One way of saying photo, or snap, in French, is cliché. Can there be a more apt Paris cliché than taking a photo of the Eiffel Tower? Even though the tower hardly appears in the novel, I couldn’t help myself. It just had to be done.

Writing a novel is all about choices. What to include, what to cut, where to set it, who to live vicariously through. Nothing is random, which is not the same as saying everything carries a wider burden of significance. In many cases the meaning behind a given choice is only of interest to the author.

We’re just back from a wonderful short-break to Paris during which, among other things, I had a chance to revisit some of the choices I’d made in my crime novel This He Did Without Remorse. It was the first time I’d been to Paris since starting work on the novel, and I was more than a little bit apprehensive about whether or not I’d find things quite as I had remembered them, or whether my Paris imaginaire really had taken on a life of its own.

In the end, I was pleasantly surprised. Apart from one or two missed opportunities (which I can now go back and exploit in a rewrite), the locations I had chosen were very much as I had remembered them. No doubt this is thanks to the fact that (stealing shamelessly from Gertrude Stein) Paris is my hometown. Not literally, of course, but certainly emotionally. Since my first ever visit many years ago now it is the place for me where the best of everything, and in everyone, feels somehow within reach.

Obviously, I know this isn’t true. Like I said, I’ve been there before. But even when I am being violently confronted by irrefutable evidence to the contrary, I just can’t help myself from believing body and soul that Paris is perfect in every way.

So here, with the help of some of last weekend’s clichés, and in no particular order, is a snapshot tour of some of the settings in This He Did Without Remorse.

HÔTEL DES INVALIDES

Commissioned in the 17th century as a hospital for soldiers, the glinting gold dome of this magnificent complex south of the river is still very much a jewel in the city’s crown today.

Although it is not particularly tall, it somehow still manages to be in sight from a wide range of unexpected locations all over the city and apt reminder of the omnipresent role of the military and church at the heart of French history. If you haven’t ever been inside, it is well worth the few minutes it takes to walk through the arched gateway into the Cour d’Honneur. It doesn’t cost you anything, but you will leave the richer for it.

The interior courtyard is cobbled, and lest you forget whose house you are in, a row of artillery is poised as a silent reminder down one side.

Straight ahead, and looking down at you from his balcony on the second floor, stands a majestic Napolean.  (It was my husband who spotted the fact that the Emperor now has an eternal view of his flag.)

Having this courtyard, le Cour D’Honneur feature prominently in the book was one of the early choices I made. Since both Hazel and Aida have their lives turned upside down in different ways through random meetings with László, I wanted there to be some parallels in their experience of meeting him. More particularly, I wanted them to first see him in the sort of light in which he might unconsciously wish he could be seen, before learning the truth about him. Since he is effectively a war criminal, Les Invalides seemed an obvious choice. This contrast of taking someone who knows he is a coward and yet who keeps returning to a setting where heroes are revered appealed to me as an expression of one of the identity themes running through the book, namely the extent to which we can be different people in different places.

THE I LOVE YOU WALL IN MONTMARTRE

In a square behind Métro Abbesses is a mosaic wall made up of the words I Love You’ in hundreds of different languages. When I first read about this project some years ago, it took my breath away, and I knew then I would have to include it in one of the Paris novels.

Because translation, and the extent to which we can truly understand each other, is central to the novel, I decided very early on that I would set a first kiss in front of this totemic site for visitors to the City of Love. Initially, I thought it would be Hazel and László who went there, but then I realised that by waiting for it to be Aida instead, I had an opportunity to once again put László in a setting which belied his true nature.

You can read more about the I Love You wall here: http://www.lesjetaime.com/english/index.html

LA DURÉE & ANGELINA’S

Since, for me, no visit to Paris ever feels complete without a trip to one of the many glorious Salons de Thé on offer, I decided the same must be true of any novel which is set here. This has created a logistical headache, since I have a few dozen absolute favourite tea rooms. but so far only four novels planned in this series.

Because the relationship between Hazel and László was doomed from the start, I wanted to inject a cultural false note early on when we first meet them. So I had Hazel, a Scottish expat, look for atypically French’ gift she could offer to the Hungarian mechanic. In the realm of patisserie, I could think of nothing more iconic than the noble macaron, and so the opening visit to La Durée seemed a natural choice for Hazel to make.

Emira, Mila and Aida’s trip to Angelina’s was a much more personal choice. For one thing, it is my sister’s favourite tea room, and when she came to stay with me for Christmas 96 we went there five times in seven days. So I knew then that if I ever were going to write a book set in Paris, then the characters would need to go to Angelina’s or I’d never hear the end of it.

But more than this, when I started to think about what Angelina’s means to me, I realised that it is the only Salon du Thé on my favourites list which I have never been to with any French friends, only other expats, or friends visiting France. As soon as I realised this, I knew it would be the ideal setting for the unexpected reunion between the reluctant emigrées Emira and Mila even though they have the French born Aida in tow, the scene takes place at a point in the novel before she has accepted this truth about herself.

While I was standing outside Angelina’s on Sunday afternoon, I narrowly missed being run over by some crazed cyclists, and ended up having a sort of serendipitous moment décisif when I realised they were on Vélibs, the municipal bikes-for-hire which also figure in Emira’s story.  So although I know it’s a rather incoherent snap, taken by someone stumbling backwards into others, I still love this image of a renegade Vélib rolling past on Angelina’s pavement.