by Mandy Baggot
‘That would be the worst,’ Jeanne agreed with a nod.
‘And you should go to school,’ Ethan told her.
‘What?!’
‘That is my condition of you sharing my space.’
‘But what about Bo-Bo. There will be no one to look after him all day,’ Jeanne started to protest, wriggling with the dog still on her lap. ‘And the school will want many forms filled in with who I am and where I come from and who is my guardian and—’
‘Jeanne, do you think this will be my first time making up a story to suit my purposes?’
‘What will I learn at school that I will not learn from the streets… or working at a hotel? There are five of them for you to choose from. I do not mind starting from the very bottom. I can clean.’
Ethan studied her, chocolate somehow now all over her face. She was so young. He had no idea how young and he wasn’t sure the girl really knew herself…
‘We will do a trial,’ Ethan told her. ‘You will share my apartment between now and the end of the Christmas holidays and, if the arrangement is acceptable, you will commit to school.’
He watched her mulling over the suggestion. He could almost see her brain working things over. The pluses, the minuses, if this attachment to his offer was really going to be what she wanted. Of course she could flee into the night at any time, or she could stay for the duration of the festive break and then flee into the night and renege on the whole idea. But, for now, he was guessing Jeanne had nothing to lose and he would at least know she was safe for a while. One less kid on the pavements of Paris with no one looking out for them…
‘Bo-Bo sleeps with me,’ Jeanne said suddenly. ‘In the bed. Not on the floor or on a fancy dog bed he will hate. With me.’
Ethan shrugged. ‘He was meant to sleep with you last night, but he ended up in my bed. And he snores.’
‘You have terrible taste in jam,’ Jeanne countered. ‘Strawberry is the best. Not this horrible bitter orange in the cupboard.’
Ethan smiled. He didn’t even know he had orange jam. ‘So, we are agreed? A mutually beneficial arrangement for a few weeks?’
‘Mutually beneficial?’ Jeanne asked, her eyebrows rising up into her hat. ‘How does this benefit you? Is there a clause I have missed? If it is eating the jam I would rather eat Bo-Bo’s—’
‘You can work at the hotels. At the weekends. Until you are allowed to be officially employed, you will be my second assistant. That will involve anything I ask you to do.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like… making coffee or organising the new ornamental features we are looking at today.’ He relaxed into the seat a little further. ‘What do you think to these chairs?’
‘I think,’ Jeanne said, sitting further back in hers, her feet coming off the floor completely, ‘they have lived a life already.’
‘Yes,’ Ethan answered, a smile on his face. ‘Exactly that.’
Forty-Four
‘Squirrels’ teeth never stop growing. Did you know that, Keeley?’
‘No, Dad, I didn’t know that. So, is Mum really OK?’
Keeley watched Rach, a stall to her left, ferreting through a selection of garments laid out jumble-sale style. Rach was far more high-street fashion than she was vintage. Perhaps she was looking for a gift.
‘You spoke to her, love,’ Duncan reminded.
‘I spoke to her for two minutes before she palmed me off with talk about baking for the knitting group.’
‘It’s the crochet group tonight,’ Duncan said. ‘Knitting’s on Friday week and cooking for the choir’s this Saturday. A Christmas bazaar with songs by Cole Porter.’
‘She shouldn’t have even been at Mr Peterson’s place,’ Keeley said, frustrated. ‘She shouldn’t be standing in for me like that.’
‘She wanted to help and she wanted you to be able to go to Paris.’
Keeley closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Despite all her early protests and desperate reservations, it seemed Lizzie had done everything in her power to ensure this trip had gone ahead. Stepping into the breach to help Roland at the estate agency so no one was inconvenienced by the late notice for the trip, ensuring she had a job to go back to. Albeit a job she desperately wanted to move onwards and upwards from. One step at a time…
‘So, how’s it going there?’ Duncan cleared his throat then whispered. ‘Managed to eat some cheese?’
Keeley smiled at her dad’s air of naughty schoolboy. ‘I’ve had a little bit.’
‘Good girl. A little bit never did anyone any harm.’ He paused. ‘But don’t tell your mother I said that.’ He seemed to wait a beat before continuing. ‘And… Silvie, she’s alright, is she?’
