Page 33 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually (Actually #1)

Sean and I stood on the pavement in the shadow of the Arc de Triomphe.

We’d been in Paris for most of the day, visiting the many Louis Vuitton stores that were scattered across the city.

Now we had just emerged from the Metro yet again and we found ourselves this time on the bustling and ultra-chic Champs-Elysées.

With slightly less enthusiasm, I followed.

It had not been a very successful morning so far. To begin with, there had been a decidedly chilly air in the hotel room as I’d packed my things into my suitcase and prepared to meet Sean downstairs after breakfast.

David hadn’t said too much after the events of the night before. He’d been polite and courteous, as he always was, but he’d been distant too.

I couldn’t say I blamed him. After what he’d told me last night, I realized he was right—I hadn’t given any thought to how all this must seem to him.

If the shoe had been on the other foot, and it was David racing about with another woman in tow, would I have been as gracious to David as he had been to me, and let him continue? I think, not.

I vowed once this was all over I would somehow make it up to him.

Not that I wanted it all to be over: that was something else I hadn’t given much thought to—returning home again. Once my time was up, that was it—I would return to Stratford, to Maddie, my father, and to David, and I would probably never see Ursula, Oscar, or, more importantly, Sean ever again.

I sighed heavily.

“Hey, buck up,” Sean said. “She has to be at one of them—it’s just a matter of time.”

“It’s not that. I was just thinking about something David said last night.”

It was Sean’s turn to sigh now. I knew he hadn’t been very impressed by David’s actions.

“What has he said this time?”

“He asked me what would happen if we do find my mother and she doesn’t want anything to do with me. After all, if she didn’t want me when I was a baby, why should she want me now?”

Sean stopped walking, placed his hands firmly on my shoulders, and turned me around to face him.

“Stop this,” he ordered, looking directly into my eyes.

“You were so enthusiastic about all this before last night—there were no doubts in your mind at all about what you were doing. All you wanted was to find your mother. You weren’t worrying about who she was, or what she’d think of you—just that you’d finally get to meet her. ”

“I know but…”

“But nothing, Scarlett—it’s David who has put all these doubts in your mind. I don’t know what he said to you after I left last night, but it hasn’t done you any good.”

“David was very understanding about everything, actually.”

Sean let go of my shoulders and spun away from me, rolling his eyes. “Understanding—yeah right, that’s what it was. Controlling, more like.”

“Sean, please,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. “Let’s not argue about David. My mind is in enough turmoil thinking my mother could be just around the corner every time we get off the Metro. I can’t deal with this right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Sean said, giving me an apologetic smile. “I won’t mention his name again.” He put his arm through mine and saluted with his other hand. “Right then, Red, it’s full speed ahead. The next handbag shop awaits us!”

We walked a bit further along the Champs-Elysées and there, as promised, was another Louis Vuitton shop, selling its distinctive luxury leather luggage and bags. Sean pushed open the door and we went inside.

“ Bonjour ,” he said to the exquisitely made-up assistant behind the desk. “Parlez-vous anglais ?”

“ Oui, monsieur , I most certainly do,” she replied in extremely good English. “How can I help?”

It was always a relief when the assistant spoke English.

It was hard enough explaining to someone in our own language who we were looking for and why.

But in the little bit of French Sean and I could cobble together between us, it was virtually impossible.

I watched her while Sean spoke; with her short cropped hair and elfin features, she had an aura of Amélie about her, which I felt only boded well.

“Ah good,” Sean said. “We are looking for a lady called Rosemary. Do you have anyone who works here called that?”

“Or it could be Rosie?” I added helpfully.

“ Non , we have no one here of that name, I am sorry.”

“Have you worked here long…Chantal?” Sean asked, looking at the assistant’s name badge. “I mean, is there a member of staff that’s been here a longer time than you?”

Chantal looked puzzled.

“Someone older?” I tried.

“Ah yes, older, now I understand. There is Marie, she has been ’ere for er…long time.”

“Could we speak to her?” I asked.

“ Oui , she is out in the back just now. One moment, I shall return.”

While we waited, I glanced at some of the bags beautifully displayed on the glass podiums and shelves. I didn’t bother glancing at the price tags, though. No point.

Presently, Chantal returned with an elderly woman dressed entirely in black. She was holding on tightly to Chantal’s arm for support; and was almost bent double as she hobbled across the shop.

