Page 13 of The Paris Trip

He gave a rough bark of laughter. ‘Your French is pardoned.’ Stopping abruptly before a low door, he pushed it open with his foot and gestured her inside. ‘Your room, my lady.’

He snapped on the light.

Wonderingly, Maeve stepped inside, looking about herself. It was a small attic room with a sloping ceiling.

Going straight to the window, which had no shutter but a tatty curtain on a rail, she looked out over the twinkling lights and dark roofs of Paris at night.

She guessed they must be high in one of the turrets. Perhaps at the very top, from the way the ceiling curved in on itself with ancient, exposed beams. He had called her ‘my lady,’ and although she knew it had been a silly joke, it put odd thoughts into her head. She wasn’t much given to fanciful notions but rather liked the idea of being a princess trapped in a tower.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your long hair… Except her practical, shoulder-length hairstyle wouldn’t get her very far during a rescue attempt, alas.

He watched her with a half-smile. ‘I apologise for the long trek. I know you must be incredibly tired. But the only habitable rooms are already occupied, so we had to prepare an attic room instead.’ He paused. ‘I believe the bed’s a little lumpy. But I hope it won’t be too uncomfortable.’

She tested the bed with a hand. Yes, it was a little lumpy, and the furniture was old and ramshackle, and there were even packing cases and tea chests in one corner, partly covered with sheets. But the bed was a four-poster and had been made up with a lacy white cover and several large pillows, and the shaded light overhead was reassuringly modern.

Set against the wall opposite the bed was a heavily scratched dressing table with a cracked mirror, but someone had set fresh lilies in a glass vase there, filling the tiny room with their sweet, cloying scent. Plus, two fluffy and generously-sized white towels had been left on the bed for her personal use, which was thoughtful. She also noted with astonishment that the paperbacks stacked on the bedside cabinet were all in English. Talk about attention to detail!

‘This is marvellous, thank you. Though I wish your grandmother hadn’t gone to all this trouble for me. She was hurt this afternoon and should have been resting her ankle… I feel really bad.’

‘Please don’t concern yourself. My sister prepared the room for you. My grandmother merely directed her what to do. Besides, her ankle is much better.’ As she lingered over the towels, he pointed down the corridor. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t an ensuite. But there’s a good-sized bathroom with toilet just down there. Though if you prefer a shower, there’s one on the floor below. Whichever you use, please remember to open the windows to let the steam out. It’s an old-fashioned house and we haven’t had any ventilation or air conditioning fitted.’

‘Of course.’

He went to the door, glancing back at her. He was looking tired too now, and she felt guilty at having forced him to drive halfway across Paris to collect her, then kept him up with all this. ‘Is there anything else you need?’ he asked.

Maeve thought longingly of her suitcase, no doubt sailing merrily across the Channel by now, deep inside the belly of the coach she’d missed, containing all her lovely clean clothes and bathroom essentials. But she didn’t want to appear rude by saying anything negative, so shook her head and smiled. ‘No, this is brilliant. Thank you so much.’

‘You said you’d been parted from your luggage.’ As he looked her up and down, she wondered again if he was a mind-reader. ‘Of course… You don’t have any clothes. Including pyjamas.’

‘It’s alright, I’ll manage.’

But he was frowning. ‘I’ll ask my sister if she can spare something for you. I daresay she won’t have gone back to bed yet. Meanwhile, I’ll bid you goodnight, and see you in the morning. No doubt you’ll want a lift back to the embassy.’

‘I don’t want to put you out.’

His brows rose. ‘It’s too far for you to walk, and you don’t have any money for public transport. It would be ludicrous not to offer you a lift. Besides, my grandmother wouldn’t hear of letting you leave Château Rémy under your own steam.’ He ran a hand through his hair, fatigue in his face. ‘Goodnight, Miss Eden.’

‘Good night, Monsieur Rémy.’

‘Leo,’ he reminded her.

Slightly nettled, she thrust her chin in the air, saying, ‘Maeve, then.’

‘Goodnight, Maeve,’ he said softly and closed the door behind him.

Maeve stood there a moment, listening to the unfamiliar silence of the ancient château around her, and the muffled sounds of the city that continued even in the middle of the night. Slowly, she began to remove her shoes… Then the enormity of everything that had happened that day struck her. She sat down heavily on the bed and burst into tears.

‘It’ll be alright,’ she sobbed under her breath, trying and failing to comfort herself. ‘Everything is going to be all right.’

A knock at the door brought Maeve upright in a flash, horribly embarrassed.

‘Um, hang on a tick… I mean, un moment, s’il-vous-plaît.’

Hurriedly, Maeve rubbed at her damp face and sniffed a few times, wishing she had a pack of travel tissues to hand, mortified to be caught weeping over something as insignificant as a missed bus and a stolen passport. But the tissue pack had been stowed neatly in her rucksack, so was now in the possession of criminals. No doubt that horrid biker was gleefully blowing his nose on her tissues right now, dreadful man…

‘Entrez!’ she called, struggling back to her feet.

CHAPTER FIVE

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