‘Silvie’s very nice,’ Keeley answered. ‘She’s a little older than you and mum, smartly dressed, she speaks excellent English which is good because I don’t speak much French. She met Rach and me at this lovely café near the Louvre and we’re going to her house tonight for dinner.’
‘And did you talk?’ Duncan asked. ‘You know… about her daughter?’
‘Yes,’ Keeley said. ‘Silvie showed me a photograph and told me about the kind of person Ferne was. She was beautiful, Dad, and she sounded like someone I… might have liked to have been friends with.’ She hadn’t thought about that until the sentence had passed her lips. It was true though. From what she had already heard about her donor, Ferne was kind and fierce and very much loved. Who wouldn’t want to have someone like that as a friend? ‘And… I told Silvie about Bea. She didn’t know, you know, that Bea had… passed away.’ She still found it so hard to say the word ‘died’. In her mind, Bea was still out there somewhere, perhaps building bridges out of clouds…
‘I suppose she wouldn’t,’ Duncan answered, his voice catching a little. ‘So, it’s all alright then. You’re not unsettled by anything or… worried about anything.’
‘Dad,’ Keeley said, watching Rach unearth what looked like something Gucci from the pile of clothing. ‘Mum’s standing right with you now, isn’t she?’
Duncan let out a sigh and Keeley heard a whispered, ‘I told you she would know,’ before a sound seemed to indicate something on the call had changed.
‘I’ve put you on speakerphone,’ Duncan answered.
‘Mum—’
‘Don’t be cross with me, Keeley. I can sense you’re going to be cross with me,’ Lizzie started.
‘I’m cross that squirrels attacked you when you were somewhere you shouldn’t have been.’
‘I’m cross that someone keeps three squirrels untethered in an airing cupboard, ready to attack any unsuspecting individual who happens to consider tidying the towels. Buyers look in cupboards. We looked in cupboards before we bought this house, didn’t we, Duncan?’
‘We did,’ Keeley’s dad concurred.
‘You do know Mr Peterson is a taxidermist,’ Keeley remarked.
‘Of course I know that! What I didn’t realise was he kept live animals in unusual places.’
‘The man does have a certain reputation for things like that.’
‘They were supposed to be dead,’ Lizzie continued. ‘“Drying” was actually the word he used. Who leaves living animals to “dry”? It’s as bad as leaving a poor dog in a car on a hot summer’s day with no window open.’
‘But you’re OK, Mum,’ Keeley asked for what felt like the millionth time.
‘I’m fine. And the lovely doctor said there’s not going to be any scarring.’
‘Scarring! Mum! How bad was it?’
‘Their teeth never stop growing apparently,’ Duncan chipped in.
‘Mum!’
‘Keeley, I’m fine. Honestly. There’s no need to worry about me. You just carry on having a lovely time with the smartly dressed new mother figure who has an excellent command of a second language,’ Lizzie said with a sniff.
‘Mum,’ Keeley said with a sigh.
‘I mean it. Have a lovely time but…’ Lizzie paused.
‘But what?’
&n
bsp; ‘Come back, won’t you?’
‘Of course I’ll come back… Mum, Dad, I’ve got to go now, Rach is about to disappear into a pile of dresses.’
There were shouts of ‘goodbye’ and one final ‘don’t forget me’ from Lizzie before Keeley ended the call. By the time she got over to the clothing stall, Rach had put her purchases on the ground around her feet and was scrabbling around, elbow deep in material and drawing the attention of the stall owner.
‘Rach,’ Keeley said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘There’s Gucci under here,’ Rach gasped. ‘And I don’t think it’s knock off. These ones are all a decent length, so if I get them I won’t have to borrow anything of yours to wear tonight.’ There was a growing pile of garments on the stall next to her she seemed to be half-guarding with her body.
‘Rach, slow down. You’re in danger of knocking off some of these beautiful vintage items on the floor.’ Keeley had caught the stallholder’s eye and said the words ‘beautiful’ and ‘vintage’ like she might have said ‘one and only much longed for baby’.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ Rach asked. ‘Gucci.’
