From Paris With Love

by Samantha Tonge

  There was the twenty-one year old redhead in Milan, where John had been investigating the supposed existence of a European terrorist cell. The girl studied jewellery-making. John’s chest had puffed out as he talked of the extravagant shopping trips he’d taken her on. Although he’d seemed most generous with his wallet in Thailand, where he’d been part of some global investigation into drug rings… MI6 sent John to Bangkok, to be precise, where he visited several girls for, um, entertainment.

  He’d lavished them with fancy clothes, pearl earrings and exotic chokers…. And done the same for his Prague girlfriend in the Czech Republic. There he’d followed a trail to do with child-trafficking from Eastern Europe. Apparently this woman, a six-foot model, had taken him to the Museum of Decorative Arts to ogle the Fabergé eggs and period gold jewellery – perhaps she was dropping a hint. You only had to look at John to see he had money and an appreciation of expensive things.

  I took a deep breath and tried to absorb all the information I’d uncovered about the terrorist cell in Milan, the drug rings in Bangkok and child-trafficking from Eastern Europe… But nothing stood out. There was no mention of MI6’s involvement in any arrests or convictions. According to the internet, those investigations must have turned out to be deadends.

  How could John have earned so much extra money? Was he warning some criminals and getting paid for tipping them off? One report, on the internet, indicated that the hunt for terrorists had uncovered hundreds of falsified driving licenses. Could John be holding onto such evidence and selling it on himself? Perhaps he was involved with drug-dealing. As for child-trafficking… much as John creeped me out, I thought back to how he’d helped the little girl who fell off her scooter. Then there was the comment about missing his nephew back in Nottingham… Nah, I don’t think even he could accept money for condemning children to a life of abuse.

  My mind still buzzed when Blade picked me up that evening. We made our way over to St Michel, my stomach feeling all fuzzy, every time I looked at him. Images came into my mind of him singing on stage at Porte de Clignancourt. No doubt about it, Blade was a real heartbreaker.

  We would meet Cindy in a jazz café that Blade sometimes visited with mates. With difficulty I ignored the urge to drag him back to my flat, my bedroom and… Urgh, no! Friend, he was just a friend!

  ‘So you really like Jazz music, Blade?’ I said as we emerged from the underground, and passed the wonderful St Michel fountain. I tried not to remember my last time here – when Monique had tripped over and Edward had thought I was to blame. I put up the hood of my duffle coat. The moon was invisible tonight, due to drizzling rain. Blade bent his head, no doubt worried the weather might ruin his carefully made-up face. Tonight he had black diamonds, not star shapes, drawn over his eyes.

  ‘Are you implying that just because I play heavy metal, I cannot appreciate other types of music?’ His inky eyes twinkled.

  ‘Of course not!’ I slipped my arm into his – my big grizzly bear of a man who, however, was tender and sensitive.

  ‘Let’s run, pucette,’ he said as the drizzle developed into torrents and, dodging puddles, we sped up.

  Blade guided me to the jazz club, which was next to a colourful Greek restaurant. We passed the doorman, who wore a thick coat and earpiece, and went down dingy stairs. Music drifted towards us from a basement. Finally we reached black curtains and pulled them apart.

  What a cute place, with a small oval stage, lit up by red spotlights. Candle-lit round tables filled up the remaining floor space. Amber walls added to the sense of cosiness, as did the plush red carpet and glam gilt bar, at the back of the room. Smart waiters milled around, delivering cocktails and bowls of olives. Yet the atmosphere was relaxed and several people, casually dressed, just drank soft drinks or beer. Framed sketches of saxophonists lined the walls.

  We headed to a table, to the left of the stage. It was nine o’clock and Cindy should arrive any minute. As for Joe… I sat down and checked my texts.

  ‘Still no response, since his last refusal to meet up,’ I said to Blade. Poor Cindy. ‘Honestly! I could throttle him! I’ve only got one week to get that pair together.’

  ‘If he’s not coming, you’d better text him what I found out from Monique.’

  I straightened up. ‘What did she say?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nothing specific but during our walk across Pont des Arts, I asked her if she’d be free next Saturday, to go out on a trip. She made some excuse – said she had some big event to manage, that would hopefully go some way to securing her financial future.’

