A Friend in Paris Page 2

  “Huh.” His brow crinkled. “Why don’t you let it be my treat?”

  “No, no.” April shook her head. “Thank you, though.” To turn the talk from her financial situation, she said, “Tell me about where you’re from. What’s it like at your house? Did you know I’m planning on going to China next?”

  “You are? You definitely need to go then. There’s no other place like it in the world.” Ben sat back as the waiter brought the first course over. “How could you have forgotten to mention it before?”

  “Oh, in the two weeks we’ve been paired up for the project?” April retorted. “How secretive of me.”

  Ben gave a snort and poured olive oil over his carpaccio. “All right. I’ll tell you about Shanghai, but you tell me when you plan to go to China.”

  “In September,” she replied promptly.

  Ben looked up at that. “So soon?” he asked. “Why?”

  April watched him wade through his appetizer as she nursed the glass of water she held. After taking a sip, she answered him. “I promised my dad. He told me not to commit myself to one style of art until I had studied everywhere, taking elements from each place I studied. My plan is to spend five years living in various continents and taking art classes in one or two different countries per year. I’ll start with China in September for half a year, then move to India for the other half.”

  Ben had finished the appetizer and was mopping up the olive oil and lemon with a piece of bread. He glanced at her. “You can stay with my family for those six months.”

  “I don’t think so, Ben,” she said. “I couldn’t impose on your family like that. But thank you.” The waiter came with her croque monsieur, and April was grateful he hadn’t waited until Ben had his main course, and that the sandwich was huge. “Now tell me about your family.”

  “I’m the only son—”

  “Ah, so that explains it,” April teased and took a large bite of her sandwich.

  “You’re funny,” he retorted. “And I have a younger sister.”

  “Where is she?” April asked, pulling at the cheese and shoving it into her mouth. She wasn’t even trying to be graceful.

  “Jenny’s at home. My parents would never let her go off on her own.”

  April frowned and set down her sandwich. “Don’t tell me your parents are still so traditional.”

  “My parents are traditional, but they’re open-minded, too.” Ben had his hands folded in front of him, and there was something in his expression that made her feel like he was making fun of her.

  “They’re not all that open-minded,” April protested. “I can’t believe they won’t let her travel just because she’s a girl.”

  “They won’t let her travel because she’s eight.” Ben smirked and picked up his cutlery as the waiter set a tartiflette in front of him.

  “Oh.” April felt herself blush.

  “Admit it. You’re prejudiced against Chinese people,” he said without rancor. “You think we oppress women.”

  “I’ll admit I held that prejudice,” April answered, honestly. “I’m surprised your sister is so much younger than you.”

  “I didn’t ask my parents why, and they’re not likely to tell me,” Ben said, grinning through mouthfuls.

  “Of course not.” April laughed. Ben was a touch arrogant, but she liked him. He was fun to be around. “What’s your house like?”

  “Well…” Ben paused. “Have you ever seen pictures of houses in China? My house looks pretty much like those, except it's bigger than most. My dad is one of the top businessmen in Shanghai, and he wouldn’t settle for anything less than the nicest house in the city. The roof tiles are made of traditional red clay, and there’s a veranda that stretches around the entire house. We’re on the edge of the city, and we have a large property with a bamboo wooded area, a pond with golden carp, magnolia trees, and a mixed orchard with different fruit trees.”

  April stopped eating to listen. Ben was painting a picture with his words, and it made her even more excited to see it for herself. “The road that leads to my house has those plane trees that you see on the Paris avenues—you know, with the white mottled bark? We have those on either side of the road that leads to my house. So I don’t feel homesick when I’m in Paris.” He swallowed a sip of wine and added, “It sometimes snows in the winter.”

  “That sounds beautiful,” April said, and picked up the remainder of her sandwich. “It doesn’t seem foreign the way you describe it.”

