From Paris With Love (30 page)

‘Your turn now, Pudding!’ he ordered in his thick French accent.

I glanced at his black and white chequered trousers now splattered with specks of blood. Palms sweaty (sorry, Lady C, I mean
perspiring
), I grasped the hammer – okay, really, it was meat mallet. We were preparing steaks for marinating and JC was venting his frustration. This Brun bloke managed JC’s favourite football team, and at the weekend they’d lost four nil.

I preferred to think of the flesh as belonging to Monique. With gusto I brought down the mallet. Ouch! I missed and hit my thumb that held the steak in position.

JC chuckled and headed back to his workstation. ‘
Sacre bleu
! We’ll be marinating your hand at this rate!’

With a wry smile, I concentrated hard and started again. It was early morning. My last Monday in Paris. A sinking feeling was just prevented by Cindy floating in with a soppy, loved-up expression on her face.

‘Enjoy last night?’ I asked as she tucked the last strands of peroxide hair into her white skull cap. ‘Even though Joe had to leave early?’

‘You bet your bottom dollar I did – even more so because of that!’ she drawled. ‘Nothing turns me on more than a man who has his own life.’ Cindy took out her set of knives.

I carried on tenderising the meat. She and Joe made such a perfect match.

‘Did you swap phone numbers?’ I asked. ‘So that you can contact each other once I’ve gone?’

‘Nah… I mean…’ She avoided my eye. ‘When I suggested it, Joe hesitated. But that’s no big deal – I don’t want a heavy commitment, right?’

I whacked the steak again, this time thinking of stubborn Joe. Honestly, I’d have words with him this afternoon. Giving someone your phone number was hardly a proposal of marriage. He really was out of touch – almost as if he didn’t think women could be as independent and commitment-phobic as some men. Although to be fair to Joe, he struck me as someone who saw very few differences between the two sexes. Certainly during training, back at the bunker, Joe didn’t hold back and expected me to be just as capable as any male agent.

However, he was still an inflexible so-and-so, refusing to let me confront Monique. He was picking me up from work today, in order to persuade me not to visit her or do anything stupid.

More gently, I struck the meat again and JC came back over. He picked the steak up and examined it.

‘
Bon
, now we make ze cinnamon and paprika marinade.’

Cindy headed off to the pantry to fetch loads of eggs for the floating island desserts on the menu today. A couple of kitchenhands busily chopped veg. JC lowered his voice. ‘You know, Pudding, preparing steak in this way is a bit like moving onto a new relationship.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘What – each break-up involves gore and violence?’

‘
Non
. But when we split up from someone we have loved… Like this meat, we’ll end up bruised,
non
? In order to find somezing special again (like ze completed dish) we need to treat ourselves kindly for a while – like we do when we leave ze meat in a marinade…’

My brow furrowed. ‘Um, sorry, JC, you’ve lost me with all the food analogies…’

He harrumphed – sort of a cross between a snort and a cough. ‘Word spreads quickly here – I have heard about your rockstar boyfriend.’

‘
Boyfriend
? Hardly – we are just friends…’ I said, cheeks hot.

‘Really?’ He paused. ‘Whatever you say, Pudding – but just remember, after splitting from Edward, you are a leetle wounded. Don’t hurry into something new without a bit of time to nurture yourself.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It is advice from my grandmother who was an excellent chef, and helped me over my very first break-up when a girl in ze year above me at school broke my heart.’

Aw, that was so sweet!

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘And don’t worry – I’m… I’m trying really hard not to rush into another relationship.’

The doors swung open and Hugo caught the end of that sentence. ‘Oh là là! Has JC gone into advice mode?’

Eyes twinkling, JC swore at the head waiter.

‘You should be flattered, Gemma,’ continued Hugo. ‘It is a sign that he likes you. It was
months
before he gave me any guidance and that was only to recommend a good shoe polish.’

Both men chuckled.

‘Has he given you any of his secret chocolate stash yet?’

‘
Zut
, does everyone know about that?’ said JC and rolled his eyes in mock disapproval.

‘What chocolate?’ said Cindy, coming back from the pantry.

‘Nothing you need to know about,’ said JC, ‘as due to your admirable self-reliance, you never require it.’

