by Mandy Baggot
‘Not if we hail the one behind it, but you’ll have to run,’ Ava said, stepping out onto the road.
‘Arrêtez!’ Debs shrieked, manically flagging down the cab driver.
* * *
‘What time was her mystery appointment?’ Ava asked.
They were still in the taxi behind the vehicle containing Francine Duval. The driver was playing Christmas music at full volume and was humming loudly and out of tune as they travelled as fast as the Parisian traffic would allow them.
‘Eleven,’ Debs responded.
‘So it’s not lunch then?’
‘She’d scheduled two hours.’
‘So it could be.’
‘Are you hungry already?’
‘You sounded just like my mother then.’
‘What if she’s meeting Gary?’ Debs said.
Her friend was chewing at the ends of her hair, something she had done since primary school when she was nervous. Ava would have joined in as a show of solidarity but her hair was so short there was not a chance she would get it into her mouth.
She patted her friend’s leg. ‘Focus on thinking about what we are going to do when she stops wherever she’s stopping and meets whoever she’s meeting. What’s the plan?’ Ava asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?! I thought the girl with a sewing kit and a pair of binoculars was bound to have a plan!’ Ava looked out of the window as a park flashed by. There was greenery amongst the bare trees and snow-covered cobbles. Shoppers taking in the ambience, workers heading to or from meetings… no one else in a taxi tailing someone and not knowing where on earth they were going.
‘It’s stopping!’ Debs reached through the hatch and began patting the taxi driver’s shoulder. ‘It’s stopping. Arrêtez, Monsieur, arrêtez!’
The cab driver screeched to a halt, skidding a little in the snow. Debs was pulling at the door before the engine had stopped.
‘Debs, wait,’ Ava urged, scrambling for her bag and her purse.
‘I don’t want to lose her.’ Debs opened the door and jumped down onto the pavement.
‘Keep the change,’ Ava said, thrusting a twenty-euro note into the driver’s hand before diving for the door, too.
Standing next to Debs as the cab departed, she saw her friend twisting and turning her head like she was an owl wary of predators.
‘Did you see where she went?’ Debs asked.
‘No, I was paying for the cab,’ Ava said, her eyes scanning the busy street. There were lots of people with shopping bags here. Not your Bags for Life from Tesco, but boutique bags that sang ‘high-end’. ‘There!’
Ava almost pointed, before she remembered this was a covert operation. Francine was turning left just up ahead, going under a dark green canopy above a shop front.
‘It’s a restaurant,’ Debs said. ‘It’s a posh restaurant and Gary’s going to be in there ordering oysters and chocolate and all the other aphrodisiacs there are...’ She stopped, a sob leaving her.
‘No,’ Ava said, taking Debs’ arm. ‘No, he’s not.’ She squeezed Debs’ arm. ‘And if he is then you’ve got a sewing kit and I’ve got... a tube of spot cream with a really pointy end.’ She looked at Debs. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
Fighting the fierce wind and side-stepping the other pedestrians on the street they made their way along the boulevard to the entrance Francine had disappeared into.
‘It’s not a restaurant,’ Debs said, looking at the sign that stated only ‘Sasha’.
‘No,’ Ava agreed. ‘It’s a boutique.’ She sighed. ‘What do we do now?’
‘What do you mean?’ Debs asked.
‘Well, she’s obviously not meeting Gary in a boutique,’ Ava said. ‘Gary’s more Jacamo than boutique, isn’t he?’
Debs pushed at the door, its glass frosted with fake snow, little gingerbread men hanging from each pane. Ava grabbed her arm, squeezing again. ‘What are you doing?!’ she hissed.
‘Going in,’ Debs responded. ‘To do a bit of innocent browsing. Perhaps my articles need a little upmarket chic.’
‘Debs,’ Ava said again, using all her weight to try and hold her friend back. ‘This is a bad idea.’
‘Let me go,’ Debs urged. ‘Or come in with me.’
Ava looked through the glass to the shop’s interior, where Francine was stood waiting to speak to the elegant lady behind the counter. She looked back to Debs and sighed. ‘Do not do anything crazy.’
