A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,63
the scent of freshly cut grass or that rich, indulgent fragrance of a Christmas pudding…
‘Come,’ Ethan said. He took hold of her shoulders and turned her towards the river. ‘The best way to get one of your senses to work more fully is to alienate the others.’
‘What?’ Keeley asked.
‘Close your eyes,’ Ethan directed, hands still on her shoulders, breath close to her ear. ‘Close your mouth. Close your ears…’
‘Close my ears?’ She laughed. ‘Can I do that?’
‘Stop listening. Stop breathing through your mouth. Stop looking. Just… inhale.’
Keeley felt him press a little more on her shoulders and she heard him draw in a long, slow breath. Something about the timbre resonated with her and she found herself doing exactly as he asked, closing off all her other senses and tuning into the rush of air through her nostrils. And then, suddenly, there it was! There was something. Ordinarily there was very little at all, maybe only the faintest tinge of a change, but nothing to get excited about. But now, tuning in to Paris, the river, the cold of the night, the presence of this virtual stranger’s hands on her shoulders there was…
‘And coffee,’ Ethan joined in. ‘Definitely coffee.’
‘Is it waffles?’ She was doubting herself now.
‘Yes,’ he answered, the pressure of his fingers increasing a little. Even through the-able-to-withstand-minus-fifty-degrees coat, Keeley could feel the warmth of his body. It was nice. It even felt a little bit ‘comfortable’. But wasn’t that what happened when you clicked with someone? You instantly fell into step with them somehow, like you had always meant to arrive in each other’s life.
‘And pee,’ Ethan blurted out. ‘Undernotes of pee, absolument.’
Keeley opened her eyes then, snapping back into reality and turning to face him. ‘I didn’t get pee.’
Ethan smiled. ‘Ah, that is good. You are still under the tourist illusion that everything in Paris is fragranced like it was manufactured in a perfumery.’ He nudged her arm with his. ‘I am Parisian. It is OK for me to admit that my city is only perfect because it embraces its imperfections. We learn to live with the scent of pee. No one knows where it comes from. We clean. We sanitise. After that, no one wants to know where it still comes from. It is simply part of the fabric of the city.’
Keeley smiled back at him as they began to walk again. He was the most unusual person she had ever met. Wearing the clothes of a businessman with his dark three-piece suit and his tailored winter coat but displaying the heart and charm of someone you might imagine leading a travelling circus – somehow a little bit of gypsy wanderlust mixed with Hugh Jackman’s Barnum.
‘London has its smells too,’ Keeley told him as they fell into step together. She may not be able to experience them fully anymore, but she could definitely recall them. ‘The Tube, that rush of warm, slightly sweetened air as the trains rush past… the parks in the springtime, daffodils, ducks… and different cultures.’ She breathed, remembering. ‘Crazy weird fruit outside Asian minimarkets and… the food stalls at Lower Marsh Market.’
‘It sounds magnifique,’ he answered her.
She turned her head, their eyes connected and Keeley felt it deep. Her words had resonated with him.
‘Have you been to London?’ Keeley asked him.
He shook his head. ‘Non.’ He seemed to stiffen up a little then, his hands going to the top button of his coat, fastening and unfastening it. ‘It is not somewhere I have… had the chance to travel to.’
‘You should,’ Keeley said, finding herself wanting to see his smile again. ‘I mean… it’s maybe not thought of as quite as romantic as Paris, but it has a lot going for it.’
He did finally smile then. ‘The ducks and the food stalls?’
‘Definitely the ducks,’ Keeley said. She looked up and saw they had arrived outside her hotel. ‘Oh.’
‘You do not want to be here?’ he asked her.
‘Oh, no, I do. I mean, it’s a very nice hotel. Our room is huge and… the Christmas tree in reception is definitely huge and—’
‘You say the word “nice” like it is a bad thing. You do not like this hotel?’
‘I don’t dislike it,’ Keeley said, checking out the entrance and that revolving door Rach had become trapped in. ‘It’s just… not really that memorable, you know. It’s clean and it’s modern and there are many glitzy touches of Christmas now, including an animatronic reindeer… but although it’s called “Perfect Paris” it