A moments notice

After discussing international travel escorts, clients, and pursuits so often, I was told to gather my passport early this morning and catch the Eurostar to Paris, as one does, at a moment's notice, first thing on a Monday when you're recovering from your weekend. 

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 phoned me last month to book me from 7.30 am until 10 pm, but he didn't specify where or what to do. 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 on some going-out-for-the-day clothes (a 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!). I was 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 already sitting in First Class, carriage 5, seat 23 B—99 a.m. departure on the dot.

When we were finally face-to-face, Mr X explained the day's itinerary. He wanted us to have brunch (what a good idea! I had already eaten a little something before I left!) at 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 comes with a European price tag and is hideously overpriced. I could almost taste a latte laced with hazelnut as he spoke.

We arrived in Paris at 11:15 am and were promptly picked up by another car at 11:30. Before I knew it, we were searching for the Patisserie through the morning traffic. As we passed various landmarks, Mr X instructed the driver, and we were greeted at the door like royalty. Our table was set with a crisp white cloth and fine china plates, cups, and saucers. And oh! The coffee pots were steaming. A rich aroma of percolated coffee in the air seemed to ooze out of every crevice like a fine mist. 

When we left the shop, I was stuffed to the brim, 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, feeling as though my stomach had pushed my lungs up into my throat. But mon dieu - le cafe est tres magnifique!