From Paris With Love (13 page)

With as much dignity as I could muster, I continued into the pantry and returned with a handful of pears (“
poires
”) and
voilà
, new word number two. Everyone had grinned and told me it was leeks (“
poireAUX
”, new word number three) they’d asked for, to garnish the fish pie, not pears. Smiling at the mix-up, I dabbed my eyes. Edward had popped in again at that point and half-grinned at my mistake, as if we’d never gone out and were just friends, not Exes. Protective JC had barked at him to leave.

I took the pears back and remembered, back in England, the things people had told me about the restaurant business. That it was hard work, with long hours and bosses that didn’t pay topnotch. Yet the frantic, urgent atmosphere of the kitchen meant you got to know people quickly and that made for a good team bond. And whilst Chez Dubois had a relatively high turnover of staff, due to firebrand JC, the key people worked as one and it was exciting to see Cindy, JC, Pierre and Hugo work together to produce a dining experience second-to-none.

Afternoon

New French Words: 1

Tissues used: 0

Ooh dear. Learnt a very nasty French word today – beginning with “F”… Its English equivalent starts with the same letter. JC muttered it when one of the kitchenhands cracked his favourite pestle and mortar. Apart from that, however, my shift definitely cheered me up. JC gruffly congratulated me on my coleslaw mayonnaise. Pierre wrapped me another muffin to take home. Hugo almost upturned his lips into a smile as I left and Cindy perked me up with some good girly gossip about the most recent bloke she was seeing.

Whilst Cindy had decided all men were too clingy and would impede her career, this didn’t mean she disliked their company – far from it. She just didn’t stay with them too long.

‘Laurent’s a great guy,’ she said. ‘I like him – but he likes me too much. So tonight I’m going to kick him to the kerb.’

‘Dump him?’

She nodded, as we sat at the bar, drinking cappuccinos, brows and armpits all sweaty from hours of boiling sauces and steaming vegetables. I asked why.

‘Cos he’s my age – clearly looking to settle down.’

‘Hmm, like Edward – he’s in his early thirties, too,’ I said.

Oops! Cindy was only twenty-nine! Then she explained how he’d probably propsose within the next six months. Plus was the jealous type, always wanting to know who she texted. He reminded Cindy of her soldier brother-in-law. She reckoned being an army wife must be hard, with your destiny in the hand of some postings officer.

Yes, Cindy Cooper was definitely one woman who needed to be in charge of her own life. And I understood – that claustrophobic feeling had overwhelmed me, just for one second, when Edward proposed – but now we’d split up, I wondered if I’d thrown away something worth hanging onto… Edward wasn’t the jealous type and would never expect me to drop my ambitions.

***

So, there you have it, my diary for one shift at Chez Dubois. A day spent with new friends who cheered me up and made me realise that, even though I had to return to an empty flat, I was still very lucky to be in Paris, learning about cooking, the one thing I’d always love.

In fact, that cosy thought accompanied me to bed, feeling a titch happier than the night before. Bleary-eyed, I tumbled in between the sheets, mulling over the day’s events. I was too tired to hear someone creep in. Too engrossed in my thoughts to hear the roll of a gun barrel…

Chapter 11

‘Pssst!’

I stopped in the street and looked behind me. Nah.Must have been hearing things. I yawned. Wednesday morning – my sleeping was rubbish since Edward left. Instead of spooning in bed with him, I spent the evening spooning in mouthfuls of ice cream and the subsequent acid reflux kept me awake.

I sighed. Edward had texted this morning to say he’d left his phone charger behind. A lump came to my throat as I walked through Place du Tertre. Artists were setting up for the day – easels creaked open, chairs scraped across cobbled bricks. Edward’s text had been polite but, understandably, he hadn’t signed off his message with the usual smiley face. It had taken me weeks to persuade him to use mobile phone symbols and his favourite had been the perplexed one with the lopsided smile.

One artist, with his flamboyant cravat and beret, winked at me. With a feeble smile, I pressed on, against the mega cold February breeze.

‘Pssst!’

Huh? I stopped on the edge of the square and turned around again – by a nearby tree stood a black suit with matching sunglasses and chiselled cheekbones. For God’s sake! I hurried over.

‘Why didn’t you just text me, Joe?’ I asked.

‘Did. No reply,’ he answered in his usual abrupt style.

I delved into my duffle coat pocket.

