The Little Antique Shop Under The Eiffel Tower

“I’ve just been to Italy,” he said. “And nothing there compares to what I’ve seen here today… The quality is breathtaking.” He flicked me a loaded stare. Was he flirting with me? Did he think I was a fool?

Women veering past did a double take when they saw him. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. If they’d spent two minutes talking to him they’d know he had no substance. He was an empty shell with a few dollars to his stupid name. Mr. Black? Honestly, it sounded like a pseudonym to me.

“You should pull your bid on the cello,” I said, giving it one last try. “You don’t really want it.”

“I only bid on it at the very end, because I knew you wanted it, and I couldn’t let the weasel win it from you. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was bidding for it just to upset you. Something about his smarmy face made my blood boil.”

“Wait, you weren’t bidding against me the entire time?”

He frowned. “Of course not! Not until you stopped, and he was set to win it. I couldn’t let him have the satisfaction.”

“But you said you were interested in the cello when we first sat down!” I narrowed my eyes.

“In the German cello, not the French one.”

Could I trust this Tristan Black? “Which guy was bidding against me?”

He turned and surveyed the people milling in the bar area, some drinking champagne to celebrate, some to commiserate. “That guy.” He pointed to a guy wearing almost identical clothes to himself. Goddamn it! It was Joshua.

I softened slightly toward Tristan; he’d picked up on Joshua’s vindictiveness and tried to protect me against it. Why Joshua continued to torment me was beyond me. But Tristan had stepped in unwittingly, and no matter what his motivations were, I was grateful for it.

Tristan leaned forward, standing inches from my face. Up close, his eyes were mesmerizing ocean blue. I shuffled backward, not wanting to be hypnotized by his cosmetic qualities. I could see how a girl would fall for his kind. “So I guess we can make a deal, now? The cello is all yours, if you want it.”

“For how much?” Don’t drop your guard. Nothing is ever what it seems.

“For the price I paid,” he said, shrugging. “I know you have a buyer for it.”

“Because you were hot on my heels that day?” The red sports coupe driving spy!

He lifted a palm. “Isn’t everyone around here guilty of that?”

Touché. “And that’s it? I pay for the cello, and nothing else?” Usually a deal like this they’d tack on ten percent at least.

He smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. The aquamarine of them sparkled. “I wouldn’t rule out a dinner date, but yes, that’s all.”

A smile played at my lips. “A dinner date? I don’t think so.” Tristan Black would have to learn things didn’t just fall in his lap no matter how generous he might seem to any unsuspecting person. There was always an agenda with men like him. Always. And he was choosing the wrong girl if he thought I’d be silly enough to go along with his whims.

“Why not?” He laughed. “I won’t eat you.”

“Very funny.” I wondered what would be a fair compromise. Ah! “Perhaps we can share a drink at the May Gala, if you’re invited that is…?” If he was invited to the gala, then he was connected with someone influential in Paris. It would be a good way to find out just who he really was.

“The gala…” A blank look crossed his features. “Oh the gala! Yes, I’ll be there and I’ll hold you to that drink, Anouk.”

Before he could add any more addendums to our deal I said, “Let’s go to the office and sort out the paperwork for the cello.”

We explained to the clerk and she switched our details for the piece. Gustave the security guard called me over, waving frantically, as I was waiting for the invoice to be printed.

“Excusez-moi, Tristan. I’ll be right back.”

I rushed to Gustave, my heels click-clacking. His face was pinched, and he motioned for me to join him behind the curtain in the antechamber just near the office.

“What is it?” I whispered.

“Shhh,” he said and pointed. Joshua wore a mutinous expression and was making his way straight to Tristan.

“Oh no! We have to stop him!” I went to push the curtain back but Gustave grabbed my arm to stop me. Tristan Black didn’t deserve to cop a mouthful from Joshua. As much as I distrusted the newcomer, I couldn’t stand by and watch him get berated on account of me.

“Wait, Anouk. I have a feeling your Monsieur Black can look after himself just fine.”

“He doesn’t know the story, Gustave. He has no idea what he’s dealing with! I have to warn him…”

“Wait. I think you underestimate the new guy.” Gustave pulled the curtain aside an infinitesimal amount so we could peek out.

