From Paris With Love by Desiree Cox Read Free Book Online Page A

cacophony of chatter buzzed around them.  The smells of crêpes mingled with newly baked croissants and freshly brewed coffee wafted in the air. The cobbled street led to the famous Place du Tertre.  The souvenir shops spilled onto the pavements with their racks of bright postcards.  A selection of posters, paintings and all manner of art competed for space on the narrow pavement.  Tourists were flocking to the square made famous by painters of yesteryear and now occupied by today’s artists wearing overalls and clasping palettes, authentically mimicking the past.  They wandered around the easels hand in hand.  Every now and then an artist would come up to Christina or Isabelle asking to paint them or cut their silhouette.  Each time they declined politely, the artist would shrug and move onto the next tourist.
    Numerous cafes and restaurants vied for table space under brightly coloured awnings on the crowded pavements.  Many of the tables were occupied by people watchers, drinking a leisurely coffee and observing life in the square.  Isabelle drank it all in, thinking what a wonderful place it was and how unique.  She had visited London on many occasions but couldn’t think of anywhere that was quite so special.  London always seemed so stately, so majestic and so grown-up.  Paris was young, mischievous and bohemian.  She wanted to capture this place and moment in time forever.
    Isabelle took out her camera and took a couple of photos of the square, the artists, the narrow streets and restaurants.  Christina reached for the camera. 
    “I’ll take a photo of you and Etienne,” she offered. 
    They chose a backdrop of the artists and Etienne draped his arm casually around Isabelle’s shoulder.  Every movement of his seemed to be so French, so fluid, so casual she thought.
    “Smile,” beamed Christina and clicked the camera shutter.   Isabelle hoped the picture was good – she knew she would never forget this moment, this place or Etienne, but a photo would be something to treasure for always. 
    From the Place du Tertre they wandered down a little alleyway and at the end they were confronted by the white walls of the Basilica of the Sacré Coeur standing majestically on the butte of Montmartre.  Throngs of people gathered on the steps to the cathedral or around the entrance.  It was Sunday so Isabelle assumed some had been to service.
    Given how busy it was, they decided not to go inside.  Instead they stood at the edge of the terrace and looked across at Paris spread beneath them.
    “I hadn’t realised how high we are,” commented Isabelle thoughtfully.
    “Yes, from here you have one of the best views of Paris.  Especially on a clear day like today.” Etienne moved closer to her, his head next to hers and his hand outstretched to the right.  “Look over there, you can see the Eiffel Tower.  See how the Seine runs through the city?”  He pointed out other landmarks to her and Christina.
    As they wandered down the many steps leading from the Sacré Coeur through the pretty gardens to the square at the foot, they were entertained by different musicians.  Some played the guitar and sang.  Others sang to a music player.  One musician played the accordion.  On several steps, street vendors were displaying their wares on brightly coloured blankets keen to attract the tourists and their money.  The whole place seemed to be alive. 
    “Sunday is the best day to come here.  People come here for all sorts of reasons –for the Sacré Coeur, for the artists, for lunch in the restaurants or just to spend time here on the steps,” explained Etienne.  “This time of year is one of the best to visit Paris.  In August everyone leaves the city to go to the sea and it is hot and deserted.  In the winter there are only a few people who venture out.  September and May are the best times in Paris.”
    Isabelle could imagine that.  One day she would like to live in Paris, somewhere near here.