Today the lonely station at Avallon was practically deserted, save for the students and a solitary porter called Serge whose only job was to make himself look busy. There were two platforms, the first in the direction Montbard-Paris , the second signed Dijon-Nice. Today the students would use the underpass to find the northbound line on the far side of the station. The station building was made of stone coloured somewhere in the range between grey and white and like most buildings in the region, its roof showed off thick tiles of ruby red. There were two rooms. The first belonged to Serge and smelled of paper, tobacco and oil. The second was, of course, the desolate salle d’attente, the melancholy waiting room that looked about as uninviting as that which Chris had seen at the Gare de L’Est on his first day in France. Today, no passengers waited for the train to Paris and the only occupants of the salle d’attente were bits of old newspaper swept about the floor by the cold breeze.

As the departure time drew nearer, Madame went about the station gathering her flock and herding it to the other side through the underground tunnel that smelled of urine. Everything about the station suggested to Chris that his transportation that day might closely resemble the weather-beaten, red train that had taken him to Avallon from Paris a week ago. Instead, a smooth bullet train eased into the station a couple of minutes before the assigned departure time. Madame busied herself handing out tickets to the excited students, most of whom had never taken a ride on such a grand train. Chris was the last to board, keen to savour for as long as possible, the urgent contrast between the station that looked like a snapshot from the war and the magnificent technology of the bullet train that would whisk him to Paris in under two hours.

When he did finally board the train, another equally significant contrast greeted him, namely that between the sombre businessmen on their way to work in Paris for the day and the excited babble of young students about to visit one of the most beautiful cities in the world. The businessmen frowned and looked up briefly from their newspapers before shaking the pages in disgust at the disorganised rabble. To Chris, they could have been businessmen from Brisbane or Sydney. They dressed in much the same manner, although he thought that perhaps the double-breasted suit was making more of a comeback in France than Australia. The papers and journals that hid these strange creatures rarely fulfilled their intended purpose. Rather, they were cloaks, a screen to protect anxious individuals from the happier inhabitants of the planet. Chris knew about these people for he was one of them, although for the moment his loyalty to the race was being sorely put to the test.

The price that Chris paid for his tardiness on the platform was that the only seat remaining lay next to Amanda. He looked at his ticket and saw that his number actually corresponded with the seat presently occupied by a member of Madame’s beginner class, desperately keen to avoid meeting Chris’s eyes by participating in no fewer than three conversations at once. Chris sighed and glanced at Chloe and Clémentine who sat together, arms linked in a seat about three down and by the window on the other side of the train. They grinned at Chris and blew him kisses whilst at the same time shooting suggestive glances in Amanda’s direction.

“Why aren’t you sitting with your girlfriends?” asked Amanda sarcastically, with arms crossed and gaze fixed at some point on the horizon. A barbed reply formed itself in Chris’s mind, but he thought better of it, deciding to leave the question hang in the air with Amanda’s foul mood. It was going to be a long trip.

From a distance, the Gare de Lyon rose up menacingly out of the madness of the Paris streets. For the last half an hour of its journey, the TGV had seethed and hissed its way threateningly through the cement and dull brick of the poorer suburbs that lined the route into Paris. Similar noises had emanated from Amanda as she sighed and shook her head condescendingly at the sight of the graffiti and the black skin of the North Africans. Evidently, Paris had not started well that morning for Amanda and undoubtedly, would shortly have to lift its game.

The sombre businessmen had left their seats as the train moved slowly through Bercy, still some way from its ultimate destination. They had arranged themselves in orderly fashion and in single file from the door through which they would finally liberate themselves from the noisy students that morning. As the bullet train whispered its arrival at the platform, Chloe and Clémentine bounced to their feet and joined the line of suited men waiting for the door. Chloe failed to anticipate the final lurch and promptly fell into the back of a suited man who had been standing in line patiently for a good twenty minutes at least. The words of a curse formed on the lips of the Frenchman and he wheeled around to address this appalling lapse in manners. Fortunately, Chloe’s giggles and half-muttered apologies in both French and English were smoothed over effortlessly by Clémentine, who immediately succeeded in disarming the Frenchman with a combination of a suitably worded retort and a wiggle of her hips. By now, Chris had left Amanda, who was preening herself for a grand entrance.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, making his way up to a point behind Chloe and Clémentine. “Not so fast,” retorted Chloe. Remember that we have some guided tours this morning. The city is not your own until lunchtime.” “I really must read my notes in more detail at some point,” grinned Chris. “Yes, you must,” said Chloe, returning his smile.

The door of the train breathed open, spilling the students onto the platform amidst the multitude. Chloe and Chris turned to watch the businessmen, who melted instantly into the faceless crowd and were gone. The remainder of the excited class followed the suits out of the train. Chris and Chloe found themselves swept up in the crowd making its way to the metro station that would transport them into the heart of Paris. Subconsciously, Chloe reached out for Chris’s hand and found it amongst those of the strangers. When she realised what she had done, she paused for a moment and smiled at Chris but did not make any effort to draw her hand away. Neither did Chris, now convinced that this had the makings of a wonderful day.