Always I Love You

By Michelle Keill

‘I want the ‘big love’... And I want to have it with you.’

Joanna Lloyd believes her dream of finding a French lover is over, but on the eve of her departure from Paris, she meets Ludo and Sébastien. Charming, and disconcertingly disarming, the two charismatic Parisians invite her to join them in their pact to find the ‘big love’.

Their attraction is instant and, defying convention, together the three of them embark upon an epic, all-consuming love affair that will change not only their lives, but those of millions of others. But their big love brings with it monumental challenges of the kind they could never have imagined.

Darkness descends on their idyllic corner of the City of Light, and the strength of their bond is tested to its limits as they strive to withstand the extraordinary forces that seek to tear them apart.

As their romance edges inexorably into tragedy, and then to infamy, can their love survive the toughest of tests, or will it shatter like glass?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle Keill
• Release date: Feb 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781999728571

Book preview

Three

1

I had always wanted a French lover. I never understood why, or what it meant, but the yearning had existed within me for so long that it had become a part of me. I’d had lovers before, but the connection was never absolute. I had saved my heart for this fantasy man but, honestly, I never expected to find him.

Since then, I have learned that the moment you finally get what you crave is when you let go of it – when you give it up. I have learned that your heart’s desire will, in the end, destroy you.

I had always wanted a French lover. But, instead, I got two.

2

It is often said that it was sheer luck that I met them.

A few seconds here and there, people say, is all it would’ve taken for everything to turn out differently.

When I hear this, I flash the smile Franck made me practise until I got it exactly how he wanted it, until I was even sicker of the sight of my own face. And then I explain, using the script Franck gave me and the tone he taught me, how meeting them was like any other chance encounter. There was nothing mystical about it, nothing preordained. It was merely a coincidence. Yes, it’s true that if the Métro had been running late, or if I had caught an earlier train, then we might have missed each other. Equally, they could have chosen a different brasserie, gone straight to the club, or decided not to venture out at all that night. The alternative paths we could have taken are numerous, and that is the same for anything, for anyone. There are always parallel possibilities.

But even as I utter the words, I don’t believe them.

For us, there were no parallel possibilities, and nothing about how we met and what happened was down to chance. They were meant for me, and I was meant for them.

There are no coincidences.

3

I was sitting at a table by the window, wearing the only hat I had ever owned – the hat which now, like the woman I was back then, has long since been lost. My suitcase was at my feet, my hands curled around my cup to warm my fingers. I remained in that pose as the evening turned to night, watching the city going by and contemplating how unfair it felt that it would continue going by without me, when they walked in.

Ludo entered first; Sébastien trailed behind him. They were talking loudly, and it appeared to me that they were in the middle of an argument. I would later realise, when I became familiar with the vagaries and idiosyncrasies of their bond, that it was just how they were with each other: disagreements were common and could last for hours, sometimes days. But I didn’t know them then, didn’t understand them, and the way they spoke, their arms waving as though they were directing traffic, the volume of their voices, and their rapid French, mesmerised me.

Sébastien noticed me first. When giving his side of the story later, he’d say it was my hat that made him do a double take, but that was his way of misdirecting people, his attempt to lead them away from the secrets we wanted to keep between us.

A waiter went over to greet them, but they seemed unaware of his presence and continued bickering as though he wasn’t there. To get their attention, the waiter gestured to a booth at the back of the brasserie, possibly with the intention of sequestering them where they would cause the least disruption to the late-night diners. But Sébastien grabbed Ludo’s arm and pointed to the table next to mine.

‘We will sit there,’ he said, his French now precise and deliberate.

Sébastien glanced at me and then at Ludo, and even though they were still strangers to me, I registered that something passed between them.

They sat down, Ludo facing me and Sébastien in the seat next to him, giving the three of us a clear view of each other. As Ludo’s gaze settled on me, I made a point of looking away. I don’t know why I did. Everything about it, about them, was inevitable.

