on?’
‘Staying in Paris,’ he said. ‘The first time I’ve been there in years.’ He leaned towards her, a sparkle in his eye. He pointed to the bouquet of red roses, wrapped in cellophane, which he’d placed on the table in front of them. ‘Don’t laugh, but I’m on my way to meet a woman I haven’t seen in forty years. I mether in Paris in 1967 – the Summer of Love.’ He pointed to his bald head and gave a rueful smile. ‘Not much of a long-haired hippie, these days, am I? Anyway, I fell in love with a Parisian girl. Giselle . . .’
‘So beautiful!’ Delphine sighed. ‘Like the ballet . . .’
‘We were . . .’ he hesitated, searching for the right word ‘. . . very close. We lived together that winter in a commune on the Left Bank, but then all that peace and love went up in flames. You weren’t even born in 1968, of course, but I’m sure you’ve heard of les événements . There was a real sense of revolution in the air. There were strikes, riots, running battles with the police – the smell of tear gas hung over the city for weeks. We argued a lot about politics – Giselle was a real firebrand, far more left-wing than me.’ A look of sadness came into his eyes. ‘After one big row, I’m sorry to say I ran away. I didn’t have any money, or anywhere to go, but when I swallowed my stubborn pride and went back, Giselle had moved and no one knew where she had gone. I tried to find her, of course, but without success. In the end, after drifting around Paris for a few more weeks, I went back to England, cut my hair, got a job and began to settle down. In time I met another woman. We got married and had children and were happy together. Yet I never forgot Giselle . . .
‘My wife died a few years ago, and strangely enough it was my daughter who persuaded me to go looking for her. In fact she tracked her down, through Facebook of all things. Giselle’s widowed too, now, and I’m meeting her for lunch in Paris today. After that, who knows?’
He was lost in his thoughts for a while. Then he went on, ‘You must think me a terrible old fool, pouring all this out to a complete stranger. I know it could so easily end in disappointment and I’m trying not to get too excited about it . . .’ he smiled ‘. . . but not very successfully, as you can see.’
Across the aisle from them a middle-aged businessman in a pinstriped suit breathed out heavily through his nose and refolded his newspaper in a way that managed to convey both irritation and impatience. The old man glanced at him, then looked back at Delphine. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.‘I’ve taken up more than enough of your time already.’
She put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m glad to have met you. It’s a lovely story, and I really hope it has a happy ending for you.’ She kissed him on the cheek and walked back down the carriage.
She settled herself in the seat by the window and sat listlessly turning the pages of a magazine. In the row in front of her, a mother with two young children was stowing her bags and answering a string of questions from her hyper-excited cherubic little boy. His chubby face and body suggested to Delphine that Disneyland came a close second to a diet of Happy Meals.
His sister was older, perhaps ten, and more curious about the world around her. While her mother was busy plugging in the Bluetooth attachment to the bottom of a new iPod to download Toy Story 3 from her laptop, she knelt on her seat and pulled herself up so that she could look into the row behind her.
Delphine smiled as the child’s face appeared above the back of the seat. ‘Hello.’
‘I’m going to Disneyland Paris,’ she said, her expression serious.
‘How wonderful,’ Delphine said. ‘You must be really looking forward to it.’
The little girl’s face broke into a huge smile. ‘We’re going to stay in a hotel like a magic castle,’ she said breathlessly, ‘and see Woody and Buzz
‘Staying in Paris,’ he said. ‘The first time I’ve been there in years.’ He leaned towards her, a sparkle in his eye. He pointed to the bouquet of red roses, wrapped in cellophane, which he’d placed on the table in front of them. ‘Don’t laugh, but I’m on my way to meet a woman I haven’t seen in forty years. I mether in Paris in 1967 – the Summer of Love.’ He pointed to his bald head and gave a rueful smile. ‘Not much of a long-haired hippie, these days, am I? Anyway, I fell in love with a Parisian girl. Giselle . . .’
‘So beautiful!’ Delphine sighed. ‘Like the ballet . . .’
‘We were . . .’ he hesitated, searching for the right word ‘. . . very close. We lived together that winter in a commune on the Left Bank, but then all that peace and love went up in flames. You weren’t even born in 1968, of course, but I’m sure you’ve heard of les événements . There was a real sense of revolution in the air. There were strikes, riots, running battles with the police – the smell of tear gas hung over the city for weeks. We argued a lot about politics – Giselle was a real firebrand, far more left-wing than me.’ A look of sadness came into his eyes. ‘After one big row, I’m sorry to say I ran away. I didn’t have any money, or anywhere to go, but when I swallowed my stubborn pride and went back, Giselle had moved and no one knew where she had gone. I tried to find her, of course, but without success. In the end, after drifting around Paris for a few more weeks, I went back to England, cut my hair, got a job and began to settle down. In time I met another woman. We got married and had children and were happy together. Yet I never forgot Giselle . . .
‘My wife died a few years ago, and strangely enough it was my daughter who persuaded me to go looking for her. In fact she tracked her down, through Facebook of all things. Giselle’s widowed too, now, and I’m meeting her for lunch in Paris today. After that, who knows?’
He was lost in his thoughts for a while. Then he went on, ‘You must think me a terrible old fool, pouring all this out to a complete stranger. I know it could so easily end in disappointment and I’m trying not to get too excited about it . . .’ he smiled ‘. . . but not very successfully, as you can see.’
Across the aisle from them a middle-aged businessman in a pinstriped suit breathed out heavily through his nose and refolded his newspaper in a way that managed to convey both irritation and impatience. The old man glanced at him, then looked back at Delphine. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.‘I’ve taken up more than enough of your time already.’
She put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m glad to have met you. It’s a lovely story, and I really hope it has a happy ending for you.’ She kissed him on the cheek and walked back down the carriage.
She settled herself in the seat by the window and sat listlessly turning the pages of a magazine. In the row in front of her, a mother with two young children was stowing her bags and answering a string of questions from her hyper-excited cherubic little boy. His chubby face and body suggested to Delphine that Disneyland came a close second to a diet of Happy Meals.
His sister was older, perhaps ten, and more curious about the world around her. While her mother was busy plugging in the Bluetooth attachment to the bottom of a new iPod to download Toy Story 3 from her laptop, she knelt on her seat and pulled herself up so that she could look into the row behind her.
Delphine smiled as the child’s face appeared above the back of the seat. ‘Hello.’
‘I’m going to Disneyland Paris,’ she said, her expression serious.
‘How wonderful,’ Delphine said. ‘You must be really looking forward to it.’
The little girl’s face broke into a huge smile. ‘We’re going to stay in a hotel like a magic castle,’ she said breathlessly, ‘and see Woody and Buzz
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