‘Sh… sugar.’ I sighed. ‘Must have left my phone back at the flat.’

This was no surprise. I’d put my purse in the fridge this morning and nearly left the flat wearing odd shoes – my mind was too crammed with thoughts of Edward and our break-up to fit in anything rational. Although I’d just about managed to pull on clean jeans, a warm top and pumps.

Lady C had been disappointed that so soon after her training, last September, I was out of the smart skirts and court shoes, all co-ordinated and conservative. Mind you, she approved of my less tight tops and more natural tanning products… I’d even ditched the false eyelashes eventually, after one stuck to Edward’s cheek following an amazin’ snog. Plus today she would have loved my tidy pinned bun – a must if my hair was to fit under the white skull cap I had to wear at Chez Dubois.

Thinking of Applebridge Hall, I swallowed hard. Never again would Edward and me curl up together in the Parlour and stuff our faces, in front of the telly, with cook Kathleen’s best Highland fudge, a blanket over our laps, his painted aristocratic ancestors watching us from the walls… I couldn’t help smiling at the evenings I’d spent teaching Edward how to play video games. His particular favourite was my brother’s Guitar Hero.

Joe clicked his fingers in front of my face. ‘Hello?’

‘Sorry… I was just thinking about…’

‘Daydreaming more like… Not taking your eye off the ball, are you, Agent G? Thought you understood how alert you had to be, twenty-four seven.’

My jaw dropped. ‘I’ve just realised where this came from!’ I plunged a hand into my handbag and produced a small, gold oval shaped piece of metal – a bullet. This morning I’d found it on my bedside table. Thinking that perhaps it was Edward’s – a memento from a hunt when he was a child – I was taking it into work, along with a phone charger he left behind. ‘You broke in and put this by my bed last night, didn’t you?’

Joe nodded.

I gasped. ‘But how?

‘You forgot to put the safety chain on the door. Then I picked the lock. You know how easy it is.’

‘Whilst I was sleeping? How dare you!’

But eventually I nodded at Joe, understanding why he’d done it. However ruffled I was by my split with Edward, I needed to remember that I was on a mission and could be under the eye of a criminal mastermind. Anyone could have forced their way in last night – especially now I was on my own.

Joe exhaled. ‘Right. Enough said. Lesson learnt.’ He took back the bullet and jerked his head towards a nearby bar.

‘Quick cappuccino with plenty of milk and one sugar?’ he said.

‘How do you know I take it like that?’

He did his customary tapping on his nose.

‘S’pose we could.’ I said. My morning shift didn’t start until ten, anyway. It was too depressing staying in the flat, playing back the romantic memories Edward and me had made during the last week, so I’d left earlier than necessary.

I followed Joe inside and he headed for a corner table, away from the window. As we sat down he took off his glasses. The waiter came over and I ordered my drink. Joe asked for a double espresso.

He raised one eyebrow. ‘How’s it going?’

My shoulders slumped. ‘Me and Edward – we’ve broken up. Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day, as well…’

Joe leant forward. ‘I meant with your mission,’ he said. ‘Have you had your ear to the ground? Heard anything suspicious? John Smith said he saw you in Disneyland and you were keeping an eye on staff’s email boxes.’

My cheeks burned. Stupid me. As if one of Her Majesty’s secret agents would care about my love life.

‘Yes, Pierre lets me use the laptop, so I check on a daily basis.’

The waiter arrived with our drinks. Joe took a sip of his strong black coffee.

‘Time is of the essence right now, Agent G. MI6 has just foiled a terror plot scheduled for the commemoration of the Battle of the Somme in July. Overall concerns are heightened.’

I lifted the frothy drink to my face and after taking a large mouthful, put it back down. Joe’s maple-syrup eyes glinted as he picked up a napkin and reached out to wipe the tip of my nose.

‘Milky froth,’ he said, by way of an explanation, and scraped back his chair. ‘Remember, inform me right away when you make more progress.’

That’s what I liked about Joe. No “ifs” all “whens”. If he could bottle that confidence, he’d be a millionaire.

‘I hope to hear from you soon, and Agent G?’

‘Yeah?’ I mumbled.

He eyed me closely, then his voice softened. ‘I’ve spent many a Valentine’s Day alone. No big deal, you’re a tough woman. As one of my, erm, American counterparts would say, “when the going gets tough, the tough get going”.’

I giggled, for one second, forgetting all the painful love stuff.

