“Sort of, I guess.”
“Sort of? You don’t sound very sure, considering she was crying over you.”
“She wasn’t crying over me, mum.”
“Are we going to get to meet her, dear?”
“No, mum, no. No, I doubt it. She’s …”
“She’s what dear?”
“Ummm, she’s … she’s—”
“Oh, Piers! Don’t tell me she’s pregnant!”
“No! She is not pregnant. Definitely. Nothing like that.”
“Don’t lie to me, Piers.”
“Mum. She is not pregnant.”
The girl behind the sales counter quickly averted her gaze and busied herself with her paperwork when she noticed Piers looking in her direction.
“Well, this is a turn up. You go abroad and meet a girl who is crying to you and who isn’t pregnant.”
“She is not pregnant. You meet people, you know, and things happen.”
“Things? What things, dear?”
“Nothing, mum. There’s nothing to worry about. The girl’s not pregnant, I’m okay and there’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“So you said, but mothers worry about these things. Not that I’d expect you to understand a woman.”
“I do understand women.”
A bark of laughter erupted from the changing cubicle along with several indecipherable mutterings.
“I have to go. My, er … taxi’s here. I have to go.”
“A taxi? Where are you going?”
“Have to go, mum. Call you later.”
He pressed the off button with a sigh of relief.
The girl behind the counter was still busy with her papers, studiously avoiding eye contact.
The rotating mirror spun, and Sidney walked out of the changing cubicle. She wore a tailored floral dress with a medium neckline and short hemline. The material shimmered and bounced as she walked, propelled by every touch of her curves.
She rotated back and forth, admiring herself in the mirror, twirling the skirt, fascinated with the way it moved. Her smile evaporated the moment she saw Piers was just as fascinated.
“This’ll do,” she said.
“It’s wonderful,” Piers said.
She grunted. “Well at least you told her I wasn’t pregnant.”
“Oh, what, my mum?”
“Unless you’ve told anyone else that I’m not pregnant lately?”
“No. She was just worried. The previous call. The crying. The, you know, everything.”
“Everything? Everything such as there’s a fictitious taxi waiting for us? Or that you’re okay?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It certainly is. Everything with you is.”
“No, not everything is complicated, just some things.”
“Like the truth.”
“No. It’s just … white lies … to protect her … she’d worry.”
“Course she’s bloody worried, you’re lying to her all the time.”
“Not all the time. Just things she wouldn’t understand, like being abroad.”
“She can’t be frightened because you’re in Paris?” She spread her hands out to gesture to the city. “I mean, is the War of the Roses still going on?”
“The War of the Roses was in England. It was the Hundred Years War between Britain and France.”
“Oh right, that helps clarify everything, doesn’t it.”
She turned away from him and faced the girl. “I’m going to need a coat. Wool. Something durable.” Sidney cast a disparaging glance at Piers, “You better get him . . . something similar.”
The girl disappeared behind a multicolored series of overlapping circles and emerged with two coats. Black. Matching.
“Twee,” Piers said.
“No,” said the girl, a shocked look on her face, “Ralph Lauren.”
They both tried them on. Piers’ was too tight. He handed it back. Sidney took hers off. “I’d better have a larger size, too.”
The girl looked puzzled. “But it seemed to fit perfectly, madame.”
Sidney shook her head. “I’m going to need something with a bit more room to move. Life’s been action-packed since he turned up.”
The girl smiled.
Sidney shook her head and frowned. “Sadly, it’s not what you might think. So far today I’ve been shot at, been rescued by an idiot on a motorbike, been threatened by the mob—”
Piers’ face fell. “Sidney, stop it.”
“Forced down a garbage chute—”
“Sidney.” Piers grabbed her elbow.
“Showered in a public cubicle,” she shook him off, “forced to lie—”
“Sidney.”
“And gained a dog.”
The girl’s eyes went wide. The features of her face seemed to move in slow motion. “Oh. My. God.” Her hand flew to her face and she started bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”
Piers touched Sidney on the arm “I think we need to go.”
“No!” said the girl. She rushed around and stared at Piers’ face from different angles. “My god. You’re the man on the motorbike, the guy on TV. I should have known. Everyone’s talking about you. That was soooo brave.”
“Brave?” said Sidney, her face screwed up.
“Oui, how he rescued you. C’est magnifique!”
“You obviously don’t know him like I do.”
The girl clutched Sidney’s arm. “You are so lucky.”
“I’m lucky to even be alive after meeting him.”
The girl shook her head in awe. “In the middle of such danger, he whisks you away. It is soooo romantic.”
Piers looked at Sidney with a smile that she didn’t return.
“Okay. We need to go,” Piers said.
The girl’s eyes widened even further. “Oh non, non, wait, wait.” She pulled out an iPhone from behind her counter. “I need a picture. Pleeeaaase.”
“This might be exciting news for you, but we’re trying to keep a low profile.”
The girl waved her hands. “I know, I know. Now you are being hunted by the police. It’s like, like, like Bonnie and Clyde. Ahhhh. It is so romantic.”
