shop, he cries out like I’m a novelty. I suppose they think it’s odd, and then they move to the next place and it’s fodder for a funny travel story when they’re home.” I flounced over and turned the sign to Closed. Dusting my hands, I ignored the plaintive cries from the gaggle and gave the tour guide an icy stare.
“But what about the secret room!” one yelled out.
The secret room was just that – a secret – and no sugar-dusted fingers would pad at the treasures in there or snap pictures of what lay hidden in its depths.
The tour guide was gesticulating wildly and putting on a show for their benefit. “You have to know the secret handshake if you want to shop here,” he said, turning and giving me a wolfish smile. “Anouk is unconventional – just like the dust gatherers she collects. The French mademoiselle who won’t let people shop!”
“See?” I said to Oceane. “He’s so predictable.”
“A jerk,” she countered.
The crowd were delighted by such an anomaly, and peered at me through the glass. I did my best to ignore the guide, knowing he’d eventually get bored and move on. A reaction is exactly what he wanted from me, so I was loath to give it.
Instead, I walked toward Agnes who was still staring at the box in her hands, unaware of anything else going on around her. “Next time,” I told her, touching her arm. “You don’t need an introduction. You may visit my shop alone.”
Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling, “Merci! Merci!”
There was something I trusted about Agnes now. Usually I wouldn’t grant a first-time customer the ability to shop without returning with another loyal customer for months, sometimes years. But aside from the immediate bout of unease, I sensed Agnes was the type of person who appreciated old beauty, valued it; you could see it by the instinctive way she responded to the ruby story. She worked hard for what she had, as did her parents, and there was a sincerity about her. I liked the way she hadn’t romanticized her parents’ love; she told their tale warts and all. In my eyes, those attributes made a person whole, and utterly dependable with my treasures.
“Merci, Anouk,” Oceane said. “You’ve made their anniversary very special. See you again soon.” After a peck on each cheek, they stepped out into the splendor of the breezy spring day.
With the door swung open the chatter and merriment from outside drifted in. Paris was in full bloom, from the flowers to the influx of visitors and the radiance of the sunshine. The faint echo of boats gurgling along the Seine carried over, the wind sweeping up its earthy, fathomless scent and blowing it gently across the cornflower blue Parisian sky all the way into my little antique shop.
Distracted by the elements, I jumped when a camera flashed in my face. I hastily blinked away at the orb clouding my vision. The tour group were still mingling close. They held phones aloft, snapping pictures, edging closer to me saying, “Say cheese!”
Why did they always say that? Say cheese? It didn’t make any sense.
“Au revoir,” I said coolly to the tour guide, and closed the door tight.
Silently I cursed Joshua for betraying my trust and breaking my heart. With the number of malicious things he did, being published in the Solitary World travel guide and the havoc it created lingered long after he’d gone. Still, I’d learnt a valuable lesson, and steeled myself against men and strangers too, knowing I’d never make that mistake again.
One of the women from the group gave me an apologetic smile that I returned before nodding my thanks.
“Bonjour, Anouk! What’s new?” My little sister’s lyrical voice bounced around the shop, after she flung herself through the door, and took two great lunges to wrap me in her arms, suffocating me in the peach-scented locks of her hair. She was a bubbly, zany girl with a zest for life that matched no other. Great in theory, but if you spent any longer than a day with her, you’d find yourself zapped by an exhaustion you couldn’t shake, as though her reserves of energy pilfered your own. It was hard to keep up with her constant motion, and bevy of ideas about every little thing.
With her free spirit and flighty attitude my papa hoped she would follow my example, so sent her to study in Paris, and build the foundations she would need to make a life of his orchestrating, with me as a sort of chaperone.
Lilou flouted his rules, and snubbed his advice, though not to his face, or down the line of the phone. If she stopped long enough and he actually caught her on the telephone she lied, or she instructed me to lie about what was really going on. It was a game of cat and mouse, with me an unwilling participant.
Papa thought I’d steer her down the right path, but so far all that meant was bending the truth to him when she escaped the tediousness of her paralegal course and flitted off somewhere with the war cry, ‘You only live once!’ It was enough to make me throw my hands in the air, and think of her as my wayward child, rather than younger sister.
So far I was having even less luck than Papa at getting her to focus. If he knew she was playing truant with her study he’d be livid. But she was like a wrecking ball, impossible to stop once the momentum got going, and so very clever at manipulating the situation in her favor. Still, you had to give her credit – she certainly lived life on her terms.
“Lilou, where have you been? Papa’s been calling every day,” I said, trying to rearrange my expression to appear somber, which was hard when her dazzling face was beaming at me. How I loved her, craziness and all.
She shrugged. “Papa can call all he wants. I hate that paralegal course. I’m not doing it.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to work in a legal firm; the dullness would kill me.” I stifled a smile, knowing it was true. Papa wanted Lilou to become a paralegal, had his heart set on it, after hearing a proud neighbor gush about his daughter and the executive life by proxy she was leading, but that wasn’t Lilou. An office environment would make her wilt like a rose without sunlight.
Living for the moment was fine for now, but I did agree she should have something to fall back on. I worried she’d find herself lost one day, with no skills and no real ambition.
“He’ll cut off your allowance if you don’t study, and then how will you pay for your apartment?”
Typically, she ignored the crux of the issue and said, “I am working. I don’t need to study. And luckily –” she flashed a grin “– my job allows me the freedom to travel. I just need to make more money, which’ll take time! There’s nothing wrong with making jewelry for a living… It is a career!”
It was obvious Lilou would not be swayed. “It’s a fantastic hobby, and it might become a business if you work at it, but you don’t earn anywhere near enough to even make your rent. An Etsy store and eBay doesn’t pay your bills, let alone the lifestyle you lead. He worries, that’s all.” Lilou’s jewelry was spectacular but it sold for a pittance, and I couldn’t see her building it up to a level she could comfortably live on because work was a foreign word to her.
With a flick of her long silky tresses, she rolled her eyes heavenward. “I have to start somewhere. Etsy and eBay are great stepping-stones for me. Sure I’m not at the 7th arrondissement stage…” She pulled a face, teasing me about the location, and exclusivity, of my shop. “But it’s