Joshua tapped Tristan on the back with an index finger, pointed like a gun.

I held my breath, wishing for the hundredth time Joshua would just walk off and disappear out of Paris for good.

Tristan took his sweet time, chatting to the office clerk, and totally ignoring the finger in the back.

Joshua tried again, this time using the palm of his hand.

Tristan turned, annoyance clouding his face. “What can I do for you?” he said, his voice clipped.

“Any reason you snuck in a bid like that? Or was it just to win her over?” Joshua pulled a sour face like he’d been sucking lemons, angry that someone had got the better of him. “She’s not worth it, you know.”

I gasped. That lowlife! Gustave shot me a look that said, see?

I clung on to the curtain that separated us from them. Through the gap I could see Tristan pull himself up to full height. “She has a name if it’s the person I think you’re referring to, and I don’t like your accusations, or your tone.”

Shivers raced down my spine. “Yeah?” Joshua snarled like a beast. “Watch your step, I’m warning you now. She,” he spat the word, “isn’t who you think she is.”

I reeled back. “What does that mean?” I mouthed to a shocked Gustave who shrugged. It was bizarre to hear myself discussed, and it was especially odd when it made no sense.

“Well who is she then?” Tristan asked, an edge of menace in his tone.

I inched closer again, intrigued too.

“Who knows? It’s all an act with her.” Joshua’s lip curled. “What you see isn’t what you get. Comprendre?”

An act with me? With him more like it! The hide of that guy. I wanted to storm outside and berate Joshua for making trouble. Again. But Gustave held my arm firmly, shaking his head.

“The only thing I understand,” Tristan said, leaning right into Joshua’s face. “Is that you’re a man with no principles, and if I see you bid her up again for no reason, there’s gonna be trouble. Comprendre?”

I bit back on a laugh at the way Tristan mimicked him.

Joshua narrowed his eyes, and said, “You were warned. Next time I won’t be so nice.”

“Duly noted. Now go away.” Tristan shooed him like he was a fly and turned his back, leaving Joshua standing there like a fool.

He finally stalked off, with an angry glint in his eye. I’d never seen anyone upset Joshua before. I had a new level of respect for Tristan knowing instinctively how to act around that rat of a man.

When we could finally talk properly without fear of being caught behind the curtain I said quietly to Gustave, “Why did he say it was all an act with me?”

Gustave pursed his lips and then said, “To make trouble. You know he manipulates the situation in his favor.”

I nodded, not convinced it was that simple. “Every day I wonder if I was under some kind of spell to have ever thought I loved that man.”

Gustave gave me a paternal pat on the back. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Anouk. None of us knew what he was like.”

“I was so awful to Tristan a few minutes ago and then he goes and does that.” I gave Gustave a thin smile. “So, we walk out and pretend we saw nothing?”

“You’re just protecting yourself with new faces on the circuit, and rightfully so.” Gustave smiled. “We walk making small talk, and you don’t mention what you just saw.”

“Oui. Thanks.”

We wandered back out, chatting in French, pretending we were mid conversation about classical music. “Ah, there you are,” I said to Tristan. I waited for him to tell me about the altercation but he just put his hands together and said, “Paperwork is all done.”

“Merci.” In light of what I’d just witnessed I said, “That was very nice of you, Monsieur Black. I do appreciate it. That cello is very special to a customer of mine.”

“My pleasure.” He raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps we can have a dance or two at the May Gala?”

His expression was so genuine, so sweet that I surprised myself by saying, “Oui, of course.”

Would the usual gala glitterati make a beeline for the stylish Monsieur Black? Perhaps a little digging would unearth his secrets, and I’d have some tidbits to share when my colleagues enquired after him. He was sure to make an impression with his powerful saunter, and strong jawline. It was his eyes that caught me off guard; they were so blue, hypnotic, and I reminded myself to be careful. Business and pleasure did not mix.

Chapter Six

Safely ensconced in my shop with the door bolted for privacy I made some calls about Tristan Black.

