Page 1 of The Stranger

1

PRIMROSE

“God, I love Paris.” I turn my face to the sky as the sun bids us a lingering goodbye, gold and crimson cresting the roofs of the Gothic buildings around us. “Her beauty, her history, her champagne, her long summer days.”

“Je préfère her long summer nights.” By my side, Sabine gives an impish grin.

Welp, okay, I think, as I tug at the hem of my short skirt, wondering why it appears to have shrunk right out of my comfort zone.

It would appear we’re lost, judging by the way Sabine is hunched over her phone. But I’m not stressing. But that might be the champagne.

I’m here in Paris to spend some time with my bestie, Emmy, who at the last minute ditched me. That’s not strictly true. The family she nannies for refused to let her leave when her replacement didn’t show up. So enter Sabine, my sister’s friend, with a timely invitation to a super exclusive party tonight. And I thought, why the heck not?

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Sabine slides her phone into her purse, then slips her arm though mine as we begin to walk again. “A lover, perhaps?”

“Er, no.” I give a nervous laugh. I don’t know Sabine well enough to have those kinds of conversations. “Sadly, my last boyfriend suffered a terrible fall.”

“Mon dieu!” Her grip tightens on my arm. “Did he…?”

“Die?” I shake my head. “Which is a shame really. His fall was broken by his co-worker’s vagina.”

“Oh, you are very bad!” she exclaims with a laugh.

“That’s exactly what he said, right before I stabbed him in the head.”

“Another joke, I think.”

“I did consider it.” And I still imagine it from time to time, not that anyone would believe it from a nice girl like me. “But you can’t be a doctor and a murderer, sadly.” At least, not officially.

“I cannot believe Lavender’s little sister is a doctor.”

I ignore the admiration in her tone and the usual prickle of discomfort that comes with any kind of praise. “All I need to do now is complete another nine years of on-the-job training to consultant level.”

Sabine’s expression twists. I mean, I get it. It’s a lot to put yourself through but I can’t wait to hit the wards next month, even if all I seem to have done lately is work and study, study and work. Which is why I’m in Paris to let loose a little.

“Then perhaps we will find you a body to practice on.”

I give a nervous laugh.

“Maybe a body belonging to someone tall, dark, and ’andsome.”

“And older.” We move closer on the pavement to allow a couple coming the other way to pass.

“You like an older man, huh?”

“Particularly the over seventy-fives.”

Sabine’s lip curls, and I try not to laugh. “Primrose, no…”

“Yes, really.” I give in to a belly laugh. “I’m an elderly care doctor. Oldies are totally my jam!” It could be because I’m a big fan of tweed pants and cardigans. Or because we’re on the same wavelength.

“Lavender did not tell me her sister liked to joke.”

“Probably because she doesn’t think I’m funny.” By Sabine’s expression, neither does she.

“D’accord! Tonight we will find you a French man. An older but not old Frenchman.”

“We’ll see. Where is this party supposed to be anyway?” It seems like we’ve been walking an age. Blood simmers in my veins like champagne bubbles. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to go out.