Honeymoon in Paris: A Novella

become unbearably delicious, I peeled myself away from Édouard and out of our bed, the sweat still cooling on my back, the taste of him still on my lips. I walked across the studio, lit the fire, and when I was done I stood and turned the canvas around. I looked at her properly, at the tenderness in his line, at the intimacy of it, the perfect representation of me, of a moment. And then I turned to face him. ‘You must finish it, you know.’
    He propped himself up on one elbow, squinted at me. ‘But – you look so unhappy.’
    ‘Perhaps. But it’s the truth, Édouard. You always show the truth. It’s your great talent.’ I stretched, lifting my arms above my head and lowering them again, enjoying the knowledge that his eyes were on me. I shrugged. ‘And, in truth, I suppose there was always going to be a day when we were out of sorts with each other. A
lune de miel
cannot last for ever.’
    ‘Yes, it can,’ he said, waiting as I padded across the bare floor back to him. He pulled me into bed and looked at me steadily from across the pillow, a rueful smile upon his face. ‘It can last as long as we wish it. And, as the master of this house, I decree that every day of our marriage must be a honeymoon.’
    ‘I find myself utterly bent to my husband’s will.’ I sighed, nestling into him. ‘We have tried it, and found that being disagreeable and out of sorts didn’t suit us. I, too, must declare the rest of our marriage to be honeymoon only.’
    We lay there in companionable silence, my leg thrown over his, the warm skin of his belly against mine, his arm heavy over my ribs where he held me to him. I wasn’t sure I had ever been so content. I breathed in the scent of my husband, felt the rise and fall of his chest, and finally tiredness began to overtake me. I began to doze off, drifting to somewhere warm and pleasurable, perhaps made more so for where I had been. And then he spoke.
    ‘Sophie,’ he murmured. ‘While we are being so frank – I feel I need to tell you something.’
    I opened one eye.
    ‘And I hope your feelings will not be too injured by it.’
    ‘What is it?’ My voice was a whisper, my heart braced to stop.
    He hesitated for a moment, and took my hand in his. ‘I know you bought it for me as a treat. But I really do not like to eat
foie gras
. I never have. I was just trying to be agreea–’
    But he did not get to finish his sentence. Because I had already stopped his mouth with my own.

Chapter Seven
    2002
    ‘I can’t believe you’re ringing me from your honeymoon.’
    ‘Yes, well, David’s downstairs sorting something out in the lobby. I just thought today would be even more perfect if I could squeeze in a two-minute chat.’
    Jasmine puts her hand over the receiver. ‘I’m going to take this in the Ladies so Besley can’t see me. Hang on.’ The sound of a door closing, then hurried footsteps. I could almost see the cramped office above the stationer’s, the heavy traffic crawling its way up Finchley Road, and smell the lead tang of fuel hanging in the sticky summer air. ‘Go on. Tell me everything. In about twenty seconds. Are you walking like John Wayne yet? And are you having the best time ever?’
    I gazed around my hotel room, at the rumpled bed David had just vacated, at the suitcase that I had begun packing half-heartedly on the floor. ‘It’s … been a bit weird. Getting used to actually being married. But I’m really happy.’
    ‘Ugh! I’m so envious. I went on a date with Shaun Jeffries last night. Remember him? Fi’s brother? With the awful nails? I honestly have no idea why I said yes. He droned on and on about himself. I was apparently meant to be impressed by the fact that he had a maisonette in Friern Barnet.’
    ‘It’s a very nice area. Up and coming.’
    ‘And the maisonette itself has a lot of potential.’
    I started to giggle. ‘It’s important to get on the ladder.’
    ‘Especially at our age. You can’t go wrong with bricks and mortar.’
    ‘He’s got a pension. Go on. Tell me he’s got a pension.’
    ‘He has so totally got a pension. And it’s index-linked. And he wore grey shoes and he insisted on splitting the bill and he ordered the cheapest bottle of wine in the restaurant “because it all tastes the same after the first glass”. Oh, Worthing, I wish you were home already. I so badly need a drink. Dating is crap. You have totally done the right thing.’
    I lay back on the bed and gazed up at the ceiling, which