My current violin is brighter sounding than Jonas’s. I can’t explain it other than that it sounds younger. Jonas’s violin has lost that quality but its seasoned old body captures the sonorous lower notes with a clarity and warmth that younger instruments will never achieve. For the gigs Niven and I might play on the Island, though, my current instrument is perfect. Bright and fun, sharp and quick. Enough to invite people’s feet to tap, their heads to nod and maybe even their bodies to dance.
‘Do you know where we’ll play yet?’ I ask, as Niven perches on the far end of the sofa.
‘I’ve a couple of venues lined up,’ he grins, popping a biro behind one ear and rolling up the huge sleeves of Ailish’s jumper. ‘One in Bunessan, one up in Calgary. And my pal Russ says we can deck out his barn in Dervaig for a ceilidh next month sometime. Once folk hear about it I reckon we’ll get more. You up for it?’
Daft question.
We start to run through reels, jigs and graces; some I’ve not heard since childhood, others that are new to me. And as we play my mind drifts to a tiny apartment in Montmartre, where a beautiful woman is preparing for the next stage of her Grand Adventure.
Phoebe’s email arrived while I was having breakfast but I didn’t open it then. When I did, it wasn’t her apologies that hit me – It was a spur of the moment thing, not a test. I don’t need to hear it back or anything – but my own pang of guilt. I went to see Morag because of what Phoebe said. Her advice meant so much to me. You know where I am if you want to talk. I want to tell her that, and explain that she is still important to me. I just need to find a way to say it all.
Chapter Nineteen
Phoebe
It’s time.
I’m leaving Paris today with my plans in place and a stack of suggestions from Tobi and Luc’s friends. My two months here have been wonderful and I’ve learned so much. I wonder what awaits me on my onward journey through France?
My phone buzzes as I’m stuffing the last of my books into my luggage. I snatch it up from the bed but my finger hesitates before accepting the call. Since I emailed Sam, his little messages and texts have peppered each of my remaining days in Paris. But while we’d agreed we would call soon, we haven’t spoken yet. And now I’m nervous of what he might want to say.
‘Hey you.’
A rush of joy races through me when I hear the smile in his voice. Just like it was on the day we met. ‘Hi, stranger.’
‘I didn’t know if I’d get you before your train. You’re leaving today, right?’
‘I am.’
‘How do you feel – about moving on?’ The second part is tagged on quickly as if he’s scared I’ll think he’s talking about us.
‘Good. I have everything booked and Tobi and Luc’s friend in Rome confirmed yesterday that I can stay with her for two months after I’ve visited Florence.’
‘That’s great.’
‘It is. And I have all the suggestions in the journal the boys gave me between Paris and Rome.’
‘I’m really excited for you.’ I can hear the cry of gulls and rush of waves behind him.
‘Where are you now?’
‘On Calgary Beach. West coast of the Island. Niven wanted to take photos here. It’s pretty spectacular. I’ll send you one when you’re on the train.’
I try to picture Sam sitting in grassy dunes at the edge of the beach, buffeted by the wind. ‘What can you see?’
‘Mostly clouds but the sun’s trying to beat them. The wind’s so strong it’s blowing the white sand in waves across the beach. And the view across the water is incredible. Moody blue out to infinity.’ His chuckle warms my ear. ‘And that’s the title of my next prog-rock album, obviously.’
‘I like it.’
I love it – but I won’t say that to Sam. The ease has returned to our conversation, and I’ve missed that. But what if he’s relaxing because I’m about to move further away? I bundle the unwelcome thought from my mind.
‘So, Troyes next, eh?’
‘Yes. You’ve been paying attention.’
‘Don’t sound so surprised. Actually, I’ve done a bit of research.’
‘Have you?’
‘I have indeed. I found a really cool thing you have to check out. Make sure you visit the Quais de Seine when you’re in Troyes. There’s something there I think you should see.’
‘What is it?’
‘Ah, no, I’m not telling. It’s my secret mission for you.’
I can imagine him grinning like a cheeky kid. ‘Okay, boss.’
‘And when you see it, you have to think of me, okay? And take a picture.’
‘Anything else?’ I laugh.
‘Just be happy, Phoebe Jones. And have the best time.’
Now I think I will.
* * *
Troyes is only an hour and a half’s train journey from Gare de l’Est, a short walk from Gare du Nord. It’s a medieval city, right in the heart of Champagne country. I will be staying with Gilbert and Amelie, a retired couple who now volunteer as local guides as part of the city’s Greeter scheme that pairs locals with visitors.
I had planned to say goodbye to Tobi and Luc at the apartment and get a taxi to the station, but they won’t hear of it. So we walk together in solemn procession, Luc carrying my holdall and Tobi bearing the canvas bag containing homemade treats. At the station they buy coffee and fuss around me. It’s an hour before my train and they won’t leave until I’m on it.
‘You’re like our sister now,’ Luc says, when I laugh at their fussiness. ‘You have us until the train takes you. No arguments.’
We sit together in a small café concession, with Tobi doing his best not to show how appalled he is by the quality of the coffee, and we talk about all the plans I have for my onward journey. Luc asks for my journal and shields the page from me as he writes a message.
‘Read it when you reach Troyes. Tobi will write something, too. And then all of the words must be yours.’
I try to imagine the journal filled with my words at the end of this year. What will I see? What will I learn?
And will Sam be there to read it when it’s complete?
Suddenly it’s time to go. I share final kisses with Tobi and Luc and wave as I hurry to my platform. Paris has warmed my heart and set me on course for my European adventure. What lies in store for me next?
Chapter Twenty
Sam
‘A massive red beating heart!’ Phoebe says, without even saying hello first. She sounds breathless, somewhere between laughter and tears.
Thank goodness for Google showing me the heart when I searched for Troyes. ‘You like it?’
‘It’s gorgeous, Sam! You’re gorgeous – um, I mean it was a gorgeous thought…’
My chest contracts as her voice trails away. I hate that the uncertainty is there. I’m doing my best to cancel it out, but it’s not enough.
‘I’ll take gorgeous. You’re not so bad yourself.’ I wince at the cheesiness of my reply, thankful that her laugh follows on its tail.