From Paris With Love Collection. Кэрол Мортимер
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time of day, I think there will be too much of a queue at the Louvre.’ She looked at him. ‘You said the fourth arrondissement, so that means the old quarter. Could we go to Notre Dame and see the grotesques?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been. It’d be interesting to see them.’ He’d visited most of the art galleries and museums, as well as the Sacré-Coeur and Montmartre, but he’d never actually been to Notre Dame.
‘It’s a bit of a trek up the tower,’ she warned.
‘I don’t mind. I know you said you wanted to walk, but how do you feel about going by river?’
She nodded. ‘That works for me. I love boat trips.’
He made a mental note; it might be nice to take Tyler to Kew on the river, in the spring.
When they’d finished their coffee, they took the Batobus along the Seine to the Île de la Cité, with Emmy exclaiming over several famous buildings on the way. They walked up the steps from the bridge, then across the square with the famous vista of Notre Dame and its square double tower and rose window. The stone of the cathedral looked brilliant white against the blue sky.
‘I love the shape of the rose window, the way it fans out—almost like the petals of a gerbera crossed with a spiderweb,’ she said.
‘Are you thinking a pendant?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Do you mind if I take some pictures?’
He laughed. ‘You really don’t have to ask me every time, Emmy. Just do it. Today’s for you to enjoy.’
‘Thank you.’ She took several photos on her phone, and then they queued at the side of the cathedral to walk up the tower to the galleries.
‘I always think of poor Quasimodo, here,’ Emmy said. ‘So deeply in love with Esmeralda, yet afraid she’ll despise him like everyone else does.’
‘So you cried over the film?’
‘No, over the book,’ she said, surprising him.
‘You read Victor Hugo?’ He hadn’t expected that.
She looked at him. ‘It was one of my set texts for A level.’
‘English?’
‘French,’ she corrected.
He blinked. ‘You let everyone think you’re this ditzy designer, but you’re really bright, aren’t you?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised. It kind of spoils the compliment.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m really going to have to make you that jet rhino, aren’t I?’
‘Hey.’ He gave her a brief hug. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. But you do keep your light under a bushel.’
‘Maybe.’
They walked up the hundreds of spiral steps; the stone was worn at the edges where thousands of people had walked up those steps before them. At the first stage, they had amazing views of the square and the Seine, with the Eiffel Tower looming in the background. They carried on up to the next stage and saw the famous chimera grotesques in the Grande Galerie. Dylan was fascinated by the pelican. ‘And that elephant would look great carved in jet,’ he said.
‘For Ty’s Noah’s Ark? Good idea,’ she said.
‘So why are the gargoyles here?’ he asked.
‘Strictly speaking, gargoyles carry rainwater away from the building. These ones don’t act as conduits; they’re just carvings, so they’re called grotesques. These are Victorian ones, done at the same time as the restoration. And there’s a fabulous legend—see the one sitting over there, looking over the Seine?’
‘Yes.’
‘Apparently it watches out for people who are drowning, then swoops down and rescues them.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that something else you learned for your A level?’
‘No. Actually, I can’t even remember where I heard it, but I think it’s a lovely story.’
Emmy liked the brighter side of life, he noticed. Trust her to know about that sort of legend.
They walked across to the other tower to see the bell, then back down all the steps.
‘Did you want to go inside the cathedral?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please. I love the stained glass,’ she said.
As he’d half expected, she took several photographs of the rose window with its beautiful blue and red glass.
‘Is this a Victorian renovation, too?’ he asked.
‘Most of this one’s original thirteenth-century glass. If I were you, I’d tell me to shut up, now,’ she said with a grin, ‘because stained glass was one of the modules in my degree, and Ally says I get really boring about it, always dragging her off to tiny churches to see rare specimens.’ Her smile faded. ‘Said,’ she corrected herself.
He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘You really miss her, don’t you?’
‘Yes. But I’m glad we have Tyler. We’ll see her and Pete in him as he grows up.’
And then he forgot to release her hand. She didn’t make a protest; it was only as they strolled through the streets of the old quarter that he realised he was still holding her hand. And that he was actually happy. Happier than he could remember being for a long, long time.
Maybe he didn’t need to struggle with words, after all. Maybe all he had to do was be.
She insisted on stopping at one of the stalls and buying a baby-sized beret for Tyler. She gave him a sidelong look. ‘I’m tempted to get you one as well.’
‘You expect me to wear a beret?’ he scoffed.
‘Mmm, and you could have a Dali moustache to go with it.’
He shuddered. ‘What next, a stripy jumper and a red scarf?’
She laughed. ‘OK, so a beret is a bit too avant-garde for you—but men can look good in a beret, you know.’
‘I think I’ll pass,’ he said. ‘Though I admit Tyler will look cute.’
As they crossed the bridge she asked, ‘Where are we going?’
‘Time for lunch,’ he said.
They stopped outside a restaurant in the old quarter right next to the Seine with view of Notre Dame. She looked at him, wide-eyed. ‘I know of this place. Zola, Dumas and de Maupassant all used to come here—it’s hideously expensive, Dylan. It’s Michelin starred.’
And it had a great reputation, which was why he’d booked it. He simply shrugged. ‘They might have monkfish.’
She let the teasing comment pass. ‘I’ve never eaten in a restaurant with a Michelin star.’
‘Good. That means you’ll enjoy this,’ he said.
* * *
Enjoy?
This was way, way out of her experience. Dylan, despite the fact that he wasn’t keen on cooking, clearly liked good food and was used to eating at seriously swish restaurants like this one.
Enjoy.
OK. She’d give it a go. Even if she did feel a bit intimidated.
The maître d’ showed them to a table in a private salon. She’d never been to such an amazing place before; the décor was all gilded wood and hand-painted wallpaper. There was a white damask cloth on the table along with lit white candles and silverware, and gilded Louis XIV chairs. The windows were covered with dark voile curtains, making the room seem even more intimate. And the maître d’ told them that the waiter would be along whenever they rang the bell.
Emmy’s