Rachelle from the little flower shop near the Notre Dame was usually a hive of information. An unassuming Parisian with russet curls, and wide brown eyes. I’m sure the flower shop was a front for something because she knew too much about everything, but I never asked her directly. Often she tipped me off about antiques that were making their way to Paris from outer regions of France. “Non, Anouk,” she purred. “I haven’t heard of such a man. What did he do? Rob you? Because if so, I know a man who can sort him out!”

My eyes widened. “Non, non, he hasn’t. I don’t need a man to…sort him out, I just wondered if you’d heard anything on the usual channels.”

“Nothing. But if I do, I’ll let you know. And, if he does step out of line, you let me know…” Her voice was as hard as steel, and I smiled. Joshua’s betrayal had made my colleagues protective of me, and it was sweet even if I was a little alarmed at exactly what ‘sort him out’ might’ve entailed.

“And Anouk, tomorrow, if you go the flea markets on Rue des Rosiers, find a man with a carnation in his pocket, wearing a pink bow tie. He has something for you. Tell him I sent you, and he will know.”

“Merci. I’m intrigued.”

“My maman was very happy with the gift you sent. It was so sweet, Anouk. Every morning I hear the music as she warms up; the dedication she has to her ballet is astounding.” Rachelle’s maman had always wanted to be a ballerina, and now finally had the time to try. People thought it was preposterous. At sixty? they’d cried, how silly. But why couldn’t a woman learn to dance at sixty? She wasn’t expecting to grace the stage at Opéra National de Paris!

I’d found some vintage ballet shoes that had never been worn and a leotard and sent them with a note saying Dance your way to happiness. I liked the idea that passion didn’t fade away no matter what age a person was, and if she wanted to plié her way around her living room where was the harm in that?

“Your maman is a wonderful woman,” I said, meaning it.

We gossiped about a few things before saying au revoir.

Next, I phoned Madame Dupont to see what she’d make of the newcomer and what had happened earlier. I fell into a walnut leather wingback chair that I’d rescued from an estate sale. The executor of the estate had wanted to clear the belongings out fast, and had ignored my pleas to save the chair, and other valuables littered on the verge like lost souls. Take it, he’d cried, take it all! And I did. The leather was crazed, and dimpled, and it sighed wearily when I took my place on it. It was like an old friend, and I’d never get it rejuvenated. I loved it, scars and all.

“Anouk, my darling, did you get the cello?” Madame said huskily.

“Oui, not without a little drama.” I filled Madame Dupont in on the morning.

“Ooh la la, I adore him already! Joshua must have been seeing red! What a delight! What does he look like this devilish Monsieur Black?”

I shook my head. I could have bet money Madame Dupont would ask such a thing. “Like a man with too much money.”

“Parfait!”

“Parfait for what?”

“For you, Anouk! Lilou and I are in agreeance on this matter. It really is time to throw yourself to the wolves and see what happens…”

“I’ll get eaten alive!” I laughed. Honestly, they had this idea that I was missing something in my life, but they just couldn’t see I wasn’t made like them. Love did not come first for me.

Madame’s loud drawing of a cigarette filtered down the line. “Is he a collector, or a dealer?”

“I don’t know, he spoke like a collector, but he was out the front of my shop the other day and then he turned up at Andre’s estate as I was leaving, so I suppose he could dabble in both. A way to alleviate the ennui I suppose.”

“He’s a dashing American. A knight in shining armor! I can’t wait to run into him.” In the background the ticking and chiming of various clocks rang out. I wondered how Madame Dupont could stand the disharmonious symphony.

“Oui, and he has that same innate charm, exudes confidence. Eyes the color of the ocean,” I sighed. Why couldn’t men like him be French, staid and solid? That kind of man I could go for.

Madame Dupont let out a sensual sigh. “If I was your age, Anouk, there’d be no stopping me. In fact, even at my age, there’d be no stopping me, because who dares wins. Why don’t you dare, just this once?”

A customer knocked on the door, and I motioned for him to come in. It was Elliot from the wine bar, who often browsed the shelves for décor, and stopped for a chat about business. “Won’t be long,” I said to him.

“No rush.” He moved about with his hands in his pockets, peering at a selection of mirrors hung from gold hooks along the walls.

