Pete Tyler wearily sat in the middle kitchen with his laptop open. He had been out late last night; Jack had attended a fundraiser last night and had met a woman (surprise, surprise). Lady Christina something or other, Pete really couldn't be bothered to remember. Jack had wanted to show the woman a good time, which of course meant that Pete sat outside a night club until the wee hours of the morning. Now, of course, he had to be up early to drive John and Donna to the office.

He was tired, very tired and he missed his daughter terribly. Rose had been gone a month and had sent several emails in that time. He read each one aloud to the staff, their friends.

Dear Dad,

Culinary school isn't going exactly as planned. Apparently I'm not even good at boiling water. Maybe my expectations were too high. Mum was the best cook in London; I guess I just thought some of her talent would have been passed on. Still, I am keeping my head held high and soldering on.

Paris, however, is beautiful. The architecture, the people, the smells, the ability to calm your soul even in the midst of the hustle and bustle, I just love it. It almost makes me forget about Jack.

"Well, that's good," Martha, the physician on staff, said with a bright smile. She looked over at Pete, but he didn't look convinced. "Isn't it?" she added.

"Just wait," Pete said, clearing his throat again.

I am allowing myself to only think of him at night and occasionally when I see a couple walking down the street.

"Oh dear, that does present a problem," Sarah Jane, the house manager sighed. "Paris is for lovers, they say. So I'm sure that she still thinks of him often. We had hoped..."

The gardener, Adam, rolled his eyes. "Not that we really expected anything different." Martha cuffed him in the back of his head and gave him a death glare.

"It would only break her heart if he did cast an eye her way," Ianto, the valet, interjected. "Jack could never seriously settle down and Rose is too innocent for the likes of him."

"Know that from personal experience, do you?" Adam chided. Ianto blushed a deep red, but said nothing.

Pete rolled his eyes and continued to read.

Still I have found this one café near my flat; it has a lovely view of Notre Dame. It's so lovely I think I might want to sketch it. But I think I must have fallen out of practice. I'll probably be rubbish at drawing if I tried again. It's getting late, I have to go. See everyone in three months. Give them all my love.

Rose

"There you have it," Pete said, closing the top of his computer. "Still hopelessly in love with that shameless playboy."

Sarah Jane placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But she's thinking about sketching again. That's good. Maybe she'll be painting well before she gets back."

"I hope you're right, Sarah Jane," Pete sighed. "I hope you're right."

Two weeks later, on a Saturday, Rose was sitting in her favorite café, drinking some fancy coffee drink. She still hadn't gotten used to the taste of coffee yet. Just about the only thing she disliked about Paris so far was the distinct lack in the availability of a good cup of tea. Her sketch book lay open on the table, as she twirled her charcoal pencil in her hand. It gave Rose a sense of fulfillment that her talents hadn't been lost in their time of disuse. She was still just as good of an artist as she ever was.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" a friendly looking older man with a full white beard asked, in English. Rose was surprised that he didn't address her in French. Meekly she nodded and he took a seat next to her. "You captioned your sketches in English. That's why I spoke in English," he said in response to her unasked question. "I'm Wilfred Mott. You can call me Wilf. And you are?"

"Rose, Rose Tyler." She gave him a grin.

"Pleasure to meet you." Wilf nodded towards her sketch books. "You're good. Did you come to Paris to draw?"

Rose felt strangely comfortable with Wilf. "No, I actually came to attend culinary school. I was in art school in London once. Dropped out shortly after my first piece sold in an art show."

"Now why would you do that? It's obvious that you have real talent. May I?" Wilf went to pick up her sketch pad. Rose nodded and Wilf studied the pages for several minutes. "It was a bloke, right?"

"Excuse me?" Rose said, furrowing her brow.

"Why you dropped out of art school. This bloke here, I'd wager." Wilf turned the sketch book and pointed at a portrait of Jack. Rose's eyes widened. How could Wilf have known? Was she that obvious? Wilf laid a hand gently on her arm. "What did he say to you, love?"

Rose stiffened; she had never told anyone why she had quit school, not even her father. It had weighed on her ever since she had done it. Maybe telling a complete stranger would help ameliorate her feelings on the matter. "I overheard him at a party once. He was seeing some graphic designer at the time and she said something about how people who spend their lives painting on canvas and not doing anything productive are just wasting their lives."

"And he agreed with her." Wilf nodded in understanding. "It's so easy to let others dictate the course of your life."

"Yeah, it is," Rose said sadly. "Especially when they are as wonderful as Jack."

Wilf sniffed loudly as if he didn't believe her. "Yes, well, sometimes you need to make yourself happy before you can find happiness with anyone else."

Rose gave him a small grin. "Really? You think so?"

"'Course I do," Wilf said jovially. "And a pretty girl like you deserves to be happy."

"That's nice of you to say." Rose played with a strand of her long brown hair and pushed her glasses up her nose. "But I'm not the least bit pretty, nothing more than ordinary, me."

Shaking his head, Wilf protested. "I think that you're lovely, especially when you smile. You should do that more often." She rewarded him with a beaming smile. "Now that's more like it." He clapped his hands and stood up. "Now, my dear, do you care to accompany an old man to one of the places every budding young artist should see. I happen to know someone who works at the Louvre. "

"I believe I would like that very much." Rose quickly shoved her sketch pad into her bag and slipped her arm through Wilf's. Arm and arm the pair strolled down the street, sharing stories about their lives. She told him all about growing up on the Estate. He told her all about falling in love with a French woman and moving to Paris after the war.