The nearness of them was intoxicating. I felt my body open up to their vibrant energy, and the woody scent of their cologne. I could follow only fragments of their conversation, but as the clock in the station across the road ticked on, I savoured every syllable. My train was at the platform, ready to leave Paris in half an hour. I should’ve been paying my bill, rummaging in my bag for my passport, and wheeling my suitcase to the check-in desk. But I didn’t move – I couldn’t. The sense of destiny that swirled around us would not permit me to.

Their discussion ceased as the waiter brought their drinks, and I could feel their eyes on me. I checked my watch, and dimly noted that there were now only twenty-five minutes before my train was due to depart.

Ludo leaned over to me. ‘What are you hiding under that hat?’

Slowly, I turned to him. The vocabulary I had learned, the sentences and verbs I had memorised, rushed through my mind and evaporated before I could grasp at any of them, rendering me mute.

Ludo smiled and repeated himself, this time in English. ‘Your hat.’ He pointed to it. ‘What are you hiding?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I’m not hiding anything.’

‘Everyone is hiding something. Your bald spot,

perhaps

…?’

My mouth dropped open, and this display of outrage amused him. His smile was disarming, and illuminated his whole face.

‘Ignore him,’ Sébastien said. ‘He is an idiot. I am ashamed to be seen with him in public. Your hat is very nice, and it is no crime to be bald. Are you going somewhere?’

I racked my brain for a witty response, but could conjure only the obvious.

‘I just thought I’d wear a hat,’ I said. ‘That’s all.’

They watched as I took it off, captivated, as if I were removing something far more risqué, and revealing something far more intimate.

I fluffed my hair. ‘See? No bald spot.’

Sébastien smiled, clearly humouring me. ‘I did not mean because of the hat.’ He nodded at my suitcase. ‘You are taking a trip?’

‘Oh, right. I suppose I am.’

‘You are going to visit a friend?’

‘A lover,’ Ludo said. ‘She has that look about her. The flushed cheeks. The wide pupils.’

Sébastien gave him a light shove. ‘You are embarrassing her. And me. But most of all, yourself.’

‘But I am right, yes?’ Ludo said.

I tucked my hair behind my ear. ‘Actually, you couldn’t be more wrong.’

Sébastien laughed. ‘Excellent. I am happy when he is wrong.’

Ludo looked at me as he brought his glass to his lips. ‘Why do you say I am wrong?’

‘Don’t pry, Ludo,’ Sébastien said.

He shushed him. ‘Tell us.’

I was so candid with them, those two men I had just met. But, as far as I was concerned, those were to be my final moments in Paris, and so it didn’t seem to matter. And there was a connection between us already, a current that drew me towards them.

‘I’m not visiting a friend,’ I said. ‘Or a lover. In fact, I’m leaving Paris because I couldn’t find a lover.’

It was the first time I had acknowledged my failure, let alone confessed it aloud. I was chagrined by my admission, but also curious to see how they would react.

I could infer nothing from their expressions. Their faces remained impassive; they simply sat and regarded me, and then each other.

Ludo’s dark brows lifted. ‘You?’ He ran his gaze over my face, and down across my body. ‘You couldn’t find a lover? I do not believe it. How hard did you try?’

I had to laugh. ‘Very.’

‘So you are just giving up and leaving?’ he said. ‘That is a bit extreme, no?’

‘I can’t stay here forever.’

‘Of course you can.’ He put his chin on his palm. ‘And why come here to find a lover? Why not Berlin, or Amsterdam, or Vienna?’

I wished I had an answer. It would’ve been so much easier if I had understood my desires, but I didn’t.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It’s just one of those things.’

‘The heart wants what the heart wants,’ Sébastien said. ‘You cannot fight it.’

‘Or maybe it is not only your heart that desires a Frenchman,’ Ludo said, ‘but your soul, too.’

Sébastien cringed. ‘Leave the poor woman’s soul out of this. We don’t know her, and she does not know us.’

