Flights of Angels (35 page)

Claudie gave her a guarded look. How much did they know? Did they hover over her and follow her around all day and night? She wouldn’t be a bit surprised. They did seem to have a lot of inside information.

‘I really don’t see how that changes things.’

‘Don’t you?’ Lily asked, her voice rising in surprise. ‘But it changes
everything!
’

‘Bugger. Bugger.
Bugger!
’ Simon grabbed a towel and patted his face dry, but the submersion in cold water hadn’t reduced the redness of his face one iota.

He stared at himself in the mirror and shook his head at what he saw. He looked terrible. What must Claudie have thought of him?

Walking through to the bedroom, he sank down onto the bed and closed his eyes. He’d set his watch in case he fell asleep, but that wasn’t very likely. Not with what he’d just told Claudie.

He groaned as he thought of their faces: his claret red and hers moonshine white. But at least he’d told her. The words were out. So let them do their work.

At quarter past eight on the dot, they found themselves in the lift again. Shoulder to shoulder this time, the space between them having vanished completely.

Under the arches of the breakfast room, they ate their last Parisian petit dejeuner with a few casual comments about what they should do and see during their remaining hours.

‘We should go up the Eiffel Tower, I suppose,’ Claudie said thoughtfully.

‘And there’s the boat cruise.’

‘And the Mona Lisa?’

‘Or Monet?’

‘Or Rodin?’

‘Or,’ Simon said, struggling to cut his bread roll into two equal parts, ‘we could just see where our feet take us again.’

Claudie met his gaze, trying very hard not to think of Whitby skies. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that sounds perfect.’

The sun was blinkably bright as they left the hotel. Claudie had decided to wear her long black boots again, and had chosen her new lilac jumper, but was beginning to worry that she was going to overheat. She quickly glanced at Simon. He was wearing black trousers, black boots and a chocolate brown jumper which made his hair look even blonder than normal, and feather-soft as it blew around in the light May breeze.

They ended up by the Seine again, as if drawn by some internal navigational system, and Claudie watched as Simon browsed through the boxes of old black and white postcards for sale in the endless stalls along the riverbank.

‘Do you think these are genuine?’ he asked, handing Claudie a card with a postmark of 1902.

‘Well, nobody writes like that any more. In fact, nobody writes much at all now.’

Simon pulled a face. ‘How can you be sure that there isn’t some out-of-work actor sitting in a garret somewhere writing stacks of these every day?’

Claudie frowned. ‘You old sceptic!’

He shrugged, taking the postcard from her and putting it back in its box amongst the hundreds of others. ‘They all look the same to me.’

Claudie rifled through the boxes, picking them up and examining them at random. They were beautiful. Fountains, streets, monuments, children at play. They were just so
Parisian
. She selected three views of the city and paid for them.

‘What?’ she said, seeing Simon’s quizzical expression. ‘It doesn’t bother me if they’re not genuine. I like them, and that’s all that matters.’

Simon smiled at her. But it wasn’t an ordinary smile. It was the sort of smile you can feel in your belly. The sort that warms your toes and softens your eyes. And she found herself returning it.

With its elaborate grey and gold decoration, bulbous lights and mythical dolphinesque creatures, the Pont Alexandre III was the most incredible bridge Claudie had ever seen. And she shouldn’t have been surprised that the angels decided to make an appearance at the feet of a rather grand pair of cupids.

She gave them a big smile in greeting but, with Simon stood next to her, she didn’t dare say anything. As much as she liked this man, she wasn’t quite ready to confide in him about having angels.

‘Has he kissed you yet, Claudes?’ Lily shouted, causing Claudie to turn and glare at her. What a thing to say! And right in front of Simon too, even though he couldn’t hear them.

‘You can’t come to Paris and not have a smooch,’ Jalisa giggled.

‘Leave her alone,’ Mr Woo said.

‘We will,’ Jalisa said. ‘Just give us a minute.’

Claudie turned round at Jalisa’s enigmatic comment. She’d been feeling particularly nervous since Jalisa had started talking about expiry dates, and wanted to make sure that it wasn’t going to affect her just yet, but she couldn’t question her with Simon there. She’d have to wait, which made her all the more anxious.

A boat full of tourists passed under the bridge and Claudie saw several cameras pointing in her direction. Were they aware that they were photographing angels? And then she had an idea.