Three weeks later, Donna slid into the back seat of the town car. Pete was already in the driver's seat, the partition open as usual. For some reason her twin brother was running late this morning. "Have you heard from Rose lately?" Donna asked Pete politely. She had always liked the young woman, even if Rose seemed afraid of her own shadow.

"Yes, ma'am." Pete turned slightly to address her. "Got another email from her just this morning. Seems like she's starting to blossom there. But for me, the next seven weeks can't go by fast enough. I miss her so much."

"I'm sure you do." Donna smiled, knowing that the only person Pete really had in his life was Rose. "Anything interesting going on in Paris? Has she met anyone?"

"Oh yes, several people. She's so happy there. Part of me is afraid she won't want to come home. There are two people in particular who she seems to be very close to." Pete grinned and he pulled out his phone to read Rose's email to her.

"Do tell," Donna said, leaning forward, ready to hear all the gossip.

"Tell what?" John said, slipping into the seat next to her. "What's the news of the day, Pete?"

"It's nothing, sir," Pete said, turning back around.

Donna tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at the phone. "Hand it over," she said in what could only be described as her politely demanding tone. Pete passed the phone back to her. Silently she sank back into the seat and began to read as Pete put the car into drive.

Dear Dad,

Wilf and I have been having a marvelous time lately.

"Oh, she met a man!" Donna exclaimed. "I hoped she'd get over that idiot brother of mine. He doesn't deserve her." John's eyebrows shot up his forehead so far that they almost reached his hairline. "Not you, you big dunce." She hit him in the arm. It would have made things easier if Rose had turned her attentions to John instead of the playboy.

"Wilf is too old for her, in his eighties, I believe," Pete said over his shoulder. "They're just friends. His granddaughter, Jenny, works at the Louvre. "

"Ah," Donna whispered, turning her attention back to the email.

We spend a good deal of our free time together. He knows all the best museums or places to sketch. Recently, he gave me an easel and a set of paints, for an early birthday present. We find a spot with a lovely view and I paint while he tells me the most fantastic stories about his life. I presented him with my very first Parisian landscape as a thank you.

"She's painting again. Let her know that I'd like another one," Donna exclaimed.

"Another one?" Pete sounded confused. "I wasn't aware that she'd given you one. She's always been so private with her art."

"Rose didn't give her one." John unfolded the paper in his lap. "Donna bought the one from the art show. The one of the Estate, it's hanging in her office."

"I had no idea." Pete couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. "All these years, I thought it had been bought by a collector. That was kind of you, ma'am. You didn't have to buy it to spare her feelings like that."

Donna hit her brother in the arm. "You Dumbo," she hissed. "Now he thinks I bought it out of pity." She kept her voice low so Pete wouldn't hear her.

"Oh," John exclaimed. "No, it's not like that Pete. Donna loved it the first time she saw it, when Rose was showing it to Sarah Jane in the kitchen. She only bought it anonymously to avoid Rose thinking the same thing that you're thinking now."

"We've had so many artists draw the estate before," Donna explained. "But Rose's painting captured something that none of the others ever had. She made the place seem alive, it's utterly breathtaking. And I'm really am thrilled she's painting again. Don't know why she stopped in the first place."

"Knowing her, probably something Jack said." The words tumbled out of Pete's mouth before he could stop himself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It was disrespectful."

John snorted derisively. "Don't worry about it, Pete. It's not as if Donna and I have any delusions about who our little brother is."

"A playboy," Donna laughed.

"A cad," John added.

"A good for nothing, lazy, heart-breaker." Donna crossed her arms over her chest. "It would be nice if he came into the office more than once a year. Honestly, I love him dearly; I just wish we could make him want to do something with his life."

"It is only a few weeks until we may just be able to do something about that. Although if we do just flat out cut him off, he'd just find another way to support his lavish lifestyle," John said with a knowing smile and went back to reading his paper.

"Like marrying that new woman he's dating, Lady Christina de Souza. Then he could just go on living that selfish life until he gains full access to his inheritance," Donna laughed.

"Hmm, de Souza, where have I heard that name before?" John pondered.

"Her father is big into sugar cane," Donna said dismissively, going back to reading the email.

Jenny has been taking me under her wing as well. The other day she took me shopping at real Paris shops. I've been dipping into my savings a little more than I should but you only live once, so they say. I dare say you may not recognize me when I return.

Culinary school is going much better. I aced the dessert section with a perfect Banana's Foster. See you in seven weeks.

All my love,

Rose

PS You will be happy to know that I have placed Jack's picture in the bottom most drawer in my dresser and I now only look at it every third day.

"Pete," Donna said as she handed the phone back over.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked, placing the phone on the seat next to him.

"Do you think that Rose will be back in time for our birthday party at the end of the summer?" John raised an eyebrow at her question, but Donna just gave him a small smile.

"I don't think so, ma'am. The party is scheduled for a few days before she's due back. Did you want her help in the kitchens?"

Donna waved a hand dismissively. "No, I was just wondering if she wanted to come. Pity she won't be back in time." Leaning back into the seat, Donna stole a section of John's paper. The rest of the drive into the office was silent as Donna's mind whirled with the possibilities of launching her favorite new artist onto society.