  ‘Wow – so it seems she’s getting paid for this gig?’

  He nodded. ‘Oui. If she is a criminal – which I still don’t believe – it’s not for altruistic reasons, such as religious beliefs. But she’s definitely acting suspiciously, for whatever reason, I’ll give you that. Plus…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I believe, since moving in, Edward has always said to Monique that she is more than welcome to pay a visit to Applebridge Hall. Well, they had lunch out together today, and it would seem she finally took him up on his offer and was keen to travel back with him on Sunday.’ He fiddled with his skull necklace. ‘Some might say that smacked of a guilty conscience; a desire to quickly get away.’

  ‘Pah!’ I snorted. ‘It’s much more likely to be part of her romantic plan to ensnare my Ex…’

  ‘Non, I disagree…’ My rockstar pal looked at me earnestly. ‘When I see them together, it is not like boyfriend and girlfriend… You know the Pont des Arts we visited today is the bridge where thousands of lovers have attached a padlock to the railings, as a symbol of their love. They throw the key into the river. Monique talked of how her parents did that, when they first got together. Such a place is the perfect opportunity to gush about your latest love interest, but she didn’t mention Edward once.’

  ‘Yeah, well, watch and see,’ I mumbled. ‘In any case, Edward’s too much of a gentleman to make a move on her in Paris, with me around.’

  ‘You honestly still believe that they’ll get together?’

  ‘Er, duh, yes, Blade. And by now Monique will have worked out that Edward is a man with integrity. He wouldn’t be interested in a fling, so she’s playing the long game. Whenever I see them together at Chez Dubois, the two of them are always whispering together, sharing jokes, laughing… It’s just a matter of time, if something hasn’t already happened.’

  Blade shrugged and helped me put my navy coat on the back of my chair. Strange combo, wasn’t he? All swear words and satanic colours, yet in most ways the kind of bloke any girl’s parents would approve of. Pushing thoughts of Edward and Monique together, out of my head, I smoothed down my sparkly top. Piped jazz music strummed in the background. Apparently the next band came on at half nine.

  ‘Why don’t we order Cindy a fancy cocktail?’ he said. ‘It might soften the blow when she finds out Joe’s not turned up.’

  ‘Great idea.’ I studied the drinks menu. What fabulous names! The red Black Rose looked delish, with its vermouth, blackberry syrup and blackberry garnish, as did the rich Sidecar with its cognac, Cointreau and lemon juice. However, in the end, we decided to order two classic Kir Royals for me and Cindy – the champagne-based cocktail, with crème de cassis (blackcurrant cordial), which was the signature drink of Paris.

  As for Blade, he ordered a beer. Minutes later Cindy appeared, wearing high shoes, a black dress and impractically skimpy jacket. Her Disney umbrella dripped. With a red nose and blue fingers, she sat down as the tune “Me and Mrs Jones” played in the background. Oh dear. Joe wasn’t here and she’d gone to such an effort to look good.

  ‘Dang, it’s cold outside,’ she said, voice particularly bright. ‘So, you, um couldn’t get hold of Joe? He ain’t here yet?’

  ‘Sorry, Cindy…’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Sometimes Joe can be all work, work, work.’

  ‘Now don’t you worry about that,’ she said and gave a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘The day I need t
he company of a man to enjoy myself, is the day I deserve to die! Um, no offence, handsome,’ she said to Blade who gave her a wink.

  Our drinks arrived, with a free bowl of nuts, and I took a big gulp of fizz. An adrenaline surge rushed through my veins as a plan came to my mind.

  Okay. My idea wasn’t entirely sensible but since when was love dictated by reason? I picked up my leopard-print handbag and my finger located the button on the bottom, which would summon Joe immediately. I hadn’t used it yet and would never normally abuse its power. But for fu…dge’s sake (urgh, just pictured Lady C’s fierce dinner lady stare!) Joe needed pointing – nay, SHOVING – in the right direction. That was, towards this gorgeous, funny, independent American gal.