Piers stared at her. “Bonny and Clyde ended up dead.”
The girl shrugged and regained her composure. “Please, you must let me have a photograph.”
“Well.”
Sidney put her arm through Piers’. She gave her best smile and hugged him toward her. He joined her smile and the girl took a picture. She waved her phone in front of Sidney who oohed at the photo.
“Just one more,” said the girl, “please?”
She took several more, moving them around the small shop, snapping away.
“Okay, we’ve really got to go,” said Piers.
Sidney flipped through the pictures on the phone while the girl added up the bill.
“Can we have a talk,” whispered Sidney, dragging him into the cubicle. She took a deep breath. “This isn’t working out as I planned.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, she’s nice.”
“And?”
“Nice. She’s nice. She’s so excited to see us, and she took pictures … of us. So, we can’t, I mean, I can’t, maybe you can, but I can’t . . .”
“What? Can’t what?”
Sidney leaned in close. “Run out on her.”
“Run out on her? In these clothes? Was that your plan coming here? Try a few things on and steal them?”
Sidney crossed her eyebrows. “All right. We’re not all blessed with a sugar mummy.”
“I don’t have a sugar mummy.”
“She’s phoned you twice in one day. I’d say she’s looking after you.”
“She just doesn’t have anything else to do.”
“Except look after you.”
“All right, all right. So, if your master plan of stealing these things isn’t on, what now? I don’t have enough cash, and I’m guessing you don’
t either since I’ve paid for everything since we met.”
“Oh, right, money. Just like a man.”
“Look, I’m just trying to be practical.”
“Oh, yeah, the dog catcher, you’re all about practical.”
“What’s that supposed … oh, never mind.”
She stared at him and he stared back. He cracked first. “I have to pay with a credit card, don’t I?”
She gave a sheepish smile. “She’s been so nice. Took pictures and everything.”
“Pictures? Is that all you think of?”
“Pictures are important.”
“What’s important is that the police will have our location the moment she swipes my card.”
“Maybe not.”
There was a knock on the mirror door. Piers flipped it open.
The girl was outside. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing. I know you don’t want me to swipe your card, and I totally don’t want to be the one who gets you caught. So, I was thinking, maybe I could write down the number and I’ll charge it in a few days. You know, when you’re a long way from here.”
“Really?” Sidney grabbed hold of the girl’s hands. “That would be great. Really great. Wouldn’t it, Piers?”
The girl beamed.
“Oh yeah … great, “ Piers said.
Sidney and the girl stared at him. He blew out a deep breath and gave a smile. “I’m sorry. Yes, that would be great. This has been a stressful day. We’re making this up as we go.”
The girl’s smile returned.
Piers pulled out his credit card. She wrote down the number. “I’ll give you a few days to get away, okay?”
“That should be enough,” said Sidney as she looped her arm through Piers’, “Because, apparently, I’ll be traveling by taxi with a man who understands women.”
The girl sniggered, but Piers was frozen to the spot. Beyond the miniature trees, beyond the red outfits, and beyond Rover’s big eyes, police officers were spilling into the grace and tranquility of Place des Vosges.
Chapter 18
The girl pushed Piers and Sidney through racks of clothes. “Out the back. There’s an alley. Vite, vite. I’ll lock the front door.”
“Rover,” Piers said.
“Leave the damn dog,” Sidney said.
“We’ll have to come back—”
The shop assistant kept pushing. “I’ll look after him. Go!”
Piers didn’t need any more encouragement. He flew through a small stockroom and hit a fire escape door at full speed. It crashed open and he piled into a narrow lane. Sidney ran past him, tugging at his arm. He took off after her, his shoes slipping on the old, wet flagstones. Sidney looked back and waved her arm, urging him on. She took another alleyway that emerged onto a main road.
He followed her to the right and into a Métro station. She stopped beside a ticket machine but his wet leather soles didn’t, and he slipped, sprawling all over the floor, taking out several people in the process. He struggled to his feet, apologizing profusely as weary travelers swore at him.
Sidney moved around the back of the throng and pulled him out of the growing mass of unhappy people. “Come on. Forget the tickets. We can get out on the other side of the station.” She led them through a maze of tunnels and up a flight of stairs, back to street level.
Piers kept grabbing at the leash that wasn’t there. “You think Rover will be okay?”
“That was the best name you could come up with?”
“It was the name on his collar.”
Sidney squeezed his arm. It felt good. She smiled at him. His heart skipped and he felt a wave of heat rush over him. He knew his face would be red. He looked away.
She shook his arm. “He’ll be okay. That girl will look after him.”
“Right.”
“We need to look after ourselves.”
“Yeah.” He patted her hand on his arm.
“There wasn’t anything else in Auguste’s apartment, was there?”
He looked at her quizzically. “No, why?”
“Nothing. Just, you know, you’ve been under a lot of stress.” She wrapped her arms around him. Her hair brushed over her face and he could smell her skin. She went from one extreme to another. He hesitated to hug her back.
