From Paris With Love (26 page)

We lifted our heads, the same height, for once – usually he towered over me. He was one of the tallest men I’d ever known.

Greedily, my eyes took in the come-to-bed black spiky hair and sexy thick eyeliner. He couldn’t have been more different to Edward. Yet – without trying – he made me smile. Around Blade I felt good about myself. I swallowed. He lifted his hand and cupped it around my cheek.

‘Oh, Gemma,’ he murmured, in his brilliant English and leant forward. So did I. Our lips practically touched and…

‘Ow!’ I banged my head, having jumped up, following a loud cough from above.

‘You startled me!’ I said to Joe.

Blade stood up and scowled at the MI6 agent.

‘Need to talk to you. In private. Can’t wait any longer.’ he said.

I glared at him. There was no need to be so rude. Although he’d probably done me a favour – on paper, I had even less in common with Blade than Edward. We didn’t come from the same country and I wasn’t a big fan of heavy metal music. I doubt he liked romcom movies and I loved colours whereas he lived in black and white…

‘It’ll have to wait until after we’ve eaten,’ I said to Joe, airily. ‘If I don’t serve up now the meal will be ruined.’ I passed him a box of matches and jerked my head towards the beech table, past the windows. ‘Could you light the candles, please?’

With pursed lips, he headed over to the table.

‘Are all English men so impolite?’ asked Blade and gave one of his crooked smiles. ‘Is Edward the exception? He seems
très
courteous.’

I sighed. ‘Yes. Edward is the perfect gentleman; a really decent bloke.’

Blade stared at me. ‘Is there really no chance,
pucette
, that you two will ever get back together?’

I stared back, heart beating faster again, as I wondered why he asked. Perhaps Blade was as gentlemanly as Edward, and just checking that I was really over my ex-boyfriend, before taking things further.

‘The thing is…’ I shrugged. ‘In my head, there is no chance at all, but in my heart… Part of me will always love Edward.’ I cleared my throat. ‘But I’ve had no second thoughts. He belongs with someone like Monique…’

Blade didn’t answer.

Cindy came over, carrying the perfume bottle.

‘Shall we dish up?’ I said.

She nodded and reluctantly put down the box. Blade carried four warm plates over to the table, whilst Joe collected everyone’s glasses. Within minutes we all sat down and helped ourselves to dinner.

I bit into the cornbread. ‘Wow. Cindy. This is awesome. Love that texture… and it tastes kind of sweet.’

And so the meal passed, with us women making conversation about food and work…

‘Did you watch JC hold his temper when a customer asked for a sugar-free menu, yesterday?’ I asked and we giggled.

Whereas Joe and her discussed sci-fi and keep-fit…

‘I read about a new fitness craze just for trekkie fans,’ said Joe. ‘You have a five minute start to run away, before being chased by Star Trek villains. It’s a great aerobic activity, as long as you don’t get caught.’

Plus Blade and I had good chats about general stuff, like what I should still visit in Paris before I leave.

However, conversation between the two men didn’t exist and they spent the whole meal vying, to see who could be the most polite. Joe insisted me and Cindy finish the chilli, whilst Blade fetched us all glasses of water as no one wanted to open another bottle of wine.

I glanced at the clock. It was half past seven. Soon Joe and I would have to head out. Cindy had to go soon anyway, as she was meeting a friend. As for Blade, I’d explained it was an early dinner as Joe and I had a lot of catching up to do and our conversation would probably bore him.

Except that my rockstar friend had quite clearly decided to irk Joe as much as possible. He gave Cindy a big hug when she left and lay down on the sofa.

‘That word I need to have with you – now,’ said Joe in a measured tone and I made some excuse to Blade that Joe had promised to look at a wonky cupboard door in my bedroom. To muffle our voices, as I couldn’t really shut the bedroom door without it looking suspicious, I told Blade to turn on the TV if he wanted.

Once by the bed, Joe turned to face me.

‘Stay away from Blade. His story about having an English mother didn’t check out. So far there’s no trace of someone his age, working in a music shop, footloose and fancy-free, on a French or British birth register.’

I snorted. ‘There must be some logical explanation!’

Joe shook his head. ‘Over the years, I’ve come to trust my sixth sense. From the start I found Blade suspicious – I only accepted that invitation to Disneyland Paris so that I could find out more about him.’

