In the Interlude

Chapter 2 - Crossing the English Channel

Settling herself into her window seat, Aïcha spoke in a low voice to Sofia over the phone, "Yep, the Eurostar is leaving as we speak." She listened for a moment, nodding as if her friend could see her. "Uh-huh, the usual. Will meet at the station near your place." Thanking her, she rang off.

Aïcha finally sat back in her seat and relaxed. Her mind went back to Thomas. He had been a lifesaver. And thanks to him, she managed to be on time for her rendezvous. It was more than a simple rendezvous. It was an interview, and it went well as far as she could tell.

With a few hours to spare before her train left, Aïcha had wandered aimlessly along the Thames. She stopped at the Tate Modern Museum for a photo exhibition she was meaning to visit and grabbed a bite to eat from one of the many food stalls in Borough Market. This was by far her favourite thing to do in London, from the very first time she visited when she was still a young twenty-something - a long long time ago.

Now she was sitting in her comfy seat in Business class, lost in her thoughts, eyes closed. 'This feeling' by Alabama Shakes played through her bright pink headphones. She felt the lyrics in her heart and wished more than anything for things to be just that. To be alright.

Within minutes, Aïcha drifted off to sleep. She awoke well after the Eurostar had left the Channel tunnel. She took off her headphones and winced as she massaged her sore neck.

Looking around, her gaze fell on Thomas three rows further down the aisle. She sat straighter in her seat. What kind of coincidence was this? She never thought she'd see him again.

"There's no such thing as a coincidence," Sofia would say. Aïcha glanced away for a second, debating with herself whether to say hi and thank him again, but when she looked back, she noticed how captivated he seemed by the book in his hand.

So instead, she stared at him from her seat trying to remember why his beautiful face seemed so familiar. Because yes, he had a beautiful face. She admired his cheekbones and the black curls that escaped the sides of his cap. He had an awful lot of facial hair- an attempt at a hipster beard she wasn't sure really suited him. She smiled as he dropped the book on his knees and doubled over with laughter.

Then a set of eyes met hers. Eyes blue as the sky. And her chest squeezed in response.

He raised his eyebrows, one slightly higher than the other, a look of recognition - or was it surprise? - crossing his face. Thomas waved with a warm and big smile, stood up and came towards her, rapidly closing the distance between them in a few quick strides. "Bonsoir Aïcha! And our paths cross again. May I sit?" he asked, his voice low and warm.

Aïcha nodded and shifted in her seat, motioning to the empty seat across from her.

Sitting down, his eyes were drawn to the silver necklace resting just below her collarbone and followed an invisible trail down to her cleavage. Blame the necklace, he told himself, quickly recovering and asking her about her meeting.

"I think it went quite well. Thank you for this morning by the way. I was this close to losing it in the middle of the street," she said holding her thumb and index millimetres apart. They both laughed like two old friends who were in on a private joke.

"So, Paris, huh? What brings you there?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.

His eyes darted away and looked out the window. "I have some meetings to attend..."

She waited for him to finish his sentence, but he didn't. Glancing at him, he seemed a bit distant, and she wondered why.

Bringing his eyes back on her he asked, "So, you said you were French Moroccan, right?"

She nodded, not wanting his deep voice to stop.

Pulling off his cap, he ran his hands through his curly hair and she noticed the little scar on his forehead. "I'm actually going to Morocco very soon for, euh, work." Then he blurted before he could stop himself, "Maybe you can give me some tips on what to see and do there, you know, sights off the beaten track?"

"Sure," she simply said and went fishing for a business card in her purse.

Despite his best efforts, his eyes followed the movement of her arm reaching for the bag on her right. The waistcoat she wore emphasised the roundness of her breasts, the curve of her hips pressing against the seat. He cleared his throat and looked away just in time before she spoke to him again, handing him her information.

"Here's my email address. Just drop me a line before you go."

"Aïcha Blissi. Digital Marketing consultant," he read out loud.

"That would be me," she answered smiling.

Thomas pulled his wallet from his back pocket and carefully placed her business card inside. For a moment, she thought he would give her his business card, but he just closed his wallet and placed it on the table between them.

His eyes narrowed for a second as he looked at her. A male voice over the PA system interrupted him before he could speak again.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Paris. The local time is 5:13 pm.
I hope you enjoyed your trip with us.
The exit is located at the front of the train. Once in the main station, the metro and the RER will be on your left and the taxi rank on your right.
On behalf of the onboard team, I thank you for choosing Eurostar to travel. I wish you all a very good evening and I hope to see you onboard soon."

Aïcha and Tom stepped off the train and proceeded towards the exit.  As she was about to offer her help with metro directions if needed, Thomas waved with a big grin on his face to a gorgeous woman just a few meters further down the platform. She was the quintessence of the Parisienne. Effortlessly chic, quietly elegant, messy unstyled hair with a fringe that almost hid her eyes. She was everything Aïcha always dreamt to be but never could or even tried to achieve. And why was she even comparing herself to this woman? She looked away, rolling her eyes at herself.

The woman came forward welcoming Thomas with a warm hug.

"Hello, Charlotte!"

"Bonjour! " She quickly acknowledged Aïcha with a smile before turning her full attention back to Thomas. "I see you've met a fan," she teased with a thick French accent.

A confused Aïcha blurted out, "I beg your pardon?" She looked back and forth at the two of them.

Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, casting a glance full of annoyance at Charlotte before locking his eyes with Aïcha's. He seemed to hesitate for a second but then finally said, "I am... Hmm. I'm an actor. You might've seen me in a film or on TV? My name is Tom. Tom Hiddleston. Does it ring a bell?"

She looked up at him, at a loss for words.

Tom Hiddleston is the Thomas from this morning? I am here talking to Loki and Jonathan Pine and Thomas Sharpe? Oh yes, she knew who Tom Hiddleston was - but the black hair and hipster beard had totally thrown her off.

Aïcha felt stupid, standing awkwardly in the middle of Gare du Nord. She looked at him with her big brown eyes, trying to form a coherent sentence in English, or in French or Arabic for that matter. No sound escaped her mouth.

Tom broke the silence apologising to Aïcha, "I'm really sorry, I should've said who I was when we talked on the Eurostar. It's just—"

Aïcha finally snapped out of her silence interrupting him, "Look, I understand. No need to apologise. Love your work by the way."

She noticed Charlotte putting her hand on Tom's arm, signalling discretely they needed to go. "Anyway, it was lovely to meet you Thomas, euh, Tom. I wish you a pleasant stay in Paris."

Tom reached out his free hand and took one of hers. He smiled at Aïcha, a smile that reached deep inside her. "It was my absolute pleasure," he added, looking into her eyes and straight through her brain. 

How could anyone think straight while looking into those blue piercing eyes?  she asked herself. Retrieving her hand, she mumbled something resembling an 'au revoir' and almost sprinted to the underground to catch the métro.