From Paris With Love

by Samantha Tonge

  ‘Go sit out the back for a while, in ze fresh air. You have ze face of coconut flesh. Let this be a lesson – being a top chef is close to being a medical surgeon.’

  Not waiting to be told twice, I headed past the pantry and out to the back door, to the small tarmac yard where the delivery lorries parked. I sat on the stone step and let a welcome breeze ruffle my hair as I pulled off my white skull hat. After a few deep breaths the nausea disappeared and I got up to take a stroll, before heading back inside.

  I walked towards a grassy patch, near a fence at the bottom of the yard. Breathe in, breathe out, in, out… A figure approached from the nearby avenue. Was that Joe?

  Black suit, sunglasses out of season, chiselled cheekbones – yep. He walked over, took off the glasses and his mouth slightly upturned.

  ‘Don’t tell me – you just happened to be in the area,’ I said.

  ‘Didn’t hear from you last night, after you staked out that meeting. I texted,’ he said, ignoring my friendly sarcasm.

  ‘Oh… Um, soz… I was shattered by the time I got in – then overslept this morning. I haven’t even looked at my phone.’

  Which was just as well – imagine trying to describe last night’s antics in text. Instead I updated Joe in the old-fashioned way, by using spoken words to inform him about the meeting, me going there, the chase… No muscle moved on his face – not even when I mentioned the trampoline and kennel.

  ‘Good work, Agent G. Your actions showed quick-thinking – although next time, make note-taking less obvious and keep us informed of all your movements. So, you think revolvers are definitely part of this plan?’

  ‘No doubt about it.’

  ‘Anything else I should know?’

  ‘No. Like I said, all I could pick out was the words for war and MiddleWin Mort and one guy talked about “The Mob”. At the very least, those people chasing me proves something dodgy is afoot. I’ll check Monique’s emails again, when I get home tonight.’

  Joe thought for a moment. ‘After everything you’ve said, the investigation will need to be stepped up to another level. From now on, I’ll be more involved. So will Agent John Smith…’ Joe took out his phone and texted for a few seconds. He looked back up. ‘This Blade… What do you make of him? Is he a close friend of Monique’s?’

  I shrugged. ‘Guess so. Why?’

  ‘How much do you know about him?’

  ‘Like I told you briefly, in that text after my visit to the flea market, he won’t tell me his real name but I gave you his date of birth. As for anything else… He works in a music shop in St Denis… Dunno – when the conversation moves on to him, Blade can be a bit vague.’ I put my white skull cap back on. ‘But I guess that’s all about creating a bit of allure. These rockstars have to have some mystique about them. I mean, who wants to know that Elton John’s real name is Reginald Dwight? Anyway, I’m surprised you haven’t heart of his band, Black Bijou, seeing as you’re a heavy metal fan.’

  Joe shrugged. ‘They must be very far from even the edge of mainstream.’

  ‘Or perhaps you don’t know them because they are French.’ For some reason I felt the need to defend Blade, and didn’t like anyone else apart from me implying they’d hardly had any success.

  ‘Agent G – I’ve travelled the world and learnt quite a lot about my favourite music. Grave Digger from Germany are good, as are Anthem from Japan and Falling in Reverse from the States… but Black Bijou?’ He shook his head. ‘Never heard of them.’

  ‘Well, Blade says they aren’t into social media, and that’s why I can’t find anything on the internet about them,’ I said airily. ‘Did you manage to discreetly run that photo of Blade I sent you through MI6’s facial recognition databank?’

  ‘Yep. Nothing. John’s persuaded a junior agent to discreetly check out all men, aged twenty-eight, born on the date you texted me – the twelfth of July. It’s a long job, but so far all of them are accounted for, either employed or registered unemployed in various parts of France.’

  ‘Apparently he lived in Britain for a while,’ I said. ‘His mum was English. That might help.’

  Joe’s face relaxed. ‘Ah. Right. We’ll look into that.’

  ‘Honestly, he’s really nice! Today he’s taking me to the Eiffel Tower – then tomorrow, Cindy’s got tickets for Disneyland on our day off and I’m going to ask him along. In fact…’ I gave what I hoped to be a sweet, endearing smile. ‘Why don’t you make up the foursome? I’m sure Cindy wouldn’t object…’ Understatement of the year! Whilst she wasn’t looking for a long-term guy, if anyone appreciated hot totty, it was her. ‘I’m sure you can manage just one day off.’