I lowered my voice. “Madame, aside from your many petit affairs, I’m just like you. I don’t want to be tied down, to follow any particular set of rules, or form. I’ve never really dreamed of walking down the aisle, maybe I never will, and is that so bad? You haven’t, and you’re the happiest person I know.” They were just words, though. I wasn’t sure how I felt about marriage. I envied the idea of it. But I couldn’t see it happening for me.

She tutted. “We’re not the same, Anouk. I could never be as sweet of heart as you! I chose to remain single because I couldn’t commit to one person. But it isn’t easy. There are plenty of times when I wonder if I made a huge mistake with some of the men I’ve loved and let go. Maybe I would have enjoyed love, after the dizzying novelty of that first rapture faded and was replaced with something more fulsome? Truer, deeper? But I never gave it a chance. And that might have been a huge mistake…”

Madame Dupont had never spoken this openly with me about her love life. “Do you really regret it, Madame, or do you just think it’s what I need to hear?” I couldn’t see Madame Dupont as lonely, even now, men flocked to her, but maybe she did crave that more solid love, one that had longevity.

She took some time to answer. “Regret is such a miserable word. But there have been plenty of times alone, where I wished I took the risk and gave someone my heart, and not just a sliver of it. After one stumble you’ve pulled the shutters down. Closed up shop. I’m just saying, don’t waste your life protecting your heart, or you’ll get to the end of it, and realize it wasn’t worth it.” Her words poured out with so much melancholy, it was hard to know what to say, and whether she truly meant me, or if something had happened to make her so forlorn.

Speaking gently, I said, “I see, Madame, I really do. But I’m not ‘closed for business’ I’m just not interested, and there’s a big difference.”

A laugh escaped her. “Listen to me, having an elderly moment. Forget it, Anouk, I don’t know what came over me. Some days, my life flashes before me in the blink of an eye, until I get to the scenes I wish I could change, and they play over again and again, until I can’t see straight. Promise me though, you’ll stop pouring every ounce of yourself into work. Save a part of your life for something else.”

“I promise, Madame Dupont.”

I hoped to ease her anxiety, but really, without work, what else was there? I was grateful work kept me moored to this place.

“And you owe it to that man to go to the gala and have some fun with him. He earned it after dealing with that pig Joshua.”

I smiled at the memory. “Oui, I will, Madame. It’s not often someone reads Joshua so well. It was like he had heard about him already, or he knew what to watch for. Joshua backed down pretty quickly. I think he was intimidated by Tristan…” And that was a first.

When we wrapped up our chat Elliot from the wine bar had found a selection of goods and had them lined up along the front counter. “What can you tell me about these?” he asked, settling on a stool.

“For that we’ll need coffee!” I smiled and went to brew a pot, returning with everything on a tray.

Most of my customers spent hours in the shop, carefully selecting pieces and then making their choice after hearing their stories. It was the highlight of my day when I could impart the histories of each antique and watch the customer’s eyes widen when something resonated with them and the decision was made, as if by someone else.

“So this one –” I pointed to a golden French gilded mirror with cherubs “– is a Louis Phillipe, circa 1890, and once hung in the boudoir of…”

Chapter Seven

The four seasons in Paris each had their own charm – I was hard pressed to choose a favorite. The elemental cycles seemed to change at a time I most needed them, as if the planet regenerated itself, which was cue for me to do the same. Layers were peeled back – literally, and figuratively – coats were vanquished, flowers bloomed, fashion became bolder, smiles wider, strides sashayed into saunters, as spring cast its magnificence over the city. A rejuvenation for earth, body, and soul.

The gentle warmth and smudged blue skies were so provocative, they urged even the most sedate to wander the uneven boulevards of Paris with a basket loose over an arm, freeing a person to sniff and select plump, fat tomatoes, ripe fragrant peaches, rounds of creamy camembert, and baguettes so fresh and wholesome you wanted to hug them to your chest like a baby as you dawdled home, stopping only to add a bouquet of lively carnations with egg-yolk yellow buds that screamed sunshine, and the promise of warmer months to come.

