One Summer in Paris

“Do you know the French word for dentist?”

“No, and I’m not going to need it. You couldn’t drag me to a dentist so don’t waste your time teaching me that.”

“One hundred words, Audrey! You’ve learned a hundred words.”

“Great! Only another nine million left to learn.”

“This is a marathon, not a sprint. You’re doing great! And your pronunciation is perfect.”

“I’ve always been a good mimic. I bet I can copy your voice.” She gave a perfect imitation of Grace and had the satisfaction of seeing her laugh.

Even after a few days she felt much more confident when the door opened, the bell rang and a customer walked into the shop.

They had a routine now. Audrey would greet them and Grace would subtly take over the conversation so that the person didn’t even realize Audrey had stopped contributing.

Audrey had started working in the hair salon down the street in the afternoons, but when she emerged Grace was always waiting for her, ready to teach her something new. She was so easy to be with, and spending time together felt like a natural thing.

As well as the bus, they used the Métro system, which as far as Audrey could tell was no different from the London Underground.

Grace insisted on paying for everything, which made Audrey feel uncomfortable, but she promised herself that as soon as she’d saved up some tips from her hairdressing, she’d pay her back. Or maybe she’d buy her a gift. Apart from food and tickets to things, Grace never seemed to spend money on herself.

They’d eaten dinner twice, and each time Grace had insisted that Audrey order in French.

The first time, Audrey had almost walked away. “I’ll mess it up.” She’d shrunk in her chair as the waiter approached. “I’ll order octopus by accident.”

“Do you know the word for octopus?”

“No.”

“Then how can you possibly order it by accident? What do you want to eat?”

“Chicken and fries.”

“And you know the words for those because we learned them yesterday.” Grace had been cheerfully persistent. “If you don’t do it, I’ll stand up and do my chicken impression.”

“You wouldn’t.” Audrey got ready to dive under the table.

“If you can talk about bodily functions at the top of the Eiffel Tower, I can do my chicken impression. Order. Have confidence. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Apart from ordering octopus? The list is endless.” But under Grace’s watchful eye she’d stumbled over the words, ordered herself chicken with a side of fries, and been both surprised and delighted when the food that arrived was exactly what she’d ordered.

“Well, hey—nothing with eight legs.” Feeling ridiculously proud of herself, she poked at the chicken with her fork and saw Grace smile.

That had been the night before and now they were in a different restaurant, this time close to the river.

Having had success the night before, Audrey ordered the same thing again. She loved this bistro, with its tablecloths and waiters in aprons. “So you prefer the apartment to the hotel?”

“Definitely. It’s charming.” Grace had ordered a salad, although it was more elaborate than any salad Audrey had seen before.

Audrey emptied the bowl of fries onto her plate alongside the chicken and heaped salt over them. She saw Grace wince. “What?”

“That’s a lot of salt. And you ate the same thing last night, too.”

“I know. Delicious. Or délicieux, as you’d probably make me say.”

“Would you like a little of my salad?”

“No thanks. It’s too green.”