Page 32 of The Paris Trip

Again, he heard the rumble of his uncle’s laughter.

He rang off, assuring his uncle that he would try to visit Bordeaux, so they could discuss the fire in more detail and how the repairs were going.

It was a financial headache, all right. But at least the premises had been insured. Otherwise it could have been disastrous. Even so, having the Cave out of order at the height of the summer season would make a serious dent in their profits for that year. And they’d already been struggling financially after a series of problematic harvests, along with the recent hike in the cost of living. The fire was bad news, for sure. It might mean having to extend their bank loan.

As he checked the balances on their business accounts in his banking app, a shadow fell across him and Leo looked up, narrowing his eyes against the sun.

‘We need to talk.’

It was Liselle, wearing a one-piece black and gold swimsuit that clung to her curves and a diaphanous housecoat over the top, carrying a bottle of sun oil and a thick white towel draped over one arm. She was wearing dark sunglasses so that he couldn’t read her expression. But he could read her body language and it wasn’t friendly.

‘Talk?’ Putting down his phone, he leant back slowly. ‘What about?’

‘For God's sake, Leo. Don’t pretend you don’t know.’

‘I honestly have no idea what this is about. Unless it was our embarrassing tussle this morning… If you’ve come to say sorry, I would be happy to accept your apology.’

‘Apologise?’ she almost spat the words at him, fury in the tightening of her lips. ‘Oh, I got the message this morning. You’re determined to amuse yourself with that girl… Fine! You do that.’ She gave a careless shrug that didn’t fool him. ‘But we need to talk business.’

‘What kind of business?’

‘Sascha rang.’

She gave a satisfied smile when he stared in disbelief. Sascha was a well-known impresario on the art scene in Paris, who was their go-to man when it came to setting up art exhibitions. But he hadn’t had any conversations with Leo for some time. No paintings, no exhibitions. It was that simple.

‘He had a minor exhibition fall through at the last minute,’ she went on airily. ‘It was set for three weeks’ time and everyone seems to have left Paris for the holidays, so he’s been struggling to fill the gap in his schedule. As your manager, I said you might be available.’

He jumped up, glaring at her, his heart thumping. ‘You did what?’

‘Calm down… It’ll be good for your profile. It’s only a small gallery space but in a prominent location. And it’s only for a week. A flash exhibition. There and gone.’ She played with her hair, watching him with a cat-like smile. ‘I agreed to have drinks with him tomorrow, thrash out the details.’

‘Have you gone mad? I don’t have anything to exhibit.’

‘Regardless, you can’t miss this opportunity. A summer exhibition, Leo, with all the tourists here in Paris. Think of the sales you could make.’

‘You’re not hearing me.’ Leo felt like grinding his teeth in frustration. Why wasn’t she listening to him? ‘I have no pictures to exhibit, let alone sell.’

‘But you might have,’ she said delicately, eyeing him sideways. ‘You’re still planning to paint her, aren’t you?’

‘Her? You mean Maeve?’ He felt winded at the mention of her name, caught off guard as he remembered their recent conversation. ‘She’s changed her mind,’ he said flatly. ‘Doesn’t want to go anywhere near my studio. Not after that stunt you pulled this morning.’

‘Ah…’ She pushed her sunglasses up and met his eyes. ‘Okay, you wanted an apology. Well, here it is. I’m sorry. I was jealous. I didn’t understand.’

Leo thrust his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t sure he could trust her sincerity, but he’d agreed to accept her apology if she made one. ‘Thank you,’ he said grudgingly. ‘But it doesn’t change anything.’

‘It won’t happen again, believe me. I can tell her that myself, if you like.’

‘No,’ he said quickly, horrified.

‘Fine, whatever. Then I’ll leave it to you to lure her back to your studio.’ With a shrug, Liselle slipped her sunglasses back on. ‘Paint her, Leo,’ she told him. ‘Paint her as quickly and often as you can. In every conceivable position.’ Her mocking laughter echoed about the courtyard. ‘Then you’ll have plenty of new paintings to exhibit, won’t you?’

‘In three weeks? Impossible.’

His former girlfriend sauntered on towards the sun loungers, slipping her see-through wrap off golden, sun-kissed shoulders. ‘I have faith in you, Leo,’ she threw back at him. ‘And don’t tell me it’s impossible. I know exactly what you get like when you’re inspired, remember?’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The bar-café at the end of the street, now simply called Chez Jean, had belonged to the Rémy family for decades. His father had taken a hand in managing the bar at one time, but his love of alcohol had made it a dangerous place for him, and Leo’s grandfather had soon replaced him. Leo himself had grown up there, threading through the tight-spaced tables on the pavement with lunch plates or fresh carafes of water. He had watched football games on the television inside the bar and, as he got older, had played cards with the pot washers between shifts, until his grandfather had found out and forbidden him entry for a few years. Francis had also briefly managed the place, but having always been groomed for the top position in the family, the café at the end of the street had been more of a side hustle then a position of prestige. So Cousin Jean had been parachuted in to look after it in the years before Francis’s death, while Leo was still living in the South of France, painting by night and sleeping all day, like an artistic vampire.

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