One Winter Weekend

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

T he falling snow made the air crisp and hearty and brought a smile to Emily’s face as she looked up and down the busy street.

She was really here. She’d really come to Paris!

She strolled to her right, her hands stuffed into the front pockets of her red padded coat. She didn’t need to rush, she planned to savour every moment of just being in such a beautiful city.

She smiled to herself as she watched couples walking arm-in-arm along the avenue, some in a rush and some like her, taking it easy.

It was only a short walk, no more than a few minutes, before Emily found herself at Place Charles de Gaulle, the Arch de Triomphe standing at the centre.

It was even more breath-taking in reality than in photos or in movies, even with all the cars rushing around it. It really was beautiful but she’d have to take a better look later, because right now she had an appointment one avenue over, on the Champs-élysées.

Trees lined both sides of the street as Emily began her stroll. It wasn’t quite like what she’d seen in the movies, more familiar shops and chain stores had moved in since, replacing stylish cafés with American brandnames.

She chuckled. “I guess that American in Paris left more than he expected …” she mused, walking away from McDonalds. She had no interest in fast food - in this city, she wanted something much more authentic.

The Renault restaurant was just that. Located along the avenue it was both modern and contemporary within a warm and welcoming atmosphere that made Emily indifferent to the fact that she was eating alone. She rarely did so, but this was a new day and she was ready for new experiences.

She was seated on one of the upstairs tiers, where all the chairs were yellow-coloured. The place had such a fun and irreverent feel, that she was sure children must love it. She decided there and then to treat herself; who cared about a few extra pounds at this time of year?

She started with avocado and shrimp tartare, followed by Milanese veal cutlet with linguine pesto, and topped everything off with a vanilla crème br?lée and two glasses of sauvignon blanc.

The meal was amazing, and she made a mental note to come there again during her trip if she had the time.

Looking down from her perch on the first floor, Emily watched other diners down below.

Some had large bags draped over chairs, no doubt full of festive trinkets to take home to decorate, or gifts ready to be wrapped. She wondered what would be the best places to find toys for the boys and gifts for Sarah and Jeff, plus maybe a little something for herself to commemorate her trip.

She was enjoying the view, slowly draining her final glass of wine, when she thought she spotted someone familiar down below.

She squinted, trying to see the face properly, but from this angle it was difficult and there were so many people.

Finally she shook her head; she was being silly. It couldn’t possibly be him , could it?

After all, it had been at least ten years, would she still even recognise him now?

“Don’t let your eyes play tricks on you,” she admonished herself, draining her glass.

There was no way Patrick Wilde could be in Paris.