From Paris With Love (15 page)

I know. Fickle me, wanting him to miss me dearly, when I’d been the one to make it clear the break was final. But a girl wants to feel that her love was worth something… Edward was acting as if losing me was no big deal.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Pierre’s now fixing our days off as Sundays and Tuesdays, so in a couple of days’ time we could–’ His phone bleeped. Edward took it out of his apron pocket and read a text. His face lit up. Those blue eyes shone.

‘Good news?’ I asked.

‘Oh, um, it’s nothing.’ Edward shoved the phone back into his pocket.

I raised one eyebrow.

‘It was only Moni – she managed to get us tickets for a new contemporary exhibition at the Centre Pompidou…’

Uh oh. He’d started gushing.

‘There will be sculptures and etchings, even artwork made from furniture… The price is decent too and…’ Suddenly he stopped and smoothed down his apron.

‘See, how excited you were at the prospect of seeing something like Tracy Emin’s bed or Damien Hirst’s shark (that being the extent of my knowledge about modern art)? Admit it, you’d rather admire a killer fish pickled in formaldehyde, whereas I prefer to admire a cute cartoon mermaid sitting on a rock…’

Before he could respond, the restaurant phone rang and he answered. I was about to take off my coat when the door creaked open and the window cleaner garbled something in French and rubbed his hands.

Hugo jerked his head at me. ‘Gemma – could you make the window cleaner a double espresso. His hands are freezing. In exchange he’ll brush down the canopy for us.’

I nodded and five minutes later headed outside with the small cup, waiting patiently until the window cleaner got down off his ladder.

‘
Merci
,’ he said and pulled up the peak of his cap.

‘Joe!’ I hissed. ‘What are you playing at? Never thought I’d see you out of your black uniform.’

He leant forwards and just beneath the top of his dungarees I could see his black suit.

‘You speak good French,’ I said.

‘Progress report for the last twenty-four hours, please, Agent G,’ he said, ignoring the compliment. He lowered his voice. ‘I am in the area anyway today, with several leads to check near the Moulin Rouge.’

Ooh, wonder what that was all about? But by now I knew better than to ask.

‘Hugo can be ruled out,’ I said. ‘He’s a pacifist at heart – who likes writing poetry. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he couldn’t be involved.

Joe sipped his coffee. His hands looked red raw.

‘Good work. Getting to know people – that’s an important part of the job… One I didn’t have time for, on my own, what with MI6 officially closing the file.’ He eyed me carefully. ‘Today – the fourteenth… It isn’t distracting you from your mission?’

‘I’m okay – thanks,’ I mumbled, realising this was Joe’s roundabout way of asking how I was on Valentine’s Day. Honestly, I reckoned there was just a big teddy bear under that sharp-edged suit.

Joe nodded, handed me his cup and picked up his ladder.

‘
Au revoir
,’ he said and headed off.

I stared after his broad shoulders and solid, fit physique. What justice was there in the world, if a kind-hearted, enigmatic hunk like him couldn’t find true love? Not that I fancied him a jot, which was weird. Perhaps it was to do with the fact that he’d half-strangled me during the training session at the bunker. Maybe it was because there just wasn’t that fab fizzy stuff that popped into action, every time I saw Edward. I bit my lip, wondering if I’d ever be that loved-up with a bloke again.

I headed back inside, got changed in the staff room and joined Cindy and JC. A couple of kitchenhands were washing fruit for the pavlovas and beating egg whites to make the meringue.

‘You are late, Pudding,’ said JC, brow already perspiring, chef’s hat wonky from flattening meat with a hammer.

‘Sorry, chef,’ I muttered and returned the discreet smile he gave me.

Aw. I loved JC. Like Joe, he was another bear – albeit less teddy-ish and more grizzly and rough. Especially when, at the end of service, he gave Cindy and me a pavlova each. The restaurant had buzzed with couples of all ages – retired people who’d booked well in advance, young ones clearly on their lunch break… Pierre had some great options on the menu for executives who didn’t want to wait around. Hugo would push their order up the queue and give Edward the nod that he only had one hour to attempt to sell them at least a main, pud and coffee.

As the last customers left, I pushed open the swing doors of the kitchen to prepare two cappuccinos for Cindy and me. She was off speed-dating tonight and I’d promised to sit with her for a while, so that she could practise on me. I almost bumped into Hugo who – get this – really was whistling.

