Page 49 of The Paris Trip

She wanted to help him but didn’t know how. Her gaze drifted curiously to the canvas, still turned away from her.

‘May I see?’ she asked tentatively.

‘Absolutely not.’ He spun around, gesturing her furiously back to the stool. ‘It’s no good. It’s rubbish. But I’ll finish it.’ He picked up the paintbrush and returned to his place before the canvas. ‘I’ve never left a painting unfinished in my life and I’m not starting now. Even if it’s destined for the rubbish heap.’

‘What makes you think it’s rubbish?’

‘Would you sit down again, please?’

‘No.’ She didn’t move, ignoring his impatient gesture. ‘Something has triggered this.’

‘Spare me the psycho-babble,’

That dismissive attitude annoyed her. But she could see how defensive he was. Which meant she was close to the truth.

‘Some of the kids I teach,’ she said quietly, ‘are excellent mathematicians. Then suddenly, one day, they decide they’re no good at it. They just close themselves off from maths. And there’s always a reason. A single bad test result, perhaps, or an issue at home that’s knocked their confidence generally.’ She studied his inverted profile. ‘It’s none of my business, I know. But if you want to talk about it…’

A muscle jerked in his jaw, then Leo gave another groan and muttered, ‘If you must pry, it’s my father.’

‘Your father?” She was taken aback. Hadn’t he told her that his father no longer had anything to do with the family?

‘He got married again last weekend… Some young woman half his age. Apparently, he may be bringing her here to Château Rémy.’

‘Goodness. When?’

‘Today? Tomorrow? I’ve no idea. But I can’t stop thinking about it.’ He paused. ‘That man tortured my mother. Oh, not literally. I mean, with his affairs… All the women.’ He added bitterly, ‘In the end, she killed herself.’

‘Oh, Leo, I’m so sorry.’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘I didn’t know about that.’

‘Why would you? It was a long time ago. But sometimes I think about my mother and…’ He expelled a harsh breath. ‘It doesn’t matter. This thing with my father though. It shouldn’t mean a damn thing to me, I know. But it does. Because it’s brought it all back. And I don’t think I can face him…’ He grimaced. ‘Or not without punching him.’

She was shocked. ‘But he’s your father, Leo… Whatever he’s done, you can’t punch him.’

‘Then you’d better tie me up if he comes to the door.’

Tie me up.

Maeve said nothing. But the mental image he’d just conjured up wouldn’t go away. Her lips tightened to stop her from smirking, and her eyebrows rose and fell, doing a quirky little dance above eyes that simply didn’t know where to look…

‘Okay, now what are you thinking?’ he demanded, staring at her with his paintbrush poised above the canvas.

Oh my goodness, she thought, blushing. There was no way to answer that.

‘Nothing. I’m just, erm, hungry,’ she fibbed.

‘Hungry?’ He looked unconvinced but shrugged. ‘Then I’ll wrap this up quickly, so you can go and eat.’

She didn’t like telling fibs. Though she was genuinely hungry, she realised with an internal shock, watching the Frenchman bend to his work again.

Just not for food…

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

After he’d released Maeve from the studio, sure that she must be heartily bored now of sitting for him, not to mention starving, Leo returned to stare at the painting he had been working on. It was not finished. But he’d made a good start. At least, he had felt good about it at first, painting like fury. Then, slowly, energy had drained out of him, and he knew it was partly the news about his father that was to blame.

Why the hell had he shared such private information with Maeve? It was none of her business. She wasn’t one of the family. Yet, in that instant, it had felt like the right thing to do. The only thing to do, in fact.

Maeve was a sympathetic person. But not overly emotional, thankfully.

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