subdued lighting and a mirrored wall. There is a small cupboard where coats and bags can be placed out of sight. The door to the kitchen and lounge slides along the wall like a sock on polished laminate, and then I see it through the window, the Tour Eiffel flashes, glitters and twinkles. It's lights dance in front of my hypnotised eyes. I put my carrier bags down, sit on the red padded sofa and watch it while unwinding my scarf. After a few minutes it stops, and as if I’m the marionette on a music box, rewound, I return to the kitchen area to unpack my bags.
There is one small side with a worktop, microwave and kettle. The cupboards contain all manner of kitchen equipment. I switch on the oven and place my pizza inside. Then I take one plate, one cup, one wine glass and one set of cutlery out of the cupboards and drawers and using the washing up liquid provided, I wash them all. This is a ritual in any hotel I visit, just as my mother taught me, in case the previous tenants didn’t wash them properly. I empty some of the salad onto the plate and put the rest in the refrigerator, then pour myself a glass of the wine. Its honeyed tones bathe my tongue, taking me back to my pre-Adrian days, when Steve had moved out and I, in no rush to be on my own, sat with my parents and drank their wine. I put the rest of the produce away while the pizza warms, finding myself constantly distracted by the pull of the Tower. There is no way I can close the curtains on such a majestic sight.
In front of the worktop is a small circular dining table, which acts as the divider between the dining area and the lounge. I pull up the chair facing the window and place my glass down, then the cutlery. Finally, the pizza is ready and I eat it all, looking out at the tower, disappointed that although it remains lit, it is no longer sparkling. It’s as I’m washing up a little later that I detect its wink from the corner of my eye and realise it’s an on-the-hour occasion.
I sit on the couch with my drink and pull out the Paris map. I make a dot where I reckon the apartment is and then try to work out how far it is to each place I want to visit. My to-do list so far has Napoleon’s tomb and the Mona Lisa, amongst other sights. Tomorrow morning there is a meet up in the reception area, followed by a fifteen-minute walk to our first excursion, the Tower. I admire it again. Tomorrow we meet up close and personal. Arjan’s face comes to my mind unbidden and I sigh.
Snuggled under the duvet, I quite literally turn my back on the Tower. I can’t wait for the morning to come. To get back out there to the freshness and delight of new things.
My arm is dead from where it's been trapped under my body. I shake it out, my eyes adjusting to the light as I remember where I am. There’s an hour and a half before I need to meet everyone downstairs. I get out of bed on the wrong side so I’m nearest the window and pull the curtains back. It’s a miserable, downcast day, but who could be the same looking at this view of Paris? I can see the gold dome of L’hotel des Invalides in the distance. That’s where I’m headed tomorrow. For now, I get back under the duvet and stare out of the window. However, it’s less than a second before I begin to worry. What if he’s on the trip? I’ve come so far to get here alone. I don’t need complications right now. I bang my head against the headboard, wondering whether to forgo the trip so I can avoid any possible confrontation and stare up at the ceiling. Then I huff, angry with myself. I have this wonderful view of Paris and I’m letting a man ruin and control me again. I head for the shower. If he’s there, he’ll wish he wasn’t.
This day needs strong coffee. I brew some and use the microwave to warm up the pain au chocolat. Then I sit down in ‘my’ dining chair and enjoy the buttery goodness and runny chocolate. I can eat pastries cold but oh my goodness, they are so much better warm. I toast myself by
There is one small side with a worktop, microwave and kettle. The cupboards contain all manner of kitchen equipment. I switch on the oven and place my pizza inside. Then I take one plate, one cup, one wine glass and one set of cutlery out of the cupboards and drawers and using the washing up liquid provided, I wash them all. This is a ritual in any hotel I visit, just as my mother taught me, in case the previous tenants didn’t wash them properly. I empty some of the salad onto the plate and put the rest in the refrigerator, then pour myself a glass of the wine. Its honeyed tones bathe my tongue, taking me back to my pre-Adrian days, when Steve had moved out and I, in no rush to be on my own, sat with my parents and drank their wine. I put the rest of the produce away while the pizza warms, finding myself constantly distracted by the pull of the Tower. There is no way I can close the curtains on such a majestic sight.
In front of the worktop is a small circular dining table, which acts as the divider between the dining area and the lounge. I pull up the chair facing the window and place my glass down, then the cutlery. Finally, the pizza is ready and I eat it all, looking out at the tower, disappointed that although it remains lit, it is no longer sparkling. It’s as I’m washing up a little later that I detect its wink from the corner of my eye and realise it’s an on-the-hour occasion.
I sit on the couch with my drink and pull out the Paris map. I make a dot where I reckon the apartment is and then try to work out how far it is to each place I want to visit. My to-do list so far has Napoleon’s tomb and the Mona Lisa, amongst other sights. Tomorrow morning there is a meet up in the reception area, followed by a fifteen-minute walk to our first excursion, the Tower. I admire it again. Tomorrow we meet up close and personal. Arjan’s face comes to my mind unbidden and I sigh.
Snuggled under the duvet, I quite literally turn my back on the Tower. I can’t wait for the morning to come. To get back out there to the freshness and delight of new things.
My arm is dead from where it's been trapped under my body. I shake it out, my eyes adjusting to the light as I remember where I am. There’s an hour and a half before I need to meet everyone downstairs. I get out of bed on the wrong side so I’m nearest the window and pull the curtains back. It’s a miserable, downcast day, but who could be the same looking at this view of Paris? I can see the gold dome of L’hotel des Invalides in the distance. That’s where I’m headed tomorrow. For now, I get back under the duvet and stare out of the window. However, it’s less than a second before I begin to worry. What if he’s on the trip? I’ve come so far to get here alone. I don’t need complications right now. I bang my head against the headboard, wondering whether to forgo the trip so I can avoid any possible confrontation and stare up at the ceiling. Then I huff, angry with myself. I have this wonderful view of Paris and I’m letting a man ruin and control me again. I head for the shower. If he’s there, he’ll wish he wasn’t.
This day needs strong coffee. I brew some and use the microwave to warm up the pain au chocolat. Then I sit down in ‘my’ dining chair and enjoy the buttery goodness and runny chocolate. I can eat pastries cold but oh my goodness, they are so much better warm. I toast myself by
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