while I’m meant to be freshening up for dinner but am really checking my phone for any contact from Miles. Nada. The longer I don’t hear from him, the more I worry that he’s truly suffering some sort of strange malady that prevents him from getting in touch. Or knowing Miles it’s more likely he doesn’t want to get the earful he deserves when I officially end things with him.
‘Don’t mind me, darling.’ It seems that the normal rules like knocking and waiting for a response don’t apply to Princess, and that makes sense in the scheme of how the confident woman walks this world.
I clip on cutesy Santa earrings that I picked up earlier at the Notre Dame Christmas market.
‘You’re really getting into the Christmas spirit, darling. That jumper.’ Her eyebrows shoot up so high I worry that she’ll fall over backwards. She adds to the dramatics by clutching her chest, tottering around and feigning a heart attack. Talk about hamming it up for effect.