I made a mental note to go the markets later and find some fresh ingredients for dinner. I wandered to my balcony to see what was on offer in my own pots. My herbs seemed to double in size overnight, their stems reaching upward in supplication for the sun. It was the season for simple dishes: poached salmon with beurre blanc sauce and a handful of fresh parsley. Newly plucked asparagus with a buttery tarragon topping. Today, in an ode to my maman, who was an incredible cook and had taken many years to teach me the French basics, I made vichyssoise for lunch, which sat cooling on the stove. I snipped a handful of chives to add to the pot of potato and leek soup, her favorite spring recipe, best served cold.

Time in the kitchen was one of life’s greatest pleasures, and aside from when Lilou graced me with her presence, I cooked for one, which did cast a gray cloud over the meal. You could only chat to a soup bowl for so long before your voice echoed dismally back reminding you of your extremely solitary life. Still, I enjoyed the comfort of cooking, and making delicious French meals, slowly, carefully following my maman’s old recipes. And work always called, so really I was lucky to have no ties to pull me every which way.

After rinsing the chives and roughly chopping them I garnished the vichyssoise, and the peppery scent of the herb added a little élégance to the meal.

Even though it was just me and the bowl of soup, I still set the table with the silver vintage cutlery, a crystal wineglass, and a sharply ironed napkin, which I set on my lap. After dusting my hands on the tea towel, I poured myself a glass of crisp sauvignon blanc.

I ate my soup slowly, and tried very hard not to mumble to inanimate objects just to make conversation. Silence was golden, and I had the birds outside chirping away for company so it wasn’t like I was completely and utterly alone. Chirp, chirp, chirp.

Really, if I wanted someone to dine with, I could invite any of my neighbors over, and that would prove less problematic than a relationship with a man. Though, I shied away from getting to know my neighbors, as they rotated so often, what would be the point? Lilou knew them all though and they often asked about her in passing. Then a new group would move in, and they’d ask after her too, even though up until now, she wasn’t actually living here. She had an ease with people, and made friendships quickly.

Lunch consumed, I moved to the balcony with my wine and the newspaper. Once again the front-page headline screamed for attention.

The Postcard Bandit hits Paris again!

A brazen robbery was committed overnight at the exclusive Arles Auction House on the Boulevard Pereire in Paris. The suspect has been dubbed the Postcard Bandit by the press because of his trademark calling card: vintage postcards with famous love poems typed on the back, with the original verses changed to taunt police.

Gendarmes were quick to snuff out the press romanticizing such a criminal act, and warned people about aggrandizing the person responsible. The gendarmes released a photograph of the Audrey Étoile collection stolen in the hopes it will be recognized by collectors around Europe. If you have any information regarding the robbery please contact your local gendarmerie.

My stomach sank. The collection of jewelry pictured was exquisite. We’d been ogling photos online of the upcoming Parisian auction so I recognized them, including a diamond-encrusted timepiece Madame Dupont had her heart set on. The collection was elegant, and timeless, subtly simple, the diamonds set in each the pièce de résistance.

Madame Dupont had joked she’d get that fob watch no matter what she had to do! When I laughed, she’d fallen silent, and reiterated her point. I groped for the memory of exactly what she’d uttered…

Anouk, that watch was once Zelda’s. I must have it for myself…

Madame Dupont was obsessed with the roaring twenties of Paris – the jazz age – and adored Zelda Fitzgerald, heralding her as an icon and a woman who was gifted and creative, but often cast as just a flapper and wife, rather than the talented artist she was in her own right. Madame Dupont had been downright fervent about that fob watch.

I frowned. Was that what her heart-wrenching spiel on the phone had really been about? That she hadn’t given in to love because she wanted her independence and now regretted it? As much as she loved the idea of Zelda, she believed staying single she could accomplish so much more without a man holding her back. But even so, Madame Dupont wouldn’t resort to… I blushed at my treacherous thought – of course she wouldn’t; she couldn’t. She wasn’t a thief!

Once or twice she may have manipulated the truth in the past for reasons known to only her, but she wouldn’t be so shameless or immoral to actually steal! Money mattered little to Madame Dupont because she had plenty of it. She only continued working because she claimed her business kept her young. But committing a brazen robbery? Madame Dupont could easily have bought the entire collection ten times over if she had wanted to!