Page 44 of The Paris Trip

He knew that voice.

Astonished, he jumped up in alarm and swiftly pulled on a dressing gown before opening the door. It was his grandmother. ‘Grandmère? Is something wrong? Was I supposed to be taking you somewhere?’ He checked his watch and blinked. It was nearly lunchtime. ‘I’m sorry, I was up very late again last night.’

‘No, I’ve come about something else.’ Briskly, she looked him up and down. ‘I think you should get dressed and then come downstairs for a chat.’ And she went away again, leaving him staring after her.

A chat?

He showered rapidly, pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, and hurried downstairs to find his grandmother in one of the cool sitting rooms that overlooked the courtyard garden. As he walked in, Bernadette was placing a tray of powerful-smelling coffee and flaky croissants on a small table in front of their grandmother.

His sister looked round as Leo approached. ‘You did manage to get some sleep then, last night?’ Her voice was mocking, letting her know she suspected him of getting it on with Maeve.

She wasn’t far wrong. But he had no intention of kissing and telling.

‘I had enough to function.’ He dropped onto the sofa beside his grandmother and snatched up a croissant. It smelt delicious and he was ravenous.

‘You were painting Maeve last night, Bernadette told me.’ His grandmother studied him. He couldn’t tell if she was happy or disapproving. ‘I hope you didn’t keep our guest up too late.’

Definitely disapproving.

‘Of course not.’ When his grandmother turned, fluffing the large cushion at her back, he mouthed an ironic, ‘Thank you so much,’ to his sister for telling tales on him. ‘And I brought Duchess back to your rooms. I found her wandering the house.’

His grandmother groaned. ‘Poor old thing… I wondered why she was so sleepy this morning. But if she had an adventure last night, that would explain it. She’s getting ancient, like me. Sometimes she forgets she’s too frail to have the run of the château anymore and manages to slip out when someone leaves the door open to my suite.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thank you for returning her to me, dear boy.’

‘Boy?’ His sister sounded skeptical.

‘At my age, nearly all males seem like boys to me,’ their grandmother said regretfully. ‘Once, I thought I might even try remarrying… But all the men I used to like are either dead or soon will be.’

His sister snorted.

Leo took another bite of croissant, directing a quelling glance at Bernadette.

‘I’ll be in the kitchen,’ Bernadette murmured, and whisked herself out of the room.

Traitor, he thought, watching her vanish.

‘I was in the mood for painting last night,’ he told his grandmother, trying to make light of it. ‘I’ve taken some preliminary sketches, that’s all. Who knows where they’ll lead?’

‘To an exhibition, I’m told.’

‘I see my sister has been having quite a long conversation with you.’ He ran a weary hand over his face. ‘Yes, if Liselle has her way, and if I have enough paintings worth showing by then, there may be an exhibition soon. At least, she’s trying to set one up.’

‘And Maeve… Is she happy for you to paint her?’

He finished the soft, flaky, buttery, home-made croissant – one of Bernadette’s finest skills – and poured coffee for them both. He was feeling strangely exhilarated after last night.

But was that the sketching or the kiss?

‘She didn’t say no.’

‘And she’s aware that these paintings may be put on show to the public?’

‘She knows.’ A memory struck him, and he sat upright. ‘By the way, you had an arty friend once, didn’t you, a long time ago? I used to take you to visit her. She lived somewhere near the Boulevard St Germain as I recall.’ He handed her a milky coffee, which was how she preferred to take it these days. ‘I think her first name was Agathe.’

His grandmother stared at him, taken aback. ‘Yes, that’s right. Agathe Saint-Yves. But what on earth makes you mention her all of a sudden? Such a difficult woman… Goodness, I haven’t seen her in years.’ She sipped her coffee remorsefully, her delicate brows drawing together. ‘We had a falling out, I’m afraid.’

‘A falling out? Was it serious? I mean, was it bad enough that you would never want to see her again?’ He knew his grandmother sometimes flew into towering passions over some political thing or other, and cut people out of her life forever. That would be awkward if it were the case with Maeve’s grandmother.

‘No, nothing that bad. Why?’

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