Ludo clasped his hands together, and I found myself staring as he placed them on the table. I’d like to say that I’d always had a fetish for hands, that they were one of the first things I noticed when I met someone new, but that isn’t true. It was only Ludo’s hands I loved. The memory of them, and what they had done, how they had touched me, was to be one of the things I would mourn the most.

‘That is easily remedied,’ Ludo said. ‘My name is Ludo, and this

clown’—he

motioned to his

left—‘is

Sébastien.’

‘I think it is quite obvious who is the clown,’ Sébastien said. ‘Hi.’ He waved, his head inclined as he considered me with an intensity I would never become accustomed to.

‘Hello,’ I said.

‘Okay,’ Ludo said, ‘now you must tell us your name. Or should we choose one for you?’

‘Thérèse,’ Sébastien said. ‘She looks like a Thérèse.’

‘I was thinking she is more of a Nathalie,’ Ludo said.

‘We know enough Nathalies.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ I said.

Ludo nudged Sébastien with his elbow. ‘See? She is jealous already.’

I glanced away. I think I even blushed.

‘I think perhaps something prettier,’ Sébastien said. ‘Angélique, perhaps.’

‘Is there a prize if we guess correctly?’ Ludo said.

‘That depends,’ I said, ‘on which one of you gets it right.’

‘What about if we both do?’ Ludo said. ‘What then?’

I thought about it. ‘Then I suppose you’ll have to share.’

The waiter drifted over and enquired as to whether we wanted anything else. Ludo asked for the bill.

‘You’re leaving?’ I said. I couldn’t hide my disappointment, although I had no right to feel any. I was the one who was leaving. From now on, whatever happened in Paris had nothing to do with me.

‘We are going dancing,’ Ludo said. He jigged on his seat as though to demonstrate, his eyes closed as he hummed what I would later discover was one of his favourite songs.

‘He loves to dance,’ Sébastien said. ‘He enjoys anything that makes him look silly. I think it is his age.’

Ludo’s eyes snapped open. ‘What are you talking about? If I am old then you are also.’

‘How old are you?’ I said.

Their heads turned towards me at the same time, their lips parted. I remember thinking it would have made a wonderful photograph, and I regret not having had the courage to dig out my camera from the bottom of my suitcase. If I had, as Franck often reminds me, that photograph of them would be worth a fortune.

‘She won’t even tell us her name,’ Ludo said, ‘and yet she is asking our ages.’

‘She has not heard that it is rude to ask a man his age,’ Sébastien said.

They grinned as I started laughing, no doubt pleased I got the joke, and that I found them entertaining. It was hard not to be enthralled by them. They were a double act, a team, and even then, it was impossible to imagine either one functioning without the other.

When their bill came, they both lunged for it and spent a few moments arguing before Ludo finally snatched it and held it out of Sébastien’s reach.

‘I will pay yours too, yes?’ Ludo pointed to the pot in front of me. ‘You had tea, I assume?’

‘I like tea,’ Sébastien said. ‘Tea helps clear

the’—he

clicked his fingers as he searched for the

word—‘

fog

.

It helps clear the fog.’

‘There is no tea strong enough for your fog,’ Ludo said. ‘Not even in England.’

‘You don’t need to pay,’ I said. ‘I was leaving anyway.’

‘Yes, you are,’ Ludo said. He took his jacket from the back of his chair and patted his pockets for his wallet. ‘You are leaving with us.’

‘With

you

…?’

My scepticism must have been apparent, but Ludo responded with a firm nod.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You must come dancing with us, and

then

…’

He shrugged. ‘Then, we will see.’

I stared at them, unsure whether this was part of their routine too. Sébastien cleared his throat and glanced away. Ludo kept his eyes fixed on me.

‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘That’s not how it works.’

‘No? How does it work then?’ Ludo said. ‘It is only dancing. You like dancing?’

‘Well, yes,

but

…’

I thought of the train I should’ve been boarding right then. If I ran, I might just make it.

He watched my gaze shift across the road to the station.

‘There are other trains,’ he said. ‘We will make sure you are on the first one out of Paris tomorrow morning. If that is what you want.’