  Whilst my two companions discussed the merits of Dave Brubeck and Count Basie, I counted to three and then pressed the button firmly. I jumped as a cymbal crashed and the band started to play. Piano music wafted across the room, accompanied by guitar strums. A woman, with a vintage Fifties hairstyle, sang with a beautiful soprano voice. My foot beat in time to the tune and Cindy slipped off her jacket and turned to watch. Blade and I exchanged looks and a magnetism drew our hands together. His fingers gripped mine tightly and as we sat there, his thumb ran over my palm. Talk about tingles…

  My eyes strayed to the black curtains, waiting for Joe to appear. Five minutes passed. Then ten. What a good thing some terrorist wasn’t holding me at gunpoint – I’d have been dead by now! However, at the beginning of another song, his solid silhouette appeared at the entrance. Joe took off his shades and scanned the room, stopping at our table. In a flash he came over, hand inside his jacket. Oh my God, was he reaching for his gun?

  ‘Agent G?’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘Howdy, Joe, you made it after all!’ interrupted Cindy.

  Brow furrowed, Joe pulled his hand away from his jacket. He scanned our faces. Then with a glare, he sat down, due to Cindy tugging his sleeve. Airily I shrugged.

  ‘Great that you could make it,’ I said.

  Oops. His eyes blazed. Joe turned to look at Cindy and for one moment his jawline relaxed, then he turned back to me with accusing eyes.

  ‘Great to see you, Cindy. Classy dress. But…’ He peered at her face. ‘What is that on your nose? You’d better check that out … Sooner rather than later.’

  Oh dear. Clearly he wanted a word with me on my own.

  ‘Yes, um, you better check that out,’ I said.

  ‘Say no more,’ said Cindy and cheeks flushing, she picked up her bag and scooted off to the ladies

  As soon as she was on the other side of the room, Joe turned to me, eyes once again ablaze.

  ‘What the hell were you thinking? That button is for emergencies only. You look safe enough to me.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Blade and dragged his attention away from the music. ‘Bonsoir, Joe – I didn’t think you were coming.’

  I felt my bottom lip jut out. ‘I summoned Joe with the emergency button on my handbag – and don’t expect me to apologise.’

  Blade chuckled. ‘I’m keeping out of this.’

  ‘How irresponsible. I have work to do,’ said Joe and got to his feet. ‘Don’t EVER misuse that gadget again.’

  I yanked him back down. ‘No you don’t. No one works twenty-four seven. Not the Queen, President of America or Dalai Lama. Now stop being so stubborn, order yourself a drink and spend some time with the nicest woman you’ve met in a long time. Plus you’d better make it up to her for being so rude just now.’

  ‘Now, look here…’ Joe stuttered.

  I held up the palm of my hand as the band began to play Louis Armstrong’s “We Have All The Time In The World”. ‘No excuses. I’ve only got one week left in Paris – don’t begrudge me one night with new friends that…’ My voice gave a wobble. ‘… that I’ve come to care about.’

  His maple eyes stared into mine and his lips became less tense.

  ‘I can spare thirty minutes,’ he said.

  ‘Two hours,’ I replied.

  ‘One.’

  ‘One and a half – come on, Joe… Listen to the words of Louis’ song…’

  He sighed. ‘Okay. But don’t think I’m any less impressed with your behaviour, just because I stay and…’

  Cindy sat down next to him at that moment.

  ‘Y’all need to get glasses,’ she said. ‘My button nose was just as cute as ever.’

  ‘I never said it wasn’t…’ Joe pulled in his chair and brushed a strand of blonde hair from her face.

  I grinned at Blade as the waiter came over to see if we wanted more drinks. Joe ordered an orange juice and Cindy joined him. I zoned out as their talk turned to Star Trek, and in my head tried to translate the lyrics of a French jazz song playing. Eventually, the four of us chatted together. Joe and Blade got on better now. In fact you’d have thought they’d have an in-depth chat about their love of heavy metal music, but instead they both talked enthusiastically about international current affairs. Cindy talked about her dreams to travel the world – like me – with her cooking. Open-mouthed, we all listened as Joe described the exotic places he’d visited as, ahem, a personal trainer.

  Aw, it was so sweet – how close he and Cindy leant towards each other. She’d touch his shoulder or he’d brush her hand with his. Joe looked ten years younger when they shared a joke.