‘I did hear but…’ Keeley stopped talking when something caught her eye. Was that… Bo-Bo? She shook her head and closed her eyes, then quickly opened them again. Looking over to stalls selling artwork and chandeliers she watched the dog spinning around, no lead on the end of a collar. But why would Bo-Bo be here? It was a bit of a Metro journey for Jeanne to take but, then again, she was a girl who seemed to be able to defy all the usual prerequisites for a person of her age. It could be any scruffy brown dog really though. Couldn’t it?
‘Fuck! There’s a handbag here I saw on eBay!’ Rach exclaimed, still rifling through the wares at a rate of knots.
The dog barked and then bumped into a hostess trolley filled with glassware. The glasses started to rock and reel and that’s when Keeley made a decision. Rach was going to have to deal with the anger of the stallholder on her own if those frocks ended up in an inch of snow on the ground. Whether the dog was Bo-Bo or not, she was going to have to do something!
Forty-Five
Animals were going to be the death of Ethan. Not a minute after his talk with Jeanne about ‘sharing space’, Bo-Bo had somehow slipped his leash and gone bounding off into the thick of the market. Before he took off, Ethan had ordered Jeanne to stay exactly where she was. He didn’t want to lose child and canine, but he suspected, as soon as his back was turned, Jeanne was going to be in pursuit too. Bo-Bo was fast and he had lost sight of him completely a couple of times. Until now. The dog was just up ahead, turning around in circles, until suddenly he banged against a trolley full of delicate-looking glasses.
‘Merde!’
Ethan sprinted forward, rushing to connect with dog or trolley. Instead what happened was he connected with a person. And before he knew it he was tumbling onto the ground.
‘Oh, gosh! Oh, monsieur, I am so, so sorry!’
The voice was familiar. Seeing stars in his peripheral Ethan looked up, wondering if he had banged his head. There was barking, smashing glass, something wet against his face… and he felt sure he could hear… Keeley?
‘Ethan!’
That was most definitely Keeley’s voice. And the wet sensation was still there. He then realised it was Bo-Bo’s rough tongue, licking at his face. ‘He… has no lead.’
‘I have the lead!’
That was Jeanne’s voice. So, she had not done what she was told and stayed where he could find her. But she was thankfully here and not missing. Ethan shook his head and attempted to stand.
‘Are you OK?’ Keeley asked.
He felt her hands then, holding onto his arms and helping him up off the ground. He urged his body to comply. The last thing he needed right now was bumps, bruises or a face as red and lumpy as Louis’s.
‘I am OK,’ he answered, finally standing and trying to make sense of the scene. There were a few broken glasses on the floor and the stallholder was already out sweeping away the destruction. ‘Monsieur, I am very sorry for the damage. Let me pay for it. It is my dog that has caused this.’ He reached into his pocket for his wallet.
‘He’s my dog,’ Jeanne said, Bo-Bo now back on his lead and dancing around a little bit less.
The owner of the stall accepted more than half of the Euro notes in his wallet. Those glasses had to be from at least the Victorian era or maybe he had just been taken for a ride. At this moment Ethan didn’t care. He faced Jeanne. ‘You must control him better.’
‘I was,’ she exclaimed. ‘It is the new lead the man who doesn’t like anything touched put on him. I have not got used to it yet.’ She smiled. ‘Can I get another brioche?’
‘Jeanne! Another one?’ Ethan exclaimed.
‘Please!’ She put her hands together in a begging stance and almost dropped Bo-Bo’s lead for a second time.
Ethan pulled another note from his wallet and gave it to her. ‘One brioche and two coffees. Ask them to wrap the brioche so you can put it into your pocket while you carry the coffees.’ He took the lead out of Jeanne’s hands. ‘And I will look after Bo-Bo.’ He ensured a good grip on the lead. ‘You remember where the stall is.’
‘I’ve got it,’ Jeanne answered with a nod. ‘Two coffees and two brioches.’
Before Ethan could protest about the doubling of the brioche order, Jeanne was off into the hubbub again. Ethan tried to elongate his spine, the tumble definitely having strained something. Finally he smiled at Keeley and gave a small bow. ‘Good afternoon.’