  “It’s definitely not foreign to me,” Ben replied. “It’s my home. You should come to Shanghai. Why not? It’s a modern city, but there’s still all the Buddhist temples with smoking incense, the Chinese songs, and the thousand-year eggs you’d want for a full cultural experience. And I’ll introduce you to my calligraphy teacher, which is a must if you’re going to study Chinese art.”

  “I might just do that.” April put her napkin on her empty plate and looked up. “Plus, it would be nice to go someplace I have a friend. Unless—when do you plan to return home?”

  “In August. So yes, I’ll be there.” He gave her a smoldering look. “Maybe we could go as more than friends.”

  April was obliged to laugh. “I don’t think so, Ben. I have enough on my plate without the complexities of romance.”

  Ben shrugged. “It was worth a shot. Since this plate is clean, shall we go? I don’t want the dessert after all.”

  April put her eight euros on the metal tray and said she’d meet him outside while Ben went to the counter to pay with a credit card. On the street in front of the restaurant was a woman, clad in a coat too warm for the season, with a scarf over her hair, sitting with a child and a cardboard sign in front of her that said “j’ai faim, s.v.p.” April thought about her own situation and how lucky she was. Sure, money was tight, but that was only because it was tied up at the moment. She still had six of her father’s paintings to sell, which would earn her enough to accomplish all her travel plans and maybe even put a down payment on a studio when she was done. She had more than enough to spare.

  “Bonjour, madame.” April handed the woman a two-euro coin. “What’s your daughter’s name?” The woman pointed to her lips and shook her head. April smiled, preparing to walk back toward the door, but the woman detained her. She held out a small bundle of fragrant white flowers, tied together with piece of twine.

  “For me?” April asked, touched, though the flowers were already starting to wilt. The woman nodded, and April tucked the bouquet into the buttonhole of her leather jacket. “Thank you.”

  Ben came out the door and looked at the homeless woman, then at April. When she rejoined him, he said, “You really shouldn’t encourage them, you know. They can get help if they want it. They’re just taking advantage of you.”

  April started forward, piqued. “I don’t give because there’s a need. Or—I don’t only give because of a need. I give because it’s the right thing to do. It brings goodness and justice in the world when those who are fortunate share with those who are less fortunate, whether or not they are…worthy.” She curled her fingers in air quotes. “God will sort it all out in the end.”

  “Your money,” Ben said, with a shrug. When he saw April’s displeasure, he put his arm around her shoulders and gave an affectionate squeeze. “Come on. Let’s not fight. Are you coming to the student meeting before class tomorrow?” He stopped to turn down the street to his apartment.

  “It’s my plan,” April said, offense forgotten and with a smile hovering on her lips. “Who can turn down free coffee and croissants?”

  “See you then,” he said, and tipped his hand in salute. April watched him walk away and turned toward her apartment. From an objective point of view, Ben was handsome and fun to be around, and he also had these moments of sweetness. But she wasn’t sure he was a kindred spirit, and she would never settle for less. April’s steps slowed. I hope I don’t find my kindred spirit until I’m done traveling the world, she thought, or he’s going to be eating my dust
.

  She punched the code to the wooden door leading to the courtyard, but when she opened the door, the movement was so unexpectedly easy she fell forward. Two strong hands caught her before she pitched to the ground.

  “Easy there,” he said.

  Victor.

  It took a moment for April to catch her breath. “You startled me,” she said, with a nervous laugh. I’ve never met the guy before, and now twice in one day?

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was in a hurry, and I pulled the door quickly.” Victor’s face slanted into a frown as he studied her, then his eyes drifted down to her chest. Before she could find a coherent thought to express outrage, he said, “You have a muguet.” It sounded like mew-gay.

  “A what?” April asked, her brows wrinkled.

  “Those white flowers. They’re usually given out on the first of May. Where did you get them?”

  “Oh, these.” She looked down and pulled the flowers from her buttonhole, then met his gaze. “I gave some money to a homeless mother and her child, and she handed this to me.”

  “I’m surprised,” he said.

