Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘Okay, the final race for the Tour de France this year, it has been excellent so far, don’t you think?’ smiled Francis, as he inverted the first bottle of champagne, while Joan and Scatty sip some, as they all watched the large television.

‘It’s such a wonderful place in the heart of Paris, all those lovely buildings and statues, meanwhile the cyclists will cycle around the Champs-Elysees (four times as usual), but this time it will be longer since it’s going up to the top of the Butte Montmartre,’ said Francis.

‘Gosh, right by us,’ said Scatty, ‘you know, I’m going to go out there, just now; I can get a little patch of grass near the Basilica of the Sacre-Coeur, and that will be perfect,’ as she grabbed her coat, then she reversed for a moment to say, ‘I will have a great position there, I’m sure!’

‘Well, I think this is much cosier, and there’s only the two of us,’ said Joan – ‘yes, I think so too,’ said Francis, as he put his arm over her shoulder.

‘Ah ha, here it is,’ said Joan, ‘such a beautiful sculpture for the horse, and it looks very like me where I’m sitting proudly up on the Place des Pyramides – oh yes, valour… that was me at the time, wasn’t it,’ as she grinned, – while Francis gave her a big kiss.

But what happened to the two gargoyles… and where’s that red-headed woman? – well, we guess it’ll be next time!

• Sacre-Coeur, Butte Montmartre
• Joan d’Arc – statue

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The two gargoyles were talking in hushed tones as they made over to the aerodrome: ‘Come on we are not mad, we are good at everything, aren’t we,’ said one – while the other one said, ‘quite so, we both remember that huge balloon, and that was fine,’ – as the two of them got into a helicopter.

Scatty and Joan had been still looking for the two gargoyles, not realising that they were up in the sky; they’d been on that big motorcycle for ages weaving around from left to right and back again on the Tour de France.

‘Hold on,’ yelled Scatty, ‘this is a big challenge,’ – but meanwhile Joan yelled back, ‘I am feeling nauseous and I have a headache, although at least I haven’t a malady and I’m sure I’ll be fine when we stop.’

The red-headed woman was on another road listening to many lovely melodies as she hummed in her little red car, it was very much quicker since this was one of the main motorways, and she was going to the south of France having found that The Old One and Mr Cushing had been staying near Cannes.

Francis was still at home and lounging around while watching the Tour de France; he had double-checked the time for the final race, and as usual it was at Paris, on the Champs-Elysees on Sunday.

He smiled as he continued to watch; whoever would win, he would make sure there would be plenty of champagne on ice.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The two gargoyles had managed to get away from the gendarmes since there was a small crash with several cyclists on the Tour de France just at that moment; sadly they had to leave their big motorcycle, but they quickly got to the fields and they hid in the many, many tall sunflowers.

They whispered together: ‘what are we going to do?’ – ‘look, the river is just over there,’ – oh yes, I can see a boat,’ – ‘you mean we are going to row? – ‘hmm, I’ve a better idea…’ as he pulled out his smartphone, and began to send a WhatsApp.

Joan picked up her phone as her face lit up, she glanced at the red-headed woman, ‘haven’t you still got that little car? – ‘I.. em, yes… I’ll go and get it, and I’ll drive back to you,’ as she jumped up, ‘we will all go and find that place… yes?’

Two hours later, the three women had already found that big motorcycle; ‘well, I can ride it,’ said Scatty, ‘and I’ll sit on the back,’ said Joan.

It was the next day, and the three women were still looking for the two gargoyles.

Francis was on his own, it was the rest day for the Tour de France, so no cycling to watch; he walked into the music room, it had been hardly used for decades, but suddenly Francis had a hankering to play: maybe the piano, or the guitar? but no, that lovely cello, ‘I’m going to play it.’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman had known the strange and wonderful breed of people who stayed around Montmartre for more than a year now, she had been reminiscing about all of them: the three vampires, the one shapeshifter and (of course) the two gargoyles.

She’d been to the small but beautiful cemetery known as the Large Quarries, where she’d drawn a rather nice picture using her new pastels and paper; she was about to finish since no-one was around today, but then she saw Scatty.