‘You better believe it,’ she said in a bright voice and set down the big carton of eggs. However, her face quickly fell. I may have only known Cindy for a few weeks, but guessed that her obsession with eternal independence was bravado. Didn’t everyone, man or woman, deep down, long to find a mate for life?

Thirty steaks and twenty-three floating islands later, I was ready to leave. Edward had tried to collar me to discuss something, but I didn’t have time after my shift as Joe was waiting for me. With a wave to Pierre, who was enjoying a well-earned cappuccino with Hugo, I pushed open the door and headed straight for the BMW waiting by the pavement.

‘Nice dress,’ said Joe as I got in the back next to him.A pungent whiff of aftershave told me John was driving. I wore the cherry red dress I’d flown over to Paris in.

‘Thought I’d better make an effort, seeing as you are taking me out to lunch. It won’t work, though – I’ve still got every intention of confronting Monique.’

Joe shifted uncomfortably and stared out of the window. I understood why when, twenty minutes later, the car ground to a halt outside a McDonalds.

‘Sorry,’ he said sheepishly, ‘I thought this type of food was your favourite…’

I giggled. ‘It’s perfect. Honestly, Joe. I was getting withdrawal symptoms. And after working all morning with fine food, a burger and fries will be mega refreshing.’

Joe got out the car and John turned around to stare at me.

‘Have you reconsidered my proposal?’ he said in a low voice.

I shook my head.

‘Your loss, dear.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought you were brighter than that.’

I’d rather be honest than bright, I thought, and followed Joe into the fastfood restaurant. I ordered my usual – a cheeseburger, fries and ice cream. Joe, of course, had one of their salads and a fruit juice.

‘So, do your worst, then,’ I said in between mouthfuls of yummy heaven. ‘Try to persuade me not to interrogate Monique myself. There’s little doubt left in my mind about her guilt, since she’s suddenly agreed to leave the country with Edward, on Sunday.’

Joe wiped his mouth, due to rogue trickle of salad dressing. ‘I dug a bit deeper into Monique’s background, last night. When you first told me you thought she was implicated, I got a junior agent to quickly draw up a profile – without letting him in on our unofficial investigations, of course. He found out that her father went into politics, but as I knew no one with the Masson surname in the French political arena, I didn’t think it a very important detail. However, after my own research last night, I discovered that he is a very high-profile member of the most radical section of the National Front party.’

No wonder Monique always talked politics and had strong opinions, being brought up with a dad like that.

‘He’s called Alain Lemercier and is always on political chat shows. He is very well-known. There is an estrangement between father and daughter – especially since the mother’s suicide, six months ago. That’s no doubt why Monique has taken her mother’s maiden name, Masson, as her own. If her surname was Lemercier, I would have obviously worked out the connection a long time ago.’

‘Suicide? I had no idea.’ Poor Monique. How tragic. Not that I disliked her any less, but I could see how she might have been vulnerable to the criminal life, what with a father she wasn’t talking to, a sister who needed support and mother who took her own life…

‘In all her publicity as an actress, Monique has never mentioned her father. Contacts within the National Front suggest he doesn’t talk of her either. That’s also why the junior agent’s profile didn’t pick up the connection. The party’s stance, naturally, is anti-Europe.’ Joe sipped his juice. ‘They would have a field day with the British Intelligence Service wrongly accusing a French citizen on such flimsy evidence. The case would be all over the papers. The National Front would make sure the story hit the front pages and use it as an example of how supposed loyal ties with European neighbours actually mean very little. The fact that this mission is unofficial wouldn’t matter. Once they found out I worked for MI6, the agency’s reputation would be compromised – Lemercier is ruthless, he’d make sure of that.’

‘But what if we’re right about Monique?’

Joe scrunched up his plastic beaker. ‘We don’t act on “what ifs”.’

I sighed. ‘Okay… Look, perhaps we should at least get closer to the actress. Give it one last shot, trying to find out something?’

‘You have a plan?’ said Joe.

‘A simple one. Tomorrow night – I’ll invite Edward and Monique to the flat for dinner. He caught me earlier and wanted to discuss something, anyway. It’ll be my day off, so I have plenty of time to cook. Maybe Blade could come – and, um, Cindy, she might ease conversation as she’s known Monique all these months.’ I said innocently. ‘You’ll join us, of course?’

‘Yep. Even better, I’ll somehow retrieve Monique’s keys and make my excuses to leave early. You keep her and Edward busy whilst I search their flat. This could be our last chance to find something concrete against her.’