  ‘I don’t know…’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I said. ‘Afraid of enjoying yourself?’

  Like some genie out of a bottle, John suddenly appeared by Joe’s side.

  ‘Us agents fear nothing – especially the company of women,’ he said, as usual making my flesh crawl. He grasped my hand in his sweaty palm. ‘Nice ring, you’ve got there. Cute design.’

  I gave him a small smile and pulled my fingers away. ‘Thanks. It came from the flea market.’ I loved the mood ring Blade bought me. Shame I would have to take it off before I got to grips with the trout.

  ‘Some of those stallholders make a mint selling fake platinum and gold necklaces,’ he said.

  ‘Okay,’ said Joe, ignoring our jewellery chat. ‘I’ll visit Disney.’

  ‘Brill! But please don’t wear that bloomin’ black suit, otherwise you’ll be mistaken for one of the park’s managers. Maybe I should take you shopping.’

  Joe rolled his eyes. ‘Just text me the details – and good work so far. As I expected, you are proving yourself to be dedicated and determined.’

  And before I could get all gooey at the compliment, the two men were gone. A smile crossed my face. Good old Joe had succeeded in perking up my deflated balloon of self-esteem.

  I headed towards the back door and just as I got there, heard a horribly familiar tinkling laugh. Moments later The Terrorist appeared on the step, clutching a cigarette and lighter.

  ‘Monique,’ I said in a tight voice.

  ‘Gemma,’ she said and lit her fag. For a few moments, she stood puffing, without a single word being exchanged between us.

  I tried not to look at the appealing sprinkling of freckles across her nose – or the fine hair lifted by the breeze and her classy, stylish dress flowing out from beneath her coat.

  After a particularly long drag of nicotine, she caught my eye.

  ‘Look, Gemma, about Edward moving in… Can I just say, I never meant to encourage your break-up. He actually believes that you and I could be good friends. Edward and I had quite a chat yesterday afternoon, during our charming boat trip down the Seine. And last night when I got back from a… a meeting.’ A smile crossed her face. ‘Edward is so well-informed when it comes to politics and the arts. After discussing his personal situation, we sat up chatting about all sorts, until the early hours.’

  Oh… my … God – could you get any more devious. She was pretending to make up with me, just so that she could score Brownie points with Edward.

  ‘I think we both know that’s exactly what you intended,’ I said, managing to resist the urge to curl my fingers around her throat. Instead, I merely smiled. In any case, I was Agent G and this was the perfect opportunity to calmly pump her for information. ‘None of that matters now, anyway,’ I said in a bright voice. ‘Clearly Edward is moving forward with his life – so am I. What’s done is done.’

  ‘Oh… Um…bon. But surely…’

  ‘And I’d rather not talk about it,’ I said, with an air of finality. Really? I mean really, she expected me to listen whilst she tried to justify her dishonest drivel about never meaning to snatch my boyfriend?

  She stared at me for a moment before looking around as if seeking inspiration for what we could talk about. We had as much common ground as a fishing hook and JC’s trout.

  ‘Did Pie
rre tell you a politician from England is eating at Chez Dubois tonight?’ she said. ‘He represents your Green Party…’

  I shrugged.

  ‘They support republicanism – like ze French…’ Monique shook her head. ‘Especially in these hard times, I could not bear to let a single one of my tax payments support a wealthy, royal family.’

  I noted the disapproval on her face – but then lots of people, like Hugo, thought little of monarchies. See how logical I’m becoming? My mission is teaching me all about the importance of evidence before accusations.

  ‘The royals have always proved to be a crucial presence during wars,’ I said, digging into my memory for one of Auntie Jan’s favourite arguments. ‘They boost morale. Plus, today the family attracts tourism.’

  Monique sucked on her fag. ‘Hanging used to be effective as well – doesn’t mean we should support it nowadays… Times change.’ She flicked her cigarette butt on the floor and it narrowly missed a worm.

