by Marie Laval
EPUB: 978-1-78189-341-8
Preview
A Paris Fairy Tale
by Marie Laval
CHAPTER ONE
I love Paris when it’s sunny and I love Paris when it rains… No, that wasn’t right. Aurora sighed as she pulled a tissue out of her handbag to wipe the lenses of her glasses. She had hummed the song ever since landing at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Why could she not remember the lyrics? She should know them by heart. Paris was one of her most favourite places, even if all she had seen of the French capital city that day were thundering grey skies, student protests and wicked motorists who derived great pleasure from driving into puddles as she limped by in her uncomfortable new shoes.
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and dabbed the soggy tissue under her eyes where the mascara had run. Her mad dash from the metro station in the torrential rain had left her looking like a drowned racoon. What would Florent Maupas think? Not only was she late to his party, but she hardly looked like a respectable historian… or a stylish one, for that matter. Her cocktail dress was, like the rest of her clothes, plain and serviceable, her only concession to fashion being the silly new heels she couldn’t wait to take off.
She slipped her glasses back on, and pushed the tissue back into her bag. Never mind what she looked like. Florent Maupas had hired her for her brain, not her physique or dress sense.
‘Here you are at last, ma chère. I was getting worried.’
There was the man himself. Florent Maupas – handsome, grey-haired millionaire playboy and owner of one of Paris’s most prestigious auction houses, and the man who would be her boss for the next few weeks.
‘I am sorry to be late, monsieur,’ she said, with an apologetic smile. ‘I got lost on my way from the metro.’
‘Why didn’t you phone? My chauffeur would have picked you up from the hotel. The weather is appalling tonight. Poor you… you are drenched.’
She tucked a wet lock of hair behind her ear and smiled. ‘I’ll be fine. I don’t mind the rain.’
‘That’s because you’re English, no doubt!’ His bewildered tone suggested that she might as well be from Mars.
Stepping closer, he added in a low voice. ‘Now, my dear, I must remind you not to breathe a word about the manuscript to anyone. It is vital nobody finds out about it until your valuation is complete.’
She frowned. ‘Of course, monsieur.’ Who did he take her for? She was a professional, and as such knew that discretion was of the utmost importance.
He nodded. ‘Good. Now, let’s join our guests. This way, please.’
She did her best not to limp as she followed him, even if pain clawed at her left foot so fiercely that she bit back a gasp of pain and dug her nails into her palm. Why hadn’t she stuck to her usual no-nonsense pumps? Whatever the shop assistant had said, glamorous high heels definitely weren’t for her.
The buzz of laughter and conversation became louder as they reached a reception room filled with people in dinner suits and evening dresses. Waiters whizzed past, carrying trays of drinks and canapés. Champagne flutes and jewellery dazzled under huge chandeliers. A string quartet played Mozart in a corner, and pieces of modern sculpture stood in a striking display, whilst works by Picasso, Matisse and Derain painted windows of colour onto the white walls. It was very chic, very Parisian… and exactly the kind of event she always took great pains to avoid.
She froze a smile on her lips and followed Florent Maupas. On his signal, the music stopped, the noise from conversations died down, and people turned to look at them.
‘Mesdames, messieurs,’ Maupas started. ‘It’s a great privilege to welcome our guest of honour, Dr Aurora Black, one of Europe’s most promising palaeographers, who will for the next few weeks enchant us with her knowledge of medieval illuminated manuscripts. Her first lecture takes place tomorrow, and I am sure you will not want to miss it.’
Discreet clapping echoed in the room and Maupas carried on. ‘Some of you may know that Aurora is none other than the granddaughter of Augustus Black, historian extraordinaire and director of the prestigious Silverdale Institute of Arts for over thirty years. If Augustus is sadly no longer with us…’ he turned to Aurora and sympathy shone in his eyes ‘… we are delighted to continue our working relationship with his talented granddaughter.’
Florent Maupas talked about his love for medieval manuscripts and the importance of collaboration between international institutions, and it was over at last. People turned away, the music and conversations resumed, and Aurora breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Now, ma chère, please allow me to introduce my good friend Sasha Nenachko,’ Florent Maupas said as a man with short blond hair and a face as lean and sharp as a sabre bowed in front of her in an almost military salute.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Dr Black,’ Nenachko said. ‘I was a great admirer of your grandfather’s work. Please accept my condolences.’
She felt a twinge of pain in her chest. It was only a few weeks since her grandfather had succumbed to a heart attack and she still hadn’t got over the shock of his death.
‘Thank you. Did you know him well?’
The Russian nodded. ‘He helped me conclude several transactions over the years.’
Florent Maupas smiled and clasped his hand onto Nenachko’s shoulder. ‘Sasha has an insatiable appetite for art and the means to satisfy it. Now let’s celebrate Aurora’s arrival properly.’
He plucked two flutes of champagne from a waiter’s tray and handed her one. ‘Santé!’
‘I regret I must leave you to see to my other guests,’ he said, after draining his champagne, ‘but I’m sure Sasha will look after you.’
‘I wanted to congratulate you for the magnificent work you did on the restoration of the Fra Angelico’s Missal,’ Nenachko said as soon as Florent Maupas had walked away.