Keeley laughed. ‘Good afternoon.’ She gave a curtsey, holding the edge of her bright red coat and doing a quick bob.
Ethan sighed, giving himself a little time to be mindful. His body was already starting to loosen, simply from enjoying her smile. ‘We must try to stop meeting like this,’ he said. ‘Or one of us might get really injured.’
‘I agree,’ Keeley said, nodding. ‘My bruises from my brush with you and the penguin are still stuck between blue and purple.’
‘It is the animals!’ Ethan declared, putting his arms to the heavens. ‘They are to blame for everything.’ He put his arms back down and smiled at her. ‘What brings you to Les Puces?’
‘Well, it’s getting closer to Christmas and I need to get some gifts organised. Plus Rach is a huge fan of shopping and… well…’ She looked a little bashful then. ‘It was on your map.’
He had put the market with over three thousands stalls on the map he had made for her because it had been one of his regular places to visit. In the darkest times of his youth he had escaped here with half a dozen other orphans to take part in picking the pockets of anyone they had marked as having money. He had also come here with Ferne, trying to find a chink of treasure, a hidden or long-forgotten work from Picasso or Matisse, antique furniture as a gift for Silvie. Two very different sides of his time spent here. Two eras of his life as far removed from each other as could be.
‘It is a unique place,’ Ethan remarked. ‘Shall we walk?’ He offered her the arm that was not bearing the weight of a feisty Bo-Bo.
He watched Keeley turn, her eyes on a table a little way away.
‘Rach is over there, but she looks to be in a deep bartering session.’
‘Not far,’ Ethan assured. ‘Jeanne will need to find us.’
Keeley took his arm and her touch sent his head spinning for the second time today. Their connection just somehow felt right.
‘Today people come here expecting to spend a lot of money. There are antiques everywhere,’ Ethan told her. ‘Some stalls are a subsidiary of an established business elsewhere in Paris. They move some of their pieces here into the hub where rich collectors and interior designers, like yourself, come to find extravagant pieces to fill an investment request or style a home.’
‘There are so many stalls and shopfronts here,’ Keeley answered as they strolled, Bo-Bo still pulling enthusiastically. ‘I’ve really never seen anything like it.’
‘You
will need an entire week to walk around it fully,’ Ethan said. ‘It is seven hectares.’
‘Oh my God! My legs ache just thinking about it.’
‘Mine too,’ he admitted with a laugh. ‘But I believe Bo-Bo would consider it.’ The dog was sniffing his way across the concrete.
‘So, are you looking for Christmas gifts?’ she asked. ‘Is that why you’re here?’
‘Non,’ he replied. ‘I am looking for items for my hotel.’
‘Hotels,’ Keeley said.
Everything froze for a moment. Did she know he was the part-owner of the hotel she was staying in? How did she know? Had Jeanne somehow gone back on her word and communicated it? Why hadn’t he wanted her to know he was connected to Perfect Paris? Because negotiations were still continuing with regard to the brand’s future? Or because talking about the hotel chain would mean talking about Ferne?
‘You said “hotels” last night when we were talking,’ Keeley said. ‘Unless I misheard. Do you have more than one?’
He wasn’t going to outright lie to her. He nodded. ‘I actually have five.’
‘Wow!’ Keeley exclaimed. ‘I mean… socks are what most people usually own five of. Or books. Or mugs. Or—’
‘I do not want you to get the wrong idea of me,’ Ethan said quickly. He was now acting like he was almost ashamed of his status of hotel chain owner.
‘The wrong idea?’
He nodded, feeling a little like he was going to be fighting with these next words. ‘I am not Mr Hotel. I… merely helped a friend to build her dream and then I was left to carry it on.’ He swallowed. This was much harder than he had envisaged. ‘It is not my vocation. Or rather, it was not. But I feel now as if it maybe could be. You have actually made me feel like it could be.’
*
Ethan had stopped walking now and Keeley halted too, their arms still linked together. His words peppered her heart, marking it with slow, soft indentations.
‘I am not here with the mind of an antique dealer. I am not even here with the vision of an interior designer. I am here to do what you suggested.’
‘Oh,’ Keeley said, not sure she understood.