  ‘Careful!’ I said. ‘You almost burnt off that poor thing’s head (or was that its bum?).’ I carried the worm over to a safe patch of turf.

  Monique shook her head. ‘It is an insect. That is all.’

  ‘That’s where you are wrong. Worms are annelids, actually,’ I said airily, a flash of my Biology GCSE popping into my head. But then I cringed. Also popping up was an image of my brothers doing unspeakable things to insects… Lives, however little, had always been important to me. Dad said I got that from Mum and often recounted stories of her nursing injured hedgehogs and birds.

  ‘You English worry too much about such things,’ said Monique. ‘Even Edward – last night he grabbed a wooden spoon from my hand, just as I was about to kill a spider.’

  Hmm. Monique was definitely hardnosed.

  ‘They had brooches in the shape of spiders at the flea market I visited with Blade,’ I said and shuddered. ‘Such a cosmopolitan place… People of all nationalities milled around… I guess you have friends in Paris from all corners of the earth?’

  I tried to look casual, as she nodded. Well, I needed to know where her pals – or comrades from last night – came from. I’d done my research about terrorists and it would be cause for concern, if her friends were Muslim, Irish, Russian, Tamil, Maoist, Palestinian, from Catalan or… I sighed. Okay, let’s face it. Knowing their nationality wouldn’t help at all, there was probably a long list of countries with reasons for wanting to harm England. But somehow I had to find out more about last night.

  ‘So… Um…Your, um, life must be really busy if you are out having meetings on a Sunday night.’

  ‘Oh… Oui…’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘It is to do with a… an artistic project I am managing…’ She sighed. ‘It is just as well my next big acting job isn’t for quite a while. I have so much to sort out… many problems… and have even had to pull out of accompanying Edward to Versailles tomorrow. Although I doubt he’s bothered… As I’m sure you know, Edward can be a single-minded man.’ Monique smiled. ‘I can just imagine him as an intrepid explorer, rucksack bulging, camera at the ready, totally focused on the day ahead…’

  Mmm, me too. Edward would make a great aristocratic version of Bear Grylls. His strong build and English stiff upper lip would help him survive on the wildest island in the world. I could easily picture him in a wet shirt, wrestling with crocodiles, arms flexing as he lifted branches to construct a den for the protection of everyone else he was with…

  ‘So this project of yours isn’t going well?’ I asked, forcing myself to banish this very appealing image of Edward from my mind. My stomach scrunched as I hoped her answer would reveal important information.

  She shrugged. ‘It could be better. I need to get more people on board, to help…’ She stared into the distance for a moment. ‘Although at this late stage I will need to pick the most resilient and trustworthy to cope with ze training… In fact, I am expecting a call about that any minute…’ She mumbled, as if having forgotten I was around.

  ‘What about me?’ I said sweetly. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘What?’ Monique focused on me and shook herself. ‘Um, merci – but I need… specialised input.’

  As if on cue, her phone rang and whilst she answered it, I pretended to look busy texting into my phone.

  ‘Oui.Samedi…deuxième mars…’ I heard her mutter into the phone. ‘Football…St Denis…Kate… William… A la fin revolver… en secret.’

  The backyard spun for a moment. And there we had it – in the space of one sentence, clearer than ever before, all the evidence needed to confirm that Monique was masterminding an attack on the royals, a week on Saturday, during the football match at St Denis.

  Chapter 19

  Blimey. Blade was right – that was the most impressive erection I’d ever seen. I was glad he’d insisted on showing me. I longed to run my fingers up and down its length and leant forward… Ooh, such hardness, such strength…

  Which was just as well,if we were going to travel to its top – Blade told me before we arrived that at three hundred and twenty-four metres tall, the Eiffel Tower was even more awe-inspiring close up. Its metal felt cold and smooth and I ran my hand up and down it a few more times, studying the tower’s four giant feet, whilst Blade bought the tickets. We’d agreed I’d pay for us to have something to eat out afterwards – I explained that in English that was called going Dutch.

  I gazed around. This really was – as Abbey would say – a “quite charming” part of Paris, with extensive green lawns and benches, surrounded by pretty avenues lined by trees; the perfect setting for such a famous building.

