The Little Antique Shop Under The Eiffel Tower

With a slight quake in her hands, she took the proffered pendant and whispered, “It’s perfect.” She blanched when she saw the price tag, but admirably reined herself in. For such a unique and precious gift, it was worth every cent. Any fiscal talk set my teeth on edge, and I was glad she didn’t mention it. It was poor taste, and I didn’t negotiate, and neither did any of my self-respecting Parisian customers. “Can I take it…?”

I gave her a nod. “Let me wrap it for you.”

Oceane smiled her thanks while Agnes watched me polish the pendant before I placed it in a satin-lined box, wrapped it, and tied an antique lace ribbon around to finish it off.

“May they have many more anniversaries as special as this one,” I said. Agnes handed over a stack of well-thumbed Euros, her face bright like a child’s on Christmas Eve. Times like this I realized how much I loved my little antique shop, and pairing something from a lifetime ago, to start over in a new home, with a new family. I knew Agnes would recount the story of the former owner of the pendant to her parents, and they’d know it was more than just a piece of jewelry. And when they passed it on, their love story would be remembered too.

“Merci,” Agnes said, cradling the box in her open palms as if she held something as delicate as a baby bird.

Just then a rowdy tour group appeared by the window. I stiffened in response.

“Merde. There’s so many of them,” Oceane said, following my gaze to the tourists outside, led by a guide who was purposely bringing these people to me knowing I’d turn them away. Innocents, who just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

“Ah, the ever-present legacy of Joshua, the American whose shadow is felt even when he’s not here,” Oceane said. I’d confided in her recently about my ex-boyfriend, Joshua, who spitefully informed the editor of Solitary World, one of the biggest guide books sold on the planet, about my little antique shop and the secret room. Since then, I’d been inundated by people wanting to take photos and mark off another stop on their to-see list in Paris.

My blood boiled each time I saw their faces fall, the groups expecting to clap eyes on something marvelous and instead told there was no such thing. But I had to protect the delicate objects in my care. If I opened the doors to just anyone I’d be overrun and things would be damaged. Or worse, stolen, and I couldn’t face that again. I hadn’t told Oceane the rest of the bitter breakup story because I didn’t want any more pity, but his vindictiveness was the least of what Joshua had done in his efforts to ruin my life.

“Do you want me to tell the guide off? He shouldn’t be bringing them here only to disappoint them,” Oceane asked, glaring at the group forming at the front door, their noses pressed against the glass.

“Non, it’s OK. The guide is well aware he isn’t welcome, but he does it for their entertainment. The French mademoiselle who won’t let people 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.

Chapter Three (#ulink_d79c7ca2-cfaf-5fe6-8039-5338be0ecc59)

“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 a start. Papa should focus on his own life, and so should you for that matter. Don’t let him force you to be my keeper.”

I smirked. “Good idea,” I said, voice heavy with sarcasm. “Here’s the phone.” I lifted the receiver. “Give him a call and explain that to him.”

She had the grace to color, the apples of her cheeks pinking up, only making her more beautiful. “Well…maybe we can leave it a few more weeks, Anouk? Just until I really build up my sales.” Papa was set in his ways, and neither of us wanted to answer to him, gruff as he was. “Forget it for now,” she said. “I saw the most magnificent sunset in Marseille. I’m going to create a whole range of orange jewelry in ode to it. Let’s go to lunch and I can tell you everything. I’ve left Claude at your apartment so we don’t have to rush.” She leaned over the counter to grab my handbag, and in one swift movement took my elbow and barreled me out of the door. I halted and fumbled for my keys.

“Claude’s at my apartment?”

“Yeah, you’ve made a very valid point, and I was thinking of it, even before your spiel. You’re totally right – I can’t support myself with what little Papa gives me, and what little income I make with my jewelry, so I’ve given up my apartment in favor of staying with you – to save money on rent. I knew you’d be supportive of my decision…” She frowned at my expression of abject horror.

“Lilou…”

“What? You said yourself I had to figure out my expenses and set some long-term goals. That’s exactly what I’ve done! I’ll miss my apartment but sacrifices have to be made. Living with you will be one huge sacrifice but I’m planning for the future – just like you wanted. And how happy will Papa and Maman be knowing you’re keeping a close eye on little old me?”

I took a steadying breath, disarmed by her cunning, clever ways. Living with her would be a lesson in patience, tolerance, and cleanliness, to say the least. “It’s just…I like my own space, as you well know.”

She swung to face me. “Claude and I will use it as a landing base, that’s all. Don’t worry, you’ll still have your freedom.”

With the shop locked and the sign flicked to Closed, we let the debate drop and meandered away. In France we were accustomed to having long lunches, and sometimes ducking home for a nap before recommencing work. It was a way to relax and recharge. There was no race to get to the weekend because each day was a good day, with its own rhythms.

“Hang on, who’s Claude?” I asked.