She blinked in surprise. ‘I didn’t know it was being exhibited already. Did you see it in the Modena Museum of Art?’
‘No. I bought it last month.’
Shock rendered her speechless for a moment. ‘But… it wasn’t for sale!’
He arched his thin, almost non-existent eyebrows. ‘Everything is for sale, Doctor Black, if you know what argument to use.’
Her fingers tightened around her glass. ‘Surely that doesn’t apply to museum collections which are the property of the state – the Italian state, in this case.’
‘I don’t see why not.’ Nenachko shrugged. ‘Anyway, the museum sold me the Missal, which is now in my private collection along with a batch of other books, some of them in a pitiful condition. I would like you to work for me. I pay well and you would have access to the best labs and up-to-date technology. What do you say?’
Her instinctive reaction was to refuse. She disliked the harsh glint in the man’s eyes and the callous way he spoke of ancient manuscripts, as if they were commodities instead of artwork to be treasured. She hated even more the way he dangled the promise of a fat pay packet to entice her to work for him. However, Nenachko was Florent Maupas’s friend, and it wouldn’t be wise to antagonise him. What’s more, the Institute needed wealthy clients who could finance its research projects.
‘My work for Monsieur Maupas will probably keep me very busy,’ she replied in a cautious tone.
‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.’ Suddenly his face became a vivid puce colour and he muttered something in Russian.
Aurora glanced up, and met the amber gaze of a tall, dark-haired man who stood in front of her, blocking her view of the rest of the room.
He had high, sharp cheekbones, his mouth was set in a cynical smile, but it was his eyes that held her attention. They were the most fascinating colour, warm brandy with flecks of green. Immediately, the names of pigments she would need to paint them flashed into her mind – Burnt Sienna, Raw Umber and Verona Gold Ochre, with a touch of Cobalt Green or Malachite.
‘Castel,’ Nenachko snarled.
The newcomer ignored him
and looked at Aurora, holding her captive in his intense, mesmerising scrutiny. ‘I see Nenachko lost no time in securing your services, Mademoiselle Black. I guess he needs people like you to help him plunder the museums and art galleries of Europe.’
Aurora drew in a shocked breath and snapped out of her trance. Straightening her back to make her five foot two appear taller, she pushed her glasses up and gave him the frosty look that caused her colleagues to call her ‘Black Ice’ – those who liked her, that is.
‘It’s Doctor Black, actually,’ she corrected, ‘and I do not help anyone plunder museums, nor do I condone those who do it.’ Never mind the colour of his eyes. Who was this man and how did he dare question her integrity?
He arched his dark eyebrows as if he didn’t believe her and turned to Nenachko again. ‘I hope you’re enjoying the party. There must be plenty of rich people you can swindle here tonight.’
Nenachko’s face flushed harder. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Letting you know that I was back from my trip in the Mediterranean.’
The Russian’s blue eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Ah yes. I heard you were still on a crusade to rescue refugees. What a shame you didn’t drown… By the way, I didn’t see your name on the guest list.’
Castel shrugged. ‘That’s because it’s not.’
‘Then how did you get past security?’
‘I have my ways.’
It was like watching a verbal tennis match, Aurora thought as she glanced from one to the other. The Russian looked like a man it was dangerous to cross, but Castel, whoever he was, didn’t seem to care. Worse, he seemed to enjoy goading him into a dark rage.
Nenachko snorted. ‘I suppose it’s useless to ask you to leave.’
‘How well you know me.’ Castel smiled, and two dimples appeared by the sides of his mouth.
‘I’ll have you removed at once.’ Nenachko turned to her. ‘Please excuse me. I must alert security.’
He walked away, his neck rigid and his spine ramrod straight.
She made a move to follow him, but Castel put his hand on her arm, sending a wave of tiny electric shocks on her skin. ‘Not so fast,’ he said, looking down and pinning her to the spot once more with his gaze.
‘Why are you really here, Doctor Black? Maupas asked you to value a manuscript for auction – a very rare, very valuable manuscript, didn’t he?’
Aurora felt the blood leave her face and pulled away with a gasp.
How did he know about the manuscript? Only a select handful of people had been let into the secret, and after his unpleasant exchange with Nenachko, it was safe to assume that he wasn’t among them.
Castel carried on. ‘I find it odd that Maupas chose someone as inexperienced as you to value a precious manuscript, unless, of course, he hired you because of your family connections.’
She stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It must be very convenient to be related to the great Augustus Black.’
The feeling of inadequacy that had plagued her ever since she was a little girl rose inside her like nausea. She pushed it right back and gave him another icy look, even if the first one had had no effect.
‘Monsieur Maupas appointed me because I have valued and restored manuscripts for several museums all over Europe and because my research papers are always very well received and—’
Cédric Castel’s smile widened and his amber eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘So you are here to value an old manuscript. I knew it! What can you tell me about it?’
What had she done? Castel had only been fishing for information and she had foolishly confirmed his suspicions. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room. The guests, waiters and the artwork all swirled around her in a blur of movement and colour. Her ears buzzed with the noise of conversations, her knees turned to jelly. She would have collapsed had Castel not held onto her arm.
