Page 98 of Hot to Go

I now sit in the bar of this splendid hotel nursing my second glass of excellent red, wondering how to pass the time. Lucy said she’d be a few more hours and then we have plans to go to a bar, something with a terrace and men who wear stylish trousers with pleats who talk with their hands. Maybe I should go for a swim in the hotel’s subterranean spa pool, hang in the jacuzzi, stewing like a teabag. I look over at all the company men who have overindulged on cheese and alcohol, their ties loosened at the collar, the overhang of their waistbands on parade. Yep, definitely not an option. I’ve never been less aroused in my life.

‘Connards,’ a woman on the table next to me mumbles. I sneakily turn to look at her. She’s older, her face a little withered but she has wonderfully bright grey eyes and wears the most adorable burgundy velour tracksuit and gold trainers, her white hair slicked back into a bun. It’s old-lady goals if ever I saw it. I smile to myself because she’s uttered one of my favourite French insults, it’s multipurpose to describe all sorts of morons, jerks and dickheads.

She sees me smiling and looks me up and down. ‘Vous êtes française?’ she asks me.

‘Non, je suis anglaise mais je parle français,’ I explain to her telling her that I can understand her.

She looks me up and down. I’m not Aurelie. I’m not classy and sophisticated. I’m dressed for winter with a fluffy jumper dress and boots, my hair dishevelled from a short nap on the Eurostar. She carries her glass over to my table, sitting next tome on my banquette, looking out on to the restaurant. ‘Well, then I think I would like to come and sit with you. Then at least I would have someone to speak with about all the arseholes in this place.’

I laugh. I don’t think I have a choice in the matter. ‘Suzie, enchantée.’

‘Henriette, enchantée,’ she says, smiling at me. ‘Tell me Suzie, how come you speak French?’

‘Je suis prof,’ I tell her.

‘A teacher? Then you are crazy, we will get on well,’ she tells me. I laugh. I like this lady’s vibe, the fact she’s drinking what looks like whisky or brandy and her belongings are all in a LV bum bag around her waist. ‘And tell me, what brings you to Paris?’ she says.

‘I’m having a pre-Christmas treat of culture and raclette,’ I say.

‘Moi, aussi. I am visiting a sister who lives near here.’

‘Super, non?’ I tell her.

‘Peut-être. My sister is hard work. It will either be a great week or I will push her in the Seine.’ I laugh heartily. ‘You will be able to read about it on the news. Et vous? You travel with a husband? Boyfriend?’

‘Ma cousine,’ I tell her.

She takes a long sip of her drink and makes a noise to signal her content at the effects of the brandy. ‘But there is someone in your life? You are très jolie.’

I smile. ‘Merci beaucoup. I was married but he was a…’

‘Connard?’ she says, finishing my sentence.

‘The biggest of arseholes.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Zut alors. Men, they are either a heaven or a hell. He sounds like hell. I hope he spends the rest of his life in pain. J’espere qu’il se fasse attraper la bite dans un piege d’ours.’

I double over laughing. ‘You hope he gets his dick stuck in a bear trap?’

She giggles. ‘I say this a lot to people who’ve had their heart broken. I like making people who have been at their saddest laugh from their insides. For your ex-husband, I hope it’s not just his penis, also his…how do you say…couilles?’

‘Balls?’ I ask.

‘Oui,’ she says, pointing at me, laughing. She puts a hand to my arm and I must admit, I like this lady’s charm, her need to extend some sort of sisterly affection towards me. ‘My advice usually would be to you know…sow your seeds or whatever you English say…but in this room, it is almost impossible? They all look like potatoes,’ she says still looking at all these self-important business types that sit among us.

I grin at her accurate observation. ‘Oh no, that’s not for me.’

‘Paris is full of men. I am sure you and your cousine can find some fun tonight?’ she tells me.

I laugh. You see, I tried that once. I went on holiday and had super-hot holiday sex with a man and that wasn’t the holiday fling that I anticipated. It followed me home, it confused an already very jumbled-up heart. I don’t think I’ll ever trust a holiday fling again.

‘Unless there is another man already in the wings?’ She puts her hands under her chin, waiting for me to tell her more. ‘I do not have a lot of excitement in my life, humour me.’

Well, if anything it’s a good story. ‘His name is Charlie but…’

‘He has a nice butt?’ I laugh.

‘It was a lovely derrière.’

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