‘
American counterpart
? Who? Popstar Billy Ocean? Joe, everyone with a parent who lived through the Eighties, knows those are the words to one of his songs.’

‘Pure coincidence,’ he said, cheeks flushing. ‘But wise words too.’ Joe stared at me again for a few seconds, before he left. I nodded and stared back.

Joe was cool. Like a big brother who – unlike mine – wouldn’t put earwigs in your milkshake or laugh at your latest hairdo. And he was right. I was slacking. Romantic problems had distracted me. This was no good. I needed to crack on with my investigations.

Agent G would
not
let Joe – or KMid and Wills – down. Feeling energised, I knocked back the rest of my cappuccino, grabbed my leopard-print handbag and hurried through the higgledy piggledy streets to Chez Dubois. Today I would definitely quiz anti-royal Hugo who, now I knew him better, seemed almost friendly. Indeed, yesterday he heard me saying to Pierre how expensive Disneyland Paris was, and to my amazement whipped out a pen and paper and listed some museums and gardens to visit in the capital that were absolutely free.

Not that we had much time to chat today – couples were already starting to eat out with their valentine a day early. Hugo set up extra tables to cope and JC was already shouting “
Sacre bleu
!” down the telephone to suppliers when I reached my workstation. His mood softened for one nanosecond when I slipped a chocolate bar into his pocket – the last from the stash I’d brought over from England, in my bulging suitcase. It was a thank you for him teaching me how to braise duck the other night. Whilst my fave choccie from home contained vegetable fat, I thought even a connoisseur like him might find this particular one yummy.

After what seemed like a marathon of chopping veg and beating cream, the last dessert finally got sent out. I pulled off my skull cap and exhaled. Edward was working the evening shift and would be in to help set up in a couple of hours. I’d wait until then to pass him his phone charger, and this would give me time to quiz Hugo.

My stomach scrunched at the thought of seeing Edward. I was worried that if I got too close to that delicious mouth and those twinkling eyes, it would be all too easy just to fall back into his arms – if he’d have me back, and that was in doubt. Which was just as well, cos any reconciliation would inevitably mean another split – the pain would just be saved up for another day.

‘You pleased me today, Pudding,’ said JC in his thick accent. ‘Perhaps in a few days you can move on to preparing sauces. If you accomplish zat satisfactorily, ze next steps will be cooking meat, fish and pasta then helping to plate ze food. Your preparation skills are coming along nicely.’ He glanced at Cindy and the other kitchenhands who were staring at him open-mouthed. JC cleared his throat. ‘Ze chopping skills are geriatric though. More speed! Still lots to learn!’

Forehead beaded with sweat, JC headed off to the pantry. Cindy chuckled.

‘Well, howdy Cupid, I reckon our chef’s got himself a little crush.’

‘Cupid can point his bow elsewhere, at the moment,’ I muttered and unbuttoned the top of my white chef coat.

Cindy squeezed my arm, her eyeliner smudged – preparing over one hundred cute profiteroles had taken its toll.

‘Me and my big mouth – sorry, honey.’ She led me through to the wash-up area, grabbed two clean glasses and poured us each some water. ‘Ain’t there no chance of you two getting back together? You can’t go out for so long and then break up quicker than a hiccup.’

I gulped back the water. ‘We’d only been dating a few months.’

‘And you think he and Monique…?’

‘They’re more well-suited,’ I said. ‘Honestly, Cindy, it’s for the best.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘I mean, he don’t seem too fussed, laughing with the customers yesterday and…’ Her cheeks tinged pink, ‘Shoot, sorry, honey, I didn’t mean –’

‘It’s all right,’ I mumbled and we moved back into the kitchen as someone came in to empty the dishwasher. ‘At least now I’ve got more time to go to Disneyland, guilt-free.’ I forced a smile.

Cindy nodded and, after cleaning my workstation, I headed for the loos. My American mate was right – Edward was making the best of an awkward situation and I needed to follow his example. I shook myself. So, onwards with my secret mission. Bristly Hugo might open up to me more easily if I washed off the perspiration and squirted myself with perfume. After a shift in the kitchens I always smelt like the school canteen from junior school. A quick slash of lipstick, along with a brush through my sweaty hair, was probably in order too, so I pulled off the tight bobble. After a few minutes of dabbing, brushing and generally freshening up, I emerged from the ladies’ feeling much more like my usual self.