“I’m not sure why else he would be looking at me.”
Arthur lifted his eyes. His daughter looked so pretty, with her pinkened collarbone and freckles. It was as though a veil had been lifted from her face, taking her strain and upset with it. He wondered for a moment if he should tell her as much, but he couldn’t form the right words. Instead, he looked back into his bowl. “This soup really is fine,” he said. “I don’t know how they get the onions to go so soft.”
They sat in silence while he finished. Lucy picked up a newspaper left behind by an old man with a black poodle from the table beside them and browsed through it.
Arthur tilted his bowl to ensure he got the very last spoonful of soup. The warmness in his belly and the sun streaking through the trees made him feel calm and relaxed. His shoulders didn’t feel as tight. Being here with Lucy had given him time to reflect on the past couple of weeks. He looked back over to the boutique. “You know, through my travels and meeting people who were part of Miriam’s life, I’m learning that it’s the things you say and do that people remember you for. She is no longer here but she lives on in people’s hearts and minds.”
“That’s a nice thought.”
“I’m not sure if anyone will remember me so kindly.”
“Don’t be silly, Dad.”
“I’m not being. The more I find out about your mother’s remarkable life before me, the more it emphasizes that I’ve never done anything adventurous, or traveled, or met anyone that I might have had an impact on...”
“But you are doing that now. It’s not too late.”
Arthur hitched his shoulders.
Lucy shook her head. “You’re feeling emotional, Dad. It’s bound to be the case. It’s been a long journey here and you’re hearing stories about Mum that you’ve never heard before. But, I assure you, you will always be part of my life. You’ll always be special to me.”
Arthur gave a small nod, grateful for her sensible words. “Thanks.” He felt he should say something in return. He wanted to tell Lucy how he loved her from the minute she was born. He had listened to Miriam say it over and over again with such ease. But the words had never come easily to him. When Lucy was a child and asleep, then he could kiss her forehead and whisper, “I love you,” but here, in public, in a café, well, he couldn’t respond. “I, er...well. Ditto.”
“Oh, Dad.”
He felt Lucy suddenly wrap her arms around his neck “Are you okay? Whatever’s the matter?”
Lucy sniffed. “I just miss Mum, that’s all. It would be lovely if she was here with us.”
“I know.” He patted her back not knowing what to say that could change things.
Lucy broke away first. She felt around in her bag for a tissue.
“Madame?” The waiter appeared at her side. He raised one of his eyebrows. “Are you okay?” He shot a glance at Arthur as if accusing him of upsetting his young companion.
“Yes. I am fine. This is my father. We are happy.”
“You are ’appy?”
“Yes. Very. Thank you for asking. I just need a tissue,” Lucy said.
The waiter vanished and then slid a box of tissues onto the table. “For you.”
“Merci. You are very kind.”
“Claude,” the waiter said. “My name is Claude.”
“This is my treat,” Lucy insisted when she had dabbed her eyes and blown her nose. “It’s my money to spend on what I want. Remember?”
“Yes, darling.” Arthur smiled, making out that he was henpecked.
He went to the bathroom and when he came out saw that Claude was talking to his daughter. The waiter had a tray tucked under his arm and Lucy was smiling and twirling a strand of hair in her hand. Arthur bent down to retie his shoelaces and, when he saw they were still chatting, he checked how many euros he had in his wallet. When Claude moved away from the table, Arthur walked back. “Okay?” he asked.
“Yes. Good,” Lucy said. Her cheeks were flushed.
“I saw you talking to the waiter.”
“Ah, yes. He, er...” She cleared her throat. “He asked me if I wanted to go for a walk with him this evening. It was a little unexpected.”
“That’s a coincidence because Sylvie asked me to join her for dinner.”
They both looked at each other and laughed.
“I hope you said yes,” Arthur said.
Paris Match
ARTHUR LATHERED HIS chin with shaving foam and took hold of his razor. He paused in front of the hotel bathroom mirror and studied his reflection. It felt strange to be making an effort with his appearance. He was meeting a stranger for dinner, on a Friday night in Paris. He was surprised that someone as lovely as Sylvie had nothing else planned for her evening.
His fingers tingled. He didn’t want to think too deeply about this in case he tried to talk himself out of it. Friday night was when he and Miriam used to have their chippy tea in front of the TV. But he told himself that he and Sylvie were going out to talk about Miriam, to share their memories and stories. It was something he should want to do, not shy away from.
One thing he was trying not to worry about was what they might eat. Did all French restaurants serve frog legs and cook everything in garlic? He hoped not. For a moment he had a longing for one of Bernadette’s pies. He was missing her home cooking and also her company. He hoped that Sylvie would be gentle on him.
After lunch in the little café across the road from the bridal boutique, he and Lucy had been out shopping. He rarely went shopping with Miriam. If they did, he would end up loitering outside changing rooms, looking at his watch. Miriam would hold up shirts and trousers against him, then she would either nod and put them in the basket or whisk them away to hang back on the rail. The clothes would then appear as if by magic in his wardrobe, with the shop creases ironed out and the labels snipped off, ready for him to wear. Likewise, when he had a birthday in the family or at Christmas, well-chosen presents would appear on the kitchen worktop neatly wrapped in brightly colored paper, with ribbon bows and gift tags signed “From Miriam and Arthur.” He actually liked the idea of shopping for his family, to pick something out that he thought they might like, but gift buying was Miriam’s domain. She took to it with relish.
This time he found the experience joyous. He and Lucy strolled around the streets in no hurry. They tried different French cheeses and sampled olive oils together. They found a clothes shop with a closing-down sale and Lucy insisted that he buy five new shirts, two jumpers and a new pair of trousers. As he stood in the changing room and looked at his reflection in the new clothes, even he had to admit that he looked younger.
He bought a small bunch of freesias for Sylvie and an enameled black cat brooch for Lucy when she wasn’t looking. In the window of an antiques shop he saw a simple string of pearls and pointed them out. “I think your mother would have loved those,” he said.
Lucy agreed. “You knew her so well,” she said.
*
Arthur wore his new clothes as he stood outside the bridal shop once more, waiting for Sylvie. The lights inside were switched off and for a brief moment he half hoped she’d had a change of heart, that she had reconsidered. He walked up and down outside the shop trying not to grip the little bunch of freesias too tightly.