Paris Moments (eBook)

A Novel

Lynn Heyman (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2021 | 1. Auflage
294 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-0983-8755-6 (ISBN)

Infos

Brie Beaumont Taylor is a literature professor in desperate need of a sabbatical. Her spontaneous return to France, sets off an unexpected adventure. Her travels take her between glamorous Paris, the City of Light, and to Cannes on the glittering Riveria during the legendary Cannes Film Festival. Brie's encounter with an alluring Frenchman sparks emotions that become a catalyst for her own renewal and healing. She experiences a rebirth that brings her into her own power--a power she thought she had lost. She soon realizes there is a very tangible danger from which she must protect herself, a danger that has followed her all the way from America. 'Paris Moments' blends romance, mystery and friendship together in a perfect rapport.

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Brie Beaumont Taylor is a comparative literature professor at a renowned university in New York in desperate need of a sabbatical. As a diversion from her harrowing situation at home, she spontaneously decides to return to her beloved Paris, culminating in a trip that will change her life forever. In France, Brie reunites with long-time French friends, who offer a safe haven and some much needed support. They also provide a welcome distraction from the problems at home. Brie's travels take her between glamorous Paris, the City of Light, and Cannes on the glittering French Riviera, during the Cannes Film Festival. She finds solace with familiar people and surroundings that remind her that it was in Paris where she first found her true inspiration. Brie's chance encounter with an alluring Frenchman sparks emotions that become catalysts for her own renewal and healing. She discovers a rebirth that restores her belief in her own power--a power she thought she had lost. She soon realizes there is a very tangible danger from which she must protect herself, a danger that has followed her all the way from America. "e;Paris Moments"e; blends romance, mystery and friendship together in a perfect rapport.

Textauszug

Chapter 4

Annick called mid-morning the next day.

“Ma chérie, I wanted to let you know that Pierre dropped off your valise at the hotel early this morning, on his way to Versailles for a meeting. We didn’t want to wake you. I know how stressed and fatigued you have been.”

“How nice of him. Un grand merci,” she was still waking up.

“We thought you would like to have your things,” said Annick.

“I left New York with only the clothes on my back. I didn’t want to risk returning to my apartment and was frantic to escape.”

“No person should have to live in fear. We will see each other soon and listen to your story,” said Annick.

“I’m relieved to be back in Paris. It feels like a refuge,” said Brie.

“It will always be a safe place for you. Bisous!”

“Kisses.”

She thought about her troubled marriage and her angry husband.

She wanted to focus on the positive. On being three thousand miles from all the chaos.

She reflected on last night and on the author Monsieur Houellebecq at Les Deux Magots. She thought Frenchmen were so gallant and flirting was an art form in French culture. There were no expectations. She had lived for so long with a critical, angry man and had forgotten what it was like to be treated with respect and even admiration.

Just then, there was a knock at the hotel room door. She put on her raincoat, for lack of a robe to cover her undergarments. She looked through the peep hole, which was part of her New York training since birth. The bellman was standing outside with her suitcase and a breakfast tray. When she opened the door, the young man smiled at her.

“Bonjour, madame. Jean-Jacques wants you to have this valise,” he said. His voice was heavily accented and halting, as if he had been practicing the words beforehand.

“Merci, monsieur. I speak French. Place it here, s’il vous plait.”

The bellman looked relieved as he put the suitcase on the wooden bench at the foot of the bed. He placed the silver tray on the table near the French doors. He then opened the curtains to reveal a sunny spring day. Along with the French breakfast was a petit silver vase with lilies of the valley, the flowers that honor the first of May in France. She took a deep breath. The fragrance was hypnotic.

“Bonne journée, madame,” the bellman said and left in haste, but with the grace of a butterfly.

She opened the doors to let in some fresh air. She breathed in Paris once again and breathed out the pain from the recent events in New York. The white clouds and partial blue sky were an omen of a good opportunity to take a long walk. First, she would wash off the negative energy she left behind.

She entered the blue and white tiled shower and let the warm water wash over her. She used the Balmain gel, which had a multi-layered scent of lemon and floral bouquets. She had learned about perfume making in Grasse one summer: the head, heart and base notes. It was a symphony.

On the back of the door to la salle de bain, she found a fluffy white terry cloth robe embroidered with a scrolled “M.” It was the hotel insignia in gold thread. It reminded her of the initial “M” for Marie-Antoinette, engraved in stone on many of the chateaux of the Loire Valley.

She wiped down the large oval mirror with a hand towel, where she caught sight of her own reflection. Her rich brown eyes, with golden amber highlights, had a serious expression, as she gazed at the long incision on her chest. The scar was from the life-saving heart surgery a year ago. She shivered. Tears rolled down her cheeks, as she blotted them with the towel. Now, she could see a glimmer of joie de vivre in her face, and she was grateful to be starting another new day.