29
Sasha’s boutique
Ava peeked out from behind a rather nice cream lace dress. It was highly inappropriate wear for the current climate but come the summer... if her back wasn’t quite so broad and she had elongated fibulas. Debs was on the other side of the rail, sandwiched between a low rack of vintage shoes and mannequins dressed in winter woollens.
‘Can you hear anything?’ Debs asked her.
‘What are you expecting to hear? It’s a dress shop. She’s probably just here to... I don’t know... buy a dress?’ Ava offered.
‘To parade in front of Gary in,’ Debs suggested through gritted teeth.
‘Stop it,’ Ava said. ‘We don’t know that.’
‘We need to get nearer,’ Debs stated, sidling along the rail, holding a camel-coloured shawl up to her body like it was some sort of camouflage.
‘You know this is ridiculous, right?’ Ava commented.
‘No, I don’t know that,’ Debs said with a sigh. ‘And what other choice do I have?’ Debs gripped the mannequin. ‘What I really want to do is smack her in the face with this plastic head.’
‘You can’t do that,’ Ava said. ‘As much as you think you want to.’ Her mind went back to Waitrose and the man dressed in tweed. ‘Because you have no evidence that this woman has done anything.’ And she really hoped she hadn’t. Although Francine did have a look of Sue about her. Gary’s taste. Slim, petite frame, hair a little darker than Sue’s, feminine attire but the lemon trouser suit a little too sickly jam tart-like. She swallowed. She didn’t want to think about how accurate the tart reference could be.
‘This is just like Dad,’ Debs said through gritted teeth.
‘No,’ Ava said. ‘We don’t know that... I’ll get a bit closer.’ Ava picked up the white summer dress and strode boldly forward, catching sight of a full-length mirror close to the space Francine and a shop assistant were in. It was only when she was near enough to hear their conversation that she realised something she should have realised before... they were talking in French. And her French was a whole lot worse than Debs’ ...but Debs was close to holding the head of a dummy with violent intentions. She held the dress against herself and tuned in.
Spécial – that meant special.
Mariage – marriage, meant the same but said slightly differently wasn’t it?
Fin de semaine – what the hell did that mean? Fin was ‘end’... no idea of the rest.
Gary.
Bile flooded her throat. Was ‘Gary’ French for something? She begged the gods of languages that ‘Gary’ was a French word. Because if it wasn’t a French word then Francine had just said Debs’ step-dad’s name in a dress shop.
Ava swallowed, her eyes flashing over to Debs. She quickly smiled at her friend. Because what else could she do right now? And had she even heard right? She didn’t want to have heard right. Because what did she do now? It was fine, wasn’t it? Innocent. Gary worked for the same company. He was in senior management. He could be Francine’s boss.
‘Mademoiselle.’
Should she tell Debs? Should she let her friend bury the dummy’s head in this elegant, beautiful, Frenchwoman’s face? Should she join in and batter her with the plastic arms?
‘Mademoiselle, may I help you?’
Ava turned to the voice then. It was the shop assistant. Long blonde hair shining like an advert for L’Oreal. Ava almost dropped the dress in her hands. ‘Bonjour... just looking... at this,’ Ava said, holding the dress up to her again.
‘You
would like to try this on?’ the shop assistant asked.
‘I... er...’ Ava looked to Francine. The woman was tapping her iPhone. Was that a message? A message to Gary?
‘No, thank you.’ Debs took the dress out of Ava’s hands and strolled up towards the counter where Francine was positioned. ‘But could we have a look at your purses?’ Debs picked up a small red leather coin purse from a basket on the cash desk and held it out, whilst trying to discreetly look over the shoulder of the woman from Gary’s firm.
‘We have a wide range of purses,’ the shop assistant began. ‘What type are you looking for?’
‘Something... very French,’ Ava suggested. ‘For a gift.’ She moved close to Debs.
‘I have something in mind,’ the shop assistant said. Her attention went to Francine. ‘Demain?’
‘Oui, cinq?’
‘Oui, au revoir.’ The shop assistant turned back to Ava and Debs. ‘Now, I will look for something for you.’
