A moments notice

After talking so often about international travel escorts, clients and pursuits, I was told to get my passport together early this morning and catch the Eurostar to Paris. As you do, at a moment's notice, first thing on a Monday when you are getting over your weekend...! 

Now, how did the client know I would be free "just like that" to indulge this Parisienne vision of breakfast? Well, it wasn't all whimsical. The client had phoned me last month to book me from 7.30 am until 10 pm, but he didn't specify where or to do what. So, as always, I was up and about when the phone call came at 7.25 am. His ever-suffering PA crisply told me, "Mr X would like you to be ready to go shopping in Paris today. The car will pick you up at 8 am". Not even a moment's notice to think about it, let alone get ready.

So I hastily jumped in the shower and threw some going-out-for-the-day clothes on (skirt, jumper, boots and a scarf, in case you were wondering, as it is unseasonably cold and the weather is no better on the Continent!), ready to jump in the Bentley when it arrived. Mr X's car arrived promptly with his cheerful driver and whisked me off to St Pancras to catch the train. My ticket was waiting for me in the car, and he called me as we pulled up to the station to say that he was sitting in First Class already, carriage 5, seat 23b—99 am departure on the dot.

When we were finally face-to-face, Mr X explained the day's itinerary. He wanted us to do brunch (what a good job! I had already eaten a little something before I left!) in a patisserie he had booked out for us and sample all the coffees this place had to offer in as many different formats and flavours as we wanted. I was thrilled. We all know my passion for food is unrivalled - especially when it has a Euro price tag and is hideously overpriced. I could almost taste a latte laced with hazelnut as he spoke.

We sailed into Paris at 11.15 am and were picked up by another car promptly at 11.30. Before I knew it, we were moving through the morning traffic, searching for the Patisserie. Mr X instructed the driver as we passed various landmarks, and we were greeted at the door like royalty. Our table was laid with a crisp white cloth and china plates, cups and saucers. And oh! The coffee pots were steaming. There was a rich aroma of percolated coffee in the air that seemed to ooze out of every crevice like a fine mist. 

I was stuffed to the brim when we left the shop, promising to come back soon and a few hundred Euros poorer than we had arrived. Mr X had that soppy smile of a well-fed man, and I was trying to breathe whilst feeling as though my stomach had pushed my lungs up into my throat. But mon dieu - le cafe est tres magnifique!