“This is Marie,” Chantal said. “She is the grandmother of our manageress. She likes to come and sit in the shop with us for company since her husband died, but they do not let her sit out front.” Chantal put her hand to the side of her mouth and whispered to us.

“They say it will…’ow you say…er…put the customers off?

” She found Marie a seat and helped her into it.

“S he does not speak any English, but I shall try and ask her what you ask me.”

I nodded and smiled at Marie. She stared hard at me over her tiny pince-nez glasses.

Chantal then presumably asked Marie the same questions we had asked her. But it was hard to tell—I could only really pick out the word Rosemary.

Marie shook her head vehemently.

“She says no,” Chantal translated unnecessarily.

“Or Rosie?” I asked, looking at Marie.

Again she shook her head.

I turned to Sean. “We may as well just go; this is getting us nowhere.”

“English,” Marie said.

We all turned to look at her.

“English,” she said, pointing her bony finger at me.

“Yes, that’s right, I am.”

“Vivien,” she said, nodding.

“No, my name is Scarlett.”

She nodded again. “Oui…Scarlett…Vivien. Da, daa, da, daa. Da, daa, da, daaa,” she hummed.

“Come on,” Sean said. “Let’s go, we’ve still got one more shop to try yet. Plus,” he whispered, “I don’t think this old bird is all there.”

“No, wait,” I said, listening to Marie hum. “Can’t you hear what she’s singing? I think it’s the theme tune to Gone with the Wind .”

We all stood and listened to Marie humming. She stopped and smiled a toothy grin at us .

“Vivien,” she said again, pointing at me. Then she spoke to Chantal in French.

“What’s she saying?” I asked.

“She says you look like Vivien.”

“Who, Vivien Leigh?”

Chantal asked Marie.

“No,” Chantal explained. “A woman that used to work here. Marie says she very much loved the cinema, and her favorite film, she remembers, was Gone with the Wind . So the staff, they called her Vivien, as it sounded more French.”

“More French than…?” I asked hopefully. “What was her real name?”

Again Chantal spoke quickly to Marie.

“She does not remember her true name, I’m afraid.”

I was just about to give up when I remembered the photo. “Is this her?” I asked, producing the photo from my bag. I pointed to my mother in the picture. “Vivien?” I asked Marie, kneeling down beside her.

Marie peered closely at the photo and then she looked at me.

“ Oui .” She nodded, looking down at the photo again. “Vivien.” Then she smiled at me. “Vivien,” she repeated as she took my hand in hers.

“Bingo,” Sean said, grinning.

***

With Chantal translating in between customers, I asked Marie as much as she could remember about my mother.

She described her to Chantal as being full of spirit and life, and with a passion for the cinema, which Marie also shared.

She had not worked in the shop for long before she had once again moved on.

But this time Marie seemed sure she had not stayed within Louis Vuitton but had gone to work elsewhere.

“Mysterious circumstances,” Chantal translated it as.

The shop was starting to get busy now, so we decided we should leave. It was obvious to me Marie had indeed known, and liked, my mother very much, but yet again we had reached a dead end. We thanked Chantal and Marie profusely for all their help, then bade them farewell.

“So there you go,” I said to Sean as we stood outside on the pavement again. “That’s that.”

Sean fixed me with one of his disapproving looks. “Scarlett, you have to stop saying that every time we come up against a small hurdle. You can’t just give up so easily all the time.”

“What else are we supposed to do? We have no other leads. My mother worked here for a while, and that’s all we know. Marie has no idea where she went after she left. She could be anywhere, Sean.”

“But we were so close,” Sean said in frustration.

“I know, but at least I can take something away from all this—I’ve found out the kind of person my mother was. Everyone we’ve met has had good memories of her. She left her mark on people’s lives, Sean, and she’s obviously lived her life to the full.”

Just as I’m going to from now on , I vowed to myself.

“But we’re giving up, admitting defeat, Scarlett. You can’t want that.”

“No, Sean, you don’t want that. I’ve found out so much more in the last week than I ever dreamed I’d find out about my mother, and I’m happy with that. Meeting her again just obviously wasn’t meant to be.”

Sean looked like he didn’t agree.

“Look, I know this isn’t how you would usually go about things, Sean—you’re the type of person that never gives up until he’s won—but on this occasion we can’t win, we can’t be the best, and we have to admit defeat.”

Sean still didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure that’s what you want, Scarlett? I mean it isn’t just because of what David said, is it?”

“No—no, it’s not.”