‘Your point is…?’
‘That if we had spoken up, Dad and me could have saved Auntie Jan painful heartache. Despite the warning signs, she always eked relationships out for months and when they finally broke up, she’d be in bits. I… I don’t want that for us.’ My throat hurt as I looked at his wide eyes, speckled with green. ‘The last few months I’ve been living a fantasy, I can see that now – me and a member of the nobility, it was never going to work…’ Not without mutual interests, to act as a strong bond, once the lust faded.
‘In fact Monique has done us a favour…’ My voice wavered. ‘I care deeply for you, Edward, but we’re just not compatible. Our mutual physical attraction…’ I stood up. ‘It’ll never be enough. The pain will be less if we call it quits now.’
Edward got to his feet as well. ‘Clearly you have me pigeon-holed as some straight-laced, narrow-minded, inflexible pseudo-intellectual toff.’
‘No, what I meant –’
Edward took a couple of deep breaths, then attempted a half-smile. He reached out his hand to clear a strand of hair from my face. The frownlines on his forehead smoothed out a titch. ‘It’s okay… Dear Gemma – the last thing I want is to cause you any sort of pain. Consider the subject closed. And… thank you for articulating your opinions with such honesty. I won’t mention the possibility of a reconciliation again.’ He gave a half-smile and my heart skipped a beat as his gave me one of his adorable soulful looks.
‘Okay,’ I stuttered.
Edward leant forward and gently brushed his lips across my cheek. It felt like a wave goodbye.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Back to work. Even in romantic Paris, I doubt affairs of the heart are considered a decent reason to slack off…’
We gazed at each other for a second before he took our cups over to the bar.
Chapter 10
*Sigh*. If only my name were Bridget Jones I could wallow in my pain with booze and fags. Chocolate and croissants would have to do. Apparently Edward didn’t feel equally as low. Today at work he’d been his normal charming self, helping one smitten elderly diner right back to her car. Plus he shared his break with Henri, a Tuesday regular who was keen to learn English. Then, in his most gentleman-like manner, he’d teasingly ticked off a bunch of young women, trying to get him to take their phone numbers.
I gazed around the flat, feeling suddenly alone. Perhaps Bridget had the right idea and jotting down feelings about my day might help. Maybe I’d give “Gemma Goodwin’s Diary” a go:
***
Morning.
New French words: 3
Tissues used: 4
Got to the restaurant. Hugo muttered something about me being late. I shrugged and made myself a strong espresso. Eyes wet, I sipped it slowly, until the last drop was gone. Stupid, wasn’t it? Me being upset about the break-up, when I’d kind of brought it about. Urgh. It had been what Abbey would call “horrid”, sleeping in the flat last night, on my own. In fact talking about best buddy Abbey, I’d been tempted to text her and pour out my heart. But I couldn’t face talking about the split, yet, to people who thought Edward and I were made for each other.
Hugo stared as I pulled out a tissue. He asked me what was the matter. I blew my nose hard and declared I had a terrible allergy to… to cherry tree blossom, remembering the Japanese takeaway I’d passed earlier on and its floral sign. Yes, that was it – I’d stood next to some flowering branches, whilst checking my texts, on my way to work.
Hugo made some funny French noise (yes, even noises were different – like, in English, it’s “atishoo” for a sneeze, but in French they say “atchoum”.)Then he said:
‘Bêtises!’ (new word number one, meaning “rubbish”) and something about cherry trees not blossoming until much later in the year.
Oops. I’d been caught out. So, I said my eyes were just tired after being up late last night, braising duck with JC. After a glare, his face relaxed and he went to the coffee machine to make another strong espresso. Then he ordered me to drink it down in one.
Blimey. Could the head waiter actually have a heart? In fact I had already seen signs of Hugo’s gentler side – the way he kept a supply of crayons out the back, for younger guests… How he’d clapped Edward on the back when he’d taken his first three course order in French. His brusque tone hid a man with a decidedly soft centre – or if not exactly soft, well let’s just say as far as boxes of chocolates go, I reckoned he was definitely more of a chewy toffee than a rock hard, nutty nougat.
