Page 35 of The Paris Trip

‘Look, I brought you here to escape my crazy household,’ he said in a more level tone. ‘So we could relax and enjoy each other’s company. Perhaps we should just concentrate on doing that.’

Her brow wrinkled. ‘I thought you bought me here to tell me why you stopped painting.’

Leo had forgotten that promise, so focused on getting her alone. He stared back at her, winded, unable to say a thing.

She seemed to sense his horror.

‘Of course, if you’d rather not… But since we’re here and nobody else is listening…’

At that moment, Jean arrived with their order, both of them having ordered a light one-course supper, perfect fare for a bar meal.

‘A carafe of water for you both. Moules frites for mademoiselle, steak frites for you, Leo.’ He set the plates before them with a flourish as though serving the finest cordon bleu. ‘Mustard? Mayonnaise?’ He directed these queries at Maeve, already aware that Leo never took any bottled sauce with his steak, though he had been known to enjoy the occasional aioli.

‘Do you have tomato ketchup?’ Maeve asked.

A shudder ran through Jean but he maintained his professional smile. ‘But of course… All the American and British tourists, they ask for ketchup. So we always keep ketchup.’ He whisked away, returning briefly with a dish of tomato ketchup which he placed before her, bowing. The long silver earring he habitually wore jiggled and caught the light. ‘Bon appétit!’

When Jean had gone back to the kitchen, Maeve chewed cautiously on the mussel, and then smiled.

‘That tastes good, I take it?’ he asked her.

‘Delicious,’ she enthused. ‘I’d never had moules-frites before coming to Paris, can you believe it? But I love them now. In fact, this is my third time of ordering them.’

‘Not very adventurous, are you?’

‘I’m working on it,’ she said defensively. ‘How’s your steak?’

‘Bloody.’

She shuddered. ‘How awful. Better send it back.’

He shook his head. ‘Bloody is exactly how I like it,’ he explained. ‘Whenever I come to Chez Jean, I nearly always order their steak-frites, so the chef knows how to prepare it for me.’

Her brows rose. ‘Oh, so you always order the same meal when you come here? Not very adventurous, are you?’

He grinned. ‘Touché.’ Reaching for the carafe of water, he pouring them both a large glass. ‘Santé.’

‘Santé,’ she echoed, taking a sip of her aperitif instead, which she had barely touched, he noticed. Too strong, perhaps.

‘Would you like something else to drink? A glass of wine?’

‘This is fine.’ She set down the aperitif and began to eat again, demonstrating a healthy appetite. But five minutes later, just as he was starting to relax and enjoy his meal, she caught him off guard him by saying, ‘You’ve done a fine job of distracting me. But it’s no use, Leo. I haven’t forgotten.’

He stared, taken aback. ‘Sorry?’

‘You were going to tell me why you don’t paint anymore.’ She popped a crispy golden chip into her mouth, raising her calm gaze to his face. ‘I’m still waiting.’

She was a determined creature, wasn’t she? Almost to the point of making his teeth grind.

‘Fine, all right, I’ll tell you.’ Finishing a last mouthful in a leisurely way, he picked up his plate and slipped out of the booth, leaving her staring. ‘But I need to check something first, if you’ll excuse me for just a few minutes.’

With a smile, Leo carried his empty plate through the double swing doors into the kitchen to speak to the chef, Pierre, and sous chef, Anton.

Whenever he came to Chez Jean, he always took a few minutes to touch base with the kitchen and waiting staff, and make sure everyone was happy and working productively.

It was a bore.

But it was also a key part of his duty as head of the family business to make sure things were running smoothly.

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