‘Gosh, that’s good,’ said Scatty, ‘you’ve drawn several plants around here – the one’s I have used…. hmm, delightful, and useful too – magical; but never mind about that, we should go to that old mansion, and let’s not delay – you do know that the Tour de France is about to start, don’t you?’

‘You remember what they said, the two gargoyles, while we all watched that gorgeous ballet a few days ago?’ – ‘I do remember what the two of them said, something about going to see the Tour de France, and riding on a big motorcycle, yes?’

‘Come on we’re here, and we can watch the TV,’ – the red-headed woman and Scatty sat down on a large couch, while Joan and Francis were already sitting here to watch the Tour.

‘Look over there,’ said Joan, ‘we can see those two on their big motorcycle, and there’s something going on… a couple of policemen (gendarmeries, in fact), oh gosh, it seems that both of them will be detained!’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman had been back to the hairdressers since she didn’t really like that colour – too blonde and not enough red, she’d been looking it the colour chart in the salon, and eventually she plumped for something called ‘cardinal’, a vivid and warm-shade with auburn undertones (just like a little bird).

‘A wise choice… and definitely for you,’ said the hairdresser, as she began to trim the hair; the red-haired woman smiled as she waited to drink her coffee, and as usual it would be tepid by then.

Several hours later, the red-headed woman joined the queue with Francis, Joan and Scatty, everyone was excited, and wearing very nice clothes, since it was the open night in the ‘Opera de Paris’ – fabulous place, expensive but worth it, as they began to walk up the stairs.

‘At least we have a box,’ grinned Joan, ‘much more classy, don’t we think,’ – ‘oh yes, definitely… should I order some champagne, the best of course,’ asked Francis, while he opened the door, and waved a hand, ‘we don’t want to be dry while we enjoy the beautiful ballet.’

Meanwhile, the two gargoyles had climbed up to the top – ‘best view from there,’ they muttered, then one of them dropped a programme down using a particularly good aim.

Scatty suddenly saw it and caught it: ‘what is this?’ – there was a note inside – it said: we are going to see the Tour de France, and we will jump on to ride a big motorcycle.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman (although still rather blonde) waved back to the lovely two gargoyles, but it seemed that the two of them were about to leave; ‘hey,’ she said, ‘just a minute, tell me what you both have been doing for all those weeks?’

‘Sorry,’ they both stopped and grinned, ‘we had been rather busy,’ – ‘you see, we had been watching the tennis at Roland Garros in Paris,’ – ‘yes, that’s right, we had to pay with plastic at the start, but we were able to get into one of the commentary boxes, and after that it was free, no charge, gratis, for us,’ – ‘what do you think about that,’ as they smiled happily.

Just then, Scatty appeared wearing big rubber boots, also known as wellingtons, – rather fetching, thought all of them.

The two gargoyles then decided to leave for the moment; the red-headed woman was about to say something, but Scatty managed to speak first: ‘ah ha, I have a little magic to use later, but just now I’m removing some plants, you can watch if you want, but I’m happy to do that on my own – in fact, it’s probably better to be just me.’

‘It’s much more important that you enjoy yourself later,’ said Scatty, ‘since it is the summer solstice tonight, and we will be having a gorgeous party.’

‘You should wear something fresh and light… maybe a cotton dress, something long and flowy – it’s going to be fun, and you will definitely like some margaritas later!’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman, although rather blonde at the moment, was still wondering where the two gargoyles were; it had been several weeks since she had seen them, although she was convinced that they would pitch up at any moment.

She had been wandering around in that nice cemetery – the one called the Large Quarries, in Montmartre – she smiled to herself, after she saw Scatty a couple of days ago, where she had turned into a fantastic black panther in the night, because she was a shape-shifter, although it was the first time she’d seen that happen – and she almost pinched herself, since it was not the obvious thing to see.

Still smiling, the red-headed woman turned to walk in another direction, and a less used path; and then she saw them.

‘Come on, throw that properly, that’s right, now bowl a ball so that it bounces near to the batter, okay, better… and no, roll it back to me again, and don’t throw it underarm, a bowler will always throw it overarm.’