‘Then that trip should have zapped away your doubts. Remember the fan, in the restaurant?’

Joe’s voice softened. ‘Look, Agent G… I know you’re fond of him but these are the facts: that magazine the girl asked him to sign… It must have been a set-up. I took a look at it, remember? It was amateurishly put together. I Googled the title – it doesn’t exist.’

‘So what? It could be an underground magazine or one she’d just made for herself. And I’ve seen him perform…’

‘At a Black Bijou concert?’

‘No – in a bar, near to the flea market. He got up on stage and sang a Motorhead song. Wow – talk about bloody amazin’!’

‘But don’t you think it really odd there isn’t one single word about his band, Black Bijou, on the internet? I know he purports to not liking social media and computers, but you’d have thought some fan, somewhere, would have posted a few words about his group.’

I stirred uneasily. ‘Yes. I’ll give you that.’

‘And in any event, John visited the shop where Blade supposedly works. The owner had no one working for him that matched Blade’s description.’

‘There must be some mistake, I mean… Blade, he’s…the coolest… And…’ Surely my new friend hadn’t made everything up? Nah. No way.

‘Face it, Agent G– Blade the Rock Star – not just the name, the whole thing – is a false identity.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I trust you’ve haven’t mentioned anything to him about your mission?’

‘Of course not! Look… I still think you’re wrong…You aren’t going to rough him up and question him? Like in Casino Royale when Daniel Craig sat butt naked on that chair and got whipped.’ I shuddered. ‘Anyway – if he was involved with the MiddleWin Mort plot, don’t you think he’d be keen to rush off tonight, and meet up with Monique and the others?’

Joe shrugged. ‘Perhaps he
was
at that youth club, the night you were chased, and Monique has assigned him to keep an eye on you, just in case the bearded man’s threats didn’t work.’

These accusations seemed too unsubstantiated to me. Blade was a straight-up kind of guy, not dodgy.

Talking of dodgy, should I tell Joe about my lunchtime date with John and that agent’s attempt to recruit me into a life of crime? Probably not. Joe had enough to contend with at the moment and I didn’t want him to tackle John head on… Not with that creep intending to set Joe up to take the blame. This all had to be handled very carefully. For the moment, investigating John would be my own little covert assignment.

‘
Merde alors
, how long are you going to be!’ called a voice.

‘We’ll finish this conversation later,’ said Joe in a low voice. ‘Just keep away from Blade. Remember – he’s a friend of Monique’s.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘You and I need to get going, so this calls for desperate measures. Where is that lipstick I gave you?’

‘We’re going to sedate him?’ I gasped. ‘You can’t treat Blade like a criminal, like he doesn’t matter, without further evidence! I mean… who knows, maybe it’s his mum’s fault… Perhaps his birth isn’t registered anywhere because she illegally bought him for adoption, or…’ My voice wobbled. Breaking up with Edward was bad enough – but now I was supposed to doubt a new, good mate?

Joe’s eyes narrowed. ‘Toughen up. It will only knock him out for a couple of hours. Now get in there and make a drink. We’ve got work to do. The sedative should take effect in five minutes.’ He patted his trouser pocket. ‘I have the keys for the silver Audi parked along the same road as the dance studio, containing our overalls, a wig for you with glasses, plus a trolley loaded with mops and cleaning products.’

I shook myself. Joe was right. No need to panic. I was sure there was a logical explanation surrounding Blade’s lack of identity. A few hours’ sleep wouldn’t harm my rockstar pal. Joe and I had work to do. The charity football match was exactly one week away.

I rifled in the bowl of potpourri, near the washbasin and jug, and retrieved the lipstick. Then I headed into the lounge and forced a smile. Joe stayed in the room for a moment, to send some important texts from his phone.

‘Fancy a nightcap?’ I said, in a bright voice.

Blade agreed, once I’d explained that was a drink and not a hat. He poured three cognacs. Then, whilst he went to blow out the candles, I tipped the sedative into his. Feeling a titch guilty, I handed it to him and went to the bathroom. When I got back, Blade stood in the kitchen, sipping his cognac. There was only one glass remaining.

‘Did Joe come out to fetch his?’ I said.

Blade turned around and shrugged. ‘
Non
– apologies, Gemma, I know I have been rude to your English friend today. He and I…
Alors
, whatever… I try to be polite from now on. So, I took him in the cognac you handed me and as a symbol of reconciliation, insisted we both knock back our drinks. I took one of the others for myself.’