‘Simon?’

‘Yes?’

‘Could you take some photos for me?’

‘Sure. What of?’

‘This bridge. It’s so beautiful. And there’s a great view of the Eiffel Tower.’

‘You trust me with your camera?’ he asked, taking it from her.

‘Yes, of course!’

Okay,’ he said, and she watched as he walked towards the centre of the bridge, leaving her alone with the angels.

‘Jalisa,’ she began, ‘what exactly did you mean just then?’

‘Oh, Claudie,’ Jalisa said, her voice slow and weary after its earlier vibrancy. ‘I think you know, don’t you?’

‘Know what?’ Claudie could feel a stream of pure panic flooding her system, and she didn’t like it.

‘You don’t need us any more.’

‘But I
do!
’ Her eyes widened in panic. What was happening? She was just beginning to trust them, to confide in them, and they were threatening to leave her? That couldn’t be right.

Jalisa shook her head. ‘You don’t, Claudie.’

Claudie looked to the others for support. Mr Woo’s head was bowed, Bert had taken his hat off, and Lily and Mary were holding hands and looking as if they were about to cry.

‘But I’ve only just got to know you.’

Jalisa’s bright eyes looked up at her. ‘It doesn’t matter. You still don’t need us.’

Claudie felt herself frowning again. They were teasing her, surely? They wouldn’t be that mean really?

‘But it’s a
good
thing,’ Jalisa said. ‘It means you’re ready to move on - to face the world.’

‘I don’t feel very ready.’

There were a few moments of silence. Apart from the sounds of Parisian drivers.

‘We’re going to miss you,’ Bert said.

‘Oh, don’t!’ Claudie all but cried.

‘You’ve been so kind, so sweet,’ Mary said.

‘I miss you too,’ Mr Woo whispered. ‘Remember Mrs Woo in North London. She love to see you sometime.’

‘Do you mean you’re leaving me
right now? Here?
’ Claudie gasped in horror. ‘But I’ll be so unhappy for the rest of the day. What on earth will Simon think?’

‘Claudie,’ Jalisa said slowly, ‘I’ve always thought of happiness as a relay race.’

‘Oh, don’t go giving her that old speech!’ Bert complained.

‘Shut up!’ Jalisa snapped. ‘It’s not old, it’s something I was taught on my refresher course last year.’

‘Good grief!’ Bert said, shaking his head in disapproval.

‘Yes,’ Jalisa began again. ‘Happiness is like a relay race. We all seek it in different things at different stages of our lives. For you, it was us for a while, but now-’

‘Claudie!’ Simon called from further along the bridge. She turned round to see him pointing her camera lens pointing at her. ‘Smile!’ he shouted.

And she did. The biggest, warmest smile she’d smiled in months.

She watched as he walked back towards her. ‘Come on!’ he said, holding his hand out to her. ‘Time to move on, I think.’

Claudie turned round to say a final goodbye to the angels, but they’d vanished.

‘Jalisa?’ she mouthed.

‘Bye, Claudie!’ Jalisa’s voice floated down from somewhere above her head. She looked up into the great blue sky, but there was nothing there but the Eiffel Tower.

‘Take good care of yourself,’ Bert’s voice said.

‘Don’t forget Mrs Woo,’ Mr Woo said.

Claudie looked from left to right, hoping for a last fleeting glimpse.

‘Goodbye, Claudie!’ Mary and Lily sang in unison.

‘He’s waiting for you!’ Jalisa’s voice whispered back.

Claudie looked back at Simon, his hand extended towards her, and a sudden feeling of peace flooded though her body. Should she? Could she?

She took a few tentative steps forward and took his hand in hers.

The city of York was bathed in sunshine and had never looked more beautiful. Claudie had taken the whole day off work and had travelled in on an earlier train so that she could walk around the city at leisure.

She started with the tourist trail: the cathedral, the Treasurer’s House, Clifford’s Tower and The Shambles. And then she did the credit card trail, spending two week’s wages on clothes from the boutiques that lined the backstreets.

Then, armed with three fat bags of goodies, Claudie made her way to fifteen Elizabeth Street for her three o’clock appointment.

It was with a heavy heart as well as heavy shopping bags that Claudie stepped into Dr Lynton’s study. This, she thought, would be her last time here. She looked around the room and knew she was going to miss it: the books, the plants, the chairs, and even the terrible tea.

