The kindness of strangers: it was the jacket of my dreams – then he offered it to me at a price I could afford

When I think of random acts of kindness, I think of Paris. This may come as a shock to some, but as a tourist I’ve had more offers of help in Paris than anywhere else in the world. I have had more suitcases carried up flights of stairs or lifted on to luggage racks and been offered more seats on the metro than I can count – dating back well before I considered myself ancient enough to qualify.

My most recent trip there was for a precious weekend reunion with an English friend. On our last day together, we meandered along the tasteful street that runs the length of the Île Saint-Louis, stopping outside a boutique whose window displayed the jacket of my dreams.

The fabric was velvet in a dusky shade of purple, with a heavily embroidered mandarin collar in navy and red with gold stitching and long cuffs to match. The knotted buttons were in matching navy, red and gold and ended at the waist, giving the silhouette a slight flare.

Related: The kindness of strangers: on a stressful day, I reversed into another mum’s car – and she told me not to worry

But it was the lining that transformed what was a special item of clothing into a masterpiece: navy silk dotted with an occasional navy, red and gold motif borrowed from the collar and cuffs. The beauty of this hidden embellishment – which no one but the wearer would see – filled me with awe and joy.

My colour. My size. A once-in-a-lifetime jacket – with a price tag way beyond my means.

The shop owner seemed mildly entertained by my reaction: to the colour, the price and, most of all, the lining. He suggested I try it on. I did – and was transformed.

But I knew it could never be mine.

The shop owner asked me where I was from. I told him, adding that the Australian dollar-to-euro exchange rate meant I would be forking out over a week’s wages for the jacket. I laughed and took it off.

He looked up the exchange rate on his phone and raised his eyebrows. Then he offered to sell me the jacket for the same figure – in Australian dollars.

“That jacket was meant for you,” he said simply. It was effectively a 40% discount, given for no other reason than the joy it so obviously gave me, and because he “liked Australians”.

I’ve worn it twice since then. The first time was to dinner in Burgundy: the second was to an opening night in Melbourne. I’m actively seeking an excuse for a third outing.

Sometimes I take it out of my wardrobe and just look at it with the same pleasure I feel when I see a favourite work of art or hear a favourite piece of music. But more than that, I feel the warm glow of a happy memory: of a Sunday afternoon in Paris, a dear friend and the kindness of a stranger.