From Paris With Love (18 page)

‘I’m sensing a broken heart –
non
?’ He stared intently at me, whilst fiddling with one of his bangles.

‘Er, look, um, nice to meet you, but my shift’s up and I’m sure your table must be wondering where you are…’

‘Ah, ze English – too uptight to talk about what counts.’

‘Do you analyse everyone according to stereotypes?’ I said. ‘Well let me give it a go. I bet you own a beret.’

‘
Oui
!’

‘Love onion and garlic.’

‘Of course. I am also a fantastic lover… You see? The stereotypes are actually true…’ His inky eyes glowed. ‘Apart from the beret. I lied about that.’

I giggled. What was also true was that French accents were incredibly hot.

‘Have you lived in Paris long?’ he said, in those husky tones.

‘No. I’m only here for a month and still dying for a good shopping spree.’

‘
Oui
? Well look…’ He shrugged. ‘Tomorrow morning I’m going to the famous flea market in Porte de Clignancourt. The jewellery and leather stalls there are
superbe
. Tag along if you like.’

Blimey, he didn’t mess about.

‘Thanks, but, um…’ I fingered my jacket buttons. ‘I’ve just split up with someone and I’m not ready to–’

‘What is it with you
Anglais
?’ He shook the spiky fringe out of his face. ‘I am proposing a trip out – not a life together. No confetti. No wedding cake, I promise…’ His wide mouth curved into a smile.

‘Oh, erm…’

‘And we’ll meet in public, so you’ll be safe… Well, as safe as any
belle
woman is with in my company.’ His eyes shone.

‘Um–’

‘I’ll take that as English for “
oui
”,’ he said and turned up the collar of his leather jacket.’ Meet me outside at the Porte de Clignancourt underground station at, what shall we say…?’

‘Ten o’clock?’ I replied, in a daze. Was this really happening?

‘Agreed.
Bon
, I must return to my actress friend Monique – she celebrates the end of her last show.’

Before I knew it, a loud groan escaped my lips.

‘Problem?’ Blade’s brow furrowed.

‘Me and Monique… There’s a bit of history there.’

‘Good thing she isn’t invited tomorrow then.’ He smiled. ‘You will still turn up and wait, if I am late after drinking tonight?’

‘Yeah. Don’t worry. I won’t abandon you, all Cinderella-like, leaving nothing but my shoe on the underground steps, as a clue that I’d been there. That would be plain rude – and my trainers aren’t at their most fragrant after two weeks of wearing them in here.’

With another hearty laugh, Blade gave a small bow. ‘Clearly you see me as some Prince Charming – I’m flattered, Gemma. But then I was always one to stand out…’ And he gave a swish of his arm, as if to say “look at my outfit, my make-up, my hair”.

‘Your looks must get you a lot of attention,’ I said.

Blade shrugged. ‘I’m used to it. At high school I was known as the gothic kid.’

My eyes scanned the thick eyeliner and star on his face and I wondered what he looked like without it.

‘Sorry, I’m not very rock ‘n’ roll, in my chef’s coat. Or out of it even. What I mean is…’ My cheeks flushed.

Blade’s mouth twitched. Then his face grew serious. ‘So, Gemma… Tell me, this man, your broken heart…’

‘He’s… He’s called Edward – and works here too.’

‘Ah…’ He nodded. ‘I met him tonight, when I picked Moni up – we had quite a chat. Nice man.’

‘He is. Very nice,’ I murmured. ‘But this is the best outcome, in the long run – we had nothing in common.’

‘Does that matter?’ he said softly.

I shook myself. How come I was bearing my soul to this virtual stranger? He caught my gaze and my shoulders relaxed. There was something totally irresistible about him. ‘Yes, it matters. After a while. Once the initial attraction wears off…’

‘So that’s what happened – you didn’t… how do you English say:
fancy
him anymore?’

‘Not at all! I do – did – but…It’s complicated…’

‘All the best relationships are,’ he said and squeezed my shoulder. Fizzy tingles ran up and down my arm. What was that all about?

‘
Bon
, see you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Ten o’clock. I’ll be the handsome man in black…’

Before I could answer, he chuckled and, confidence oozing from his laidback gait, returned to Monique’s table.

Talk about cocky, I thought and went back into the kitchen. But my mouth upturned and my step felt light.

‘
Oh là là
, Pudding – you look like you’ve purchased cheap cod roe caviar and actually been given eggs from beluga sturgeon…’ said JC. ‘Now, chicken livers – ze verdict,
s’il vous plait
?’