He felt her hands pat his back. “I’m sorry. I’ve been hard on you. We need to work together as a team, right?”
He slowly closed his arm around her shoulder. “Course.”
She ran her hands down his sides and up and down his arms. He swallowed. The tension melted from him. It felt wonderful to feel her touch. He tightened his hug and relaxed his head onto her shoulder.
Her hands slid over his waist and hips and he felt his phone bump against his side. After a few moments she patted him one last time and took a step backward, separating them.
Piers felt the chill air where her warmth had been. He wanted to reach out and pull her back, but her smile had faded.
She stared at him. “So there was definitely nothing else at Auguste’s?”
“No. I told you. Nothing else.”
She turned. “Okay, then. Let’s try the bank.”
“Wait a minute.” Piers stuffed his hands in his pockets, almost expecting his phone to be gone. “Were you searching me?”
“No!”
“You were frisking me!”
“I was not.”
“You were checking me over.”
“I was not! Damn you.”
“I’m not hiding anything from you, if that’s what you think.”
“I was not frisking you! It was just … a hug, okay? Next time I won’t bother.”
She stomped off and he followed.
Ten minutes later they arrived at the Swiss Free Bank. It was a bland modern building with windows all along the front and a revolving door in the center.
Inside, he could see potted plants, light wood furniture, and a row of tellers that looked busy. To one side, several desks with signs for bank loans, mortgages, and other services were lined up. “Other services” sounded like the person he needed. He held his hand out. “Give me the key.”
She stared at him. “Why?”
“You need to stay here while I go in.”
“No. I don’t want you forgetting something again.”
“I’m not going to forget something. I didn’t forget the bag at Auguste’s place, I’d only just escaped from the police and had a few things on my mind.”
“Right. So, this time I’ll go with you and we won’t forget anything.”
“If we go in together and anyone’s seen the TV were going to stick out like a sore thumb.”
Her eyes glazed over for a moment before snapping back onto him. “Okay. I’ll go. On my own.”
Piers sighed. “You?”
“What? You think I can’t do it because I’m a girl?”
“No, no—”
“Then what? Why can’t I do it? Why do you have to do it?”
“Because the key fits Auguste Chevalier’s safety deposit box. He’s a guy.”
“Was.”
“Right.”
She nodded slowly and held up the key. He reached out, but she wrapped her fingers back around it. “What if they have a picture?”
“Picture?”
“Of Auguste.”
Piers lowered his hand. “You mean I won’t match the picture.”
She smiled. “That’s decided then. I’ll go.”
He nodded. “Okay. Might be better. Anyway, there’s a lot of research that shows people are more cooperative with beautiful people.”
Her thin eyebrows inched slightly closer together. “You mean that?”
“Course. I read it in Scientific Ameri—”
“No, stupid. Do you really think I’m beautiful?”
“Oh.” He opened and closed his mouth, then swallowed hard. “Yes . . . of course. Yes. You’re gorgeous. Stunning.”
“Really?”
“People practically line up to gaz
e at you.”
“But what do you think?”
He could feel every thump of his beating heart. He licked his lips and lowered his gaze. “You’re … the most … beautiful girl I’ve ever known.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “You’re fabulous.”
She gave a reluctant smile and mumbled something.
He leaned forward. “Huh?”
“I said thanks ... and … you’re kind of … okay, too.”
Piers laughed. “I’ve always wanted to be kind of okay.”
She punched him with both hands. “Okay, well, now you are, so stop complaining.”
“I wasn’t complaining.”
“Good, because …” She looked at the bank. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Piers took out his phone and they exchanged numbers. He watched as she finished typing. “What are you going to say in there?”
“That I want to get into the safety deposit box.”
“And when they ask why you’re not Auguste Chevalier, or at least a male? What then?”
She rolled her eyes. “This is France. No one will think anything of a man having a female assistant.” She tossed her head back and flipped her hair over her ear. “Especially if they’re gorgeous and stunning.” She took a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”
“Yeah.” He touched her arm. “If you get worried, call, and I’ll see what I can do.”
She smiled and placed her hand high on his chest. “My motorbike hero going to come to my rescue again?”
He bit his lip. “Just don’t draw attention to yourself, and don’t stay long.”
She took her hand slowly off his chest, nodded, and walked off to the revolving door. He sighed, wishing he’d found something else to say, just to prolong their closeness.
Piers angled the umbrella to hide himself from the road and looked into the bank. He saw her approach the “other services” desk and sit down opposite a young man.
Minutes went by. Piers shuffled from one foot to the other, unable to see what she was doing. He felt a vibration in his pocket and pulled out Auguste’s phone. “Swiss Free Bank” glowed on the display. He flipped it open. “Bonjour.”
A young male voice at the other end addressed him. “Monsieur. This is Pierre Rockeutfort at the Swiss Free Bank. I was wondering—”
“Ah. Has my assistant arrived?”
“Er, yes, monsieur. She is asking for access to your safety deposit box. She says you need to replace your records?”
Paris Love Match Page 11