Page 54 of The Paris Trip

‘Merci. It may be Monsieur Duvalle with our weekly grocery order, though he usually comes earlier than this.’ Bernadette looped the apron back over her head and reached for her rolling pin. ‘Ask him to carry it down, would you?’

Maeve hurried up to the ground floor, the vast kitchen complex being situated below stairs. No doubt to keep the servants out of sight and out of mind in the olden days. Before the days of the French Revolution, that was, when the servants had risen up and done unspeakable things to their employers, guilty and innocent alike, unfortunately. Though presumably things had settled down again within a few generations, and servants and masters had come back into fashion. Rich people tended to prefer paying other people to light their fires and cook their dinners and wash their linen. When they were not getting their heads lopped off, of course.

As she reached the grand entrance hall, the doorbell jangled again, a more prolonged, noisy summons this time.

‘All right, all right, I’m coming… Keep your string of onions on, Monsieur Duvalle,’ she muttered under her breath.

But even as she reached the door, it was flung open by none other than Leo Rémy.

‘Get away from me,’ Leo was shouting, waving a hand, not looking at her as he plunged into the hall. ‘Go on, get lost!’

Maeve stopped in her tracks. What on earth?

She half expected to see an irate French grocer come chasing after him into the hall, perhaps brandishing a baguette or a bag of radishes.

Instead, an absolute throng of people on the doorstep met her astonished gaze, all lifting phones and cameras and other equipment in her direction, a barrage of flashes going off to illuminate both her and the dim interior.

Others hurried after Leo into the château. One was Liselle, her brows tugged together with irritation, a flushed look on her face. Behind her was Leo’s cousin, also rather flushed and out of breath. Had they been running? After them came a large man who looked so startlingly like Leo that it was impossible not to recognise who he was.

Leo’s father, Sébastien Rémy. Leo had told her about him earlier, and she backed away instinctively, recalling how much animosity lay between them. On his arm was a pretty young blonde. His new wife, presumably. Maeve had forgotten her name, if Leo had even mentioned it, which she didn’t think he had.

But who were all these other people? Sébastien Rémy’s fan club?

If so, they were surprisingly demanding.

‘How about just one picture of you with your father and his new bride?’ One of the men was trying to get a foot in the door, despite Leo’s struggle to close it. ‘Or maybe a foursome… You and your girlfriend, Mademoiselle Eden, with the other two. How about it, Leo? Come on, the publicity would be great.’ The man gave a grunt of pain as Leo attempted to amputate his foot with the door and he hurriedly withdrew it. ‘Just you and your father, then?’

The door finally shut, and Leo sank his back against it, growling like a wild animal.

But not for long.

‘This is all your fault, Jean. I hold you responsible for that baying mob outside our home,’ Leo rattled off in French. ‘You’ll be lucky if you have a roof over your head by the end of today, let alone a job. What the hell were you thinking, letting the paparazzi loose on me and Maeve?’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

But there was no time for an answer to that excellent question. The baying mob who apparently wanted to photograph her with Leo, for no reason she could possibly fathom, would have to wait. Because Sébastien Rémy was already reaching for her hand and she turned to face him, unsure what to expect.

‘Mademoiselle, how wonderful to make your acquaintance. I am Leo’s papa, Sébastien, and you must be Maeve.’ He took her hand and bowed over it, putting his lips to her skin. His English was very good but heavily accented. ‘You are more beautiful than in your photograph, Miss Eden. It did you no justice… No justice at all. You are radiant in that very special way that English girls have.’ When she stared at him blankly, he smiled. ‘Simple. Understated. Au naturel.’

‘Erm… Thank you, I think.’

Simple? Understated? Who was he trying to kid? And ‘au naturel’ just meant she hadn’t got any make-up on and her hair was probably an unholy mess, caught up in a hairband this morning, but with flyaway bits straggling here and there.

She glanced at Leo and saw a fulminating darkness in his face. Of course. He’d told her how much he didn’t want his estranged father to visit them… And yet here the man was, filling the hall with his larger than life presence.

Sympathy sparked in her and she shook his father’s hand coolly, adding, ‘Nice to meet you too. I’m not sure I understand though. What photograph?’ But as her gaze returned to Leo’s face, she caught a sudden look of consternation there. Even dismay.

What was he hiding?

She was a teacher. She had seen enough teenagers concealing their phones under their desks not to know that expression.

‘What’s he talking about, Leo? I’d like a straight answer, please. And what on earth are all those people doing outside the door?’ She drew a deep breath, fighting off confusion. ‘Why did that man want a photograph of you and me?’

‘It’s complicated,’ Leo ground out.

‘I’m fairly intelligent, I can probably keep up.’

‘They are the paparazzi,’ his father told her, still holding her hand, smiling like one of the angels in heaven. He seemed oblivious to her discomfort. ‘You have heard of the paps, yes?’

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