From Paris With Love

by Samantha Tonge

  ‘Boyfriend? Hardly – we are just friends…’ I said, cheeks hot.

  ‘Really?’ He paused. ‘Whatever you say, Pudding – but just remember, after splitting from Edward, you are a leetle wounded. Don’t hurry into something new without a bit of time to nurture yourself.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It is advice from my grandmother who was an excellent chef, and helped me over my very first break-up when a girl in ze year above me at school broke my heart.’

  Aw, that was so sweet!

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘And don’t worry – I’m… I’m trying really hard not to rush into another relationship.’

  The doors swung open and Hugo caught the end of that sentence. ‘Oh là là! Has JC gone into advice mode?’

  Eyes twinkling, JC swore at the head waiter.

  ‘You should be flattered, Gemma,’ continued Hugo. ‘It is a sign that he likes you. It was months before he gave me any guidance and that was only to recommend a good shoe polish.’

  Both men chuckled.

  ‘Has he given you any of his secret chocolate stash yet?’

  ‘Zut, does everyone know about that?’ said JC and rolled his eyes in mock disapproval.

  ‘What chocolate?’ said Cindy, coming back from the pantry.

  ‘Nothing you need to know about,’ said JC, ‘as due to your admirable self-reliance, you never require it.’

  ‘You better believe it,’ she said in a bright voice and set down the big carton of eggs. However, her face quickly fell. I may have only known Cindy for a few weeks, but guessed that her obsession with eternal independence was bravado. Didn’t everyone, man or woman, deep down, long to find a mate for life?

  Thirty steaks and twenty-three floating islands later, I was ready to leave. Edward had tried to collar me to discuss something, but I didn’t have time after my shift as Joe was waiting for me. With a wave to Pierre, who was enjoying a well-earned cappuccino with Hugo, I pushed open the door and headed straight for the BMW waiting by the pavement.

  ‘Nice dress,’ said Joe as I got in the back next to him.A pungent whiff of aftershave told me John was driving. I wore the cherry red dress I’d flown over to Paris in.

  ‘Thought I’d better make an effort, seeing as you are taking me out to lunch. It won’t work, though – I’ve still got every intention of confronting Monique.’

  Joe shifted uncomfortably and stared out of the window. I understood why when, twenty minutes later, the car ground to a halt outside a McDonalds.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said sheepishly, ‘I thought this type of food was your favourite…’

  I giggled. ‘It’s perfect. Honestly, Joe. I was getting withdrawal symptoms. And after working all morning with fine food, a burger and fries will be mega refreshing.’

  Joe got out the car and John turned around to stare at me.

  ‘Have you reconsidered my proposal?’ he said in a low voice.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Your loss, dear.’ He shrugged. ‘I thought you were brighter than that.’

  I’d rather be honest than bright, I thought, and followed Joe into the fastfood restaurant. I ordered my usual – a cheeseburger, fries and ice cream. Joe, of course, had one of their salads and a fruit juice.

  ‘So, do your worst, then,’ I said in between mouthfuls of yummy heaven. ‘Try to persuade me not to interrogate Monique myself. There’s little doubt left in my mind about her guilt, since she’s suddenly agreed to leave the country with Edward, on Sunday.’

  Joe wiped his mouth, due to rogue trickle of salad dressing. ‘I dug a bit deeper into Monique’s background, last night. When you first told me you thought she was implicated, I got a junior agent to quickly draw up a profile – without letting him in on our unofficial investigations, of course. He found out that her father went into politics, but as I knew no one with the Masson surname in the French political arena, I didn’t think it a very important detail. However, after my own research last night, I discovered that he is a very high-profile member of the most radical section of the National Front party.’

  No wonder Monique always talked politics and had strong opinions, being brought up with a dad like that.

  ‘He’s called Alain Lemercier and is always on political chat shows. He is very well-known. There is an estrangement between father and daughter – especially since the mother’s suicide, six months ago. That’s no doubt why Monique has taken her mother’s maiden name, Masson, as her own. If her surname was Lemercier, I would have obviously worked out the connection a long time ago.’

