From Paris With Love (22 page)

‘That’s where you are wrong. Worms are annelids, actually,’ I said airily, a flash of my Biology GCSE popping into my head. But then I cringed. Also popping up was an image of my brothers doing unspeakable things to insects… Lives, however little, had always been important to me. Dad said I got that from Mum and often recounted stories of her nursing injured hedgehogs and birds.

‘You English worry too much about such things,’ said Monique. ‘Even Edward – last night he grabbed a wooden spoon from my hand, just as I was about to kill a spider.’

Hmm. Monique was definitely hardnosed.

‘They had brooches in the shape of spiders at the flea market I visited with Blade,’ I said and shuddered. ‘Such a cosmopolitan place… People of all nationalities milled around… I guess you have friends in Paris from all corners of the earth?’

I tried to look casual, as she nodded. Well, I needed to know where her pals – or comrades from last night – came from. I’d done my research about terrorists and it would be cause for concern, if her friends were Muslim, Irish, Russian, Tamil, Maoist, Palestinian, from Catalan or… I sighed. Okay, let’s face it. Knowing their nationality wouldn’t help at all, there was probably a long list of countries with reasons for wanting to harm England. But somehow I had to find out more about last night.

‘So… Um…Your, um, life must be really busy if you are out having meetings on a Sunday night.’

‘Oh…
Oui
…’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘It is to do with a… an artistic project I am managing…’ She sighed. ‘It is just as well my next big acting job isn’t for quite a while. I have so much to sort out… many problems… and have even had to pull out of accompanying Edward to Versailles tomorrow. Although I doubt he’s bothered… As I’m sure you know, Edward can be a single-minded man.’ Monique smiled. ‘I can just imagine him as an intrepid explorer, rucksack bulging, camera at the ready, totally focused on the day ahead…’

Mmm, me too. Edward would make a great aristocratic version of Bear Grylls. His strong build and English stiff upper lip would help him survive on the wildest island in the world. I could easily picture him in a wet shirt, wrestling with crocodiles, arms flexing as he lifted branches to construct a den for the protection of everyone else he was with…

‘So this project of yours isn’t going well?’ I asked, forcing myself to banish this very appealing image of Edward from my mind. My stomach scrunched as I hoped her answer would reveal important information.

She shrugged. ‘It could be better. I need to get more people on board, to help…’ She stared into the distance for a moment. ‘Although at this late stage I will need to pick the most resilient and trustworthy to cope with ze training… In fact, I am expecting a call about that any minute…’ She mumbled, as if having forgotten I was around.

‘What about me?’ I said sweetly. ‘Can I help?’

‘What?’ Monique focused on me and shook herself. ‘Um,
merci
– but I need… specialised input.’

As if on cue, her phone rang and whilst she answered it, I pretended to look busy texting into my phone.

‘
Oui
.
Samedi
…
deuxième mars
…’ I heard her mutter into the phone. ‘Football…St Denis…Kate… William…
A la fin revolver
…
en secret
.’

The backyard spun for a moment. And there we had it – in the space of one sentence, clearer than ever before, all the evidence needed to confirm that Monique was masterminding an attack on the royals, a week on Saturday, during the football match at St Denis.

Chapter 19

Blimey. Blade was right – that was the most impressive erection I’d ever seen. I was glad he’d insisted on showing me. I longed to run my fingers up and down its length and leant forward… Ooh, such hardness, such strength…

Which was just as well,if we were going to travel to its top – Blade told me before we arrived that at three hundred and twenty-four metres tall, the Eiffel Tower was even more awe-inspiring close up. Its metal felt cold and smooth and I ran my hand up and down it a few more times, studying the tower’s four giant feet, whilst Blade bought the tickets. We’d agreed I’d pay for us to have something to eat out afterwards – I explained that in English that was called going Dutch.

I gazed around. This really was – as Abbey would say – a “quite charming” part of Paris, with extensive green lawns and benches, surrounded by pretty avenues lined by trees; the perfect setting for such a famous building.

As Blade left the ticket kiosk and headed back to me, several people shot him a strange look. His striking appearance stood out more here than in bohemian Porte de Clignancourt and I loved how he cared not a jot.

In a way it reminded me of the surly Edward I’d first got to know last autumn, before he and I hit it off – stubborn, strong-minded, yet underneath it all, a big heart. My eyes tingled and I couldn’t help thinking that it should have been me and Edward visiting this landmark.

