The Little Antique Shop Under The Eiffel Tower. Rebecca Raisin
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“What’s wrong with taking time to get to know someone and then later expressing love with little gifts, especially a poem?”
“It’s just so last century.” She raised her hands up. “And let’s be real, can we? You’re not going to meet anyone stuck at work or holed up in your apartment, are you? I can see your tombstone already.” She gazed over my shoulder, and scrunched her face up as if she was crying, with a faux sob she said, “Here lies Anouk LaRue. Born. Worked. Died. She leaves behind her beloved little antique shop, who’ll miss her dearly.” For effect she buried her face in her hands and faux wept, once again drawing attention from curious onlookers. If only they knew.
“There’s nothing wrong with the amount I work. It’s called,” I enunciated slowly, “being responsible. Setting myself up for the future. A man would complicate all of that. When the time is right, I’ll date again, but at the moment, the thought makes me want to scream. I just simply do not have a minute of the day left to worry about another person. You make it seem like we need men to survive! We don’t!”
She took her hands from her face. “No time? You spend an age reading the newspaper. You play around on your laptop every evening! How much time do you need for love? Joshua was a nasty excuse for a boyfriend – I get that. Pure evil, and enough to break the steeliest of hearts, but so what? That was a million years ago, and it’s time to forget it. If you hide away it means he’s still winning. We don’t need men? We don’t need wine either, but how much sweeter is life with it?”
I shook my head. She didn’t understand, and she never would. Lilou was a free spirit, and so utterly different to me. Yet here she was suggesting I missed love, but it just wasn’t an issue for me. The thought of another man in my life was enough to make me recoil in horror. I just couldn’t envisage it. Didn’t need it. Didn’t miss it. I’d choose the wine option any day.
“Lingerie aside, Lilou, it really is more complicated than that and you know it. I have to work doubly, even triply hard after Joshua sold the piano from under me. My savings were tied up in that piece, and without any help from the gendarmes, what could I do, except to scramble to sell antiques at a discount so my business wouldn’t go bust. I’m still trying to get my finances stabilized and replenish the stock. And if that’s what love does to you, forget it.”
Even after all this time the memory of Joshua and what he’d done still stung. I was a fool to have believed a word that poured from his honeyed mouth. Every single sentence that fell from his lips, I listened to rapt. So exotic with his American accent and bright-eyed gaze. His declarations of love seemed so sincere and took me to a place I’d never been before.
“I don’t have time to sift through their lies.” I swished another mouthful of wine, glad for its numbing properties.
“Not all men lie,” she said giving me a pointed look.
I scoffed. “And how do you know that? Your longest relationship has been three weeks, Lilou.”
She shot me a glare. Joshua had taken a selection of antiques from the secret room, including a very rare piano, very expensive piano, promising me they were off to good homes, people he’d known forever. Payment to follow. The sale would fund our ‘grand plan’.
And the buyers were French people, he said. Trustworthy.
In that flurry of love, I had believed him. Of course I had.
It was the greatest shock when I stumbled on them at an online auction and confronted him about it. Non, non, non, he mimicked my French accent, remember your messages? The antiques are mine as you said so many times! Au revoir, Anouk. It was fun while it lasted.
Ambushed.
And fraught, the gendarmerie couldn’t help me. They said I’d gifted them to him. They had proof. Text messages that came from my cell phone, saying those exact words. Joshua was clever. He’d been ribbing me, he called it. Teasing me about ‘gifting’ my treasures and like the lovestruck idiot I was, I played along by text, waiting months for these so-called buyers to pay. By the time I realized what he’d done, he was on the arm of another woman. Antiques vanished. And those texts came back to taunt me.
The grand piano once owned by Fania Fénelon is yours! A gift from me to you. Love Anouk xxx
It was the cold, calculating way he did it that struck fear in me – the thought that a man could fake a love like ours broke something inside of me. I begged, yelled, pleaded for the gendarmes to listen to me, but they gave me a bored stare, and asked me to come back with more proof, like I should do their job for them.
Joshua and I had planned to pool our resources and were going to buy the best antiques, build a museum, so the world could clap eyes on such rare beauty, and not just people who could afford such luxuries. In order to do that, we had needed to sell some bigger pieces to fund it, and then source the most famous, the most illustrious of what France had to offer. Little did I know, he was selling them to amass his fortune… He’d played me like a piano, knowing instinctively I’d fall for it because it was a lifelong dream of mine to open a museum for cherishables.
The thing that hurt the most was that I did love him. When it all came to light I realized I had been in love with a ghost. Joshua wasn’t who he portrayed himself to be. The man I loved didn’t exist. The one who held my hand as we slept, or woke me with butterfly kisses, was a charade. So if I held myself at arm’s length from the world, that’s why, and I wasn’t going to be apologetic about it.
Sadly, Joshua was still working the antique circuit, so I ran into him often, which felt like a stab wound to the chest.
Lilou gave my hand a pat, dragging me back to the present moment. “Three weeks might be my limit with a guy, but that’s because I haven’t found anyone who makes me want more.” She lifted a shoulder. “I know what that crétin did, and the fallout that remains. I’d strangle him if I knew I could bury his body and get away with it.” Her eyes blazed at the thought. “All I’m suggesting is ease yourself back into the dating game with a few one-night stands. Pick a rugged type, one that has commitment-phobe written all over him, and go from there…”
“Lilou! I couldn’t do that. Non. I need to know more about a man before I let him sprawl all over my cotton sheets…”
She wrinkled her nose. “Oh God, because they’re some kind of special antique material? Fine, swap the sheets for a cheap supermarket brand for one night!” Her voice rose with every inflection.
A waiter hovered close by, refilling the wineglass of a woman at the table beside ours, and overfilled it as he concentrated hard on us out of the corner of his eye. Ruby red wine spilled over, staining the white tablecloth. The woman gasped, and the waiter wrenched his gaze away, apologizing profusely to her.
Lilou jerked a thumb in his direction. “Prime example: nice taut derrière, sleepy eyes, and sensual full lips. Just picture those buff arms tangled around you, the bed sheets…”
This time the waiter knocked over the woman’s wineglass. Burgundy liquid spilled quick and fast into the woman’s white-skirted lap. Lilou gave them a cursory glance. “OK, maybe not him, he’s too clumsy.” His face colored scarlet.
“Stop!” I hissed, struggling to remain composed. “I see your point and I’ll take it under advisement.”
She swallowed back half a glass of her wine. “I hate it when you say that.”
***
Lilou and I stood out front of the little antique shop, languid after lunch, and hugged our goodbyes. “See you tonight,” I said.
“Actually you won’t.” Lilou gave me an elfish grin. “I’m off to follow a musical festival around Normandy with Claude. I thought I might do a collection of jewelry based on sound. It’s a research trip.”
“What?” My big-sister instinct kicked in. “You’ve only just got back. You and Rainier were only going away for a week. It’s been three and now Rainier is gone, and there’s