Pierre was definitely a soft-centred bloke. He must have heard about the split. After I’d downed the espresso, he came out of the staff room and kissed me on both cheeks. He patted my shoulder, then glanced across at Hugo and said there was a box of muffins in the staff room everyone could help themselves to– apparently Pierre’s girlfriend, Agnes, loved baking.
‘I put a particularly delicious, triple chocolate one aside for you, mon troqnon’, he said quietly to me (new word number two, meaning the core of a fruit and no, I haven’t a clue as to why that is a term of affection). Then he asked if I wanted to change any shifts…Bless. Pierre clearly thought I’d want to avoid Edward and, feeling a titch better, I blew my nose again.
Whereas JC, as I’d already established, was… a bitter dark Brazilian chocolate truffle, with a brittle outside and secret melt-in-the-mouth middle. When I arrived in the kitchen, after dumping my bag and coat in the staff room (okay, and taking a nibble of that yummy muffin) he was having a panic about a late delivery and quickly barked at me to hurry up and get on – although, like Hugo, he stared at me and asked quickly how I was today. After a dab of my eyes, I said fine and smiled before washing my hands.
Clearly he thought I wasn’t and had decided there was only one remedy for my heartache.
‘Keep as busy as you can, Pudding,’ he declared, in his thick accent. Then he ordered me to peel one hundred potatoes, to mash for the fish pie and to shred five cabbages for coleslaw. To check I could cope he tentatively gave me the thumbs up and a wink. Ooh, I felt fuzzy inside.
‘Honey, wanna talk about it, later today, over a strong drink?’ said Cindy, after I’d finished the potatoes. Edward had just bobbed in, to fetch some biscuits from the pantry, that we often served with coffee. Briefly she slipped an arm around my waist and gave me a squeeze, which made me realise how much I missed Abbey and Auntie Jan – and Lady C.
I muttered something about being fine and not one to wallow. Cindy replied that she’d always known I was no “lavette”, (new word number three, from “dish cloth”, meaning a girl with no courage or energy). Then she showed me a catalogue from under the counter, full of typical Cindy clothes, all fun and sunny. Her suggestion we went shopping made me realize what a good example she was of someone who didn’t need a partner to have a good time. I’d been single before meeting Edward and coped. I had my career, friends and family and my health…
Lunchtime.
New French Words: 3
Tissues used: 1
Busy, busy, busy indeed. No time for contemplating my love life – there was work to do. The triple chocolate muffin from Pierre’s girlfriend kept me going, as did Cindy singing her favourite Disney song, the dwarves’ “Whistle whilst you work.” In fact, I broke into an out-of-tune rendition of another Snow White favourite, on my way to the pantry, namely singing it was “off to work I go”. A hush fell in the kitchen for a moment. JC winced and muttered “pénible” (meaning painful, new word number one). Also, a couple of kitchenhands looked at me pityingly. Cue a very embarrassing moment until Cindy caught my eye and we both hooted with laughter.
With as much dignity as I could muster, I continued into the pantry and returned with a handful of pears (“poires”) and voilà, new word number two. Everyone had grinned and told me it was leeks (“poireAUX”, new word number three) they’d asked for, to garnish the fish pie, not pears. Smiling at the mix-up, I dabbed my eyes. Edward had popped in again at that point and half-grinned at my mistake, as if we’d
never gone out and were just friends, not Exes. Protective JC had barked at him to leave.
I took the pears back and remembered, back in England, the things people had told me about the restaurant business. That it was hard work, with long hours and bosses that didn’t pay topnotch. Yet the frantic, urgent atmosphere of the kitchen meant you got to know people quickly and that made for a good team bond. And whilst Chez Dubois had a relatively high turnover of staff, due to firebrand JC, the key people worked as one and it was exciting to see Cindy, JC, Pierre and Hugo work together to produce a dining experience second-to-none.
Afternoon
New French Words: 1
Tissues used: 0
Ooh dear. Learnt a very nasty French word today – beginning with “F”… Its English equivalent starts with the same letter. JC muttered it when one of the kitchenhands cracked his favourite pestle and mortar. Apart from that, however, my shift definitely cheered me up. JC gruffly congratulated me on my coleslaw mayonnaise. Pierre wrapped me another muffin to take home. Hugo almost upturned his lips into a smile as I left and Cindy perked me up with some good girly gossip about the most recent bloke she was seeing.