‘Pierre is very happy. Well done, JC.’

‘Pah…’ He shook his knife, but his hooded eyes twinkled. ‘
Bon
. Now, just a quick favour – peel and slice thirty bananas for me, before leaving…’

‘We’re to make
Banane tarte tatin
,’ said Cindy, kneading pastry on the silver worktop. ‘They are super-quick to make. Pierre is doing one of his late Saturday night runs to the homeless shelter. We had these fruits left over from the last night’s chocolate banana crêpes. I don’t mind staying a bit later.’ She glanced at me. ‘But JC has a doggone point – what’s with you, honey? You look like Sleeping Beauty after she’s just been kissed awake.’

‘Nothing!’ I said and hurried to the pantry to collect the bananas. But when I returned her eyes had narrowed.

‘Spill!’ she said. ‘Either now or I’ll make you get up early and meet me for a coffee, tomorrow morning.’

‘Um, I can’t…’ A peeled banana slipped out of my fingers and almost dropped on the floor. ‘I’m going to the flea market with someone.’

‘Who’s that?’ Cindy wiped her brow and reached for a pastry cutter. JC was shouting at one of the kitchenhands and the swing doors flapped open and shut, as empty dessert plates came back.

I concentrated hard on peeling bananas. ‘It’s just some guy – he’s called Blade.’

‘That’s a purtee name for a man, if ever I heard one! How long have you known him?’

‘About five minutes – he’s part of Monique’s table.’

‘Five minutes?’ Cindy put down the pastry cutter.

‘He seemed really nice!’ I said. ‘And I’ve made it quite clear I’m not interested in any funny stuff. He’s friends with Monique, so it’s not like he’s a complete stranger. Not an axe murderer, or anything…’

I swallowed hard, realising what I’d just said. No – but Blade could be a cold-hearted assassin. I hadn’t considered that he could be a comrade-in-arms with Monique. So, in actual fact, this day out could be a great way to find out more about the actress. Plus I’d take my blue-stain pepper spray in my handbag which had that button to summon Joe on the bottom, just in case. And perhaps I should try and get a photo of him to send to Joe, before tomorrow.

‘Um… In actual fact, he asked me to personally take a coffee to the table, before I leave, so I won’t be a minute.’

Darting a quick look at JC, who was swearing at a cut on his hand, I scarpered out of the kitchen and made a quick espresso at the coffee machine. Then I weaved my way between the emptying tables, in the direction of the rockstar. He looked up and smiled.

‘Um, compliments of the management – it’s an honour for Chez Dubois to be visited by such an, um, accomplished singer…’

Monique giggled and it took all my strength not to shoot her a scowl. I put the coffee down and moved a few steps away before I took out my phone and glanced at it. I quickly navigated to the camera facility.

‘Oh dear, um, my phone’s not working, the screen looks funny,’ I said, justifying out loud why I held it up in the air, in the direction of Blade who looked at me and smiled. I took a photo quickly and heard a click. Job done.

‘Veree nice to see you again, Gemma,’ said Anton. ‘Here, I’m good with phones…’

And before I knew it, he’d grabbed my mobile.

I gasped in horror. ‘Er, no Anton, honestly, it’s fine now.’

But he’d already passed it on to snooty Chantale who was obviously interested in seeing how expensive it was. The room went dizzy for a second. What if they realised I’d taken a photo on the quiet? What if Monique, MiddleWin Mort masterplanner, cottoned on that someone suspected her? She might shoot out the restaurant – or go on the run…

No. I was being stupid and could just say I wanted a photo of Blade, a cool rockstar. And luckily I needn’t have worried as, in a flash, Blade stood up and with a piercing look held his hand out to Chantale. She wrinkled her nose and muttered something about it being very
bon marché
– that’s “cheap” to you and me. Blade passed it back to me and my skin zinged as his now gloveless fingers brushed against mine.

‘
Merci
,’ I muttered.

‘Hurry up, Blade,’ said Monique. ‘Remember Ozzy Osbourne is expecting you at his hotel, for a nightcap.’

With a quick smile I headed to the staff room. Once there, I texted Joe and sent him the photo, explaining who Blade was.

You know, it was hard, no longer living with Edward, and I felt concerned about his stomach ache, but Ozzy Osbourne? Oh my God! Tomorrow might offer a day of relief from my broken heart, as I, Gemma Goodwin, was to spend the morning with an exciting musician! I had to text Abbey immediately and tell her about my intriguing new friend!