And Dr Lynton.

‘Tea?’ he asked as soon as she’d placed her carrier bags down.

‘Please,’ she said.

‘Milk and one sugar, isn’t it?’

Claudie’s mouth fell open in surprise. ‘Yes.’

‘So, how was Paris?’ Dr Lynton asked, passing her a perfect cup of tea, a smile hovering over his lips.

‘Paris,’ she sighed, ‘was beautiful.’

‘So you and Kristen had a good time?’

Claudie sat back in the chair and surveyed Dr Lynton. What should she tell him? The truth?
Why not?
Didn’t he deserved the truth on her final visit?

‘I didn’t go with Kristen. I went with Simon,’ she said, her voice clear and steady.

‘Simon? Simon of the bookshop?’

Claudie nodded.

‘With the
eyes like a Whitby sky in winter?
’

‘The very one!’ Claudie said, not bothering to hide her smile.

Dr Lynton leant forward in his chair and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘This is-’

‘Quite some progress?’ Claudie offered.

He nodded.

‘I know.’

He nodded again.

Claudie sipped her tea. She was having fun.

There wasn’t really any need for Dr Lynton to make any notes because Claudie didn’t have anything alarming to tell him. Instead, they chatted away like old friends. Freud was completely forgotten, and there wasn’t a single mention of books.

At the end of the hour, they stood up and smiled at each other.

‘Well, it’s been a pleasure, Claudie. And I wish you all the best for your future.’

‘Thank you.’ She held her hand out and he shook it firmly. ‘Oh! I’ve got this.’ She delved into her voluminous bag and retrieved his book. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘You read page sixty-three?’

‘Yes. I did.’

Dr Lynton nodded. ‘Well,’ he said at length. ‘Goodbye, Claudie.’

Claudie picked up her shopping bags and walked down the hallway, waiting whilst he opened the door for her. As she stepped out into the bright afternoon, the sunlight reflected off his shiny brass plaque. And she remembered.

‘Dr Lynton?’

‘Yes?’

She bit her lip. Did she have the nerve to ask him? ‘I was wondering - what does the “P” stand for?’

Dr Lynton smiled, almost as if he’d been expecting her to ask him. ‘Paddy,’ he said.

Claudie’s first reaction was to laugh. Was he
sure
that was his name? Had he checked? It just seemed so undignified after she’d spent months believing it was Percival or Peregrine.

She looked up into the warm eyes that smiled down at her. No, she thought, Paddy became him. Paddy was perfect.

Whose idea had it been to go for a walk along the coast in November? November was definitely an indoor month in North Yorkshire. But Claudie and Simon weren’t the only fools to think a stroll along the beach in winter was romantic. The trouble was, romance aside, the people they passed didn’t look so much weather-beaten as weather-battered.

Claudie watched as the wind pushed and pulled at Simon’s hair, as if it meant to rip it from his head. Her own hair was pushed under a headscarf, which wasn’t exactly the height of fashion but, then again, the beach was definitely no cat-walk.

They hadn’t spoken much since leaving the car. Claudie smiled at the thought of the little Fiat that was Simon’s pride and joy. Not yet paid for, but an absolute godsend nevertheless.

They walked, gloved hand in gloved hand over the rock-hard sand, their bodies pushing furiously into the wind. It reminded Claudie of the day she and Luke had climbed Helvellyn in the Lake District, and how both the view and the weather had been breathtaking.

It was over a year since Luke had died. So many things had happened. So many new people in her life. Dr Lynton, Jalisa, Mary and Lily, Bert and Mr Woo. And Simon.

Claudie looked up at the great expanse of sky, her eyes widening to take in the white clouds like great daubs of whipped cream.

Simon Hart.

Meeting Simon had been a revelation. Like when you discover a piece of exquisite music and wonder if there was really a time in your life when you didn’t know of its existence.

But did she love him more than Luke?

No.

She loved him
differently
. Just as page sixty-three had suggested.

‘I think we should come back in the summer!’ Simon laughed as they stood looking out to sea.

‘Agreed!’ Claudie shouted back above the wind.

Simon squeezed her right hand and then tucked it deep into one of his pockets. ‘Let’s go home.’

Walking back towards the car, Claudie took one last look at the beach and blew a kiss deep into the wind.