From Paris With Love (16 page)

Comfortable in silence, we strolled as small children ran past whooping. My evening shift at Chez Dubois didn’t begin until five o’clock, so we’d have time for lunch. Lady C had booked her flight to Zurich for three which meant she’d arrive there for a late tea.

I squeezed her arm as we approached a circular lake. ‘Thanks for changing your travel plans to see me but honestly – Edward and me are okay. The break-up was inevitable.’

Lady C pointed to a green, metal bench and we sat down by a large pond, this time staring at real water. I tightened my scarf.

‘Inevitable?’ Lady C shook her head. ‘Surely not?’

‘Trust me – as I explained to Edward, I grew up watching the tortuous process of Auntie Jan in denial, hooking up with yet another bloke who didn’t suit her – then sticking with him for as long as possible, cos she didn’t want to be on her own. After each break-up she’d hole herself up in her flat for a month or two, only going out for work – spending every evening and weekend stuffing her mouth with chocolate and drinking boxed wine as if a meteor was heading for earth. When she finally surfaced another loser would come along – cue the crash diet, declarations that he was The One…’ I pursed my lips. ‘I always swore I would never be like that. I’d rather cut my losses now. Living in Paris has only emphasised everything that is different about me and Edward. I should have seen it before. Better we find out sooner, rather than later.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You think he’s more suited to this Monique woman?’

My top lip curled. ‘She’s a right bitch,’ I muttered.

‘Gemma! After everything I taught you last year, please tell me you don’t still use such language!’

I couldn’t help grinning. ‘Soz, Lady C, but she is.’

‘Well, I doubt she comes close to you, dear Gemma. I know very few young women with your determination and loyalty.’

‘Whatever. Thanks, but it’s over,’ I repeated. ‘I appreciate the kind words, but please, just accept that.’

Her mouth down-turned. ‘All right, well, seeing as you are adamant, I may as well tell you… I couldn’t sleep last night so, rather late, I rang Edward – he’d just got in from some fondue restaurant he’d been to with Monique.’

‘Really?’ I said, struggling not to show an interest.

She paused. ‘There appears to be no question, in his mind, that your relationship is over. Monique seems to have convinced him that you must have had doubts about the whole thing before leaving England. He said that makes sense and now wishes you’d said something earlier.’

‘
Merde
! She’s such a meddler.’

Cue fierce dinner lady stare. ‘Don’t forget, my understanding of French is excellent.’

My cheeks burned. ‘Sorry. It’s just, I
never
doubted him, or our love, back in England. But if that’s what he believes, well…’ I added steel to my voice. ‘It’s definitely for the best that we’ve broken up. Did he say anything else?’ I said, hating myself for asking.

‘It’s obvious he’s still very fond of you. But Edward said he’d known you long enough to realise you rarely change your mind, once it’s made up.’

Hmm, fair comment. No one in my family could ever be called indecisive, which had meant a lot of arguments growing up, with our individual firm views over which football team was the best or who should have won Britain’s Got Talent. Although once I was mad on a bloke called Dave… He was a right player and, when I started asking questions about other women, dumped me like an empty takeaway pizza box. In my head, I knew that this was deffo for the best. Yet I let my heart lead my emotions and kept texting him, pleading with him to come back – just like Auntie Jan would have.

That helped me learn my lesson with Edward… Despite a tiny voice in my head willing me to reconcile with him, I knew us being apart was right. I’d managed to listen to my head and retain my dignity. There’d been no obsessive, bonkers behaviour due to me wrongly listening to my heart instead.

‘Oh, and the editor of Country Aspirations is thrilled with a couple of pieces he’s emailed them, about Paris. This trip really seems to have focused his mind about planning a career separate from managing an aristocratic estate. Not that he has to, of course. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he took a journalism course through the Open University and ended up being a travel writer. He sounded awfully enthused.’

Edward? Already planning a future without me? See. I wasn’t bothered at all. My eyes were only watery because of the cold weather. I sniffed – oops, Lady C wouldn’t like that. I really had forgotten a lot of my finishing school training.

I gave her a quick hug and put on a bright voice. ‘And I wish him a great future too. I… hope you don’t think this was a wasted journey. It’s been brill to see you again. Thank so much for making this detour.’

