Page 78 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
When I finally got over first the shock and then the embarrassment of my encounter with Johnny Depp—I mean, what were the chances of that happening? I knew he had a home in Paris and a French girlfriend, but still—I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to calm myself down by doing the tourist thing of seeing as much of a city as I could in one day. I hadn’t been to Paris since I was fifteen on a school trip. Back then I was wandering around with about twenty other teenagers. But this time I was on my own.
I visited the Musée d’Orsay art gallery, staring up in amazement at the huge Monet canvases that adorned the walls of what was once a central Paris railway station. I went to Notre Dame and again gazed in wonderment at the inside of the vast Gothic cathedral, understanding now how it had been the inspiration for Victor Hugo’s novel and so many of the film adaptations that featured its infamous inhabitant the hunchback. In Montmartre, I wandered among the artists painting portraits of the tourists that flocked around them. Briefly I thought about Sean and wondered if he had any artistic leanings. Maybe he’d like to sketch me like Leo had Kate inTitanic—which wouldgive me another movie to add to my ever-lengthening dossier of proof. Then I remembered what had happened after they had done that in the movie, and I thought better of it. I was already in enough trouble with David as it was. But maybe Sean and I could visit the Moulin Rouge while we were here to catch a show. I’m sure we wouldn’t have to sing or swing from a trapeze or anything to find something from the movie there…
Finally, I ended up visiting that tourist haven—the Eiffel Tower.
As I stood underneath the enormous iron structure and looked around me, I saw that even though it was now a very late afternoon in February, there were still people everywhere, mainly tourist groups and families…and couples, lots and lots of couples.
Ah, of course, it’s Valentine’s Day. Well, I suppose you can’t get much more romantic than Paris on Valentine’s Day.
I tried hard to think about David. He would probably have arrived back home by now and would be happily pottering away with his latest DIY project. But my thoughts kept disobeying me and returning to Sean.
Even though I’d enjoyed myself this afternoon, I knew I’d have enjoyed it even more if Sean had been with me. I’d had that familiar feeling that something was missing, but this time that something was him.
I watched the people rising to the top of the tower in the lifts, and climbing the long staircases together. I couldn’t go all the way up there on my own; what would be the point of getting to the top and then not having anyone to share the wonderful views with?
So I turned away and began to make my way back to theMetro. Then I stopped and smiled, as an idea began to blossom in my mind.
An idea that could help me make a decision, one way or another…
Twenty-Two
At the hotel, I asked the receptionist for some writing paper before heading upstairs. I knocked on Sean’s door as I passed to see if he was back yet. There was no answer.
Once inside my room, I found a pen and sat down and thought for a moment, trying to compose a note.
I screwed up three pieces of paper before I got the wording just right.
Meet me at the top of the Eiffel Tower tonight—Valentine’s Day.
Scarlett x
I thought I’d better put my name—after all, this wasn’t a real movie, and with my luck someone else would pick up the note and I’d be stuck up the Eiffel Tower all evening with a night porter called Pierre.
I quickly freshened up and changed my clothes to something warmer, but also more romantic-looking—which is a difficult combination to get right.
I tried to remember the type of clothes Meg Ryan had worninSleeplessinSeattlebut I could only remember the teddy bear bit at the end, and anyway that was on top of the Empire State Building. And inAnAffairtoRememberDeborah Kerr had never even made it as far as that. So in the end I chose smart black trousers, a pale pink sweater, and my long black coat. I finished off the look by tying my hair back in a loose ponytail and arranging a brightly colored scarf that I’d bought from one of the market stalls in Montmartre casually around my neck. I say casually: it took me at least eight attempts to get it just right.
When I was finally ready, I crept out of my room—in case Sean had returned in the meantime—and as quietly as I could slipped the note under his door. Then I walked quickly to the nearest Metro station and made my way back to the Eiffel Tower.
By the time I arrived it was fully dark, and I stood in awe looking at just how beautiful the tower was, lit up against the night sky.
There were still queues to ride up in the lifts—even at this time of night. So I joined one, hoping it would be a while before Sean found my note.
When I reached the front of the queue, I paid for my ticket and rode up in the lift with the other tourists to the first, then the second, and finally to the very top floor—where we all climbed out. I wandered over to one of the barriers that surrounded the upper viewing deck to look out at the city and to wait for Sean. I glanced at my watch—it said 6:45 p.m.
By 7:50 p.m. I’d walked the perimeter of the platform five times. The views of Paris at night were indeed breathtaking, Icouldn’t deny that—they almost surpassed the beauty of the illuminated tower—but it was starting to become embarrassing being up there all on my own.
Earlier today, the crowds riding up in the lifts and climbing the stairs had been a mix of families and large tourist groups. Now the majority of visitors were couples—they were holding hands and giving each other tender looks and loving kisses. I couldn’t blame them; after all, it was Valentine’s Day. But I felt like a big French gooseberry waiting up there all on my own.
Hurryup, Sean, I willed, looking through the wire barriers yet again. I shivered—this wasn’t fun anymore. I reached into my bag for my phone; maybe he’d tried to call and I hadn’t heard it? Or maybe the signal wasn’t that good up here?
It took a few moments of grappling about in my bag before I remembered I’d put my phone on to charge in the hotel room. I’d been so busy choosing what I was going to wear and deciding what I was going to write that I hadn’t remembered to pick it up again—damn!
***
By nine o’clock I was starting to get very cold, as well as extremely fed up. I sheltered as best I could toward the center of the tower, on one of the benches tucked away beneath the iron girders.
“If he doesn’t come in the next half an hour, I’ll go and get a coffee,” I promised myself, thinking of the cafeteria on the second floor. I daren’t leave just yet—I had to know if he would come.
