Page 18 of Never Too Late
I gave her a wink. ‘Anyway! I wore what Gabby suggested and we went together to the restaurant to meet Tomas and his parents.’
‘He didn’t come to pick you up?’
‘No, which was also strange. He was always such a gentleman about things like that. I was a bit miffed, to be honest. I asked Gabby about it and she just did one of those Gallic shrugs that sometimes said everything and other times, nothing at all. I think in this case, it was a bit of both.’
‘So what happened when you got to the restaurant?’
‘Tomas kissed me on the cheek, which was weird for a start. He was so subdued, and dressed in a suit, which I’d never seen him in. His style was far more casual and artistic. Although, I have to say, he looked good!’
‘Do you have any photos?’
‘No. Not now.’ I shook my head, feeling the sadness wash around me. ‘I tore up every single one we’d taken together and sent the pieces back to him. Probably a little dramatic but I had been living in Paris for a while by then so…’
‘Picked up a little dramatic flair?’
‘Apparently. Do you really want to hear all this? It was all such a long time ago.’
‘I do, Mum. Really. It was obviously something, and someone, important to you. I want to know it all, especially if you’re thinking of going back.’
‘I wouldn’t be going back for him. That’s all past now.’
‘Did you keep in touch with his sister?’
‘Gabby? No. And that’s my biggest regret. We were such good friends, the best, and I know she wanted to.Iwanted to. But at the time, I just couldn’t. When I saw her, spoke to her, all I could think of was Tomas, which probably made me a horrible friend. She said she understood but I know she was terribly hurt.’
‘It sounds like it was a difficult situation for both of you and she was stuck in the middle between her brother and you.’
‘She really was.’
‘So what happened at the restaurant? With his parents, I mean.’
My mind flew back through the decades to that awful evening. Tomas next to me one side, Gabby the other and their parents opposite, scrutinising me.
11
‘So, you are studying fashion?’ His mother was smiling but it didn’t reach her eyes which were cold as she watched me. It felt like all that was needed to complete the scene was a spotlight pointed at me.
‘Yes, I meanoui.’ My reply was stilted and I tripped over my words. The confident young woman I usually was appeared to have scuttled out of the restaurant, replaced with an unsure, insecure version that I didn’t like. And yet I could do nothing to switch back.
‘We can speak English,’ Madame Bertholle said, with a gracious wave of her hand, as though granting a nobleman reprieve from the guillotine.
‘Kitty’s French is exceptional, Maman.’ Gabby’s hand squeezed mine under the table.
I didn’t return the gesture. My mind was full of confusion. Why was my friend defending me to her parents while my boyfriend, the confident, charming, charismatic man I’d fallen in love with, sat mute the other side of me, his own hands folded neatly on his lap? He’d barely spoken or even looked at me since I arrived.
‘I’m sure,’ their mother had replied, continuing in English anyway. ‘So, fashion? Yes?’
‘Yes,’ I said again. ‘Like Gabby.’ This time, I did squeeze her hand, returning the smile she sent me before we both looked back at her mother, who was no longer smiling.
‘Yes. Well. We did try to persuade Gabrielle to study something more worthwhile, but…’ She made a ‘poof’ sound. ‘She is so stubborn.’
‘I’m right here, Maman.’ Gabby’s cheeks flushed with frustration and embarrassment. Hurt and annoyance for both my friend and myself ignited something within me.
‘You don’t think fashion is worth studying?’ I asked. ‘Despite the incredible history it has here in Paris?’
‘Fashion is a hobby, not a profession,’ Madame Bertholle replied in a manner that suggested that was the end of the discussion. ‘Hubert and I have told my daughter this time after time, haven’t we, Hubert?’ She turned to her husband. He opened his mouth to speak but his wife answered for him. ‘Exactement.’
I looked to Tomas. I didn’t need defending, neither did his sister, but it would have been nice if he’d considered it. His eyes were cast down, the hand that ordinarily held mine practically all the time we were together fiddled with the butter knife.