Whilst Cindy had decided all men were too clingy and would impede her career, this didn’t mean she disliked their company – far from it. She just didn’t stay with them too long.
‘Laurent’s a great guy,’ she said. ‘I like him – but he likes me too much. So tonight I’m going to kick him to the kerb.’
‘Dump him?’
She nodded, as we sat at the bar, drinking cappuccinos, brows and armpits all sweaty from hours of boiling sauces and steaming vegetables. I asked why.
‘Cos he’s my age – clearly looking to settle down.’
‘Hmm, like Edward – he’s in his early thirties, too,’ I said.
Oops! Cindy was only twenty-nine! Then she explained how he’d probably propsose within the next six months. Plus was the jealous type, always wanting to know who she texted. He reminded Cindy of her soldier brother-in-law. She reckoned being an army wife must be hard, with your destiny in the hand of some postings officer.
Yes, Cindy Cooper was definitely one woman who needed to be in charge of her own life. And I understood – that claustrophobic feeling had overwhelmed me, just for one second, when Edward proposed – but now we’d split up, I wondered if I’d thrown away something worth hanging onto… Edward wasn’t the jealous type and would never expect me to drop my ambitions.
***
So, there you have it, my diary for one shift at Chez Dubois. A day spent with new friends who cheered me up and made me realise that, even though I had to return to an empty flat, I was still very lucky to be in Paris, learning about cooking, the one thing I’d always love.
In fact, that cosy thought accompanied me to bed, feeling a titch happier than the night before. Bleary-eyed, I tumbled in between the sheets, mulling over the day’s events. I was too tired to hear someone creep in. Too engrossed in my thoughts to hear the roll of a gun barrel…
Chapter 11
‘Pssst!’
I stopped in the street and looked behind me. Nah.Must have been hearing things. I yawned. Wednesday morning – my sleeping was rubbish since Edward left. Instead of spooning in bed with him, I spent the evening spooning in mouthfuls of ice cream and the subsequent acid reflux kept me awake.
I sighed. Edward had texted this morning to say he’d left his phone charger behind. A lump came to my throat as I walked through Place du Tertre. Artists were setting up for the day – easels creaked open, chairs scraped across cobbled bricks. Edward’s text had been polite but, understandably, he hadn’t signed off his message with the usual smiley face. It had taken me weeks to persuade him to use mobile phone symbols and his favourite had been the perplexed one with the lopsided smile.
One artist, with his flamboyant cravat and beret, winked at me. With a feeble smile, I pressed on, against the mega cold February breeze.
‘Pssst!’
Huh? I stopped on the edge of the square and turned around again – by a nearby tree stood a black suit with matching sunglasses and chiselled cheekbones. For God’s sake! I hurried over.
‘Why didn’t you just text me, Joe?’ I asked.
‘Did. No reply,’ he answered in his usual abrupt style.
I delved into my duffle coat pocket.
‘Sh… sugar.’ I sighed. ‘Must have left my phone back at the flat.’
This was no surprise. I’d put my purse in the fridge this morning and nearly left the flat wearing odd shoes – my mind was too crammed with thoughts of Edward and our break-up to fit in anything rational. Although I’d just about managed to pull on clean jeans, a warm top and pumps.
Lady C had been disappointed that so soon after her training, last September, I was out of the smart skirts and court shoes, all co-ordinated and conservative. Mind you, she approved of my less tight tops and more natural tanning products… I’d even ditched the false eyelashes eventually, after one stuck to Edward’s cheek following an amazin’ snog. Plus today she would have loved my tidy pinned bun – a must if my hair was to fit under the white skull cap I had to wear at Chez Dubois.
Thinking of Applebridge Hall, I swallowed hard. Never again would Edward and me curl up together in the Parlour and stuff our faces, in front of the telly, with cook Kathleen’s best Highland fudge, a blanket over our laps, his painted aristocratic ancestors watching us from the walls… I couldn’t help smiling at the evenings I’d spent teaching Edward how to play video games. His particular favourite was my brother’s Guitar Hero.
Joe clicked his fingers in front of my face. ‘Hello?’
