From Paris With Love (33 page)

‘How about another coffee?’ I said. ‘This could be our last time alone, if I go back to England on Sunday.’

‘What about tomorrow night?’

‘Cindy and I are having a girls’ night out at Disneyland – it’s expensive, just for a few hours, but I’m dying to see the electric light parade.’

‘And Sunday…’ Blade gazed away for a moment, out of the window. ‘Are you staying here or returning to England?’

I shrugged. ‘My head has been so full of this secret agent stuff. I’ve a feeling I might not decide until the last minute, when I’ll follow my gut instinct. Although…’ I smiled. ‘It is very tempting to stay here, with you and Cindy, working at Chez Dubois. I’d have to find another flat – you haven’t got a spare room to let, by any chance?’

Blade cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, Gemma, I should have told you – I also leave Paris on Sunday. The band… We have a tour. You probably won’t see me again.’

Huh? Why did I think he was lying? A shard of pain pierced my chest. I thought we had something special – that Blade and me would at least be friends forever. I mean, he
got
me – we laughed at all the same things. Often he’d finish my sentence. Silence was never awkward between us. Why this sudden, dramatic announcement?

‘A tour?’ I said. ‘But you haven’t practised much – why didn’t you mention this before? I thought… You and I… Even though I wasn’t ready to…’

Face screwed up, Blade carried his dessert dish to the kitchen. ‘Sorry,
ma pucette
,’ he said, French accent wavering. ‘I did my best to fight for us.’ With that cryptic comment he left.

Chapter 29

‘Yoohoooo, Gemma!’ The Duchess of Cambridge (Kate to you and me!) called from the royal box. I stood amongst the stadium crowd below, not caring that the princess might have blown my cover.

‘Loved you in
Million Dollar Mansion
– I’m a real fan!’ she cooed.

I sighed. Okay, I was daydreaming – but wouldn’t that be awesome! Joe had picked Blade and me up on time and got us into the football stadium early. We checked under the seats near us – not sure why, it just seemed the right thing to do. Blade was still a titch subdued, but I didn’t ask him about his cryptic comment on Thursday night. No, today my brain needed to stay in Agent G mode. I needed to keep my eye on the job. A bit later, John Smith turned up. Joe had disappeared to join the royal protection officers – apparently the Duke and Duchess were making a detour, on their way to the charity match.

Thankfully the sky was one of those awesome clear ones known only to a Parisian spring. The cold air bit sharply and I was glad to be wearing a woolly hat, which might also make my appearance less obvious to Monique. Slowly, the seats around us filled and I recognised one or two faces I’d seen at the dance studio.

‘That woman – with the blonde hair,’ I said to Blade and pointed to our right. ‘She’s the one who found me looking through her bag.’

‘Fidgety, aren’t they,’ said Blade as a band started playing down on the pitch. Thousands of people had turned up and the air was filled with excited chat. Flapping in the wind, on poles behind each goal post, were flags of countries involved in the First World War.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘Blade blew on his hands and jerked his head. ‘The group of people around that blonde woman keep checking their watches and looking at each other.’

I studied them and gasped as the bearded man appeared by Monique’s side. The match was due to kick off in half an hour and I concentrated so hard on the potential suspects around me that it was only the deafening cheer of the crowd that alerted me to the arrival of the royal couple.

Blade nudged me and I glanced up to the box, which was only about twenty feet away. Stern-faced, Joe stood in the background, behind Kate and Wills.

Wow. She really was stunning, with translucent skin and shiny chestnut hair tumbling around her face in styled waves. She wore a cornflower blue jacket and skirt, plus one of those teeny weeny hats, called fascinators. However, what intrigued me the most was a beautiful belt around her waspish waist with… I screwed up my eyes – were those bejewelled flowers in the middle of it?

My stomach cramped as the enormity of my job here, hit me. What if Blade and I failed to stop Monique? At that moment John Smith appeared behind us, actually in undercover clothes – that is, smart jeans and a waterproof jacket.

‘Seen anything suspicious?’ he asked.

Swallowing my last minute nerves, I shook my head and glanced at the actress again. Several rows behind us, she stood laughing with her friends as if her most evil intention was to jeer bad referee decisions.