Debs looked like she was hovering, torn between carrying on with their charade and gleaning information from the shop assistant, or following Francine.
Francine was at the door, about to go out and back onto the street as the shop assistant disappeared towards the very rear of the boutique.
‘What do we do now?’ Debs asked. ‘She was writing in a book under the desk.’ She leant over the cash desk.
‘Get down, Debs,’ Ava urged. ‘You look like you’re about to rob the place. They probably have CCTV.’
‘There are four books here! Who has four books in this day and age?’ Debs asked, picking one of the journals up.
‘Er... you do! Put it down!’ Ava urged.
‘We should follow Francine,’ Debs decided, bolting for the door. ‘She had a two-hour appointment scheduled in her diary and she’s been here five minutes...’
‘Debs...’
‘Did you hear anything? Anything at all that might incriminate Gary?’ Debs asked.
Ava swallowed. Now was the moment to fess up. To say she thought… no, she knew... she had heard his name. She opened her mouth with the best of intentions.
‘No, nothing... they were speaking French.’ She directed her eyes to the floor.
‘Come on, quick, before she hails another taxi!’
Debs pushed at the door and, all the way hoping she had said the right thing for now, Ava followed.
30
Christmas Market, La Défense
They had lost Francine. Their taxi had got stuck between a bread van and a wobbly parent and child on a tandem. The Frenchwoman’s cab had sailed off into the distance and Debs had cursed the driver of the van, the driver of the taxi and the twosome on the tandem. Debs was terrified. It had been all wild eyes, even wilder hair and incantations of planning how she was going to continue with her private-investigator work. And while Debs was muttering about finding out where Francine lived and going through her bins, Ava had thought about what she had heard in the boutique. If Gary was Francine’s boss it was fine. But if he wasn’t... She was trying not to be scared now too. But she was. She was frightened that this had the potential to rip her best friend’s heart out and devastate Sue for the second time in her life. She just didn’t know what to do for the best. So instead of churning things over she had focussed on something to keep her friend’s mind off things and had directed the cab driver to bring them here. And here they now were, in the midst of the most fabulous Christmas market Ava had ever seen.
The smell was heavenly and she didn’t know which way to turn her nose first. One breath in gave her gingerbread and spiced caramel, another was wurst and mustard, all of it infused with sparkles, snowflakes and Christmas at every turn. But Debs, beside her, was walking around blind to all the shopping opportunities that usually would have had her practically orgasming with excitement.
Ava linked her arm through her friend’s and squeezed. ‘Remember the pact we made last night?’
‘I can’t concentrate on anything,’ Debs responded. ‘What are we even doing here?’
‘Debs, you’re writing an article on Christmas markets. This is the Christmas market you wanted to come to. Look at it!’ Ava said, throwing her free arm out to highlight the goodies on offer.
‘I can’t concentrate on anything. Not while there’s some French bint hitting on my step-dad.’
Ava sighed. This was an impossible situation. She reached into her pocket and drew out her iPhone. ‘Right, that’s it. I’m calling Gary.’
‘No!’ Debs wailed, hands flapping for Ava’s phone. Then she stopped. ‘You don’t have his number.’
‘I do,’ Ava replied. ‘He’s given me a lift so many times it’s saved under “T” for “Taxi Dad”.’
‘Don’t call him, Ava, please,’ Debs begged.
‘Well, you can’t go on like this.’
‘I know,’ Debs said with a sigh. ‘I won’t.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You’re right. I need to take a time out. Regroup. Think about what to do next.’ She offered a watery smile. ‘And I totes promised you lunch.’
‘You did,’ Ava agreed.
Debs’ eyes finally met with the festive wooden huts all around the open-air market as she finally came to. ‘Oh my goodness. Look at those earmuffs!’
Ava let herself be dragged towards the hut with all manner of woollen goods hanging from its surrounds. There were furry things, fluffy things, animal heads and more glitter than at a Little Mix concert. The earmuffs Debs was raving about were penguin faces, with glittery red cheeks and sticky-out beaks.