Did you know then, people say. Did you understand what they were asking of you?

But it wasn’t a question at that point, and I don’t think they had made up their minds either. The pact was still just another of Ludo’s wild ideas. It wouldn’t become real until later.

Ludo pulled some cash from his wallet and went to pay the bill, leaving me with Sébastien. He sat there, hunched forward with his elbows on the table, studying me as I studied him.

‘Is this something you do often?’ I asked.

‘Drink coffee? Yes, we do it all the time.’ Sébastien smiled, and the lines that appeared around his eyes made him look more alive, and more genuine, than anyone I had ever met.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean that. I

meant—’

‘You meant flirting with women.’

I fiddled with a spoon as I spoke rather than look at him. ‘Is that what you think is happening here?’

‘I don’t know. What do you think is happening here?’

‘I have no idea. Your friend

seems

…’

We both glanced over at Ludo. He was leaning against the bar, chatting amiably with one of the waitresses.

‘Ludo can be

very

…

forward,’ Sébastien said. ‘Too forward, perhaps.’

‘You say it like it’s a bad thing. Is it?’

‘He is harmless. He just gets carried away. And it is easy to get pulled along with his ideas.’

‘Do you?’

‘I am afraid so. Especially his most outrageous ones.’

I considered this. ‘I think I’d enjoy getting carried away with something.’

Sébastien chuckled. ‘Well, Ludo is the perfect companion for that.’

‘What about you?’

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘What about me?’

‘Are you like him? Will I get carried away with you too?’

His eyes widened, and I put my hand to my brow, mortified.

‘That came out wrong,’ I said. ‘I just meant

that

…’

He dismissed my embarrassment with a shake of his head. ‘With us, you do not have to explain anything. And you should say what you mean. Always say what you mean.’

Ludo returned, tucking his wallet into his pocket. ‘What have I missed?’

‘Nothing.’ Sébastien rested his hands in his lap. ‘Our new friend was just about to tell us her name.’

‘Ah, at last.’ Ludo grabbed a chair and perched on the edge of it, as if he were about to hear a story.

I looked from one to the other and felt a surge of something that seemed like love, but I was sure I was mistaken. It can’t be love, I thought. Not after such a short time in their company.

Now, I know that you can love someone instantly. You can love two people at once.

‘Joanna,’ I told them. ‘My name is Joanna.’

4

Ludo teased my name between his lips like a string of spaghetti.

‘Joanna

… Joanna

…’

He walked along the kerb as if it were a tightrope, his arms out at right angles for balance. Sébastien and I followed a few paces behind him, swapping looks every so often, different expressions each time: amusement, complicity. Curiosity.

When we left the brasserie, there had been a brief but heated debate as to who was going to carry my suitcase. I assured them I could carry it myself, which succeeded in quietening them only momentarily. The matter was finally decided when Ludo took my hat, placed it on his head, and beamed triumphantly at Sébastien.

‘You get the baggage, Basti,’ he said, ‘but I get the hat.’

‘Fine,’ Sébastien said. ‘The hat looks better on her anyway.’

‘Of course it does,’ Ludo said. ‘Everything looks better on her.’ And then he’d given me that luminous smile and I forgave him, as I always would, for his lasciviousness and his audacity.

‘Joanna

… Joanna

…’

Ludo swivelled to face me. ‘Who named you? Your mother or your father?’

‘I never asked,’ I said. ‘What about you? Ludo is a lovely name. It makes me think of playing games on rainy days.’

Sébastien laughed. ‘Then it is the perfect name for him.’

Ludo snatched Sébastien’s cigarette and winked at me as he puffed on it.

‘Joanna, Joanna,

Joanna

…’

Ludo chanted my name in the same way that people would soon be chanting his.

He dropped the cigarette onto the pavement and crushed it with his heel. ‘What did you leave behind when you came to Paris? Who did you leave behind?’

It occurred to me then that I might not be the only one observing every detail, searching for clues and hidden meanings. They were studying me as closely as I was them.

‘I