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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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed women had woken up, and rather quickly, she’d sat up and looked around, wondering what time it was, clearly the sun was already quite high in the sky – what a beautiful day – she thrust her slippers on and almost jumped up from the bed.

She opened the two French doors, as the warm air flooded in, she gazed around the tiny balcony; then she gazed around again, looking up, around and everywhere, but there was no sign of the two lovely gargoyles – they were her friends!

She padded back into the kitchen to make some proper coffee, and something to eat; there was a slightly stale half a baguette which was good enough, she would share some of the crust with the two little doves who were nesting there.

After finishing her breakfast, or rather brunch, she wandered into the bedroom to dress – something fresh and light since it was May; she straighten her duvet and put her pjs on top with her pillows – all perfect now, especially since her pjs are called Cat-Puccino (yes, really).

She had been sitting on her bed, where all her treasures were strewn around now, not very useful, apart from her ruby ring which was pretty valuable; but the problem was she was bored – just bored; but that’s not the reason… no! time to go out.

She should trust her instincts, she would find something to do, and with that… she strided off – at least it’s wonderful Paris, as she smiled.

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