Page 30 of The Paris Trip

‘Tom Jones, the Welsh singer? You must have heard of him.’

‘Vaguely.’

‘Women used to throw their knickers at him when he was performing on stage.’

He blinked, and started some incoherent sentence that petered out long before he’d worked out what he wanted to say.

There was a scathing smile on her lips as she went on, ‘Although it looked as though Liselle had skipped the knicker-throwing part and moved straight to what comes after.’

‘It was a mistake. Liselle thought… ‘

She raised her eyebrows when another sentence foundered hopelessly on the rocks. ‘Yes? What did she think?’

‘It was a misunderstanding, okay? Not that it’s any of your business,’ he finished defensively.

‘In general, I’d say yes. But when I’ve been asked to be in a certain place at a certain time, and turn up to find you rolling on the floor with a naked woman, then it absolutely is my business.’

Leo winced inwardly; he could hardly argue with that.

Carefully, he put the broom aside. ‘All right, yes, that’s fair. And I apologise, even though I wasn’t to blame. I shall ask Liselle to apologise as well.’

‘Oh, please don’t! Not on my account.’ She grabbed a damp cloth and began wiping down the kitchen surfaces in a furious manner.

‘There are things about Liselle and me that you don’t know… And I can’t elaborate.’

‘I didn’t ask you to.’

He had no idea why he still felt this burning need to paint her. If he could simply walk off and forget… But he couldn’t. And it had been so long since he’d felt anything akin to this urge, he couldn’t let the chance slip away.

‘Let me make it up to you,’ he said, leaning against a kitchen cabinet, watching while she worked. Though there wasn’t much for her to do. Bernadette was a conscientious worker and kept the place immaculate. ‘I still want to paint you, Maeve.’

‘Sorry, bit busy right now.’

‘I didn’t mean immediately. I have a call to make, anyway.’ He frowned, battling frustration. Why wouldn’t she even look at him? Surely it couldn’t be Liselle’s nudity that was still making her blank him? ‘Ordinary’ she might be, compared to the wilder elements of the Parisian artistic community, but she didn’t strike him as that much of a prude. ‘Please stop cleaning.’

‘I like cleaning. It keeps me fit.’

He sighed. ‘Okay, next time I’ll come and fetch you to the studio myself. If that makes you feel more comfortable.’

Maeve paused in her hurried, overly dramatic wiping and turned to glare at him, her eyebrows arched. ‘No thanks. Not if I’m expected to take all my clothes off and engage in… in floor exercises with you.’

Now she was mocking him. He gritted his teeth, managing a smile in return. ‘Ha ha. You know that’s not what was happening this morning.’

‘Oh, I know.’ She snorted, returning to her task. ‘Trust me, I know.’

‘Let me take you out to dinner,’ he said suddenly, and grabbed her by the apron strings while she was still turned away from him. She protested, clearly outraged that he'd dared touch her, but he unfastened her apron with ease, throwing the damn thing onto the counter. ‘No more cleaning. You’re our guest,’ he reiterated firmly. ‘Besides, there are some things I’d like to talk to you about which I can’t discuss under this roof.’

‘What kind of things?’ she demanded, her face flushed.

‘Come to dinner with me and find out. My cousin Jean runs a café at the end of this street. We can eat there.’

Maeve kept her back firmly turned away while she washed and dried her hands. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Monsieur Rémy.’

‘Oh, we’re back to Monsieur Rémy, are we?’ He sucked in a breath, thrusting his hands into his pockets. ‘Dinner. Eight o’clock tonight. I’ll come and find you. My treat.’

‘Well, it can hardly be my treat. I haven’t got any money.’

He frowned, surprised. ‘I thought your bank was going to transfer funds to you here in Paris?’

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