‘How much?’ Debs asked the stallholder.
‘Combien?’ Ava added.
The reply was fifteen euro and Debs was reaching into her bag for her purse before he’d even answered. Ava picked up a hat. It was navy blue with a pattern knitted into the wool. Despite what Julien had said about having others she ought to replace the one she had dropped into the fountain. This one would suit him. She smoothed her fingers over the wool.
‘That’s a bit plain,’ Debs remarked, leaning over her shoulder. ‘How about this one?’ She held up a bright pink hat with gold antlers sticking out of the top.
Ava smiled. ‘I don’t think it would suit Julien.’
‘Ah,’ Debs said, ‘it’s for Julien.’
‘Don’t read anything into it. I dropped his hat into the water at the Louvre and I want to get him a new one.’
‘His and hers?’ Debs suggested, picking up a red version of the hat Ava was holding.
‘Only if it’s on a special offer,’ Ava answered.
‘Combien?’ Debs asked, taking the blue hat from Ava and holding them both up to the stallholder.
* * *
Ava sank her teeth into the heavily cinnamon-infused Stollen slice the size of a dinner plate. Her taste buds exploded as the juicy fruit, sugar, almonds and citrus all hit at once. With her new berry red hat on her head, the snow coming down around her, the most perfect mouthful of sugary Christmas goodness between her lips, she would probably consider life in Paris to be pretty sublime, if it weren’t for the tears in her best friend’s eyes.
Debs forked up a tiny piece of crepe and shook her head at Ava. ‘Life is not fair. I don’t know how you can eat something that big and end up so small whilst I have to hide what I’ve got under jumpers.’
‘I have a concave spine and no boobs,’ Ava said through a mouthful of food. ‘You’ve got that booty Beyoncé is always on about.’ She inhaled a second mouthful.
‘But no one has offered to put a ring on it.’
‘Yet.’ Ava smiled.
‘Have you taken pictures?’ Her eyes went to the hundreds of Swiss chalet-style huts around them making it look like they’d stumbled upon a village high up in the Alps.
‘Yes... and I might have to go back to that little stall that sold the silver jewellery,’ Debs remarked.
‘Debs, you have three cotton bags filled with stuff,’ Ava reminded her.
‘None of it is for me,’ she responded, rubbing sugar off her to
p lip with her finger. ‘They’re gifts.’
‘The glass shaped like the Eiffel Tower?’ Ava asked, an eyebrow raised.
‘My mum,’ Debs offered.
‘The Santa Claus pin cushion?’
‘My nan.’
‘The “grow your own rainbow” kit?’
‘Do you think that will really work?’ Debs asked with sincerity.
Ava laughed and bit into her cake. Her eyes went to the large structure at one end of the square the market was on – la Grande Arche. It was white stone, completely hollow, the snow coming down making it look like a giant picture frame. It was a completely different style to the Gothic and Byzantine architecture she’d seen in the capital so far. She wasn’t sure she liked it. It was a little piece of modern just outside of a city with so much history.
‘I haven’t bought anything for Gary,’ Debs muttered.
‘Debs...’
‘If he leaves Mum then Mum isn’t going to cope and I can see the house getting sold and Mum wanting to live with me and I don’t know if I’m even going to be able to stay in the house if I don’t sell an article soon.’
Ava put an arm around Debs’ shoulders. ‘Right, well, we need to do two things in that case.’
‘What?’ Debs asked with a sniff.
‘You need to start making notes about this market and... we need to find someone who can hack into Francine’s email.’
‘I thought you thought that was a totes terrible idea.’
She had. She did. Before she had heard Gary’s name on the Frenchwoman’s lips. But she didn’t want it to be true. She was hoping to find proof of Gary’s innocence. They were work colleagues. The fact the woman was in an expensive dress shop talking about him was odd, but perhaps Gary’s firm were quoting for insurance for the boutique... it could be anything. And anything was better than an affair.
‘I just think we need to get some facts. Facts in black and white before we worry any more.’ She sighed. ‘And if there are no facts to find then Gary’s done nothing wrong and everything can go back to normal.’