Escape to the Little French Cafe: A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy to fall in love with

by Karen Clarke

  ‘Yeah, before you spoke to the press and effed everything up.’

  ‘You really believe I would do that?’

  His face was set in a scowl. ‘I told him you couldn’t be trusted.’

  ‘Oh, you did, did you?’

  ‘You’re just like all the rest.’

  Wings of anger began to beat in my chest. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Pardon?’ He drew his head back, as if to get a better look at me.

  ‘You could have leaked all that stuff,’ I said. ‘You were in the garden when I was talking to Jay.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I wasn’t.’ He jutted his hairy chin out. ‘I was with someone, as it happens,’ he said. ‘She’ll vouch for me.’

  Susie. I remembered how she’d come out of her room, wrapped in a towel, and the way she’d looked at Simon. Despite his gruff rebuttal, they were obviously embroiled in a torrid fling. ‘Does Jay know?’

  ‘Yes, he knows.’ His brows dipped further. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

  ‘It’s my business when I’m being accused of something I didn’t do.’ Several sets of eyes were on me now, and I knew it was only a matter of seconds before I was carted away, or even arrested, as this was the second time I’d invaded the film shoot. ‘I really didn’t do it, Simon.’ My voice was a plea. ‘What possible motive could I have had?’

  As if the ring of truth had filtered through, Simon’s face fractionally unclenched. ‘Who else could it have been?’ As he stepped closer, my legs braced and my hands clenched into fists – as if I had any chance of fighting him off. ‘No one else knows all that stuff about Jay,’ he said roughly. ‘Even I didn’t know he was planning to retire.’

  ‘Really?’

  His tone grew defensive. ‘Only because he didn’t want to put me in an awkward position and make me worry for my future.’ That sounded like Jay. ‘But he’s promised there’ll be a role for me, whatever happens.’ A slight husk in his voice brought home how important his relationship with Jay was, and I realised that they must have had a conversation – perhaps even a confrontation – when the news had broken, and that it was somehow my fault.

  ‘Oh, Simon, I don’t know who could have done it.’ It came out close to a wail. ‘Did Jay say anything else?’

  His face hardened. ‘Only that he’s withdrawn permission for your interview to be published, not that there’s any need for it now everyone knows his business.’

  ‘It’s been killed anyway,’ I said miserably, deflecting an image of Jay flinging furniture around his hotel room, cursing the day he met me. ‘Apparently, the writer he was thinking of talking to in the first place has been lined up to put a good spin on things for him.’ It wasn’t much consolation, but Fleur would present Jay in the best possible light, and it wouldn’t surprise me if her interview pulled in quadruple the amount of readers. Maybe then, Nicolas really would give her his job.

  ‘Yeah, well, none of this will do you any harm in the long run.’ Simon’s voice thickened with anger. ‘Now the you-know-what’s hit the fan, you can always go on telly and talk about your so-called relationship with Jay. You’ve even got the photos to prove it.’ Like Nicolas, he’d decided I wasn’t to be trusted, despite his doubts. ‘You’ll be on breakfast telly by the end of the week, talking about your amazing encounter with Jay Merino.’

  I gasped at the sheer injustice. ‘I would never do that,’ I said truthfully. ‘And I shouldn’t be trying to convince you anyway. I need to talk to Jay.’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’ Simon was planted in front of me, implacable as a tree. The sort that could withstand a tornado. ‘Jay doesn’t want to see you. He has absolutely nothing to say.’

  ‘I’d rather he told me that himself.’ I glanced behind Simon at the historic ‘old tower’ as it used to be called, rearing up to the sky. Filming had apparently resumed, but I could no longer see anybody at the top. Was Jay watching from one of the narrow windows on the tier below, sick with disappointment at my ‘betrayal’, willing me to go away? Perhaps he wished he had some of Max Weaver’s skills and could karate-chop me into oblivion. ‘I just need a few minutes with him, then I’ll go.’ I clasped my hands, not caring that I was begging. I couldn’t leave without seeing Jay – I might never get another opportunity.

  Simon was shaking his head. ‘Just leave,’ he said, folding his arms. Even his tattooed serpent looked hacked off. ‘You had your chance and you’ve blown it.’

