Page 79 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
Two cups of coffee later and seven “Would you mind taking a photo of us?” requests from fellow visitors, Sean still wasn’t there.
I looked at my watch again. It was now 10:20. The last lift came up at 10:30 in the winter—he was running out of time.
I went to look out at the view once more—the Trocadero Gardens and the bridges across the River Seine were becoming quite familiar by now—and if I squinted hard enough I could even see across to Montmartre and the illuminated Sacré-Coeur. I’d stood outside this huge Roman Catholic church—or basilica, as my guidebook had informed me it was correctly known as, this afternoon: the Sacré-Coeur was the Basilica of the Sacred Heart. All this waiting around wasn’t doing my heart or my nerves any good, that was for sure.
My gaze wandered back to the inside of the tower again. A couple standing a little way along from me were giggling and whispering to each other when suddenly the man dropped to one knee.
Oh no, this was all I needed right now.
The girl apparently answered his proposal in the affirmative because they were suddenly superglued together at the mouth.
Deciding to leave them to it, I dismally began to walk away.
“Excuse me?” I heard them call.
I turned around.
“Do you speak English?” the man asked.
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Would you mind awfully taking a photo of us? Only Helen and I, well…we’ve just got engaged!” They gazed happily into each other’s eyes again.
“Sure, why not?” I agreed.
“Just push this button,” the man said, holding out his camera. “It’s quite easy.”
I knew it was, because I’d already taken three photos of couples tonight on cameras identical to this one.
“Smile,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.
They didn’t need much encouragement.
I took the photo and passed the camera back to the man.
“Thank you so much,” Helen said, smiling at me. “It’s wonderful, Alexander and I will have this moment recorded for ever now.”
“Wouldyoulike a photo taken?” Alexander asked, looking around.
He was obviously sussing out whether I was with anyone.
“No, no, thank you,” I said. But not wanting to look too sad, I added, “I’m waiting for someone.”
“At this time of night?” He looked at his watch. “Bit late, aren’t they?”
“Alex, stop it,” Helen said. “I think it’s romantic; it’s just like in that film, isn’t it…the Meg Ryan one? What was it called now…”
“Oh, do you meanWhenHarryMetSally?” Alex suggested helpfully.
“No, not that one, er…it had Tom Hanks in it…”
“Hmm…” Alex thought again. “Oh, I know—You’ve Got Mail, they were both in that!”
“No…oh, it’s on the tip of my tongue.”
“SleeplessinSeattle,” I answered quickly, before they carried on all night.
“Yes, of course,” Helen said with relief. “That’s it. But shewas on top of the Empire State Building, wasn’t she—waiting, I mean?”