Her eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘It wasn’t a totally selfless act. Paris is an enchanting city and… Applebridge Hall hasn’t felt the same without your laughter and jokes. I’ve missed our chats – and Kathleen misses someone to try out her new cakes.’

My chest glowed. ‘I’ve missed all the goss, so tell me…’ I winked, ‘…are you and the earl still going great guns? Please tell me he’s become less of a gentleman and taken that pipe out of his mouth long enough to give you a naughty snog!’

‘Don’t be so vulgar!’ Her cheeks tinged pink but she caught my eye and we both giggled.

‘Okay, okay…’ I got to my feet and pulled her up. ‘Why don’t we find somewhere for lunch, and the rule is – no more chat about Edward. You can tell me all about the progress at Applebridge Hall.’

‘Gemma, you’ve only been away two weeks!’

True – but it felt like a lifetime since I’d boarded the aeroplane at Gatwick.

‘I miss the wonderful smells from Kathleen’s kitchen and walking around the estate on a clear morning…’ My voice cracked. ‘Guess I’d better get used to that as now I won’t be moving back.’

I took a deep breath. There was no point being in the doldrums. I wasn’t going to ruin a lovely lunch out with Lady C by whimpering over my love life. In fact, I could do with asking her advice about all this spying stuff, but kept telling myself that Joe would go mad and it would put Lady C in danger. Still…

‘What do you fancy to eat – traditional French, um, Turkish or…’ I grinned. ‘A McDonalds?’

Needless to say, the last offer was not an option. Lady C insisted on treating me to a civilised lunch of salad and a caramel mousse, in a restaurant along the Champs-Elysées. We made the short underground ride to the foot of the famous boulevard, me taking charge of Lady C’s small pull-along suitcase. I gaped as we walked along the massive avenue, passing glossy perfume stores and car showrooms – nowhere in Paris was a starker contrast between the haves and the have-nots, with homeless people sitting on the pavement, behind scrawled cards asking for change.

Funny thing – I could have sworn I saw John Smith staring into the window of a fancy jewellery store, although a lot of Parisians in this district were in suits. In fact our lunch table was right by the window, and I could have sat all day, watching designer-clad men and woman strut past, with their Gucci sunglasses and Louis Vuitton bags. Unlike the struggling aristocrats I’d met back in England, wealth and money oozed out of these pedestrians’ pores. My eyes were transfixed, from their immaculately styled hair down to their quality, polished shoes.

Sure enough, Lady C filled me in on all the goings-on. Dennis Smith, who’d been advising the Croxley family on how to develop the food academy, had suggested turning part of the forest, at the top of the estate, into a large vegetable garden. What’s more, Abbey’s brother Rupert, the rightful heir to Applebridge, had come up with a fab idea – when he graduates from university, in the summer, and becomes much more involved in the running of the family estate, he thinks the Croxleys should look into producing cider from the apple orchards.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you to the airport?’ I said to Lady C, as we eventually walked off lunch and stopped outside the Métro station that would take her to Charles de Gaulle airport. I fiddled with my watch. Would it really hurt to tell her all about the supposed MiddleWin Mort plot?

‘François Mitterrand was in his seventies when he was President of France. Therefore I think I can manage a couple of stops on the underground…’ She smiled. ‘But thank you for offering, dear. Now… do try to enjoy the remainder of your time here.’

We hugged tightly and with an odd feeling of homesickness I watched her walk away. I mean, she was Abbey’s aunt, not mine, plus I’d only known her a few months… But then we’d been through a lot on last autumn’s reality show.

Determined to keep my spirits high, I forced myself to hum as I went off to do another spot of window-shopping and took photos on my phone of the now distant Arc de Triomphe. Then I walked all the way down to the Tuileries Garden, away from the hooting traffic and chattering bystanders. I glanced at my watch and reluctantly prepared to descend into the underground, away from the last rays of sun and blue sky when – oh no! An arm wrapped around my neck and held tight.

Acting on instinct, I sunk my teeth into it, at the same time stamping hard on the feet behind mine. The person let go. I swung around, amazed that passing people were so intent on catching their trains, that they didn’t even notice my scary situation.

‘Joe! I should have known!’ I said, heart racing.

Gently he took me by the elbow and led me around the side of the underground entrance, to a quiet corner.

‘It’s two weeks since your training in the bunker,’ he muttered. ‘Just wanted to check you still had that feistiness. Your ability to defend yourself is paramount.’