  “That I would give money? I know, I know.” She didn’t want to hear it again. “They could get assistance if they wanted it.”

  “No, not that,” Victor said. “I’m surprised she gave you something back.”

  “They often give something back,” April said, her expression serious. “I mean, not every time. But often. They give their gratitude, a smile, sometimes a piece of food, like a sandwich they think you might want.”

  “Which you don’t,” he said, his face in the form of mock horror. April looked at him in surprise, and he clarified, “You don’t want the sandwich, I mean.”

  She laughed at that, and then she saw it. He smiled. And it was wholly unfair because his gleaming white teeth set in that perfect smile completed the look of perfection. She put her hands on her hips and shook her head.

  “What?” Victor asked, a look of confusion coming over his features.

  “Nothing,” she replied. Nothing she could share anyway. “But you were running late, so I won’t keep you.”

  He reached for the door handle. “Bye, April,” he said.

  She was already walking toward the courtyard and lifted her hand. “Bye, Victor.”

  Chapter 3

  “Mishou.” Victor let himself into his grandmother’s apartment and looked around. “Mishou?” He called again and knew a minute of panic before he heard her rumbling around in the kitchen.

  “Victor, I’m in here.” She came out carrying an old porcelain water pitcher that she brought to the table. “Oh, you brought me flowers encore. And yellow tulips, my favorite. You’re always so thoughtful.”

  “It’s not that hard to bring you tulips, Mishou. What I wish is that you would let me move you into an apartment closer to mine. One that has more space.” He looked around. “And more light.”

  “What do I need with more space?” she asked with a shrug, the age-old argument. “My friends are here, and I would be lonely if I moved to another apartment. I promise to let you know if I need help. I’m not so foolish an old woman as to forget I’m no longer young.”

  “No, you are wise.” Victor kissed her cheeks. “You are also important to me, which is why I keep bringing it up.”

  Mishou patted his cheek and proceeded to the hutch that held the collection of vases. “My dear boy, please get me that smooth glass vase on the top shelf. It’s perfect for tulips.” Victor obliged and went to fill it with water. “You’ve made paupiettes de veau,” he called out from the kitchen when he spotted the tiny wrapped bundles of veal. “My favorite.”

  When they were seated at the table, the entrée of grated carrots and Dijon mustard dressing nearly finished, his grandmother touched his arm. “So, Victor. What have you been keeping busy at lately? Did you buy the company you were looking at? That international consulting firm?”

  “Yes, although I didn’t need to do much to close the deal. I’d already chosen who the members of the board would be, and Richard is handling the paperwork as usual. There’s not really much left for me to do.”

  Mishou studied him, her gaze thoughtful. She never missed anything. “You said you were interested in trying out management for once. And this consulting firm—it was something you thought you could do. Have you changed your mind?” She reached for Victor’s empty plate and served him a helping of rice and veal, giving him time to answer.

  He had thought about it. He even had a window of time before he needed to choose a director for the firm, so he had time to consider himself for the role. But Victor knew that would be a mistake. He was good at acquisitions. Management? He wasn’t so sure, and he wasn’t about to claim a position at the helm of a multi-billion-dollar public company where his every move would be scrutinized by competitors around the world. He could just picture them plotting a hostile takeover while he blundered about. Maybe his own father would be the one to spearhead it. Victor cringed.

  Plus, he had to admit, after leading the company up to this exciting stage where they’d acquired smaller firms in major cities around the world, all under the umbrella of Brunex Consulting, he couldn’t step back from his visionary role only to get bogged down with the minute details of management. Not when the acquisitions he’d lined up would make this company his greatest achievement yet.

  “I’m not sure I’m fit for management,” he said, at last. “I would have to give it two years, and I’m not sure I want to commit to stopping all other business just to focus on this one branch. I might lose my edge.”

  “Or you might find you’re not as good at it as you thought.” Victor shot his grandmother a look, and she laughed softly. “No, that is not my own opinion on the matter. I think you will do splendidly as a manager.”

