Honeymoon in Paris(17)
Author: Jojo Moyes

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 was white and as crisply ornate as a wedding cake. ‘What? Even though I’m ridiculously impulsive and my impulses are not to be trusted?’

‘Yes! I wish I was more impulsive. I would have married Andrew when he asked me and I’d probably be living in Spain now instead of stuck here in this office wondering whether I can sneak off at twenty to five to get my car tax sorted. Anyway – Oh, God, I’ve got to go. Besley’s just walked into the Ladies.’ Her voice lifts, changes tone. ‘Of course, Mrs Halston. Thank you so much for calling. I’m sure we’ll speak soon.’

Liv rings off, just as David returns. He is carrying a box of chocolates from Patrick Roger.

‘What’s this?’

‘Supper. They’re bringing up some champagne to go with it.’

She cackles with delight, pulls the wrapper off the beautiful pale turquoise box, pops one into her mouth and closes her eyes. ‘Oh, my God, these are amazing. What with these and tomorrow’s posh lunch I’m going to go home the size of a house.’

‘I cancelled the lunch.’

Liv looks up. ‘But I said I –’

David shrugs. ‘No. You were right. No more work. Some things should be sacred.’

She pops another chocolate into her mouth, holds the box towards him. ‘Oh, David … I’m starting to think I overreacted.’ The afternoon, with its feverish pitch of emotion, seems so long ago. She feels as if they have been married a lifetime since.

He pulls his shirt over his head. ‘You didn’t. You had every right to expect my full attention on our honeymoon. I’m sorry. I guess – I guess I’ve got to learn to remember there are two of us now, not just me.’

And there he is again. The man she had fallen in love with. My husband. She is suddenly almost incandescent with lust.

He sits down beside her, and she slides over to him while he keeps talking. ‘You want to hear the irony? I rang the Goldsteins from downstairs and I took a deep breath and I explained that I was very sorry but I couldn’t take any more time out this week, as this was actually my honeymoon.’

‘And?’

‘And they were absolutely furious with me.’

The next chocolate stops halfway to her lips. Her heart sinks. ‘Oh, God – I’m sorry.’

‘Yup, properly furious. They asked me what on earth I thought I was doing, leaving my new wife alone to discuss business matters. “This is no bloody way to start a marriage,” I quote.’ He gives her a sideways grin. ‘I always liked the sound of those Goldsteins,’ she says, popping the chocolate into his mouth.

‘They said it was a one-off, a time of our lives that I’d never get back.’

‘I think I might even love them.’

‘You’re going to love them even more in a minute.’ He stands and walks over to the french windows onto the balcony, throwing them open. The evening sun streams into the little room, while below them the sounds of the rue des Francs Bourgeois, teeming with tourists and lazy shoppers, fills the room. He pulls off his shoes and socks and his trousers and sits down on the bed, turning to her. ‘They said they felt partly responsible for dragging me away. So, they’ve offered us the use of their suite in the Royal Monceaux from tomorrow, to make it up to you. Room service, bath the size of an ocean liner, champagne on tap, absolutely no reason to leave the room whatsoever. For two nights. The reason I was downstairs so long was that I’ve taken a husbandly liberty and changed our return tickets. What do you say?’

He looks at Liv, and even now there is a hint of uncertainty in his gaze. ‘Obviously it would involve spending a further forty-eight hours with a man who is, according to our friendly local billionaires, a bloody stupid idiot.’

She regards him steadily. ‘Bloody stupid idiots are my absolute favourite kind of husband.’

‘I was so hoping you’d say that.’

They fall backwards onto the pillows and lie there side by side, their fingers entwined.

She gazes through the window at the still-bright City of Lights, and finds she is smiling. She is married. She is in Paris. Tomorrow she is going to disappear into a queen-sized bed with the man she loves and probably not come out for two days. This is probably as good as life gets.

But she hopes not.

‘I’ll get it right, Mrs Halston,’ he murmurs, turning towards her and lifting her fingers to his lips. ‘It might take me a while, the whole marriage thing, but I will get it right eventually.’ He has two freckles on his nose. She has never noticed them before. They are the most beautiful freckles she has ever seen.

‘That’s okay, Mr Halston,’ she says, and reaches back to place the chocolates carefully on the bedside table, out of harm’s way. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world.’