‘You sure know how to show a girl a good time…’

His maple-syrup eyes shone. ‘Now you know why I’m single.’

‘Absolutely!’ I said and managed a smile. ‘Honestly, this is getting comical – you springing out of nowhere, jumping me where possible… Less James Bond and more Austin Powers… I thought I saw John earlier – window-shopping up the Champs- Elysées.. Don’t tell me –you two are “checking out leads”… ?’

‘John
is
in this district – he should have been following someone. Right. I’m off.’

‘Was that it?’

He shrugged. ‘Yep. When you texted me last night to say you’d seen Monique use the laptop, you mentioned a visit to this area today. Seeing as I was in the vicinity, it was an extra challenge to track you down and test out your reflexes. Right. I’ll be in touch. Tell me when you’ve cracked the actress’ password.’ He went to put on his sunglasses.

But my eyes narrowed and I grabbed his arm, still not used to how… how solid he was. I brushed my thumb against his neck. Despite the tan I could see bruising emerging under the skin.

‘Bad day at the office?’ I said.

‘Something like that.’

Now my chest tightened at how I’d called him comical. This was a reminder that Joe – and I – were carrying out risky, important work.

‘You, um, take care,’ I said, as he lifted the sunglasses to his face again.

‘Always do. You should have seen the other guy,’ he said, and with that clichéd response, disappeared.

I hurried back to the underground, to get to work, remembering my text to Joe pretty late last night. Hmm, Monique was my only lead at the moment – who, with her ballet steps and floaty dresses, I didn’t credit with being capable of arranging an assassination plot. Apart from anything else, she was too busy trying to ensnare Edward. But if it wasn’t her, then I was at a dead end, my investigations were stuffed. Unless Pierre regularly let anyone else borrow the laptop.

I bit my lip, sorely tempted again to tell Lady C all about the suspected MiddleWin Mort plot. Could it really hurt? After all, she’d been in on my plan last year to disguise myself as Abbey and had managed to keep schtum. She was trustworthy, and a royalist who might come up with other ways I could investigate.

Bum on seat, in the train, I took out my phone and stared at it for a second. Joe would never know. Plus, I wouldn’t be compromising Lady C’s safety as she’d soon be in Switzerland, one of the most neutral, safe countries on the planet. Mind you, Bond’s
On Her Majesty’s Secret Service
was set against the Swiss Alps…

I breathed in deeply and with a determined air, selected her number. Then I started texting so that no one else in the carriage could get wind of the top-secret information I was about to share.

Chapter 14

Chilling in my cosy flat, on the sofa, I stared at my phone. Wow. I never saw that coming. Monique’s email box revealed it was her – she’s the secret assassin! Her codename is Malvina and she’d been recruited by the Russian secret service, whilst staying with her boyfriend from the Bolshoi Ballet…

*Chuckle*. Okay, so I’m messing with your heads. In any event, all that KGB stuff is a bit old hat – like in the Bond film
From Russia With Love
.

Mind you, having watched that film a zillion times with Dad, I’d be happy to compare Monique to its evil female villain, feared Colonel Rosa Klebb, who used a cool shoe blade to kill and maim. Except Monique’s most aggressive physical move was probably a very quick ballet
pas de deux
or
grand jeté
– and the sooner I proved that, the quicker I’d move on to finding out who was really threatening the royals. Hmm. I’d name that movie From
Paris
With Love instead.

Monique was clearly ruthless when it came to pursuing love, but did that make her a clinical, logical, unemotional assassin?
Please
. I picked up my café au lait, from the glass coffee table, having enjoyed a swirled raisin custard Danish as a snack. And no, in the end, I didn’t let Lady C in on my mission – when it came to it, I just couldn’t endanger her life. I needed to embrace that stiff upper lip that my newly-made aristocratic pals talked of. So, instead I’d texted how great it was to see her and that I’d want to hear all about her stay in Zurich. I ended the message with six kisses. Refined Lady C didn’t seem to mind grand displays of affection that weren’t public.

I took a large gulp, hoping the caffeine would sharpen my brain. It was proving impossible to crack Monique’s password and I only had a couple of hours before my evening shift started at Chez Dubois. Perhaps I’d tapped in the most common passwords Joe had taught me, incorrectly… I put my coffee down.