‘
Whaaat
? I mean… Oh, um thanks… I’ll just go and check how he’s doing with the wonky cupboard door.’ I hurried into the bedroom.

Oh God. We were due to spy on Monique any minute and here was Joe, without a care in the world, sedated and snoring his head off, on my bed. John Smith couldn’t help as he was on his “delicate mission” near the Champs-Elysées and I still had to get rid of Blade before I could leave!

Chapter 23

Dressed in my overalls, curly brunette wig and blue-rimmed glasses, I raised my mop in the air and swung at Monique. But she darted to one side and rifled in her coat pocket. Oh no! What if she was reaching for the gun that would be used to assassinate the royal couple? I screamed and lobbed a scouring sponge at her face. She didn’t even flinch, so in desperation I reached for the bleach…

With a sigh, I slammed the door of the silver Audi, dressed in my cleaner’s disguise. Having just run through my mind how I would cope, if Monique sussed out I was Gemma, I gazed at the trolley of cleaning products. It hardly provided an impressive arsenal of weapons. The bleach could cause harm, but deep down I knew I’d never have the guts to use it. Much as I disliked Monique, well… You know me – even ants’ lives are sacred.

I consulted my watch: eight forty-five. I had fifteen minutes to get into the dance studio before Monique and her cronies turned up. I’d taken the keys out of Joe’s pocket, before tucking him up in bed.

And then, jeez! Talk about difficult, it had been practically impossible to shake off Blade. Muttering some excuse about Joe working really hard lately and needing his sleep, I announced I was going to head into Chez Dubois. My excuse? Er, JC had put cheese soufflés on the specials board and I was keen to master that dish.

However, as Blade followed me out of the flat, he suggested instead that we head for Notre Dame, which was “
très belle
” at night. His mouth drooped slightly when I said no, and my stomach twisted with guilt. In fact, I couldn’t help staring at those lips…

We’d come so close to kissing tonight. Maybe it was just as well that we weren’t spending the evening together. I only had another week in Paris. What if the unthinkable happened and I got attached to someone new, then found it doubly heart-wrenching to return to England?

At last, Blade had accepted it was time to leave me be, and we said our goodbyes at the entrance to the underground station. Saturday nights were horrendously busy and as I walked down the steps, I had to push my way through the crowds.

I’d wrinkled my nose at the familiar, musty Métro and was relieved to get back into the crisp evening air, when I finally emerged at the Hôtel de Ville stop. Eventually I passed the Italian restaurant, where I’d eaten with John Smith. A few people sat outside smoking and I breathed in a welcome whiff of garlic. Despite the amber glow of street lights, the midnight blue sky glittered with stars. The occasional cloud floated by like an unattained dream. The hum of the city vibrated like cupid’s arrow…

Ooh, now I’m all airy-fairy and poetic. That’s what Paris does to an ordinary girl like me. Now I understood why, over the years, people who’d visited always gushed over their past trips to the French capital. I shook myself and, sensible head back on, made my way to the dance studio. The lights were on and the door stood open. Fortunately no one manned the reception but lots of chat came from upstairs. A couple of young women appeared, hair tied up, wearing leggings and wraparound ballet cardigans. Ten out of ten for looking the part – but I knew the real reason they were here and shot them a dirty look.

Perhaps I could head upstairs with a duster and spray. I’d decided to pretend to be Romanian – that way I wouldn’t be expected to understand or speak fluent French. Earlier today I’d studied an online phrasebook to learn some basic phrases and just had to pray that none of Monique’s group came from that country.

Deep breaths… I smoothed down my overalls and headed upstairs. At the top I faced a corridor, lined with several doors.

By the sounds of the nearest room, as many people were at this meeting as had been at the youth club the other night… Head down, I pushed open the door, went in, and squeezing past people, walked around the edge. So as not to look suspicious, I searched for something to polish. Everywhere smelt sort of sweaty, like the changing rooms back at school. Ah, fab, a desk. I shook the spray and started rubbing. A woman came over and spoke to me in French. I picked out a couple of words and reckoned she was saying this was a private session.

I smiled. ‘
Cu placere
, (you’re welcome)’ I said, in Romanian, as if she’d just congratulated me on doing a good job. I almost giggled as she rolled her eyes and stalked off.