* * *

Brie turned right outside the large, automatic glass doors of the hotel. She walked down the Boulevard St. Germain toward the sumptuous gardens of the Jardin de Luxembourg. As she strolled, she noticed les muguets—lilies of the valley—being sold on every street corner. The quartier was festive, with many couples and families taking their holiday walks. She felt a pang as she noticed the happiness around her. The cafés were animated, with every table filled on the terrasses. She became part of the parade, in her beige trench coat and bright blue silk scarf. Her pace was slow, unlike the quick New York variety, which was fast and determined.

When she reached the Jardin, she passed through the huge metal gates and walked alongside the Palais de Luxembourg. The chestnut trees were lush green, as were the low chained off lawns. Pink and fuchsia flowers were in bloom all over the landscape. In the midst of this city, there were many large green spaces that brought relief from the urban feeling. It was a stark contrast to Manhattan, where Central Park was the only major respite in a vertical sea of skyscrapers and concrete sidewalks. You could barely see the sky, so many stories above. While in Paris, with their six to eight story buildings and wide green expanses, Brie could look out and view with ease the rich blue sky and white cumulous clouds.

She was drawn toward the boat basin, where young children, with the help of their parents, were sailing their little wooden boats. Many were jumping with excitement. The clouds reflected in the basin in a true mirror image. She noticed many breeds of dog gallivanting in the park. Brie was careful not to step in any droppings that may have been left by a poodle on the loose.

On the far lawn, past the chairs on the pebbled walkways, she could see a bride, with her wedding party and a photographer, who was taking photographs. The bride’s bouquet ribbons were trailing on the ground. She froze, recalling her own wedding, ten years ago, at a time when she had been happy. Her body tensed. She swallowed her hopelessness. So much had shifted in her life. Aimless, drifting, she had come to Paris to make sense of it all.

There was a sudden change in the sky. Foreboding, dark gray clouds moved in, and a light spring drizzle entered the scene. The bride and groom picked up their colorful umbrellas from the lawn and continued to pose for pictures. The couple laughed in the rain. They embraced each other and seemed to enjoy the changing sky. Brie trembled as she pulled out her own umbrella, which she learned to always carry in Paris. No matter the season, you could have all four in one day. She shifted her view from the joyful wedding party. Anxiety tightened the muscles in her body, as she recalled her own joyous wedding of ten years ago. She searched for a respite.

Brie remembered Café Angelina, a tea salon, famous for their teas, dense hot chocolate and elegant pastries, had a small shop near the edge of the park. A hostess seated her at a table next to a vast window, as many people from the park crowded into the small salon. A female server approached, in a pink frilly apron. The woman was hurried and brusque.

“Bonjour, madame,” she mumbled. “We have a special patisserie this month, an apple mousse, with red crème in honor of Cézanne.” She put out her hand to indicate that several clients were having that specialty.

Brie turned toward the immense glass counter filled with pastries. “I would like to have the raspberry tart and a cup of rose and jasmine tea. Merci.”

“Very well,” said the server, scowling, visibly disappointed that Brie hadn’t taken her suggestion.

Now, the rain was coming down in sheets. The patter on the windows fogged the view and Brie was relieved to be sheltered, sipping hot tea. The light green leaves on the trees glistened through the fog.

Brie barely touched her raspberry pastry, pushing the berries aside with her fork and tasting a few. Her fatigue returned as she thought about the long walk back to the hotel. She sat and watched the rain, as the salon emptied of most of the clientele. The clouds darkened further. The weather matched the frisson inside her heart.

She decided to take a cab back to the hotel instead of walking for miles in the pouring rain. Her feet were soaked. She stopped at the small Italian restaurant she knew, next to her hotel. She felt comfortable there and didn’t want to be alone. The place was formerly owned by a well-known Italian family of restauranteurs from Rome. Several years ago, they had retired and sold it to two Portuguese brothers from Porto. One of the brothers was the chef, the other was the manager. The Italian grandmother’s recipes were included in the sale.

Antonio, the restaurant manager, met her at the door. “Bonsoir, madame! Welcome back. Let me take your wet coat.” He recognized her. “So good to see you again.” His French was heavily accented with Portuguese. His black hair gleamed in the soft light. He had a strong, squared chin.

She ordered her favorite, eggplant with homemade marinara sauce, melted cheese and artichoke hearts. She ate with appetite, as it was as delectable as she recalled.

The manager approached Brie at the end of her meal. He pulled a chair around to sit next to her and placed his hand on her arm. She knew Latins liked to touch. She bowed her head, so as not to meet his penetrating gaze.

“I recall when you and your friends would sit in the back room and discuss literature for hours. Do you remember?” He had been a waiter under the original French ownership.

She nodded with...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 30.9.2021
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• ISBN-10: 1-0983-8755-4 / 1098387554
• ISBN-13: 978-1-0983-8755-6 / 9781098387556