  As Blade left the ticket kiosk and headed back to me, several people shot him a strange look. His striking appearance stood out more here than in bohemian Porte de Clignancourt and I loved how he cared not a jot.

  In a way it reminded me of the surly Edward I’d first got to know last autumn, before he and I hit it off – stubborn, strong-minded, yet underneath it all, a big heart. My eyes tingled and I couldn’t help thinking that it should have been me and Edward visiting this landmark.

  ‘Let’s go, pucette,’ he said. ‘Prepare to be astounded. You have nothing like this in London.’

  Snootily I raised an eyebrow and linked my arm into his. ‘Actually we do – it’s called the Gherkin.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘That’s, um, a really tall building shaped like a cornichon.’

  Think it unlikely I’d know the French word for a gherkin? Nah, I love McDonalds so of course, one of the first things I checked out, once in Paris, was my favourite burger bar’s menu and they always stick slices of that green pickle in their burgers.

  We made our way to one of the lifts, along with a group of secondary school children from London. They were on a trip to commemorate the First World War and I heard the teacher telling another tourist that they’d already visited the River Somme, where the famous battle had taken place.

  ‘It’s your last chance – would you prefer to walk to the top?’ said Blade as we showed our tickets.

  ‘No! That, um, would be a waste of money, now that you’ve paid for the lift,’ I said and pulled my ponytail tighter.

  ‘How money-conscious of you,’ said Blade, eyes twinkling. ‘Your decision has, of course, nothing to do with avoiding the seven hundred and four steps up?’

  I giggled. ‘Are you implying I’m lazy?’

  Edward would have insisted we go on foot, to get a real sense of the building… I wondered if Monique had brought him here yet. With a small sigh, I entered the lift. Blade followed, brow furrowed.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he said. ‘You aren’t scared of heights?’

  I shook my head and forced a big smile. No point being maudlin. Here I was… in Paris… At the Eiffel Tower. With a cool guy who was great company… What more could a girl want?

  A lump formed in my throat as I watched a young couple near us kiss. Blade caught my eye, bent down and I felt his warm lips on my cheek.

  ‘What was th
at for?’ I said, my stomach glowing hot.

  ‘You miss Edward – it is understandable. A few days will not undo feelings created over half a year.’

  We stared at each other and… Oh, um, gosh… I felt a sudden urge to kiss him back, on the mouth.

  ‘I know what a painful break-up is like,’ he said, as the lift doors closed and people around us chatted excitedly in French, German and another language I didn’t recognise.

  ‘Were you together a long time?’ I asked, telling myself off for feeling a titchy jab of jealousy. I mean, for goodness’ sake, why did the image of Blade with another woman make my voice sound just a little too bright?

  ‘It seemed like forever,’ he murmured. ‘In a good way.’ He looked down at me and smiled. ‘Merde, one is morose today! Come on, pucette – let us agree to speak no more today of broken dreams and hearts.’ He ran a finger down my cheek and my body relaxed as if I’d just drunk a fine glass of wine.

  ‘Okay, my old cockroach,’ I mumbled and a lady nearby shot me a strange look. A bubble of laughter rose in my chest and I sucked in my cheeks, glaring at Blade as a warning not to say anything back or I’d explode.

  After what seemed like a century of suppressing laughter, we arrived at the second floor and we got out. I breathed in a sobering gust of Parisian air.

  ‘There’s a buffet and shops on this second floor,’ said Blade but I kept my head down, determined not to get even a glimpse of the skyline until we were right at the top of the tower. Blade led me over to the final lift and we completed the final part of the ascent. Made it sound like an Everest expedition, didn’t I? But believe me, it was no mean feat squeezing between hordes of people and squashing into that final lift, without having to wait for hours.

  Finally we reached the top and Blade grinned at me like Santa on Christmas morning, as we stepped out into the open air area. Some people headed to see a room set up as a replica of the office belonging to the tower’s designer, Gustave Eiffel. Others gazed across Paris from the area protected by a roof, and studied the panoramic maps, trying to avoid the spit-spotting rain. But despite the dark clouds that had now gathered, I wanted to feel the wind in my hair, wanted to hear the distant hooting of car horns and imagine how it must have felt to build this awesome building. Finally I gazed across the City of Light. Wow.