Page 55 of The Paris Trip

‘Yes.’

‘Good… So, you start a relationship with my son. My son is quite famous in Paris. Yes, and around France too. The newspapers, the media, they want “a piece of the action,” as the Americans might say. So they try to take a photograph of you and my son. Because love, romance, passion… It’s what makes the world go around. Especially in Paris.’ To her horror, Sébastien Rémy winked at her. ‘This is the city of love, never forget.’

‘Start a relationship with your son?’ she repeated slowly, and then pulled her hand free. ‘Excuse me, Monsieur Rémy, but I have done no such thing.’ Her back had stiffened and she’d automatically used her ‘no-nonsense’ teacher voice, noting how everyone’s head turned towards her. The ‘voice’ wasn’t loud, but it was authoritative and could cut through kids’ chatter in a busy classroom. ‘What even gave you that idea?’

Leo, having now locked the front door for good measure, came forward, shaking his head. There was a warning look in his face. ‘My father is mistaken. And they…’ He gestured over his shoulder. ‘The paparazzi… They’re mistaken too but it’s not my fault.’ He pointed at his cousin. ‘Jean caused all this.’

Jean shrank back, shaking his head as he stared miserably at the ground. ‘It was only one picture. I wasn’t to know they’d come here. I… I just wanted the money.’

‘And now they know my father is here too,’ Leo said sharply. ‘They were already in a feeding frenzy because of his marriage. Now this… Damn it, Jean, this is worse than when Francis died. They had people camped outside the château for weeks. We’ll never get rid of them.’

The woman she recognised from that magazine photograph as the new Madame Rémy touched him on the shoulder. ‘I know it seems bad, Leo, but they’ll soon lose interest. Something else will happen and the paps will disappear.’ To Maeve’s astonishment, the slender blonde seemed almost flirtatious with her stepson. Though they were a great deal closer in age, she considered, than the three-decade gap between her and Sébastien. ‘You’ll see, mon cher.’ These last words were said so lovingly that Maeve’s gaze shot to Leo’s face, but he seemed unmoved.

‘Could someone please explain all this from the beginning?’ Maeve heard her voice, breathless and a little shrill, and took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. There would be a simple explanation, she was sure. But all this nonsense about a photo and the paparazzi… She was beginning to panic. ‘Leo?’

Leo thrust his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, and the fine white-T-shirt he was wearing strained, highlighting flat abs and a muscular chest. Maeve stared, and then noted the young blonde staring too. She forced her gaze to shift a few inches higher to his face and stay there.

‘My cousin took a photograph of us when we were out to dinner together. I saw him do it and went over to investigate, but he claimed he’d just been looking at his phone. I should have taken the damn thing away and checked the photo history. Instead, I trusted him.’ His jaw hardened. ‘He sold the photo to the press. And now it’s all over social media.’

‘Good God. But… But why? Maybe I’m being thick, but what’s so special about you and me having dinner, for goodness’ sake?’ Maeve was flabbergasted. She looked from Jean to Leo to Sébastien, and then back to Leo, her gaze drawn back to his face like a magnetic needle seeking north. ‘Because, trust me, I haven’t got a clue. Perhaps it’s the language barrier. Or maybe I’m missing some important piece of information.’

‘But how sweet she is!’ the blonde exclaimed, tittering behind one raised hand, on which flashed a large diamond ring and wedding band.

Glancing her way in impatience, Maeve suspected the new Madame Rémy had made that gesture simply to draw attention to her ring finger.

‘You don’t need to be ashamed of your feelings for my son, mademoiselle,’ Sébastien assured her. ‘You certainly don’t need to conceal them and pretend there’s nothing between you.’ Ignoring her stunned expression, he beamed at her and Leo. ‘As soon as I saw that photograph, I knew the truth. It didn’t need a caption to tell me you two were in love.’

Leo swore very rudely in French, and Maeve had to agree with him.

‘In… In love?’ she faltered, then gulped. ‘So you’re saying, because of this photograph, everyone in Paris now thinks that you and I… That we’re… an item?’

Heat crept into her cheeks as everyone turned to look at her. It was hugely embarrassing. And, as a teacher, she was used to being stared at for hours on end, and by at least thirty curious and sometimes hostile pairs of eyes. But this was beyond even that scale. Because this was personal.

‘Not just Paris,’ Leo told her bitterly. ‘Try the whole of France. All Europe, in fact.’

‘The entire world,’ Sébastien added softly, a smile still playing on his lips as he looked her up and down as though she were a juicy lambchop he’d like to sink his teeth into.

Maeve stiffened at that vaguely lecherous look, thinking, you’re not sinking your teeth into me, mate.

‘Well, that’s just stupid and ridiculous,’ she told them flatly, and marched to the front door. ‘It will take all of ten seconds to disabuse that lot. Just watch me.’

And with that, she flung open the door and faced a rabble of reporters on the doorstep, all of whom began to shout at once, falling over themselves as they reached for cameras and phones and microphones.

Behind her, there was a shout of horror.

Hands grabbed her back into the hall and tried slamming the door shut. But the same persistent photographer had yet again stuck his foot in it, so she was still able to shout through the closing gap.

‘He’s not my boyfriend. I only met him a few days ago. Print that, please,’ she yelled, determined to be heard, despite being dragged away. ‘He’s just a friend. A friend, you understand? Un ami.’

Jean gave the reporter an almighty shove, warning him in voluble French to get his foot out of their door, and Leo wrestled the door shut again.

The blonde caught Maeve as she staggered backwards and helped her upright again. ‘Oh dear, you really shouldn’t talk to the paps,’ she told Maeve with soft-voiced reproach, shaking her head. ‘They print whatever you say.’

‘Good. That’s what I want.’

‘Ah yes, but they always leave out anything that spoils their story.’ Sébastien’s wife twirled a lock of blonde hair around one dainty finger, gazing thoughtfully towards the door. ‘You used the word, ami. Now they’ll make it sound as though you were admitting to being his girlfriend, and claim it’s a whirlwind romance, because you only met him a few days ago.’

Maeve peered round at her in dismay. ‘Oh… You really think so?’

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