Serial part 1
Arriving in her dream city, Elaine was determined to make her stay an adventure
Elaine had been staring into space when the lad on the moped drew up close to the cafe where she was sipping coffee with her niece, Issy. When he removed his helmet, Elaine saw that he was aged around 25, dressed in a tight-fitting black sweater, and jeans with the hems rolled up. He leapt from the moped and darted inside the cafe, Elaine following his progress with her gaze.
‘Are you OK, Aunty Elaine?’ Issy lay a hand on Elaine’s arm. ‘Oh yes, I’m fine. That boy just reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago.’
‘Who?’ Issy’s face lit up at the possibility of getting some insight into her favourite aunt’s past.
Elaine laughed. ‘Just a lad I met in Paris, back in the late 50s when I was working there as an au pair.’
‘Tell me about him, Aunty!’ Issy leaned in closer.
Elaine shook her head. ‘It was so long ago I can hardly remember the details.’
‘That look in your eyes says otherwise, Aunty Elaine.’
Again, Elaine chuckled. ‘OK, OK! I’ll tell you what I can remember.’
There was a pause while Elaine cast her mind back more than 60 years to a crowded Gare du Nord on a warm spring afternoon in 1959.
✱ ✱ ✱ ✱
Elaine stood outside the train station staring at the bustling scene before her. It was a surreal experience to finally be in Paris, the city of her dreams.
Months of calling the agency in the hope of a position as an au pair in the French capital had come to fruition. She had her ideal job lined up, with an American couple who had a two-year-old son, in her favourite city in the world.
At least, she had convinced herself that it was her favourite city. This was her first time in Paris, but she loved all the movies set here, and she was certain it would live up to the promise.
Cars blustered past, vying for space in the narrow roads close to the station. Horns blasted, people swore and exhaust fumes bloomed. But somehow, it was all so beautiful to Elaine. She headed for the Rue Demarquay, just a few minutes’ walk from the station. Her new boss, Mrs Weston, had written with clear directions, and said she would be parked up outside a cafe with a blue awning. It was easier to wait there, she had explained. Her car was a red Renault 4CV, her most recent letter had stated, which meant little to Elaine, who had no interest in cars.
She gripped the edge of her seat
She found the road with no problem, somewhat relieved not to have to ask directions in French. Both sides of the street were lined with shops and cafes, with beautiful apartment buildings rising above them, complete with shutters and Juliet balconies.
As luck would have it, there was only one red car parked in the street. She felt suddenly
