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Edward stepped out of the taxi, automatically checking for his umbrella and his bag. He asked the driver how much he owed, and received a spitting reply in French. Edward spent a moment working out what the numbers meant, to the driver's consternation, then he pulled out his wallet. The cab driver was hurrying him along and shouting apparent abuse while Edward tensely flicked through the various notes.
Eventually, the taxi driver physically took the notes from Edward's wallet, and gave him a small amount of French coinage in return. Edward had no idea if it was the right amount, but before he even had time to collect himself, the taxi was already beeping at the traffic in the distance.
He sighed, trying not to look as angry as he felt. It was much easier to be angry than to curl up into a ball and weep, which is what he really felt like doing. This was the first real escape from his accursed work that he had been given for over two years, and so far it was hell. Suddenly a week felt like a long time to be away from the cowardly comfort of routine.
Edward walked stiffly past the grand shops of the Champs Elysées, towards the impressive Arc de Triomphe that dominated his view ahead. Except he wasn't admiring the architectural beauty, he was looking down at his shuffling feet.
He walked with his usual brisk businessman pace mixed in with a slight posture of dejection, ignoring the glamorous shops and buildings either side of him. He ignored the nagging inner voice that was reminding him that he had promised to call his mother. He hated that mobile phone, following him inescapably. His moping was suddenly interrupted by a strange sensation - as if he was being stared at. He flicked his head up in an attempt to catch the villain red-handed. His eyes darted from side to side trying to meet with someone else's.
There was a man, seated at the base of the Arc with his hands around his knees, observing him with intense interest. Edward's first response was, again, anger (it was easier than showing embarrassment) and he looked away and sped up his pace, turning slightly to one side to appear as if he wasn't walking towards the Arc. Not that there was much choice.
As he kept walking, his thoughts settled. His posture relaxed slightly and he slowed down unintentionally. The image of the staring man's face was fixed inside his mind. Those kind, but dark eyes. The worn face, with subtle wrinkles in all the right places. The expression - as if he was at peace with the world, and nothing could disturb him. His mouth had not moved, yet it had spoken soothing words.
Edward turned his head towards the staring man again. The man had not moved - he was still looking at the place where Edward had been a minute ago. He still wore that wise, enlightened, peaceful expression. Edward smiled, momentarily lost in his gaze.
Then he fell over. Edward scrambled to his feet, and immediately started showering apologies on the young woman he had bumped into. He bent over to pick up the shopping which had been strewn across the pavement, and nervously packed it back into the numerous plastic bags that the woman had been holding. As always happens when a man unpacks something that a woman packed, Edward couldn't fit everything back in - so he guiltily (though he tried to appear full of grace) offered to carry the remainders of the woman's shopping for her.
He desperately tried to hide his embarrassment by attempting small talk, deceiving himself by thinking he was succeeding. Her name was Aline. She knew just enough English to converse, but not quite enough to laugh at his jokes. Edward's pride refused to admit that she knew far more English than he knew French, so they spoke in English. After so much verbal bungling around that Edward was grateful she didn't understand everything he said, she invited him back to her flat for supper. Edward hesitated, mainly because it seemed so cliché, but he realized that he didn't need to be Edward any more. He was on holiday. He accepted. Aline laughed.
Edward smiled gratefully, secretly slowly killing himself for being so consistently bad at dealing with the opposite sex. He took one last glance at the Arc as they walked off together in the opposite direction, and he could swear he saw the staring man smile at him.
Edward was awoken the next morning by the sound of metal on metal. He tried to keep his eyes open for long enough to recognise where he was. He concentrated on pulling apart his sticky eyelids, and he saw - a lion's head. He closed his eyes. A wooden lion's head painted gold. Edward searched through his groggy mind to try and remember where he had seen the head before. He concluded that he had not. There was that sound again. It sounded like - cutlery...
When he finally stopped dreaming and realised where he was, Edward's eyes shot open. He was in Aline's apartment. That's right. It was too late to go hotel hunting after supper last night so Aline had offered a bed for the night. Well, a sofa at least.
Edward tried to stretch. When he moved his arm, he nearly yelped with pain. He was incredibly stiff. Agonizingly, cripplingly stiff. He had slept in such a twisted position on such a bumpy sofa... He was fine if he didn't move. How embarrassing. He was stuck on an attractive French girl's sofa. This kind of thing never happened at home. Edward groaned.
Aline walked up behind him and leaned over the sofa, asking him in an expertly cute accent if he was awake. Edward opened his dry mouth to say yes, but a sort of incoherent grunt came out instead. Aline giggled and walked back to the counter behind the sofa. Edward wished he could go through time. He would go back and do it all again, far more sensibly. Or he would go forward to a time when all this was out of his mind. Sadly, time is one-dimensional, and Edward had to wend his way through it forwards. At the rate of sixty seconds per minute.
Aline pulled the short little table with the lion's head painted on it up to the sofa where Edward was laying immobile. She replaced the bowl of marbles that was currently occupying the table's surface with an appealing tray of croissant and coffee. Edward's mind told him to look at her and thank her graciously, but his eyes were fixed on the meal in front of him. He grunted again, and smiled hoping that would communicate his gratitude. It seemed to work. Aline said something in French and laughed sweetly.
I think I love her, thought Edward. He sat up abruptly. His muscles stretched painfully and every bone in his body clicked loudly. He screamed, to Aline's immense amusement. Edward tried desperately to look miserable, but he broke out in a fit of excruciating laughter.
As they walked towards the large, beautiful Arc de Triomphe, Edward constantly trying to get hold of Aline's hand as if it was a natural movement, Edward forgot about his ordeals the previous day. He was trying to remember how to say 'I love you' in French - that would be romantic, he thought. He looked at Aline, trying to lock his gaze with hers. He wasn't concentrating on what she was saying about the Arc, he was trying to smell her perfume.