  ‘Suicide? I had no idea.’ Poor Monique. How tragic. Not that I disliked her any less, but I could see how she might have been vulnerable to the criminal life, what with a father she wasn’t talking to, a sister who needed support and mother who took her own life…

  ‘In all her publicity as an actress, Monique has never mentioned her father. Contacts within the National Front suggest he doesn’t talk of her either. That’s also why the junior agent’s profile didn’t pick up the connection. The party’s stance, naturally, is anti-Europe.’ Joe sipped his juice. ‘They would have a field day with the British Intelligence Service wrongly accusing a French citizen on such flimsy evidence. The case would be all over the papers. The National Front would make sure the story hit the front pages and use it as an example of how supposed loyal ties with European neighbours actually mean very little. The fact that this mission is unofficial wouldn’t matter. Once they found out I worked for MI6, the agency’s reputation would be compromised – Lemercier is ruthless, he’d make sure of that.’

  ‘But what if we’re right about Monique?’

  Joe scrunched up his plastic beaker. ‘We don’t act on “what ifs”.’

  I sighed. ‘Okay… Look, perhaps we should at least get closer to the actress. Give it one last shot, trying to find out something?’

  ‘You have a plan?’ said Joe.

  ‘A simple one. Tomorrow night – I’ll invite Edward and Monique to the flat for dinner. He caught me earlier and wanted to discuss something, anyway. It’ll be my day off, so I have plenty of time to cook. Maybe Blade could come – and, um, Cindy, she might ease conversation as she’s known Monique all these months.’ I said innocently. ‘You’ll join us, of course?’

  ‘Yep. Even better, I’ll somehow retrieve Monique’s keys and make my excuses to leave early. You keep her and Edward busy whilst I search their flat. This could be our last chance to find something concrete against her.’

  Chapter 27

  If you looked up the word “Gooseberry” in the dictionary, it would probably say: “globular, prickly fruit”, which was exactly how I felt, sitting around the dining room table in my flat. Unfortunately Blade couldn’t make the meal – something about a songwriting session with Dagger and Stanley. So here I was, the odd one out, playing gooseberry – or as Cindy might say, being a fifth wheel – to the two couples, Edward and Monique, Cindy and Joe.

  Globular? Yes, very globe-like compared to skinny Monique. Prickly? Absolutely, every time she giggled with Edward, my hackles rose. Cindy gave me a sympathetic smile. At least there was no sign from Edward that he was completely smitten – no intimate looks between them or holding of hands. Either he was being sensitive to my feelings, or their relationship was going to be one of these slow-burn ones that took a while to take off.

  Perhaps I should have made gooseberry crumble, for dessert. Instead I kept the menu French with a couple of dishes I’d learnt at Chez Dubois – namely garlic stuffed chicken with three bean salad, and crème brûlée. I was growing in confidence and surprised even myself with certain skills. I may not have been able to dance the Nutcracker, like Monique, but could work up wonders in the kitchen with nuts. Although I’d practised the pudding once this morning, to remind myself how to get the consistency just right. Plus today I had time to investigate John Smith a bit further, on the internet. I tapped in the locations and dates of his recent missions, to see what news items came up.

  The results? In Milan, whilst Jo
hn was there, a fake designer production outlet was closed down, a famous Roman statue was vandalised, a football match-fixing racket was uncovered, a top politician died and the Italian authorities were victorious in regaining ancient Etruscan artefacts that had been looted and shipped overseas. This stash included bronze chokers and figurines – and then some of them went missing again.

  In Bangkok, the main news items reported arrests due to child prostitution and drug-dealing. There had been anti-corruption demonstrations resulting in violence, and the Royal Thai Police failed to find out who stole diamonds from a visiting Saudi family, even the jewels eventually turned up in Turkey. Plus a mini hurricane caused the death of one tourist.

  Finally in Prague, three people were arrested for arms dealing, explosives were found at the Palestinian embassy, there were leaks of a bribery scandal in the government, the Bohemian Crown Jewels were stolen from Prague Castle – or rather replicas, as the real ones were out on loan, for a private viewing – and areas of the Czech capital badly flooded.