He wasn’t smiling any longer. ‘Are you all right?’ His fingers felt warm and strong against her bare skin, making her shiver all over again.
‘I’m fine,’ she muttered, but she felt anything but fine.
‘I need some fresh air, that’s all,’ she added in a weak voice.
Castel released his grip on her arm and stepped aside. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Positive.’ She made her way towards the patio doors as fast as her silly shoes and aching foot permitted, and slipped outside onto the terrace.
She had betrayed Florent Maupas’s secret already. He could fire her before she even had the chance to cast her eyes on what could be one of the greatest illuminated manuscripts ever – before she could show him, and everybody else, that she was a professional in her own right, and not because of whom she was related to.
And it was the fault of that horrid man Castel.
CHAPTER TWO
Aurora took her shoes off and padded to the far end of the terrace, revelling in the feel of the cool, wet marble under her aching feet. She needed time alone – time to compose herself before returning to the party and confessing her blunder to Florent Maupas.
It didn’t matter that it was drizzling. Her hair was soaked already, and rain didn’t bother her anyway.
In fact, she had lied when she told Maupas that she didn’t mind the rain.
The truth was that she loved it. She loved the storm clouds hanging over Manchester’s skyline; the rain turning the Institute’s bricks purple, emphasising its neo-gothic architecture and changing it into a fantasy castle. She loved the sound of the rain drumming on her office’s stained glass windows, the lights from the shops reflecting into the puddles and the passers-by’s umbrellas dancing in a colourful ballet on Deansgate.
There was something else about the rain, something she had never told anyone. It reminded her of a cottage filled with colour and music, of the scent of green apple, and of a man’s voice calling her Princess and reading stories about fairies, knights fighting dragons, and a Prince Charming who was as handsome as he was brave.
Of course, her grandmother had told her enough about her squalid childhood to know that these couldn’t be real memories, but dreams and fabrications. Still, it was nice to imagine that the scent of green apple was her mother’s perfume, that the man’s voice was her father’s and that her world had once been beautiful and filled with love…
Her mobile chiming broke through her thoughts. She pulled the phone out of her bag and frowned in alarm when she saw the number on the display.
‘Hi, Lynette, what’s up? Is it Grandma?’
‘Everything’s fine, sweetie, don’t you worry,’ her grandmother’s nurse replied.
Aurora sighed in relief and relaxed her grip on the phone. ‘She seemed tired when I phoned earlier.’
Lynette chuckled. ‘She’s not tired now. She’s writing a list of complaints for the next golf club board meeting. Something to do with the new waitresses’ uniform lowering the tone, I believe.’
That sounded like her grandmother all right.
‘Well, I suppose it keeps her busy. Listen, I can’t talk for very long. I’m at a reception at Florent Maupas’s house.’
‘Oh, very nice. What is he like?’
‘His house is beautiful, and filled with incredible works of art.’
‘Never mind his house. I asked you about the man. Does he have come-to-bed eyes and a sexy French accent?’
‘You know I don’t care about those things!’
‘Nonsense. Every woman cares about those things, even you, Dr Arctic Frost – or whatever they call you at the Institute.’
‘It’s Black Ice, actually, although I’ve heard a few people call me Black Death on occasions.’
‘Black Death? What on earth for?’
‘Because I make people uncomfortable.’ She made light of it, but it did hurt that people clammed up when she walked into the staff room, or that nobody ever invited her for a drink after work. Her colleagues believed that she was her grandfather’s spy. Little did they know that if Augustus was har
sh with his staff, he was a thousand times harsher with his granddaughter. Things had become worse in recent weeks as her grandfather’s death had caused uncertainty about the Institute’s future.
It had been a relief to leave the Institute’s toxic atmosphere and take up Maupas’s offer of a secondment in Paris, although after her gaffe with Castel, she may be back in Manchester sooner than anticipated.
‘They’re only saying that because they’re not as clever as you,’ Lynette said. ‘Not only can you bring ancient manuscripts back to life, but you paint like an angel too, even if you insist on hiding your work in the attic room.’
‘You know how much grandmother dislikes my paintings because it reminds her of… somebody she’d rather forget.’
Lynette sighed. ‘You indulge her far too much. Having said that, it is true that you’re far too wrapped up in your work. You should look up from your dusty old books once in a while, or you’ll miss your Prince Charming and will forever remain a lonely Sleeping Beauty.’
Aurora tutted. ‘Not that again! I may have the misfortune to be called Aurora, but I’m not some simpering princess wasting away in a tower. I am a professional art historian who loves her work and doesn’t need a man, whether he is Prince Charming or not. Anyway, Prince Charming isn’t real. He only exists in fairy tales.’ And in her most secret dreams, but she wasn’t prepared to tell anyone about that.
‘Of course he is real. You just haven’t met him yet,’ Lynette decreed. ‘Anyway, the reason I was ringing was because Mrs James from number sixteen brought over some post. It’s addressed to you, but was delivered to her by mistake. The envelope is postmarked from Bruges.’
‘Bruges? That’s where Professor Lebrun lives. Can you open it?’