‘What are you both doing, for heaven’s sake,’ grinned the red-headed woman, ‘I’m so pleased to see you both, by the way,’- ‘likewise,’ said the two gargoyles, who also grinned happily, ‘but can’t you tell what we are doing?’

‘Well, I can see what you are both wearing, nice creamy-white jumpers and long trousers, and also you have those bats and shin-pads at the ready, and yes, it’s called cricket, but playing it in Paris? …are you mad?’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The priest muttered again before leaving to go to a tiny church at the end of the cemetery, ‘hardly anyone goes there anymore, but I’m always speaking very much aloud, since most of the congregation are completely deaf,’ and with that, he left.

The red-headed woman and Francis were both about to speak, but as usual she jumped in first; ‘strands of hair keep getting in my face, I really need to go to the hairdressers – cut and colour, and vibrant, of course.’

There was not much to say about that, thought Francis, so he launched into almost a speech: ‘you know that it’s a full moon tonight, don’t you, and I believe you remember the fiasco several months ago, so we all need to turn it down.’

‘People are very much allowed to walk around our cemetery and including the information about the Large Quarries in the main drag, but I’m putting these notices on all the gates, it says, “no-one is allowed, from sunset to sunrise” – do you think that’s enough?’

‘Sure it’s fine,’ said Joan and Scatty as the two of them appeared, ‘come on,’ said Joan, ‘we can all mingle in the square later, no-one would worry about that,’ – ‘no shape-shifting then I suppose?’ said Scatty.

Later, the red-headed woman appeared in the square; she’d been to the hairdressers, and now she had a new colour on her very short hair, ‘it’s called strawberry blonde – astounding,’ she grinned, ‘just like the strawberry moon, isn’t that right?’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘Another fuse has blown again,’ muttered the ancient priest; he turned his head to see a rather striking red-headed woman who had just stood up and dusted herself down, and then beamed; she looked to Francis (whom she knew really rather well, particularly since he was a vampire), and then she looked to the ancient priest – ‘maybe I can help?’ she said.

The ancient priest muttered again: ‘well, I’m not an oracle, that’s for sure, and it isn’t mention in my job description either, but I don’t know what’s the matter with that thing; I’m stumped.’

But now the red-headed woman was able to say: ‘I am a dab hand at many things, including changing fuses, come on let’s do it.’

So they opened the crypt and crept down, and fortunately a large torch was at hand, and it was charged.

She carefully walked across and opened the fuse box, ‘now, the best thing is to turn off all of it, then changed the broken one, and then pushed them all up again,’ as she grinned; and a moment later the crypt was light again, although it was in the underground, of course.

She looked around, ‘there is hardly anything here,’ she looked rather disappointed, as she said: ‘no coffins now then,’ as she looked to Francis; ‘certainly not,’ he replied, ‘all our stuff is much more modern, and in another place anyway, but I guess we don’t need to go there any more, we can just close it down.’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed women had laced up her new trainers and walked off to find what she would do, she was pleased with them, they were all the rage apparently, they were very comfortable and practical too – cool, in fact – so she continued to walk further to the cemetery, known as the Cemetery of the Large Quarries (and an interesting fact).

She’d not seen her two lovely gargoyles for ages, nor any of her vampire friends, and although she had a good day, and night, including a rather nice dinner in a bistro, just off the main road in Montmartre, she was still missing all of them.

She was still musing about what she had eaten and drunk last evening; especially that final little drink – absinthe, one of the favourite ones from the vampire people, and the best one, according to Francis.

And at that moment, the red-headed woman saw Francis, he was sitting reading by one of the graves in the shade, almost blissful she’d thought.

She was about to mosey over to him, but then someone else appeared, and who was he, she wondered; she watched as they greeted each other, he was stooped and wizened, and wearing a large hat, and then she realised he was a priest, and a very old one to boot.

The red-headed woman got closer, trying to catch the name, but all she could hear was ‘Father…’, gosh that was annoying; she was so interested to listen that she tripped… oh bother.

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