‘Sorry… I was just thinking about…’
‘Daydreaming more like… Not taking your eye off the ball, are you, Agent G? Thought you understood how alert you had to be, twenty-four seven.’
My jaw dropped. ‘I’ve just realised where this came from!’ I plunged a hand into my handbag and produced a small, gold oval shaped piece of metal – a bullet. This morning I’d found it on my bedside table. Thinking that perhaps it was Edward’s – a memento from a hunt when he was a child – I was taking it into work, along with a phone charger he left behind. ‘You broke in and put this by my bed last night, didn’t you?’
Joe nodded.
I gasped. ‘But how?
‘You forgot to put the safety chain on the door. Then I picked the lock. You know how easy it is.’
‘Whilst I was sleeping? How dare you!’
But eventually I nodded at Joe, understanding why he’d done it. However ruffled I was by my split with Edward, I needed to remember that I was on a mission and could be under the eye of a criminal mastermind. Anyone could have forced their way in last night – especially now I was on my own.
Joe exhaled. ‘Right. Enough said. Lesson learnt.’ He took back the bullet and jerked his head towards a nearby bar.
‘Quick cappuccino with plenty of milk and one sugar?’ he said.
‘How do you know I take it like that?’
He did his customary tapping on his nose.
‘S’pose we could.’ I said. My morning shift didn’t start until ten, anyway. It was too depressing staying in the flat, playing back the romantic memories Edward and me had made during the last week, so I’d left earlier than necessary.
I followed Joe inside and he headed for a corner table, away from the window. As we sat down he took off his glasses. The waiter came over and I ordered my drink. Joe asked for a double espresso.
He raised one eyebrow. ‘How’s it going?’
My shoulders slumped. ‘Me and Edward – we’ve broken up. Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day, as well…’
Joe leant forward. ‘I meant with your mission,’ he said. ‘Have you had your ear to the ground? Heard anything suspicious? John Smith said he saw you in Disneyland and you were keeping an eye on staff’s email boxes.’
My cheeks burned. Stupid me. As if one of Her Majesty’s secret agents would care about my love life.<
br />
‘Yes, Pierre lets me use the laptop, so I check on a daily basis.’
The waiter arrived with our drinks. Joe took a sip of his strong black coffee.
‘Time is of the essence right now, Agent G. MI6 has just foiled a terror plot scheduled for the commemoration of the Battle of the Somme in July. Overall concerns are heightened.’
I lifted the frothy drink to my face and after taking a large mouthful, put it back down. Joe’s maple-syrup eyes glinted as he picked up a napkin and reached out to wipe the tip of my nose.
‘Milky froth,’ he said, by way of an explanation, and scraped back his chair. ‘Remember, inform me right away when you make more progress.’
That’s what I liked about Joe. No “ifs” all “whens”. If he could bottle that confidence, he’d be a millionaire.
‘I hope to hear from you soon, and Agent G?’
‘Yeah?’ I mumbled.
He eyed me closely, then his voice softened. ‘I’ve spent many a Valentine’s Day alone. No big deal, you’re a tough woman. As one of my, erm, American counterparts would say, “when the going gets tough, the tough get going”.’
I giggled, for one second, forgetting all the painful love stuff.
‘American counterpart? Who? Popstar Billy Ocean? Joe, everyone with a parent who lived through the Eighties, knows those are the words to one of his songs.’
‘Pure coincidence,’ he said, cheeks flushing. ‘But wise words too.’ Joe stared at me again for a few seconds, before he left. I nodded and stared back.
Joe was cool. Like a big brother who – unlike mine – wouldn’t put earwigs in your milkshake or laugh at your latest hairdo. And he was right. I was slacking. Romantic problems had distracted me. This was no good. I needed to crack on with my investigations.
Agent G would not let Joe – or KMid and Wills – down. Feeling energised, I knocked back the rest of my cappuccino, grabbed my leopard-print handbag and hurried through the higgledy piggledy streets to Chez Dubois. Today I would definitely quiz anti-royal Hugo who, now I knew him better, seemed almost friendly. Indeed, yesterday he heard me saying to Pierre how expensive Disneyland Paris was, and to my amazement whipped out a pen and paper and listed some museums and gardens to visit in the capital that were absolutely free.
From Paris With Love Page 10