Chapter 27

If you looked up the word “Gooseberry” in the dictionary, it would probably say: “globular, prickly fruit”, which was exactly how I felt, sitting around the dining room table in my flat. Unfortunately Blade couldn’t make the meal – something about a songwriting session with Dagger and Stanley. So here I was, the odd one out, playing gooseberry – or as Cindy might say, being a fifth wheel – to the two couples, Edward and Monique, Cindy and Joe.

Globular? Yes, very globe-like compared to skinny Monique. Prickly? Absolutely, every time she giggled with Edward, my hackles rose. Cindy gave me a sympathetic smile. At least there was no sign from Edward that he was completely smitten – no intimate looks between them or holding of hands. Either he was being sensitive to my feelings, or their relationship was going to be one of these slow-burn ones that took a while to take off.

Perhaps I should have made gooseberry crumble, for dessert. Instead I kept the menu French with a couple of dishes I’d learnt at Chez Dubois – namely garlic stuffed chicken with three bean salad, and crème brûlée. I was growing in confidence and surprised even myself with certain skills. I may not have been able to dance the
Nut
cracker, like Monique, but could work up wonders in the kitchen with nuts. Although I’d practised the pudding once this morning, to remind myself how to get the consistency just right. Plus today I had time to investigate John Smith a bit further, on the internet. I tapped in the locations and dates of his recent missions, to see what news items came up.

The results? In Milan, whilst John was there, a fake designer production outlet was closed down, a famous Roman statue was vandalised, a football match-fixing racket was uncovered, a top politician died and the Italian authorities were victorious in regaining ancient Etruscan artefacts that had been looted and shipped overseas. This stash included bronze chokers and figurines – and then some of them went missing again.

In Bangkok, the main news items reported arrests due to child prostitution and drug-dealing. There had been anti-corruption demonstrations resulting in violence, and the Royal Thai Police failed to find out who stole diamonds from a visiting Saudi family, even the jewels eventually turned up in Turkey. Plus a mini hurricane caused the death of one tourist.

Finally in Prague, three people were arrested for arms dealing, explosives were found at the Palestinian embassy, there were leaks of a bribery scandal in the government, the Bohemian Crown Jewels were stolen from Prague Castle – or rather replicas, as the real ones were out on loan, for a private viewing – and areas of the Czech capital badly flooded.

Hmm. Nothing odd had jumped out at me. Tomorrow I would study my findings again.

‘This chicken is delicious,’ said Monique, clearly on her best behaviour. She touched Edward’s arm and he knew instinctively to top up her glass of wine. I bit my lip. Perhaps I’d spoken too soon. Whereas Cindy and Joe… I was ready to give up on the blinkered, MI6 doofus who ignored the American in order to spend the evening pumping an unsuspecting Monique for information. And he looked so cute, in his blue shirt and chinos. What a waste! Plus Cindy was all dressed up to impress. But this matchmaking malarkey wasn’t exactly going to plan.

‘I believe you like talking politics, Monique,’ said Joe.

She pushed away her plate – only half-eaten, of course. ‘Like most French people,
oui
.’

‘Are you socialist? Conservative?’ He put down his knife and fork.

‘Socialist – is there any other party for intelligent, fair-minded people who believe in equality for all?’

‘You won’t approve of our royal family then,’ I chipped in.

‘Honey, I just love that Kate and Wills. As for baby George, now he’s adorable…’ interrupted Cindy and then knocked back the rest of her wine. ‘It wouldn’t be a life for me, though – being forever answerable to my husband’s family. Kate’s “career”, if you like, is already mapped out for her.’

I shrugged. ‘Maybe that’s what she wants.’

‘The royal family’s existence is of no interest to me, either way,’ said Monique.

Joe and I exchanged glances.

‘They are irrelevant to political life,’ she continued. ‘Mere figureheads who have no concept of reality. I feel nothing when I see them, apart from occasionally wishing Catherine would wear something more flamboyant.’

‘That’s a bit harsh, Moni,’ said Edward. ‘The present-day monarchs are more in touch with your average Britain, than ever before. In times of hardship they raise morale, plus are excellent ambassadors for our country.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Clearly you didn’t grow up amongst patriots with a strong sense of national identity.’