Chapter 16

In my sensible duffle coat, fave jeans, brown boots and sparkly gloves, it was me who looked out of place at Porte de Clignancourt, not leather-clad Mr Blade Rockstar, with black stars painted on his face. As I emerged from the underground station he was leaning against a nearby wall. Around him teemed such a mish-mash of styles, it would have made the hardest game of “Where’s Wally?”.Moroccan women, draped in black, passed by carrying hessian bags. Tourists searched for bargains alongside local bohemian types, dressed in a mosaic of colours. For once in my life I looked decidedly conservative.

‘
Bonjour
, Gemma,’ said Blade and gave me one of his crooked smiles.

I smiled back. ‘Thought I was never going to get here. I lost count of the number of Métro stops. It’s so far up the underground map…’ I shivered. ‘…but then this could be the North pole…’

I smiled again into those inky eyes and scanned the spiky hair. Today he wore an awesome silver skull necklace and a small charcoal scarf wrapped around his neck.

‘Did you remember to bring coins and notes – no credit cards?’ he said as we headed towards the stallholders.

I nodded and switched the position of my leopard-print handbag, so that the strap went diagonally across my body. Cindy had also warned me about the market’s reputation for pickpockets. My attention was drawn to the rows of exotic stalls which stretched far ahead, and we joined the browsing hordes. The fragrance of spices and scented candles filled my nostrils. Numerous North African and French stallholders worked hard to ensnare any tourist who showed the slightest interest in their wares. I sniffed loudly as we stopped at one aromatic table.

‘Mmm, love joss sticks. My Auntie Jan’s last boyfriend grew up in the Sixties and always had one on the go.’ I took out my purse and bought some jasmine scented ones, plus a small gilt holder.

Now and again, I glanced at Blade, as we walked around. Having never known a rockstar before, he really didn’t live up to the stereotype in my head. There was an air of gentleness about him, like the way he guided me from stall to stall.

‘I can manage on my own, you know,’ I said, as for the umpteenth time he held my elbow and steered me through the throng.

He grinned. ‘Sorry – it comes with my height. I can easily see ze best way ahead.’

We stopped by a stall selling old LP records and second hand books. Blade bought an old copy of
Le Malade Imaginaire
, the play that Monique had recently starred in. My mouth drooped.

‘What is the matter,
ma pucette
?’ he said.

My brow furrowed. ‘
Pucette
?’

His inky eyes sparkled. ‘It is a term of affection here, in France, and most suitable for today’s outing.’

I raise my eyebrows.

‘It means little flea – and here we are at a flea market.’ He chuckled.

‘Thanks very much! How about I call you my old cockroach, then, if we’re talking vermin?’

My chest glowed, as we both laughed.

‘So,
ma pucette
… Why the sad face when I buy this book?’

We moved onto the next stall, covered in a rainbow of silk and linen rolls. A woman wearing a rainforest exotic sari haggled over the price of some burnt orange material. I fingered gossamer soft silk.

‘Not sad, just…’ My shoulders bobbed up and down. ‘That book reminds me of a certain actress. Honestly, what
do
guys like so much about Monique? Edward thought the sun shone out of her….’ I clamped my lips together. Lady C’s fierce dinner lady stare flashed into my mind. And fair enough, the word I’d been about to use was a bit crude.

Blade’s inky eyes flashed with laughter. ‘You really don’t like her?’

I shook my head. ‘Nor trust her. You should be careful.’ I sighed. ‘If it wasn’t for Monique, Edward and me would probably still be together.’

‘But I thought you were adamant – that ze break-up… it was a good thing?’

‘Oh, it is,’ I said and pursed my lips. ‘Definitely. No question. Sure.’

Blade shot me a strange look before we squeezed through a huddle of American tourists, onto the next stall. It sold spices, herbs and condiments. I gazed at fresh ginger, plus cardamom pods, garlic, peppercorns and something called chermoula, a popular Moroccan marinade… Then a jar caught my eye, containing the harissa sauce Hugo had mentioned. It didn’t cost much, so I bought him one, whilst Blade bought a bottle of water from a neighbouring stall.

Well, to be honest, Blade did the talking for me, although the stallholder couldn’t understand him either. In the end I just pointed, whilst Blade passed me a small chunk of a red vegetable to try. Without thinking, I put it in my mouth and almost immediately spat it out, into my hand.

‘Meanie!’ I squeaked and wiped my hand with a tissue. He passed the water and laughed.