I jumped as an opera singer belted out some words that resounded around the stadium. The song lasted a lifetime. What a pity Edward wasn’t here to enjoy it. I stole a look behind me once more, to see Monique swaying in time to the music.

Then a loud whistle blew and everyone sat down. Helicopters circled in the sky. Growing up with my dad and two brothers meant that I unavoidably knew a lot about football. More than that, I enjoyed the sport and my family would have been green-eyed if they knew I was here. I recognised some of the team’s players and got to my feet with everyone else at the first awesome goal. After that, no one sat down, which made it easier for Blade and me to secretly keep an eye on the people surrounding us…

As ever, the cronies around Monique – or “the mob” as she’d called them – wore comfortable jogging pants and trainers. As the clock headed towards half-time, they all kept looking at her and with only one minute to go…Suddenly pop music boomed out of a hidden CD player. The royal couple glanced down towards where we stood and Blade and I left our seats, pushing towards Monique. Oh my God – she was reaching into her pocket. I launched myself forward, clambering over seats. Blade overtook me, striding easily over the chair backs. He was just two rows from the French actress when… she thrust her empty hand into the air, her fingers in the shape of a gun.

Huh? Blade turned around and shrugged as a nearby man scowled. A couple of people next to Monique followed her move in time to the feisty music. Then the row in front of them and the row behind, mimicked their dance moves exactly. The football match reached half-time and TV cameras left the match and aimed at the royal couple, to focus on the commotion. This meant Monique and her mob were now displayed up on the big screens, around the stadium. Row by row joined in with the technical dance moves – it looked amazing. Arm movements represented gun shots and waving flags… Body moves portrayed soldiers shot and dying. The bearded man and blonde also danced precisely. Increasing numbers of people, supposedly just from the crowd, joined in as the music became more jubilant. Then the dance moves represented soldiers marching and punching the air with happiness.

‘The mob,’ I muttered to Blade and palm-slapped my forehead. ‘This is a flash mob, isn’t it?’

‘A what?’

I almost chuckled. Edward wouldn’t have known what that meant, either.

John Smith appeared at my shoulder. ‘It’s when a group of apparently unconnected people congregate in a public place and then, to the surprise of everyone else, one by one, put on a synchronised, rehearsed performance.’

I shook my head and gazed at the hundred or so people dancing. The rest of the stadium was clapping in time – even the royals. With its battle-like moves the dance was clearly some sort of tribute to the war dead. Blade, John and I exchanged glances. MiddleWin must have been to do with the dance taking place halfway through the match, when someone would have been winning – nothing to do with Middleton and Windsor.

As Monique shot into the air again, with her fingers in the shape of a gun, I decided that move must have inspired the code word “Mort”, meaning death. The MiddleWin Mort was a dance tribute to men who’d died, defending their countries – not an evil assassination attempt.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a man, in an MI6 uniform, sidle up to John. John reached into his back pocket and passed the man a pair of pliers. He nodded, and the man crept away. The hair rose on the back of my neck – what was all that about? And that man hadn’t got one of the security tags around his neck that the rest of us were wearing.

‘Why did the royal couple make a detour on their way here?’ asked Blade.

‘The Musée de l’Armée has a special display of artefacts from the First World War, including weapons and uniform, plus letters home…’ said John. Eyes shining, he glanced up at the royal box. ‘They also lent the Duchess that very special belt. A real masterpiece it is, doubling as a necklace, with a platinum chain and setting, with forget-me-nots and diamonds in the actual pendant – the round bit you can see at the front of her waist.’

Of course, forget-me-nots would have been close to soldiers’ hearts. My mouth went dry. I thought about the jewellery thefts in Milan, Bangkok and Prague. Could my suspicions about John really be right?

I glanced at Blade. No words were necessary. Lordie, the whole thing sounded so bonkers. Bonkers that anyone would attempt to pull off such a brazen theft – and bonkers that upcoming rockstar Blade and little old me were probably the only people who could stop it.

Discreetly, John Smith consulted his watch. I gestured to Blade to bend down, so that I could whisper in his ear.

‘I’ve got to get to Joe – you keep an eye on John. Don’t let him follow. That man, with the pliers – I don’t think he’s a proper agent. I bet he’s one of John’s criminal contacts from Orangedog.’