‘Let’s go,
pucette
,’ he said. ‘Prepare to be astounded. You have nothing like this in London.’

Snootily I raised an eyebrow and linked my arm into his. ‘Actually we do – it’s called the Gherkin.’

‘The what?’

‘That’s, um, a really tall building shaped like a
cornichon
.’

Think it unlikely I’d know the French word for a gherkin? Nah, I love McDonalds so of course, one of the first things I checked out, once in Paris, was my favourite burger bar’s menu and they always stick slices of that green pickle in their burgers.

We made our way to one of the lifts, along with a group of secondary school children from London. They were on a trip to commemorate the First World War and I heard the teacher telling another tourist that they’d already visited the River Somme, where the famous battle had taken place.

‘It’s your last chance – would you prefer to walk to the top?’ said Blade as we showed our tickets.

‘No! That, um, would be a waste of money, now that you’ve paid for the lift,’ I said and pulled my ponytail tighter.

‘How money-conscious of you,’ said Blade, eyes twinkling. ‘Your decision has, of course, nothing to do with avoiding the seven hundred and four steps up?’

I giggled. ‘Are you implying I’m lazy?’

Edward would have insisted we go on foot, to get a real sense of the building… I wondered if Monique had brought him here yet. With a small sigh, I entered the lift. Blade followed, brow furrowed.

‘Everything all right?’ he said. ‘You aren’t scared of heights?’

I shook my head and forced a big smile. No point being maudlin. Here I was… in Paris… At the Eiffel Tower. With a cool guy who was great company… What more could a girl want?

A lump formed in my throat as I watched a young couple near us kiss. Blade caught my eye, bent down and I felt his warm lips on my cheek.

‘What was that for?’ I said, my stomach glowing hot.

‘You miss Edward – it is understandable. A few days will not undo feelings created over half a year.’

We stared at each other and… Oh, um, gosh… I felt a sudden urge to kiss him back, on the mouth.

‘I know what a painful break-up is like,’ he said, as the lift doors closed and people around us chatted excitedly in French, German and another language I didn’t recognise.

‘Were you together a long time?’ I asked, telling myself off for feeling a titchy jab of jealousy. I mean, for goodness’ sake, why did the image of Blade with another woman make my voice sound just a little too bright?

‘It seemed like forever,’ he murmured. ‘In a good way.’ He looked down at me and smiled. ‘
Merde
, one is morose today! Come on,
pucette
– let us agree to speak no more today of broken dreams and hearts.’ He ran a finger down my cheek and my body relaxed as if I’d just drunk a fine glass of wine.

‘Okay, my old cockroach,’ I mumbled and a lady nearby shot me a strange look. A bubble of laughter rose in my chest and I sucked in my cheeks, glaring at Blade as a warning not to say anything back or I’d explode.

After what seemed like a century of suppressing laughter, we arrived at the second floor and we got out. I breathed in a sobering gust of Parisian air.

‘There’s a buffet and shops on this second floor,’ said Blade but I kept my head down, determined not to get even a glimpse of the skyline until we were right at the top of the tower. Blade led me over to the final lift and we completed the final part of the ascent. Made it sound like an Everest expedition, didn’t I? But believe me, it was no mean feat squeezing between hordes of people and squashing into that final lift, without having to wait for hours.

Finally we reached the top and Blade grinned at me like Santa on Christmas morning, as we stepped out into the open air area. Some people headed to see a room set up as a replica of the office belonging to the tower’s designer, Gustave Eiffel. Others gazed across Paris from the area protected by a roof, and studied the panoramic maps, trying to avoid the spit-spotting rain. But despite the dark clouds that had now gathered, I wanted to feel the wind in my hair, wanted to hear the distant hooting of car horns and imagine how it must have felt to build this awesome building. Finally I gazed across the City of Light. Wow.

Blade zipped up his black leather coat. ‘Impressive,
non
?’ he said. ‘The perfect viewpoint.’

Unable to utter a single word, I moved my head up and down. Although my mind screamed superlative words like mega amazin’, wicked, aweeeeeesome. I studied the horizon… I loved the higgeldy piggeldy clusters of beige and yellow buildings, topped with grey roofs. I pointed ahead, to the distance. ‘What’s that?’ I stared at a conspicuous group of skyscrapers, huddled together like a mini Manhattan, in the background. They had little in common with the historic architecture around them.