  ‘Got any more information about Monique?’ said Joe when, an hour or so later, the band took a break and Cindy once more disappeared to the ladies’. We’d all just been discussing the First World War commemorative events. Blade nodded and told Joe what he’d told me.

  ‘Much as I like Monique,’ said Blade, ‘even I begin to think her behaviour out of the ordinary. She was very secretive. I moved the conversation to the royal couple’s visit but her answers were monosyllabic, before she changed the conversation. Plus just occasionally I find her… colder than I expected.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Joe.

  ‘Monique is an excellent fencer and occasionally has injured another player, if their protective gear has failed. This happened last week but she showed no remorse – said it was her opponent’s fault and that the scar from her sword would teach him a lesson.’

  Joe shrugged. ‘Being competitive doesn’t make her an assassin. But I take your point on board – Monique isn’t squeamish.’

  ‘And in one of her emails to her sister she talked again of her financial situation easing after Saturday,’ I said and threw up my hands. ‘Come on – time is ticking, Joe. The moment has come to confront her.’

  Chapter 26

  JC brandished the hammer. ‘François Brun has had this coming for a long time.’ With each blow, flesh flattened, and a queasy sensation tickled my throat. Forget previous comments about JC being a softie inside – he was ruthless. Relentless. A complete psycho!

  ‘Your turn now, Pudding!’ he ordered in his thick French accent.

  I glanced at his black and white chequered trousers now splattered with specks of blood. Palms sweaty (sorry, Lady C, I mean perspiring), I grasped the hammer – okay, really, it was meat mallet. We were preparing steaks for marinating and JC was venting his frustration. This Brun bloke managed JC’s favourite football team, and at the weekend they’d lost four nil.

  I preferred to think of the flesh as belonging to Monique. With gusto I brought down the mallet. Ouch! I missed and hit my thumb that held the steak in position.

  JC chuckled and headed back to his workstation. ‘Sacre bleu! We’ll be marinating your hand at this rate!’

  With a wry smile, I concentrated hard and started again. It was early morning. My last Monday in Paris. A sinking feeling was just prevented by Cindy floating in with a soppy, loved-up expression on her face.

  ‘Enjoy last night?’ I asked as she tucked the last strands of peroxide hair into her white skull cap. ‘Even though Joe had to leave early?’

  ‘You bet your bottom dollar I did – even more so because of that!’ she drawled. ‘Nothing tu
rns me on more than a man who has his own life.’ Cindy took out her set of knives.

  I carried on tenderising the meat. She and Joe made such a perfect match.

  ‘Did you swap phone numbers?’ I asked. ‘So that you can contact each other once I’ve gone?’

  ‘Nah… I mean…’ She avoided my eye. ‘When I suggested it, Joe hesitated. But that’s no big deal – I don’t want a heavy commitment, right?’

  I whacked the steak again, this time thinking of stubborn Joe. Honestly, I’d have words with him this afternoon. Giving someone your phone number was hardly a proposal of marriage. He really was out of touch – almost as if he didn’t think women could be as independent and commitment-phobic as some men. Although to be fair to Joe, he struck me as someone who saw very few differences between the two sexes. Certainly during training, back at the bunker, Joe didn’t hold back and expected me to be just as capable as any male agent.

  However, he was still an inflexible so-and-so, refusing to let me confront Monique. He was picking me up from work today, in order to persuade me not to visit her or do anything stupid.

  More gently, I struck the meat again and JC came back over. He picked the steak up and examined it.

  ‘Bon, now we make ze cinnamon and paprika marinade.’

  Cindy headed off to the pantry to fetch loads of eggs for the floating island desserts on the menu today. A couple of kitchenhands busily chopped veg. JC lowered his voice. ‘You know, Pudding, preparing steak in this way is a bit like moving onto a new relationship.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘What – each break-up involves gore and violence?’

  ‘Non. But when we split up from someone we have loved… Like this meat, we’ll end up bruised, non? In order to find somezing special again (like ze completed dish) we need to treat ourselves kindly for a while – like we do when we leave ze meat in a marinade…’

  My brow furrowed. ‘Um, sorry, JC, you’ve lost me with all the food analogies…’

  He harrumphed – sort of a cross between a snort and a cough. ‘Word spreads quickly here – I have heard about your rockstar boyfriend.’