  My thoughts were running about like mice. If I could just get up there…

  ‘Look, I think the director wants you.’ I pointed to where Brian was standing with a cameraman, peering through his spectacles at something on a small screen.

  Not fooled by my pathetic ruse, Simon didn’t turn to look, but I dodged past him anyway and pelted towards the lighthouse, glad I’d pulled on my trainers before leaving the house. Hearing his roar of outrage spurred me on. Despite his bulk, he didn’t look built for running and I had desperation on my side.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ someone – possibly Brian the director – bawled, and I heard someone else say, ‘Oh God, is it her again?’

  I kept on running, despite feeling as though my airways had shrunk and I couldn’t get enough breath in my lungs, until I burst into the lighthouse, where the magnificent spiral stone staircase curled upwards, looking like an ammonite from below.

  I’d climbed the two hundred and fifty-seven steps several times in the past and today, I had the advantage of not needing to buy a ticket, and no tourists blocking my way. Gripping the wooden handrail, I hauled myself up the steps two at a time, as if I was being chased by a pack of starving wolves. Or a furious bodyguard. The thought of Simon’s rage propelled me upwards.

  ‘Jay!’ I called, but it came out as a wheeze. I really needed to up my exercise routine – or at least start one. The muscles in my thighs seized up as I reached the top stair. I crashed onto the floor of the lighthouse keeper’s room and lay on my stomach on the wooden boards, trying to catch my breath.

  ‘Natalie?’

  Gasping, I pulled myself onto my hands and knees and raised my scarlet face to see Max Weaver, studying me with a mix of emotions I couldn’t tell apart. ‘Jay,’ I rasped, my voice a ragged whisper.

  ‘Hey, it’s your little saviour,’ said a familiar American voice. I twisted my head to see Nova (Susie Houlihan), looking more seductive in her beige trench coat than she had at the hotel in her towel, making eyes at Simon. This time, she was wielding a knife instead of a gun, which Jay (or Max) must have been in the process of wrestling from her before – presumably – ‘throwing’ her over the viewing balcony outside. ‘Is she the one who sold you out, baby?’

  Baby? ‘What possible reason would I have for doing that?’ I said, scrambling to my feet, but before I could take a step forward, I found myself dangling several inches above the floor, trapped in the vice-like grip of Simon’s arms. ‘Put me down.’ I kicked back at his shins as he spun me towards the stairs, but my heels only met the air. ‘Sorry about this,’ he said, sounding as out-of-breath as I felt.

  ‘You will be.’

  ‘I was talking to Jay,’ he growled in my ear. ‘I’m going to call the police once we’re back downstairs.’

  ‘We don’t need to get them involved,’ Jay said flatly. I willed him to make eye contact, but his head was tipped away from me and I couldn’t read his expression.

  ‘Jay, I’m so sorry about the reporters, about the stuff online. I promise you, I didn’t talk to the press,’ I burst out, adding for clarification, ‘or anyone connected to the press,’ thinking of Jackie, but knowing she couldn’t be responsible. All she knew was that I’d bumped into him.

  ‘I want so much to believe that, Natalie.’ He spoke in a quiet way that made my insides shrivel. ‘But no one else knew that this was going to be my last film.’

  ‘Such a shame, honey,’ Nova (Susie) murmured. ‘I still haven’t managed to get you into bed.’ I assumed (hoped)
she was talking about Max, not Jay.

  ‘Somebody knew,’ I said.

  ‘It wasn’t anyone around me.’ Jay’s hands hung loosely by his sides and I couldn’t help thinking how much I preferred him dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, rather than his Max Weaver crotch-gripping leather trousers – however well they fitted.

  ‘I can’t believe you told her,’ Susie murmured, the implication being her, of all people; a stranger and knew the ramifications for Jay would be that his co-stars, his director – everyone connected with the film – would probably treat him differently now they knew he’d had enough of the franchise.

  A fresh wave of anguish threatened to overwhelm me. ‘Somebody must have heard us talking,’ I said, realising how ridiculous I must look, clamped to Simon’s chest, feet hovering in mid-air. ‘Maybe someone who works at the hotel.’

  ‘There was no one else there.’ Simon’s abrasive voice rumbled through me. ‘I checked the itinerary.’