  Mishou sighed and, picking up her fork, continued. “You’re still so afraid of failing after all these years, my boy. It’s okay to fail. It’s not okay to go through life having only the most superficial shot at it. Life is meant to be lived, mon chou. You’re meant to embrace it and give all to life and love, even if that means getting hurt from time to time. Your mother understood that better than anyone. Even though her marriage to your father was not what she’d hoped, she never regretted it for an instant because it gave her you.” She patted Victor’s hand. “It will hurt a lot more in the end if you keep putting up walls to protect yourself.”

  Victor was used to his grandmother’s idea of pleasant dinner conversation. It always went more or less along the same lines. Always hurting a little, but he didn’t mind because it was a cleansing sort of hurt. It was the one time in the week where there was no superficiality. No hiding behind façades. He even looked forward to it. This depth wasn’t something he could produce on his own. His grandmother was the magic ingredient in their relationship.

  “How is your friend Christelle?”

  Victor didn’t answer right away. He unwound the string from the veal and put it to the side of his plate. “I’m going to end things.”

  “Of course that relationship couldn’t last,” Mishou said, kindly. “I saw that right away.”

  “You’ve never even met her!”

  “I didn’t need to.” His grandmother raised her brows. “Any young lady who throws herself at a gentleman before she’s had a chance to see beyond his wealth…”

  “It wasn’t like that, Mishou,” he said, although it was a little like that. Her words confirmed his decision, though, and it brought him comfort. Just because another relationship didn’t work out didn’t necessarily mean it was all his fault.

  As if she could read his mind, his grandmother said, “Listen. I have two pieces of advice for you.” Victor shook his head with a grin, and she pointed a softly gnarled finger in his face. “Don’t go looking for love. Let it drop into your hands like the heavy blossom of a fragrant peony.” Mishou had always been a poet. “Love is not an acquisition like one of those companies of yours. It must come to you naturally. Unexpected
ly. That’s how you know it will last.”

  “Like how you met Grandpa at the bakery?” he asked, his eyes alight. Victor knew once he got her started on that subject, all attention would be off him.

  Mishou sighed. “Oh, mon Fredéric. He was so handsome. Dapper, even. He never went to that boulangerie, except on that day because he was supposed to meet his date. A nice little woman—”

  “Who never showed,” Victor finished with a smile. “And once he got a look at you, he forgot all about anyone else.”

  Mishou’s eyes went dreamy. “He never stood a chance. I had quite the figure in my day, you know.” Suddenly, she laughed. “You’ve changed the subject, you naughty boy. But yes, let love find you.”

  An image flashed before Victor's eyes. April. Falling into his arms when he opened the door, a flower in her buttonhole. Just like the heavy blossom of a peony. He thought of her sparkling blue eyes and taffy-colored hair, her gleaming curls pulled back, and wondered what her hair would look like down on her shoulders. A chance meeting, he convinced himself before pushing the vision aside. That sort of thing was ridiculous.

  Victor put his focus firmly on his meal. “What’s the second piece of advice?”

  With a sly smile, his grandmother asked, “What do you think the second thing is?”

  “Taking risks,” he answered, without missing a beat. “I should take risks in my professional life, as well as my personal life.”

  “Oh, you know how to take risks,” Mishou said, surprising him a little. “Every acquisition is a bit of a risk. What you haven’t yet dared to do is risk everything you have because you’re so sure the prize is worth it. Sometimes it’s only when you’re stripped of everything you have—your possessions, your position, your heart—that you can see what you value in life. Being willing to risk it all, especially your heart. That’s the risk you need to take.”

  Victor had a sudden and overwhelming urge to cry, which, of course, he would not do. Instead, he continued to shovel food in his mouth and chew, looking straight ahead. He had come close to finding himself when he was with Margaux. Being with her and her family, whose heritage was anchored and secure. That prize had filled every empty crevice of his being. Or at least that was how he’d felt.