Lost in Paris Elizabeth Thompson (romantic story to read .TXT) 📖

a man who wasn’t Scott. Andres and I spent the rest of the evening talking. Pierre’s name did not come up the entire night, nor did my modeling for him. We were too busy speaking of art and books and my new job at the boulangerie.

He was the perfect gentleman. Even when he walked me home again, as he had after the salon. I willed my traitorous heart to stop fluttering, to remember its place, because a man like Monsieur Armand wouldn’t be interested in an unsophisticated girl from Bristol. He must’ve realized that, too, because once again, he didn’t ask to see me again after we reached my door.

If I were smart, I would put Andres Armand out of my mind forever. My head knows that, but my heart can’t forget him.

Sixteen

January 8, 2019—11:00 a.m.

London, England

Marla and I come to a temporary compromise on what to do with the apartment. We decide, for the time being, not to decide.

Even so, I think she insisted on coming back to London with me because she is afraid I’ll try to sell the apartment out from under her while we’re apart.

So, here we are. I need to get back to normal, and she’s at loose ends.

Since I don’t want to leave her to her own devices at the London flat, I take her to the Heart to Heart tour offices, where I’m meeting my boss, Emma, for a catch-up before I go back to work tomorrow. I’m hoping Marla will want to slide into one of the city tours and give me a breather.

“This is where you work?” Marla asks, wide-eyed, as she looks around the suite on Buckingham Palace Road. “Where do you keep the busses?”

“This is where the corporate office is housed. We contract the busses from another company and they meet us at predetermined sites, depending on the tour. It wouldn’t make financial sense to keep our own fleet.”

Violet, the receptionist to whom I’ve just introduced my mother, smiles at me.

“Oh.” Marla looks disappointed. “I thought a tour company would own a whole farm of busses. I was hoping they’d be those cute red ones you see all over town.”

“We also have walking tours,” Violet says. “In fact, would you like to choose one of these that starts at the top of the hour? I’ll arrange for you to go while Hannah meets with Emma. It would be on the house. Here, I can show you what’s available.”

“Thanks, Violet,” I say. “That’s a good idea. I might be a while.”

Marla shakes her head. “I’ll just sit out here and wait for you. I won’t bother anyone.”

She plants herself on the love seat in the reception area and picks up a magazine that’s lying amidst brochures advertising the various Heart to Heart offerings.

“It will give me a chance to catch up on the celebrity gossip I’ve missed. But wait, Hannah—is there a brochure for the tour you give?”

I’m touched that she’s interested. I walk over to the rack next to the reception desk and select the pamphlet showcasing the various Jane Austen packages. It’s in between brochures for the Shakespeare and Cotswolds tours.

“So, the people who take your tour don’t meet you here? I’m trying to visualize you at work.”

She closes her eyes.

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m rarely in the office. I’m mostly out in the field. It depends on which tour I’m conducting, but most of the time I meet my charges at Kensington Palace Gardens and we head out of town from there. Sometimes I’m on the road for the better part of a week.”

“No wonder you don’t have a man.” Marla laughs and shakes her head in the direction of Violet, who is doing her best to look neutral. “How can she expect to meet anyone if she’s always away?”

“She’s one of our best guides,” Violet says.

I want to hug her. But Marla is right. It is hard to maintain a relationship when I’m on the road more than I’m at home. I think of Aiden and wonder if I should take him up on the meal he offered now that I’m back.

I brush aside the flashback to the last man who wanted to cook for me—Gabriel. At least I know with near certainty that Aiden isn’t married. But since I’m gone so much for work and I’ll be spending a lot of my free time in Paris, should I even bother to call him?

It feels complicated.

“Em’s off the phone,” says Violet. “You can go in now.”

“Marla, I shouldn’t be too long. Are you going to be all right out here?”

“Of course. I’ll just sit here and read.” She waves the Jane Austen brochure. “Now, go on. Off with you.”

She’s not a toddler who needs constant supervision. Even though sometimes it feels that way. But Violet is on a call and Marla is sitting there with one leg tucked underneath her, reading the pamphlet like it’s a best-seller.

I knock lightly on Emma’s door to announce myself before pushing it open and stepping inside.

“Hannah, I’m so glad you’re back.” Emma stands and gives me a hug. “How was your vacation?”

“Different from what I’d planned.” I tell her about Marla’s surprise visit.

Emma’s mouth forms a perfect O.

“Was this a good surprise, then?”

“Let’s say it was unexpected. We ended up going to Paris.”

“How lovely.”

“And bizarre,” I add.

I tell Emma about the turn of events with the apartment and about Granny Ivy’s secret life. When I stop for a breath, Emma’s jaw is hanging open.

“Hannah, that is fantastic. It’s like a movie plot.”

“I found a series of my great-grandmother’s diaries in the apartment.” I fish around in my bag and pull out the one I’ve been reading. “Take a look at this.”

I thumb to the part where Ivy and her roommate, Helen, go to Dingo Bar on their first morning in Paris, and hand it to Emma.

“Read this and tell me what you think.”

She reads silently, her eyes growing wider with each line.

“Pablo?