  ‘So, you do believe me.’ I tried to twist round and look at him, but my face met his solid shoulder and the silky fabric of his sporty black T-shirt. ‘Why else would you check?’

  ‘I’m working, Natalie,’ Jay said. He finally looked at me, and when I saw how empty his eyes were, I felt my heart break. ‘This isn’t a good time.’

  ‘I don’t think there’ll ever be a good time, honey.’ Although Susie’s words were directed at me, her gaze had travelled to Simon, as if she’d like to be the one clasped to his sturdy chest.

  ‘I can wait until you’ve finished.’ I wildly flailed my legs and tried to wriggle out of Simon’s clutches. I’d spent more time in his arms than I had in any man’s since Matt’s, and my top was riding up, revealing more of my stomach than I was comfortable with.

  ‘Put her down, Si.’

  Hope flared inside me at Jay’s words. He didn’t hate me. We could work this out.

  Simon deposited me on the floor with obvious reluctance and I wobbled on my feet. ‘Jay, I—’

  ‘Please, Natalie.’ He didn’t look at me again. ‘I think you’d better just go.’

  Susie’s red-painted lips curled in a smirk.

  ‘What are you grinning at?’ I snapped. ‘And why do you need to wear lipstick to kill a man, for God’s sake?’

  ‘I seduce him first, honey.’ She fluttered her false eyelashes at Jay. ‘Max likes a woman in red lipstick and not much else.’ She tugged at the belt of her coat. ‘I’m not wearing anything under here.’ This time, her words were directed at Simon as she pulled her lips into a sultry pout.

  Ignoring her, I took a step towards Jay. ‘How do you know it wasn’t her, or even Simon? Either of them could have overheard us talking at the hotel.’

  ‘Don’t, Natalie.’ His voice had tightened and I knew this time I’d gone too far.

  ‘Wasn’t me.’ Susie’s eyes jolted wide. ‘I had better things to do.’ She winked at Simon, who didn’t reply as he cupped my elbow.

  ‘After you,’ he said, turning me towards the stairs once more, and I had no choice but to walk back down, which seemed to take an eternity with Simon right behind, breathing out in long, heavy sighs.

  I kept my head bowed as we emerged, feeling like an inmate on death row, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze, and didn’t argue when Simon escorted me all the way back to the car and watched me open the door. The fight had drained out of me. I barely had the energy to put the key in the ignition.

  Simon grabbed the door before I could close it, and dropped to his haunches. ‘Look, Brian’s furious, and Jay’s gonna be pestered left, right and centre for interviews now, but it’s not the end of the world,’ he said, to my surprise. ‘He’ll handle it, but you’ve got to stay away from him, OK?’

  Tears swam to my eyes and spilled over. He opened his mouth – only just visible inside his beard – but whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips, replaced by a thin smile. ‘Just pretend you never met him, yeah, and be glad he doesn’t want to… I don’t know, sue you, or whatever.’

  As he rose, I slammed the car door and drove away blindly, his words ringing in my ears.

  It’s not the end of the world.

  Then why did it feel like it was?

  Eighteen

  Halfway home, my tears dried, and a plan began to form. I couldn’t leave things as they were, without having one last stab at apologising to Jay. Instead of heading to the café or home, I drove to Saint-Martin and parked round the back of the hotel, glad to see all but one patient reporter had vanished. The last thing I needed was to be ‘outed’ as the person who’d leaked the news online, or for rumours to start flying that I was Jay’s girlfriend – or even a stalker. That kind of publicity would be the kiss of death to any potential relationship with him. If, indeed, there was any potential left.

  My idea wasn’t spectacular. As much as I would have loved to gain access to his room and lie in wait for him, I knew it would be the action of a desperate – possibly unhinged – person, and I’d already made a pretty poor show of myself. Instead, I would leave my number at reception, with a request for Jay to call me (he could borrow Simon’s phone, if he had one). I refused to believe there was nothing more to be said.

  Not wanting to dwell on our lighthouse encounter any more, I ripped a sheet of paper from the notebook I kept in my bag and wrote my mobile number with one of Dad’s pens. I resisted the urge to scrawl a plea across the bottom – please, please, please call me, you gorgeous man. I didn’t do it, and I think I’m in love with you followed by multiple hearts – and kept it simple. Call me, please. Natalie x

  It was quiet inside the hotel – probably because the guests were all filming in Saint-Clément – and the lobby was deserted. I crossed to the desk, and was about to ring the bell to summon a receptionist when I heard voices approaching from outside. A second later, the owner came in, accompanied by Fleur Dupont.