‘I take it Hélène liked your poetry?’ I said and beamed.

Hugo stood taller. ‘
Oui
. Thanks for the idea. And the cognac… Sometimes I forget to take time out to relax. Those couple of hours with you did me good.’

I squeezed his arm and turned to the bar. My mouth went dry. There Monique sat, eyes narrow as if I’d just twerked against Hugo. Next to her was the Chez Dubois laptop, which she took hold of and lifted the lid.

‘Gemma… How charming to see you,’ she said.

Agent G to you, mush, I thought, fantasising for one minute that like in the James Bond film
You Only Live Twice
, I could drop her into a pool of piranha. Mind you – with her cutting comments, she’d probably bite them back.

I went over to the coffee machine, near her. ‘Good afternoon, Monique,’ I said, stiffly and took out two cups.

She pulled off her beanie and undid her coat. Her long, tousled chestnut hair looked coolly fashionable and her discreet make-up as if a top beautician had spent ages making her look effortlessly natural.

‘I see Edward’s been persuaded into believing there is nothing between you and Hugo.’

I shook my head. ‘First you steal my boyfriend…’ I jerked my head towards the laptop. ‘I’d better warn Pierre that you’re probably trying to steal his computer as well.’

Top lip curled, she leant forward. ‘You may have fooled Edward all these months,’ she hissed. ‘But I know your type – you are a cheap… I believe the word is gold-digger. And I will do everything I can to help Edward see you for what you are.’

I gasped. ‘How dare you? You’ve got no idea of what I have… had with Edward.’

‘It isn’t difficult to work out,’ she sneered. ‘I may have only known
Edward two weeks but we have become close, and one thing’s clear: he is far too much of a gentleman to shake you off as quickly as he should. I mean…’She eyed me up and down. ‘
You
, living in his ancestral home?’ She sniggered. ‘He is a respected, well-educated man. Tell me, Gemma, who is the deputy prime minister of Great Britain’s shadow cabinet?’

‘Um…’

‘Name the author of The Canterbury Tales.’

My cheeks reddened.

‘When did the Cold War end? How old was Van Gogh when he died?’

Unable to say a word, I swallowed hard.

‘See? You don’t even know the basics of life.’ Her nose wrinkled into a sneer. ‘At least your conscience did the right thing in the end, and you haven’t tried to instigate a reunion.’

Mouth open, I stood there, in shock. How dare she accuse me of being after Edward for his money?

‘You should watch
Million Dollar Mansion
on YouTube to get a better understanding of our relationship,’ I said, voice trembling.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘A reality show? I don’t think so.’

‘The Croxleys had no money, anyway, at the start…’

‘But you helped them win a million dollars,
non
? No doubt you are also helping them spend it.’ She shook her head and slid the laptop in front of her. ‘And for your information, Pierre often lends me this machine. I have no computer in my flat. We have known each other for several years and he lets me drop in to use it whenever I want, to search on the internet or send emails. He likes and trusts me. Edward does too.’

The kitchen swing doors banged shut as Cindy had just walked through. Fists curled, I headed for a table by the window, leaving my American friend to make the drinks.

Monique would regret crossing me. I was a trained agent, with friends in high places and… and… gadgets. Perhaps I’d attack her with my blue-staining pepper spray, minutes before she was due to go on stage.

However, I couldn’t concentrate on her smug face for long as something niggled the back of my mind. About Monique. About the laptop. Oh my God! Of course! She had access to it. Monique could be mystery person behind the MiddleWin Mort plot!

With her arty farty interests, and floaty clothes, I wondered whether she was really the type. But then I guess there was no “type” when it came to terror. Glamorous Octopussy was one of the greatest female Bond villains. Hmm. I would have to try to work out Monique’s password and hack her inbox. How I’d hate having to spend one second more than necessary thinking about that woman. A feeling that intensified, when I left work, only to hear her telling Pierre, in a loud voice, that Edward was meeting her after tonight’s theatre performance for an intimate late supper. Her plan was to cheer him up on Valentine’s Day. Urgh.

For comfort, back at home, I went into The Golden Croissant. Mustn’t let this love stuff deter me from helping Joe. I smiled at the unflappable lady who worked behind the counter. She knew me by now and was always very patient with my stuttery French. The shop was just about to close and luckily they still had a baguette left. Plus a few Valentine’s pastries – business had clearly been brisk today. On a whim I purchased the last couple of small chocolate tortes, decorated with red icing roses.

