In the Interlude

Chapter 6 - Quiche and Tea

"So tell me, Tom, how are you enjoying Paris so far?" Aïcha asked after she went back to their table, feeling better if she could steer the conversation into more neutral grounds.

"Quite good, actually. I managed to go through my schedule as planned, thanks to Charlotte, my local contact. You met her the other day at Gare du Nord?" Aïcha nodded while Tom continued, "Well, and I'm staying in this great hotel near Les Tuileries so I went out for a run every morning. There's nothing I like more. It helps me kick-start my day, you know? What about you, do you like running?"

"Let's see. The last time I went for a run was on my fortieth birthday." Tom raised one of his eyebrows. She looked younger than being in her forties, he thought.

"I woke up that day, feeling I needed to make something out of the-first-day-of-the rest-of-my-life. I guess turning forty can do that to a woman." She laughed before adding, "Anyway, I put my trainers on and went for it. I had this glorious image in my mind of me running like Sylvester Stallone in that movie, Rocky? But instead, I almost passed out in a hedge losing oxygen from trying to say hello to other runners."

Tom couldn't help but laugh at the same time, but not at her. He was laughing with her, her smile and laugh were adorable and highly contagious. "First rule of running: manage your oxygen."

"Of course you would say that. You're a seasoned runner from what I gathered..." She didn't finish her sentence realising she sounded like an absolute stalker.

Here we go, Tom said to himself, sitting up in his chair and crossing his arms. This is exactly why he didn't want to reveal his identity in the first place. Maybe she was a crazy fan after all. "What else do you know about me, Miss Blissi?" he asked in a puzzled way, his eyes crinkling.

Aïcha was saved by the bell as the waiter brought their order. She waited until he left their table and carefully chose her words before answering. "Well, not that much really. You love Shakespeare, you went to Cambridge, you speak some French ... what else do I know? " 

She drummed her fingers on the table. "I've seen some of your movies and TV shows so I know some of the characters you played but other than that, I don't really know you, Mister Hiddleston."

Aïcha set back in her chair. It was her turn to cross her arms. She looked at Tom with an amused expression on her face. "So why don't you tell me about yourself?"

Touché. Tom laughed. He loved how she turned the tables on him.

He told her a bit about himself, between two bites of his quiche. Nothing that she couldn't find out herself if she googled him but adding small anecdotes of his own.

He told her how he was the middle child in their family, how his parents separated when he was still a young boy, how he went to boarding school when he was only eight. "... we were supposed to be independent. But we clearly weren't. So, we acted like it. Fake it till you make it type of thing."

Aïcha's heart went out for little Tom. As a mother herself, she couldn't imagine sending her daughter away at such a young age. But then he recalled the happy memories - the epic pillow fights he took part in between rival dormitories, the rugby games with his mates, the sneaking out at night after curfew, the first time he performed on stage catching the bug of theatre along the way.

Her smile grew of its own accord as excitement poured out him. She watched him as he talked animatedly with his long hands, his blue eyes not leaving her face, drinking in every reaction of her. She didn't want to miss a single beat.

Their conversation steered to other topics. Movies, books, travels, photography ... Tom was very curious and asked a lot of questions. Where she lived, what she was doing in Paris and London, how she learned to speak fluently different languages - everything was of interest to him. She happily obliged but didn't volunteer anything personal, keeping it rather private.

Aïcha's phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and apologised to Tom for needing to take the call outside.

He followed her with his eyes until she was no longer in sight. Tom had only started to relax after some time. Having tea with a "fan" was never a good idea - always thinking that people liked him for his fame or to have a bit of gossip to share around.

But Aïcha was different.

She was fun, real and seemed genuinely interested in him as a person and not only as an actor. He was captivated by how expressive her eyes were. They yielded so much of her inner thoughts.

He had also noticed earlier the hint of a delicate white lace showing at the tip of her V-neck. It made him wonder if it was done in a deliberate way and what it did tell him about her. But apart from that, there was not an ounce of flirtation in her movements and gestures. It confused him, to say the least.

When she came back, Tom suggested that since they had both finished eating maybe they should go on a stroll in the Marais? Without a second of hesitation, Aïcha agreed.

"Have you ever been to Place des Vosges?" she asked.

"The square with the fountains and the bronze statues, right?"

"Yep, that's the place. Let's go there, I want to show you something you may have never noticed before."

Tom motioned for the waiter to bring the check but Aïcha was quick to pick it up. "My treat, I insist. I'm the one who suggested this café after all." A surprised Tom surrendered without discussing it further. He thanked her and was already thinking of a way to pay back the favour.

Putting her scarf around her neck, Aïcha followed Tom in the Rue des Rosiers. They walked, side by side, continuing their earlier conversation.

"You know, I loved to come here back in the day. The vibe of this neighbourhood is like no other," recalled Aïcha.

"One minute you're standing in front of an up-and-coming designer shop or the trendiest café you could find." She looked around at the many hip spots surrounding them. "And one doorway later, you're catapulted back in the past peeking into old store windows or the small courtyard of a rambling townhouse." And true to her word, here they were peeking into a small and quiet courtyard, filled with a crazy variety of exotic flowers.

Walking in the streets of Le Marais was not an easy task, at least as far as Aïcha was concerned. The sidewalk was narrow and sometimes their shoulders or hands would touch, sending a shiver down her spine. Tom was not finding it easy to concentrate either. Much to his own surprise, he just wanted to hold her hand in his, and not let go.

They finally arrived at Place des Vosges, the oldest planned square in Paris. Surrounded by cafés, restaurants and art galleries, it hosted a park where kids were running and laughing freely as only kids knew how to. Aïcha directed them to one of the corners of the picturesque square. A few moments later, they arrived at house n°6 where the famous French author Victor Hugo lived and wrote for many years.

"You know what? I never knew this existed," exclaimed Tom, a wide grin lighting up his face, looking sweet, young and innocent.

"It's a museum now. It has Victor Hugo's mementoes and the original room where he wrote Les Misérables." She checked the time on her phone.  "We have forty-five minutes before the museum closes. If you want, we can have a quick look?"

Tom smiled at her and said, "Avec plaisir, Madame !"