Edward briefly glanced at the base of the Arc, mentally registering the presence of the staring man. Edward tried to smile without making it look forced. Aline, having noticed his glance towards the impressive brick archway, asked him if he wanted to go under it. He said he would love to, and they walked to a place where they could cross the road.
The road was full of traffic, everyone going far too quickly. Edward remarked on the lack of guiding white lines on the road - no wonder the French had a reputation for being bad drivers - but Aline didn't understand. She grabbed his hand, to his delight, then whisked him halfway across the road. He had been ready for a romantic pause as they held hands, but he was being dragged across a street that would have put a buffalo stampede to shame. The cars screeched past on all sides as they waited for a convenient gap in the traffic so they could cross the second half of the road's width. It made Edward quite nervous, so when the cars finally thinned out he was distracted enough to fall over upon reaching the pavement.
Aline burst out laughing, saying something about minding the gap. Edward momentarily buried his head in his hands in a fit of self-pity, then he accepted Aline's hand to help him up. He was quite surprised when Aline took his other hand and looked lovingly into his eyes, still giggling.
Edward, completely thrown by this unexpected show of affection, lost eye contact with her and stuttered slightly, trying to think of something witty or even vaguely romantic to say. Aline let go of his hands and brushed some gravel off his jacket, saying that he was so funny in that wonderful French accent of hers.
From the corner of his eye Edward saw the staring man nod at him knowingly, with a wise smile. Edward didn't turn to look at the man, but smiled back. Edward took Aline's hand and they walked under the Arc. He felt unusually contented.
Aline was telling him, occasionally lapsing into French, that the Arc was built by Napoleon to honour the French military. She talked on, but Edward wasn't absorbing much of it. He forgot everything two minutes after she said it. She said something about the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Edward had heard of that before. He was too busy trying to marvel at how intelligent Aline was to comment on it though.
He complimented her on being a good talker. She giggled and said she talked too much. Edward quickly insisted that he liked that - it gave him something to listen to. Aline looked confused, but shrugged it off. Edward wasn't sure if she had really understood the compliment. He could imagine that getting quite frustrating after a while. It didn't occur to him that the more he talked back, the more English she would learn - or, heaven forbid, that he would eventually learn some more French.
Edward was desperately trying to think of a good cliché to get Aline's attention. After all, Edward had deduced, that's all romance is - a few well placed clichés. As they walked back around to the front of the Arc again, he decided on an old classic. He hoped Aline would understand. He told her that the Arc was beautiful, but not as beautiful as her. He immediately regretted saying it - it had sounded so inappropriate.
Actually, thought Edward, it seemed to have worked. Aline turned to face him, took hold of both his hands and gazed, wide-eyed into his dark brown eyes. And he gazed back into hers. He noticed her lovely, liquid blue eyes for the first time. Edward's heart beat faster. Nothing needed to be said. Nothing could get between them. Simultaneously, they leaned forward - and kissed. Edward closed his eyes. He put his arms around her, kissing her passionately. He stroked her long, flowing hair. This was turning out to be a pretty good holiday after all, he thought...
The staring man saw them, entwined, and his sagging cheeks were broken by a smile.
Edward wished he could go back in time to the wonderful kiss that day. Right now he hardly felt like moving, even when the cloudy sky began to leak. He was standing in the very same place that he first bumped into Aline, now she was walking away from him forever. He felt his cheek where she had slapped him. He could tell it was red.
His head sagged, eyes averted from all but the ground, comforting in its ever-present certainty. It had all been so quick, so sudden. His mind ran back through the events of the day. He had been drunk, he told himself. What a stupid thing to do. He wished he could cover the cost of damages to her car, but he would never be able to speak to her again. The emotional cost had been much higher.
He just started to notice that he was getting wet, when a harsh reminder of the fact that this was the last day of his holiday (this kind of stuff never happened in real life) interrupted his self-pitying. His mobile phone rang.
He hesitated for a second, having almost forgotten his old routine life, from all of a week ago. He reached for his phone and automatically fell back into his brain dead robot routine business procedure. He clicked it on, launching effortlessly into a highly formal rendition of "M.F.C. Limited, Edward Smith speaking," professionally betraying none of his current emotional turmoil.
The news that was delivered into his cochlea destroyed him. The all-important deal that had earned him this rare holiday, had fallen through. He was as good as unemployed. He ignored the avalanche of apologies from the other end of the phone line, turning it off without saying anything. He focused ahead of him, catching a last glimpse of Aline before she turned the corner. His eyes clouded up. The magnitude of his losses pried at his mind. He could feel himself slipping away, so he feverishly searched for some kind of consolation, some comfort.
He found it. His eyes locked with the staring man's - still, as ever, sitting against the grand Arc despite the heavy rain. For a fleeting moment, Edward was totally carefree, lost in the other-worldly gaze of the staring man. He was suddenly aware that he had started walking towards the seated figure. As he got closer, he noticed that the man appeared to be dry, despite the fact that there was no cover above him.
He was fascinated by this man's magic. The man put on a welcoming visage, the crevices along his face beckoning to Edward. He didn't resist. Edward smiled, opened his mouth to say something, thought of a million other things to say, then decided silence was the best option.
Edward didn't notice the rain anymore. The man looked into his eyes without focusing, as if he was seeing something deeper. Edward felt at peace. He looked around at the Arc, the setting sun, the lighted shops, the trees, the couples, the babies, the cars, the beauty, the love, the hate, the ugliness, the truth - and he seemed to understand something.
Edward sat next to the man and stared out towards the horizon, smiling contently to himself. He felt free at last...
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