Page 18 of The Paris Trip

You’re welcome to him, Mademoiselle. Just don’t let him break your heart, that’s my advice.

Could the dramatic redhead really believe she was Leo’s new lover? It seemed ridiculous, and yet…

She ought to ask Madame Rémy about it. But she would be gone soon anyway. Perhaps it was better to smile and ignore Liselle’s outburst. Yes, that would be the British thing to do.

‘Mmm, this pear is so delicious,’ she said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, and turned politely to listen as Madame Rémy agreed and began enthusiastically praising the local fruit suppliers.

Another half an hour and she would be free of this château. And the Rémy family. And Leo’s tangled love life…

The man at the embassy was equally polite but adamant as he handed her a stack of papers to sign. ‘I’m afraid you’ll need to fill these out and come back in a week or two.’

She was aghast. ‘A week or two? But I can’t. I mean, I don’t have any money, for starters. Where am I going to stay?’

‘Didn’t you say you stayed with friends last night?’

She blushed angrily. ‘Friends is pushing it. More like bare acquaintances. And it’s one thing to beg a spare bed for a night, and quite another to throw myself on their charity for a fortnight.’

‘I quite understand.’ Mr White pursed his lips, a tall, reedy man in a dark suit, his receding hairline an unfortunate indication of early-onset baldness. ‘Well, I’m sure your bank will advance you some emergency cash.’

Since she had already made a further call to her bank Lost Card helpline, using Leo’s mobile, on the way to Château Rémy last night, and been told her bank balance wasn’t in the best shape for large-scale borrowing, this was a blind alley. But the bank, having already stopped her lost cards yesterday when she first reported them, had grudgingly agreed to loan her a few hundred until she could get home, via an emergency code at a cash till. But if she was to be stuck here for two more weeks, she would need far more cash than that…

‘Not enough,’ she said tightly.

‘Then I suggest you go back to your friends and ask for additional accommodation. Maybe if you were to offer to pay in kind?’

‘Sorry?’ She stared, horrified.

‘You could wash up and tidy the house in return for bed and board,’ Mr White explained mildly. ‘Just a suggestion.’

‘Oh.’

He frowned. ‘What did you think I meant?’

‘Nothing,’ she muttered.

His eyes widened and his brows soared. ‘Oh.’

‘Forget it.’

‘Well, yes…’ He cleared his throat and shuffled his paperwork. ‘I’m very sorry about the delay. But an anomaly’s been thrown up, you see, and –’

‘A what?’

‘An anomaly.’ Mr White met her eyes frankly. ‘We found you on the system. But a red flag went up when we tried to issue you with an emergency –’

‘Red flag?’ she interrupted him, dumbfounded. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘There’s been some query over your status as a British citizen, I’m afraid. You were born here in Paris, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, and I was taken to the UK as a baby. So what? I’ve always had a British passport. Nobody’s given it a ‘red flag’ before.’

‘Well,’ he said delicately, ‘it seems your UK citizenship may have been issued in error.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘We’re investigating the issue. No need to get worried. It will probably turn out to be a mere formality. These things sometimes do.’

‘Only sometimes?’

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