  Hmm. Nothing odd had jumped out at me. Tomorrow I would study my findings again.

  ‘This chicken is delicious,’ said Monique, clearly on her best behaviour. She touched Edward’s arm and he knew instinctively to top up her glass of wine. I bit my lip. Perhaps I’d spoken too soon. Whereas Cindy and Joe… I was ready to give up on the blinkered, MI6 doofus who ignored the American in order to spend the evening pumping an unsuspecting Monique for information. And he looked so cute, in his blue shirt and chinos. What a waste! Plus Cindy was all dressed up to impress. But this matchmaking malarkey wasn’t exactly going to plan.

  ‘I believe you like talking politics, Monique,’ said Joe.

  She pushed away her plate – only half-eaten, of course. ‘Like most French people, oui.’

  ‘Are you socialist? Conservative?’ He put down his knife and fork.

  ‘Socialist – is there any other party for intelligent, fair-minded people who believe in equality for all?’

  ‘You won’t approve of our royal family then,’ I chipped in.

  ‘Honey, I just love that Kate and Wills. As for baby George, now he’s adorable…’ interrupted Cindy and then knocked back the rest of her wine. ‘It wouldn’t be a life for me, though – being forever answerable to my husband’s family. Kate’s “career”, if you like, is already mapped out for her.’

  I shrugged. ‘Maybe that’s what she wants.’

  ‘The royal family’s existence is of no interest to me, either way,’ said Monique.

  Joe and I exchanged glances.

  ‘They are irrelevant to political life,’ she continued. ‘Mere figureheads who have no concept of reality. I feel nothing when I see them, apart from occasionally wishing Catherine would wear something more flamboyant.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh, Moni,’ said Edward. ‘The present-day monarchs are more in touch with your average Britain, than ever before. In times of hardship they raise morale, plus are excellent ambassadors for our country.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Clearly you didn’t grow up amongst patriots with a strong sense of national identity.’

  Ooh…I held my breath. Would she reveal anything about her National Front dad?

  She laughed nervously. ‘Um, my my father would probably approve of a thoroughbred Frenchman – or woman – being crowned.’

  ‘Conservative, is he?’ said Joe casually.

  Monique paused for a moment. ‘Something like that. The Masson family does have a tradition of strong patriotic feelings. My grandfather fought in the First World War. He gained a reputation for rallying the depressed troops with his rhetoric. He was still spinning speeches when he got killed in the trenches, defending our country. I guess that heavily influenced my father’s world view.’ She shrugged. ‘I am very proud of my grandpapa. He was brave and had principles.’

  ‘So, Joe, who are you training at the moment, honey? Any new moves you can show me?’ said Cindy, clearly wanting his attention diverted back to her.

  Without looking at Cindy, Joe aimed his answer at the French actress. ‘I’m training one of the footballers playing in this charity match, at the weekend – funnily enough, the young royal couple will be there to watch.’

  ‘Do you like football, Monique?’ I asked. She’d been mega polite to me all evening – bordering on friendly at times.

  Her cheeks flushed. ‘Non.’

  ‘So you won’t be going to that match on Saturday?’ said Joe and smiled.

  Her cheeks burned redder, hiding her smattering of freckles for a moment. ‘Absolutely not!’ she said and gave another nervous laugh. ‘Me? At a football stadium? I cannot think of anything worse.’

  ‘So, tell me about this footballer, Joe,’ said Cindy, voice edged with desperation now. Urgh, she must have been wondering why she was practically invisible to Mr Stupid Cupid Bloggs. It didn’t help when his phone bleeped (he’d timed that to happen, with a pre-set alarm) Joe pretended to read a message and then got to his feet.

  ‘Apologies, folks. Personal training pays well, but it means you’re at the beck and call of clients. I’ve just received a message about an injured hamstring. I’ll try and get back later. Thanks for dinner, Age–, I mean Gemma.’

  He went into the bedroom where I’d put everyone’s coats, no doubt hoping to find Monique’s keys. A few minutes later he reappeared and left the flat.