  The sight of Fleur knocked the breath from my body, which was already weakened by the emotional fallout of the last few hours, and from climbing two hundred and fifty-seven steps at speed.

  ‘Hello, Natalie,’ she said, with a cool little smile. ‘This is a surprise.’ To prove it, her eyebrows arched, creating fine lines on her porcelain-pale forehead. I felt like a homeless person who’d wandered in looking for shelter, struck once more by how quietly confident Fleur seemed with her place in the world, and her right to occupy it. She looked amazing too. Even if I had the money to employ a stylist, I’d never be able to replicate her effortless panache.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, though it sounded more like a sound a startled animal might make.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the hotel owner asked in perfect English. She was a tall, elegant blonde with a warm, direct smile. ‘I’m afraid there is no one here at the moment and we are not talking to the press.’

  ‘I… I know, I…’ My words drifted into silence. Why couldn’t there have been an obliging receptionist I could have slipped my number to? She would have taken pity on me and promised in a knowing whisper to make sure that ‘Mr Jay’ got my note. (I’d possibly watched too many period dramas with Mum. Sunday nights had been ‘our telly night’ while Dad was on police duty.) ‘I wanted to leave a message for…’ I raised my chin, a subconscious gesture of defiance. ‘For Jay Merino.’

  The hotel owner’s expression was genuinely pitying. I had the feeling she knew exactly who I was and why I was there and guessed she must have known about my meeting with Jay the previous day. ‘I’m sorry, but I cannot do that, Miss Bright,’ she said. So, she did know who I was. As shame crawled over me; I wished I had the power to become invisible.

  ‘It’s a written message,’ I persisted. ‘If you wouldn’t mind passing it to him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but no.’ She murmured something to Fleur then walked away without looking back, as if supremely confident I wouldn’t do anything silly, like charge upstairs and shove the note under Jay’s door. I considered it. Even though my legs didn’t feel capable of tackling any more stairs, I could always
crawl up on all fours.

  ‘You are either very bold, or very stupid to come here.’ There was private amusement in Fleur’s voice as she glided closer, her scent enveloping me in an annoyingly pleasant haze. ‘You talked to Nicolas,’ she said – a statement, not a question – and I imagined her as a classy spy in Maximum Force, bugging her boss’s office so she was privy to his calls. ‘You know the assignment will be mine now.’

  ‘You could have any assignment you wanted,’ I said, but her smiling answer wasn’t exactly a surprise. ‘Did you have anything to do with the leak?’

  She tipped her head back and laughed out her disdain, revealing her slender throat. ‘Assignments like this, that have to be fought for, they are the most rewarding,’ she said, ignoring my – admittedly pitiful – question. She slipped her hands into the slanted pockets of her herringbone trousers and tilted her head like a therapist. ‘I live for the exclusives.’

  ‘And yet, this wasn’t yours,’ I couldn’t resist saying. ‘You got it by default.’

  Annoyance flittered across her perfect features. ‘It would have been mine if you had not tried to trade on a previous connection with Jay Merino.’ Her face looked older suddenly, the lines around her mouth more deeply scored in a flare of sunlight pouring through the glass-paned doors. ‘You could say he was merely being a gentleman.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got your own way now. I hope you’re happy.’ It was a juvenile shot, but her comment about trading on a previous connection had stung.

  ‘Oh, I am very happy,’ she said airily, but I remembered the look that had cloaked her face in the restaurant, and knew that it wasn’t strictly true. She wouldn’t be truly happy until she’d taken Nicolas’s crown – the ultimate reward for dedicating her life to his magazine.

  ‘I still think I would have done a good job,’ I said. ‘Don’t you ever think about supporting writers who want to be like you?’

  I caught a flash of surprise, as if it was an idea she’d never considered, before her face relaxed into a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. ‘I haven’t got where I am by pandering to people who do not wish to work as hard as I have,’ she said serenely. ‘If you must know, Nicolas is relieved that the interview is now in my hands, where it was supposed to be all along. He knows I am the one who brings him the readers.’