One Winter Weekend

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

T his had to be a dream. She couldn’t really be standing in a Ladurée café with Patrick Wilde. And in Paris of all places.

Every person had ‘one who got away’, or so she was always told. Though Patrick wasn’t quite that because he hadn’t gotten away as such - the choice to end their two year relationship had been mutual.

Emily had gone to university in London, and Patrick had no desire to leave their little home hamlet of Kingham in Oxfordshire.

He had a family inn and restaurant to tend to, and an ailing mother who needed his help. They’d wanted to stay together, but Patrick believed it selfish of him to ask Emily to stay when she’d been accepted to her first choice university. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity he didn’t want her to give up or postpone. He wanted her success and she wanted his, but for that time his future was in their hometown.

They’d tried to stay in touch, but the hectic schedule of her life in London and his responsibilities, soon saw their communications dwindle into nothing.

A year or so later, it was over. Then Emily met someone new and started dating, and she presumed he’d done the same.

Their paths had never crossed again since, and though there had been times when she’d thought of him in fond memory, that was all that was left. Sometimes she’d wondered what might have happened if she’d made another choice, but it was something she could never know.

Yet now Patrick Wilde was there, right in front of her - in Paris - and she could hardly believe the change in him.

He had once been an athletic, broad shouldered swimmer who wore terribly thick glasses and stuttered when he was nervous, but none of that bothered her.

She found his shyness endearing and his swimming prowess formidable. Then there was his temperament. Patrick was always polite, helpful and willing to offer an encouraging word to anyone, and a lending hand.

He wasn’t all shyness however; there had been a time, when they were around sixteen, when he’d got into a terrible fight with one of their schoolmates. He left the boy with a black eye and a bloody lip, but he’d deserved it in Emily’s mind, having dared to speak ill of Patrick’s unwell mother.

Though Emily never condoned fighting, she was very proud of him that day, and the way he’d stood up for his mother, a woman who had always treated her well.

Staring was rude, but now Emily couldn’t help herself. Patrick stood at the elaborate counter, which was adorned with all manner of sweet macarons and colourful boxes that reminded her more of an elegant perfumery of times past than a delicatessen.

“Here we go,” he said, as he approached her. “Something to go with our coffees. Shall we go find some place to sit?”

“Lead the way,” Emily offered. “You seem to know your way around quite well.”

“I should,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve lived in the city for five years now.”

Emily halted. Had she heard him right? “You live here - in Paris?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, pushing the door open to the street and allowing her to go ahead of him. “I have a place in Gros Caillou, near Champ-de-Mars.”

“I can’t believe it,” Emily replied, wide-eyed. “You never seemed interested in even leaving Kingham, far less crossing the Channel to move to Paris. What happened?”

“A couple of years after you left, my mother died,” Patrick informed her, his expression growing momentarily sad.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope …” Emily began, but the words were useless. There was no point in saying them.

“It’s alright. She went peacefully in the end, which was all anyone could hope for,” he continued as they walked. “After she was gone, my uncle thought it best to take me in. He didn’t think I should have been left with the bills and the burden. So I sold the inn then moved to Bristol with my uncle’s family. Eventually I enrolled in school and won a scholarship to study business here in Paris. Looks like those French lessons we took in school were of some use,” he mused.

“You got the scholarship because you knew French?”

“And because I was in the top percentile in my class,” he added mischievously.

“Then what happened?” she asked.

“My year here landed me a job with a company I interned with, and as they say the rest is history,” he said with a shrug. “They put me in an apartment, gave me a car and well, that’s it.”

“I always knew you’d be successful,” Emily said with a smile. “I’m so proud of you.”

“And what of you? What have you been up to?”

“Well, after I moved to London, it was a bit of an adjustment for me,” she admitted, biting her lip. “Being on my own wasn’t something I was used to, and having Nan so far away was a little worrying, but she called me all the time and I called her, so it made things easier. I gave up competitive swimming for my studies, though. I just do it for exercise now.”

“You - giving up the pool?”

“I could say the same of you,” she countered.

“I guess we both knew we weren’t going to be Olympians, so it made sense to give it up for things that would take us further.”

“True.”

“Where are you working in London?” he asked.

“An advertising firm, Thompson & Jonas. I’ve been there since graduation,” she informed him. “I’m Creative Director.”

“So soon?” he questioned, surprise lacing his words.

“Yes. Don’t you think I could be good enough for the post?” she questioned, folding her arms across her chest.

“Of course you could. You could do anything you set your mind to Emily,” he replied, giving her a familiar look.