Page 57 of The Paris Trip

Goodness, Leo’s face lit up when he smiled. He looked like an altogether different person when he wasn’t scowling or concentrating on a painting.

But as she slipped away towards the kitchen, Madame Rémy spotted her and her face lightened. ‘Mademoiselle Eden,’ she exclaimed, ‘I didn’t see you there. Please wait, I need to tell you something.’

Maeve halted, torn.

‘I’ve been in contact with my old friend Agathe,’ Madame Rémy went on, ‘and she’s asked us to coffee at her apartment tomorrow afternoon. I presume that will suit you?’

Maeve sucked in a breath, registering this amazing news with difficulty. Yet she managed a nod. ‘Oh yes, thank you, Madame. That’s wonderful.’ As the words sank in a little more deeply, she added breathlessly, ‘Really, thank you so much. Did you, erm, explain about me?’

‘I did,’ Madame Rémy admitted, looking guilty. ‘Agathe was surprised to hear from me after such a long time. So I felt I had to warn her that you would be coming too, as my guest. I hope you don’t mind?’

‘No, it’s better to be honest… She might not have wanted to see me once we arrived and that would have been difficult.’

‘Exactly my thoughts. Agathe was hesitant at first, but she seemed pleased once I’d explained the situation… That you’re stranded here in Paris for a few days and thought you’d try to look up your family. She said she was looking forward to meeting you.’

Maeve smiled, pleasure warring with trepidation inside her at the thought of meeting her maternal grandmother at last. What would she be like? Would the old lady truly be happy to see her once they came face-to-face? And would Maeve finally hear news of her absentee mother after all these years?

‘I’m glad I could help you,’ Madame Rémy said happily, though her smile faltered as she hesitated, glancing towards the newcomers. ‘Have you met Sébastien, my son?’

Maeve felt her own smile freeze in place. ‘Erm, yes.’

‘We spoke before you came downstairs, mother,’ Sébastien cut in. ‘She’s an angel, this sweet little English flower,’ he added, his smile turning sly as he glanced from Maeve to Leo. It was clear their conversation about his mother’s old friend had bored him rigid, probably because it wasn’t about him. Now it seemed he was determined to be the centre of attention again. ‘Though an angel with a naughty streak, I suspect.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Maeve demanded, turning in outrage. What on earth had he meant by that?

‘Oh, no offence intended… I just meant, posing for an artist of Leo’s reputation was bold of you.’ Sébastien Rémy gave his new bride a knowing wink. ‘My son used to paint only nudes, cherie. Leo told me once that painting a woman with her clothes on was a waste of time, as she would take them off for him soon enough.’ Leo’s father threw back his head, roaring with laughter. His wife joined in, tittering behind her hand, apparently finding this anecdote hilarious too. ‘Now Jean tells me you've been sitting for Leo. So, does that rule still stand, I wonder?’

‘Father!’ Leo ground out angrily.

Sébastien hesitated, looking round at his son, a little uncertain at last. The uneasy silence that followed didn’t last long but felt awkward.

‘Well,’ he said eventually, ‘I suppose we all grow up in the end. A man needs to settle down. Talking of which…’ He held out a hand to Chanelle, who took it with a brilliant smile, bearing white teeth. Honestly, Maeve thought, with that smile, she could be stuck on a headland to warn ships not to run aground on the rocks… ‘Mama, may I introduce my wife to you, Chanelle. Darling, this is my mother.’

As the two women smiled and kissed each other stiffly on the cheek, Maeve shook her head and hurried after Bernadette.

She couldn’t wait to meet her grandmother Agathe and speak to her about the French side of the family. For all she knew, she might have cousins and aunts and uncles galore here in France. But she and Bernadette had started to warm to each other after an initial period of mistrust, and she didn’t want to leave her new friend alone and unhappy. It was obvious Bernadette didn’t much like the man who had presumably been her stepfather. And having met Sébastien for herself now, she could see why…

Though she still felt a little off-balance, mentally checking she had understood his French correctly.

My son used to paint only nudes. He once told me that painting a woman with her clothes on was a waste of time, as she would take them off for him soon enough.

No, even given the speed at which that anecdote had been delivered, there wasn’t much ambiguity there. It was not just that though that was worrying her.

Leo had spoken out furiously, silencing his father at once.

But he hadn’t denied saying that, had he?

Partway down the steep, winding steps to the kitchen, a hand on her arm stopped her dead. Sharp, scarlet claws dug into her skin. ‘Stop,’ Liselle hissed.

‘Ouch!’

‘Let me go after Bernadette. I want to check she’s all right,’ Liselle muttered, pushing past her down the steps. ‘You can go back… Stay with the others. She’s my friend, not yours.’

Rubbing her arm, Maeve stared after the woman in dismay, but didn’t feel it worth tangling with Liselle just to prove a point. Instead, she headed slowly back up the stairs only to find the grand entrance hall empty, a distant echo of voices sounding from one of many winding passageways in the old château.

The Rémys had all vanished.

With a shrug, Maeve found her way back to her attic bedroom as discreetly as she could.

---