‘
La Défense
,’ said Blade and blew on his hands. ‘Business towers built to look super-modern.’

There were various viewpoints and I wasn’t happy until I’d spotted the Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre, Notre Dame and the Seine river… However, the most beautiful sight, by far, was the Sacre-Coeur nestling on a distant hillside.

‘It looks so peaceful and majestic,’ I said in a soft voice. The church looked totally disconnected from the jumble of roofs, chimneys and aerials across the busy city. Its soft curves contrasted the straight edges of the other buildings. I screwed up my eyes but would have needed a mega powerful telescope to spot Montmartre and Chez Dubois.

‘I’m determined to take a series of shots, through a three hundred and sixty degree turn, so that I can frame them side by side back home, and have a truly panoramic shot of Paris,’ I rambled, fiddling with the zoom button on my mobile phone. I looked up. Blade stared at me.

‘What?’

‘Your enthusiasm… It is infectious,’ he said. ‘But all these photos, yet you miss the most beautiful shot.’

My brow furrowed. ‘What’s that?’

He took my phone and stretched out his arm to take a photo of me.

‘Oh… Um…’ I gave a goofish grin. It had been a cheesy line but somehow Blade carried it off. In his line of work, Blade must have dated loads of glamorous models and singers. My stomach twisted as I wondered if he’d ever dated
her
.

Blade gave back my phone and slipped an arm around my shoulders.

‘Just trying to keep warm,’ he said, spiky black hair shifting in the wind. Even in my high heel ankle boots, he was way taller than me.

‘Fancy a glass of the expensive stuff? My treat?’ He jerked his head towards the nearby champagne bar. People stood outside, wrapped in beanies and scarves, sipping white or pink fizz.

I noticed a tear on Blade’s jacket – the scuffed toes of his boots. Money must be tight if you were in a band striving to gain a reputation.

I shivered. ‘How about that meal I promised you, instead, with a steaming cup of coffee?’

And with a deep sigh of pleasure I was sipping cappuccino, about an hour later, in a cosy café, not far from the tower. We’d ordered two
Croque Monsieurs
, (toasted sandwiches) and a side plate of chips to share.

‘Mmm,’ I closed my eyes as the melted cheese and ham squidged inside my mouth. They opened in response to a hearty chuckle.

‘Anyone would think you’d climbed to the top of the tower on foot,’ said Blade. ‘Didn’t you eat breakfast?’

Cheeks flushed, I gazed at my plate – Blade still had one half of his sandwich left. I’d just swallowed my last mouthful.

His hand grabbed mine and he squeezed my fingers. ‘It gives me enormous pleasure to dine with a woman who enjoys food.’

‘So, it’s true, what they say about French women – small plates and perfect thighs?’

‘Perfection is overrated,’ he said, eyes shining. ‘Unless we’re talking about me.’

‘Listen to you!’ I said and we both laughed. I popped a chip into my mouth. ‘Although your whole image looks carefully thought out. That eyeliner must take you ages to apply each morning.’

Blade squirmed. ‘Not after all these years.’

‘Do you remove it at night?’

He raised a mischievous eyebrow. ‘Would you like to find out?’

‘In your dreams!’ Vigorously I stirred my coffee, ignoring the naughty voice in my head that whispered “perhaps, one day”. ‘I meant to ask – when do you next tour? One of my friends is into heavy metal – I bet he’d love to see you live. He hasn’t heard of Black Bijou.’

‘Most people haven’t,’ said Blade and wiped his mouth with a napkin. ‘Glam heavy metal is quite specialised. You’d have to be a real fan to…’

‘He’s a massive fan,’ I said.

Blade squared his shoulders. ‘Is this friend from England?’

I nodded.

‘Ah, well, that’s probably why.’

‘No – Joe travels the world and knows of heavy metal bands in Japan, Germany… Not that I’m saying Black Bijou isn’t… I mean…’ Uh oh. Hope I hadn’t offended him.

‘Sounds like you discussed me at length,’ said Blade. ‘I should be flattered.’

I forced a laugh. ‘Not really… Joe, he’s… um, always been a bit protective of me – especially when it comes to men.’

You know when a dog sees a cat and its hackles rise? That’s exactly what Blade did.