Yum. A sugar kick. That was what I needed before a night on the laptop. With a wave to the assistant, I went to stick the baguette under my arm, and pick up the bag of cakes, when someone behind me cleared their throat. I turned around to face a smartly-dressed woman who stood there with a small suitcase, an umbrella over her arm and military-standard polished shoes.

‘What’s all this poppycock about you and Edward breaking up?’ asked a grey-haired woman with pearls and a fierce dinner lady stare.

How…? Why…? Open-mouthed I gaped, as her face softened. All the way from England, it was Lady C. Risking a telling-off for being emotional in public, I threw myself into her arms.

Chapter 13

In awe, I stood in front of the deep, sunlit water, admiring its gorgeous rich shades of navy, purple and green. Perhaps if I dived in, headfirst, the thoughts bustling around in my head would disappear, for just one second – along with the intermittent images of hot Edward, determined Joe and a questioning Lady C.

Trouble was, if I dived against it, I’d probably be marched off to jail for vandalising one of Monet’s greatest works. I sat down on a bench, in the long, open room. Just one of these paintings could have covered the length of Chez Dubois. Hypnotised by the reflective effect of the colours, I admired the delicate brushstrokes of the pink water lilies.

‘Edward would probably have enjoyed this visit,’ said Lady C as she sat down next to me, in the Orangerie museum. After an early night, we’d got up early to visit Monet’s huge waterlily masterpieces.

‘No he wouldn’t,’ I muttered. ‘Monet is what he’d call “chocolate box art”. Edward’s into all that contemporary stuff – you know, unmade beds, pickled sharks…’

Lady C pulled a face and repositioned herself on the bench. Her wrinkles disappeared as her forehead smoothed out and she relaxed.

‘Amazin’ aren’t they?’ I said, brightly. ‘I might make this a regular trip out.’ Last night I’d managed to avoid an in-depth discussion about me and Edward. But today Lady C was less tired and her chin looked determined.

She glanced sideways at me. ‘You can’t change the subject forever, dear. I didn’t delay my trip to Zurich for a sight-seeing tour here – pleasant as Paris is.’ She wiped her nose with a hanky. ‘Such a shock, it was, Edward simply leaving a phone message, to say that the two of you had broken up.’

‘If he’s anything like me, his head has probably been all over the place… He can’t have been thinking straight,’ I said, hoping this was true, despite Edward’s calm demeanour since our split. My stomach twisted as I imagined the old earl upset, which usually meant him fiddling with his pipe and mumbling under his breath. How I was going to miss all the mates I’d made at Applebridge Hall. ‘Abbey and Zak seem to have settled in Greece okay – how long does this latest voluntary stint of theirs last?’

‘I’m can’t remember but Zak’s charity organisation is keen to help for as long as it takes, due to the country’s dire economic situation and certain pockets of poverty…’ She shook her head. ‘Applebridge is awfully quiet without last year’s television crews and you youngsters around.’

We stood up, turned around and moved to a bench opposite, to view another huge panel.
Sacre bleu
! as JC would say. Fantastic. I’d have to buy some postcards on the way out.

‘So, let me get this straight, dear – if you don’t mind me discussing something so personal with you… Your split with Edward is definite? What on earth brought it about?’ Lady C rummaged around in her Margaret Thatcher handbag and eventually pulled out a tube of mints.

‘I thought it was impolite to eat in public?’ I said and smiled, thinking back to the strict training on social etiquette that she’d given me last year.

Lady C patted my knee. ‘Mints don’t count, dear.’ She raised one eyebrow, waiting for the answer to her question.

‘It’s just… you see…’ I sighed and gazed once again at the richly coloured canvasses.

Eventually Lady C cleared her throat. ‘Are you ready to go? I don’t want to disturb people with our chat. It’s a lovely day – shall we go for a stroll outside and head for the Tuileries Garden? Then you can explain to me exactly what’s been going on.’

We stood up and I slipped my arm into hers. After a quick stop in the museum’s gift shop, we went out into the crisp air, thawed slightly by the winter sun, Lady C pulling her small suitcase on wheels, regardless of my offer to help. The garden, at the foot of the Champs-Elysées, was mega pretty, with lines of trees, vendors selling snacks, statues and benches.