‘No way. I’m coming with you – it could be dangerous…’

‘But John’s too big for me to keep here, if he tries to follow and things turn nasty…’

After a pause, Blade nodded and I slipped into the aisle and upstairs, making some excuse to John about getting a drink before the dance stopped and the half-time crowd left their seats with the same idea. I followed the circular corridor at the top past snack bars and towards the entrance to the royal box. The door had been left open – just inside stood the supposed agent, with the pliers. He was now wearing gloves. Hardly daring to breath, I hovered behind him. Joe stood at the front of the box, scanning the crowds.

Wow. I was just a few metres away from Kate! My heart pounded and I had to control an adrenalin rush telling me to give her a big hug! Breath in, breath out, in… My eyes narrowed as I watched the supposed agent’s every move.

The dance finished and the whole stadium roared. Kate and Wills clapped furiously. Taking advantage of the commotion, the fake agent took that moment to take the pliers out of his pocket and snip the back of the belt. He whisked it away and dropped the pliers into an unsuspecting Joe’s pocket.

‘Joe!’ I hollered and the dud agent swore with an American accent and headed past me. Newfound maturity and reason pushed to one side, in aid of a national emergency, I jumped onto him, piggy-back style and gripped on for my life. He swayed and fell down onto his back.

‘Get off me, you bitch,’ he yelled, as the platinum belt flew across the floor.

How rude that he’d fallen! I didn’t weigh that much. Fortunately I landed on top of him and managed to grip him between my legs whilst I retrieved my pepper spray from my trouser pocket. Straight into his face it went, staining his cheeks a most appropriate forget-me-not blue, just as… Aargghh – his fist landed on my cheek.

Joe appeared, flanked by the royal protection officers, who each grabbed one of the man’s arms. Joe glanced back at the royal couple, who stayed inside the box, with another officer. One eyebrow raised, he glanced at me and, rubbing my cheek, I mouthed that I was okay. He picked up the belt, whilst a hollering came from along the corridor. Blade appeared, holding onto a purple-faced John Smith.

‘He saw a commotion in the royal box and tried to head up this way,’ said my panting rockstar friend.

‘There are pliers in your pocket,’ I yelled at Joe. ‘This bloke works for John, who’s left a trail of jewellery thefts behind him, across the world. He was trying to set you up!’

Crowds started to assemble around the snack bars and someone shouted out ‘Blade!’

Whilst the royal protection officers bundled John and his accomplice away, Joe checked I was okay.

‘Excellent Gemma. I was hoping you’d find out what John was up to.’

‘You knew he was involved in something dodgy?’

Joe nodded. ‘That was part of the reason I asked you to get involved in this mission. It wasn’t just about my suspicions concerning the royals. The time you spent with John – I reckoned a bright person like you would realise if he was up to no good. I’ve had a bad feeling about him ever since we’ve worked together. John lacks the principles of most agents. Plus he lives a much more opulent life than the rest of us. I didn’t want to voice my suspicions. I needed you to confirm, off your own back, that I was right.’ Joe stared me straight in the eyes. ‘You’ve fulfilled all my expectations and more. It just saddens me that you’ve had to help out unofficially. Otherwise I have no doubt you’d be up for an award.’

My eyes tingled, as Joe headed off to interrogate John. Blade came over to me, just as Monique approached.

Out of breath, she stopped by us. The royal box door was now firmly closed.

‘Who was that man you dragged away?’ she asked Blade. ‘And what are you doing here?’ She stared at my cheek. ‘Gemma? You are hurt?’

Blade darted forward and ran his finger gently over my face. Monique took both our arms and led us to a hospitality suite, managed by a friend of hers. She ordered three cognacs and without arguing we knocked them back. As other guests filtered out of the room and back to the match, she raised her eyebrows.

So, it all came out – me sussing out the password to her emails, reading her dodgy messages, and how Joe was a, um, private investigator (I wasn’t sure I could reveal his true identity). How I’d checked out the youth club and dance studio and heard her mention the words revolver and mob. Monique’s gasps were punctuated with the odd swear word. Especially when we revealed Joe had snuck into her flat and found the gun.

She shook her head. ‘I could have him charged!’

But by the looks on our faces, Monique seemed to understand that she couldn’t.