  To my amazement, the conversation flowed during dessert and coffee – although I shouldn’t have been surprised. Chatty Cindy was the perfect antidote to any awkwardness. In fact, seeing Monique joke with Edward and my American friend, I could almost understand why people liked her. She was a good listener. Plus Monique opened up about her family, when Cindy said how much she missed hers. Apparently the actress was never close to her dad, growing up. She didn’t let on who he was, but talked of how his work always took a priority; of how he kept trying to persuade her to study politics, economics and social science, when all she wanted to do was dance. What’s more, I held my own, talking about my new cookery skills and – when quizzed by Cindy – about just how I hard I’d worked last year, to fool everyone that I was really Abbey.

  ‘That must have taken real balls, Gemma, you should have been a secret agent,’ said Cindy.

  Oh, the irony!

  ‘Mom wanted me to be a hairdresser,’ Cindy continued. ‘Don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for not learning how to colour and perm!’

  Monique nodded. ‘Oui, even as an actress, I don’t think I could have pulled off two weeks pretending to be an aristocrat, “on stage” all the time.’ She smiled at Cindy. ‘Ma mère, aussi, wished I’d gone into hairdressing – or failing that, been a dress designer… Towards the end, she was so ill, Maman let me cut her hair…’ Monique gave a wry smile. ‘One of her last laughs was looking at her reflection in the mirror, afterwards.’

  ‘And how are you doing, Monique?’ said Cindy. ‘It seems like no time at all since last summer…’

  Of course. Cindy would have known about the actress’ mum dying six months ago, as she’d been working at Chez Dubois for a year. The American reached over and, Daffy Duck bracelet jingling, patted Monique’s hand.

  The actress shrugged. ‘I don’t know if one ever gets over losing a parent – let alone if they took their own life.’

  ‘That must have been hard,’ I said in a sympathetic voice, without thinking. Okay, I felt sorry for her, but she was plotting cold murder. I mustn’t lose sight of that.

  ‘Oui – particularly for my little sister.Maman… Things were bad for a long time. She never got over my father’s affair…’ Monique stared me in the eye. ‘But then you hardly knew your mother, non? Guess I am lucky to have memories…’

  Blimey. Edward must have had quite deep conversations about me with her.

  She got to her feet. ‘Bon, enough of such sadness. Cindy, shall we clear the dishes? I believe Edward wants to talk to Gemma.’

  He smiled at me as the other two carried our plates over to the kitchen. ‘That was
a delightful meal, Gem.’

  ‘Thanks. Guess you’ve learnt a lot about French home-cooking, living with Monique.’

  ‘And no doubt you have acquired an excellent knowledge of French pastries, living above The Golden Croissant.’

  ‘Are you suggesting I’ve put on weight?’

  We grinned at each other and for one second it was as if our trip to Paris had never torn us apart.

  ‘Lady C will soon tell me if I’ve let myself go – I mean… Not that I’m probably going to see her much, away from Applebridge Hall.’

  ‘You are always welcome, Gemma,’ he said and ran a hand through his bedroom curls. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about… I’ve spoken to Father and we hope you will consider working at Applebridge Hall’s food academy… On a good wage, of course, with free board… What I mean is… We consider you one of the Croxley family, regardless of… the situation between you and me.’

  A lump formed in my throat. Since moving out and picking up the last of his things, Edward had made no attempt to make up with me. Which of course, was a good thing – but he seemed to have accepted a future without me so easily. ‘That’s… I mean… Thank you. But I don’t think…’ I sat up straighter. ‘Is Monique returning with you on Sunday?’

  ‘She wants to.’

  ‘Then… No… I couldn’t watch you and her…’

  ‘Gemma, how many times? There is nothing going,’ Edward said, voice edged with irritation.

  Wow. He’d raised his voice – most unbecoming behaviour for a Croxley. But he was either naïve or in denial.

  ‘Well, if not yet it’s only a matter of time…’ I said. ‘You wait until she charms the Earl with her knowledge of art… Rupert will fall at her feet… Lady C will clap her hands at Monique’s genteel appearance… Everyone in your social circle will consider the pair of you a perfect match.’

  ‘They thought that of you and me,’ he said, sharply.

  My eyes tingled. ‘Probably not, deep down.’