Spring in Paris was a magical affair as flowers bloomed around the city giving an overwhelming floral scent. She’d been there for six years now, but the capital never failed to impress her. Each season affected the city differently, but whereas summer could be searing and the streets hazy with heat, spring gave all the golden glow but with a much more temperate feel.
Pausing at a small café with an eclectic mix of folding metal and wicker chairs and tightly packed circular tables, she took a seat and ordered a café crème and a buttery, flaky croissant. The perfect thing to soak up the rest of the wine lingering in her system and wake her up while she waited for Océane to join her. She’d want to know all about her date with Bastien last night. By the time Amelia had something to eat and chatted to Océane, she’d look again for the perfect items to finish off the job she was working on. As an interior designer, Paris, with its chic fashions and varied shops was the perfect place for her business, and so far, Amelia had never regretted leaving the tiny English village she’d grown up in the second she was able to. She hadn’t left much behind.
Twenty minutes later, Océane arrived and ordered the same as Amelia. Amelia asked for another café crème before the waiter disappeared, knowing the questioning was soon to begin and a second caffeine hit would help her endure it. Her friend didn’t exactly mince her words.
‘So?’ Océane asked in her heavy French accent. ‘How was your date last night? Was Bastien attentive? Did he buy you champagne?’
‘No, he brought me wine. And lots of it,’ Amelia said, adjusting her sunglasses once more as the sun moved across the sky, climbing higher. The coffee was helping her headache, but she still felt a little fragile. This morning she had hastily scraped her black hair into a chignon and swiped her lips with bold red lipstick knowing it would give her pale cheeks some colour. Over the years she had absorbed the Parisian style of dressing: classic, expensive pieces, simple lines, graceful, but if she didn’t make the effort, it only took a moment with a real Parisian to make her feel sloppy and slobbish. Océane was just the sort of stylish friend Amelia had always pictured herself with. She had a natural elegance as well as innate confidence and style. Amelia made a mental note of her outfit today; grey ankle length jeans, plain black ballet pumps and a camel coloured crew neck jumper just visible under the black jacket and large grey scarf keeping her warm. It made her own all black ensemble of cigarette pants and short sleeved jumper seem dull.
Océane swiped her blonde hair over her shoulder. ‘You do look a little how do you say …’
‘Under the weather?’
‘Pasty.’
‘Thanks.’ Amelia giggled.
‘Did you not have a good time? He is very handsome, non?’
‘We had a very good time.’ For once, Amelia was grateful that she wasn’t prone to blushing as thoughts of his intense and passionate kisses rang through her head. ‘And yes, he is very handsome. He took me to an expensive restaurant, wined and dined me, paid me compliments, made me laugh, but I’ve left him to make his way home while I’m out.’
‘You are avoiding him?’ Her tone was incredulous.
Bastien was almost perfect and she liked him well enough, but Amelia couldn’t stand that boring small talk made the morning after the night before. It served no purpose as far as she was concerned and more often than not it led to those men she’d brought home wanting more than she was prepared to give.
‘But you will see him again?’ Océane asked. ‘You know that he wants you to be together. He is in love with you, I think.’
‘Well, I’m afraid he’s going to be disappointed because I don’t love him.’ Amelia paused while the waiter delivered their drinks. As she said it, she realised how callous it sounded. She took a sip of coffee and saw the imprint of her red lipstick on the rim of the cup. For a second, she wondered about the imprint she was leaving on the world. Not much of one, it seemed. She put her mood down to feeling maudlin because of her hangover. ‘You know I’m not really in the market for that sort of thing.’
Océane took a moment to understand the phrase, but realisation quickly dawned. ‘You are mad and will break his poor heart.’
‘I don’t think so. I’m sure he’ll have left the apartment by now and won’t even think of me again. Even if he does like me, he’ll find someone else pretty quickly.’
‘You know that is not true. You are a cold woman.’
Amelia raised her head at this remark. Was she cold? She didn’t think so. She had friends, had been through some decent relationships. She was just focussed on her life and living it to the full. She’d worked hard to get where she was. She was one of the foremost interior designers in Paris and wasn’t prepared to just invite a man into her life for the sake of it. She’d always done fine on her own and didn’t see the need to change now. She wasn’t really the type to get lonely either. She was far too busy. Océane continued.
‘I do not know how you can be so immune to his charms. Our men – French men – Parisian men – know how to win a woman’s heart.’
‘Your French men are pretty charming, but I’m perfectly happy
