“Well, Paris is probably similar. I was fortunate. Well, unfortunate. My grandmother, when she died, she left a substantial amount to Cecile and me. Of course, I would rather have my grandmother with us. She was quite a formidable woman. She would have liked you, I think.”
I smiled at him. “Really?”
“Yes, she was forthright,” he said, using the word I’d taught him the night before, “and very funny. I think she would have seen those things in you.”
So, I was forthright and funny. I didn’t mind the description, especially “forthright”—because that was not how most people characterised my propensity to speak my mind.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet her.”
“Yes, well, if you had ever come to visit …” He was teasing, but the words stung a little. Yes, I had been young and it would have been hard to save up the money to go to France—especially in the late 90s when airfares from Australia to anywhere in the world were ridiculously expensive—but I could have. Maybe if I hadn’t met Scott, I would have gone to France and seen Jean-Luc and met his whole family, including his grandmother.
“What was her name?”
“Eleanor. We called her Grand-mère Ellie.”
“Ellie,” I said quietly to myself. “I’m sorry I never came.” Another thing to regret.
“You do not need to apologise—again.”
“I wanted to come.” I glanced at him and he was nodding, a small frown on his face. “You know, I asked my mum to send me one of your letters.” I didn’t mention it was the final one, and I’m not sure why I thought it was a good idea to bring it up at all.
“Oh, yes?” He seemed curious, maybe even amused.
“Yes. I have it here. She scanned it.” I unlocked my phone and scrolled to the PDF attached to Mum’s email. He held out his hand to read it. “Before you do, I want you to tell me which parts were supposed to be my clues for the whole … you know …”
“For the childhood love?” His depiction of his younger self’s feelings surprised me. It seemed like he was playing them down.
“Uh, yes, exactly.” I handed him the phone and watched his face as he read. His eyes crinkled in a smile and his lips pursed a few times, clearly from amusement at what he’d written. He scrolled to the top and I watched his eyes scan back over the letter.
“Here,” he said, pointing to the part about the cute Australian girl. “Here.” He showed me the invitation to come to France. “And here.” He pointed to how he’d signed off with many kisses. “And, I think all of it.”
“Oh, really? The whole thing was pretty much a love letter?”
“Oui,” he said, definitively. He handed me the phone.
“Uh, so we did say the part about the Australian girl and the kisses, but the whole thing?” I teased.
“We?” he countered. Oops.
“Fine, I’m sprung, but after what you said in Rome, I needed help, so I asked the girls. I thought maybe I’d missed something.”
Amusement danced in his eyes. “You did miss something. You missed all the clues. And that is only one letter.”
I bit my bottom lip. “Will you at least concede that it’s a little, um, unclear?” The word seemed to translate.
He lifted his hand, his thumb and forefinger close together. “Oui, a little.”
I rolled my eyes and nudged him with my right side. “Right, sure.”
“I think the young Jean-Luc thought he was very clever and a great wooer of women.”
“Hah!” We shared a smile at his expense.
“And I think the young Catherine was a little self-absorbed and clueless,” I added.
“Oui, c’est vrai.” That’s true.
“Hey!” I backhanded his shoulder.
“Désolé, désolé!” Sorry, sorry.
“I’ll désolé you.”
He reached for my hand and I let him hold it, our fingers laced together. I leant into him and watched out the window as the most beautiful landscape I’d ever seen unfolded.
“I have something for you, too, when we go back,” he said quietly. “One of your letters.” My stomach clenched. I didn’t want to read that wretched letter, but all I could say was, “Oh.” I had to put it out of my mind, or it could ruin the rest of the day, possibly the rest of my time with him. I’d face the music—I owed him that—but not right then.
The train arrived in Kleine Scheidegg less than an hour after departing from Lauterbrunnen and we disembarked into a sunny morning in the low twenties. We both donned sunglasses and stood on the platform looking around. I supposed it could be called a town, but really it was just a small collection of buildings—nice buildings, but not much more.
Its main purpose was to serve as the junction between the train line we’d ridden and the line which went to the top of the mountain, Jungfrau. I’d thought about going to the top. It was an optional excursion some people on the tour were doing, but it cost more than a hundred pounds and that was two designer handbags if I got them at TK Maxx.
“Shall we look around before we hike down?” asked Jean Luc.
“Definitely, and I want morning tea first.” Jean-Luc’s idea of breakfast leant towards “Parisian”—sans the cigarette, but essentially just a cappuccino. Our apartment, as I was dangerously calling it in my head, was stocked with the bare essentials of coffee pods and milk, but no teabags and nothing much else by way of breakfast. In short, I was starving and desperate for some tea.
We homed in on the aptly named Chalet Restaurant Lounge, where I resisted the urge to order Glühwein, the spiced mulled wine which I associated with Christmas markets, and settled instead for tea and a slice of apfelstrudel. I was fairly certain I could never move to Switzerland as I would soon run out of money. Tea and a pastry came to the equivalent of £8.50, or a decent meal at Nando’s.
I savoured my breakfast and stared out the window as I ate and drank, pinching myself that I was halfway up a Swiss mountain. Jean-Luc had another coffee and stole little pieces of my strudel. As I’ve mentioned, I don’t like to share, so after the third time I slapped his hand.
“Go and get your own or leave mine alone.” He smiled at me cheekily. I took the moment to appreciate that he was just as beautiful as the scenery, maybe more. How could Vanessa divorce him? It was a perilous thought, one that hinted at a future and falling in love. I pushed it aside.
“Excuse me for a moment,” I said, as I crumpled up my napkin and stood up.
“I need the toilet also,” he said. I felt a little foolish for being shy about needing a wee. When we were teenagers, we spent so much time together that I’d boldly announce it, then leave the room before he had a chance to reply.
We both headed to our respective bathrooms and reconvened on the deck of the restaurant. Jean-Luc was waiting for me when I came out.
“Ready?” he asked, looking up from his phone.
“Yes.” I looked around for what I hoped would be obvious trail signage.
“It’s this way,” he said, pointing. He held up his phone briefly. “I looked it up.”