Page 56 of The Paris Trip

The blonde sighed. ‘I know so. Best to say nothing. Let them make up the story on their own.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘They always do anyway, whatever you say.’

‘Sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced,’ Maeve said awkwardly, sticking out her hand. ‘I’m Maeve Eden, and I’m absolutely not Leo’s girlfriend. I’m sorry about the misunderstanding but I am genuinely just his… ami. Well, more his acquaintance, really. We barely know each other, in fact.’

She was babbling, she realised, and stuttered to an embarrassed halt. We barely know each other, in fact. Feeling Leo’s gaze on her face, she coloured hotly, recalling their kiss on the attic landing.

‘I’m Chanelle Rémy, Leo’s new stepmother,’ the blonde said in return, and shook Maeve's hand gingerly, almost as though it were infected, using just the tips of her fingers. Her smile was perfunctory. ‘Enchantée.’

‘Sébastien?’ A faint cry came from the grand staircase behind them, and they all turned to see Madame Rémy – the original – standing on the stairs, clutching the newel post at the end of the banister, staring at her son.

‘Mama,’ breathed Sébastien in return and hurried to greet his mother, kissing her three times on the cheek, then embracing her with a great sigh. ‘Mama, Mama… How I have missed you. How are you?’ He released her, saying, ‘My poor mama, it’s been so long. And I wanted to come and see you. Oh, so often, so badly… But I didn’t think I would be welcome at Château Rémy.’

His mother had closed her eyes, shaking her head as though she didn’t believe a word he was saying. ‘Not even when dear Francis died?’

‘Don’t!’ Her son thumped his chest in a gesture so staged and melodramatic, Maeve almost looked around for an audience. ‘You wound me. I loved Francis. My son, my first-born. How could I stay away from his funeral? Well, I didn’t.’

Everyone stared at him.

‘Yes,’ he continued, nodding with obvious satisfaction as he saw he had everyone’s attention, ‘I was there. But in disguise. I came to pay my respects to my son, but not to speak to the family.’

‘Why would you do that?’ Madame Rémy demanded, her brows knitted together, staring at him with a perplexed frown.

‘I didn’t wish to cause a scene at my own son’s funeral. And it would have caused a scene if you had known I was there.’

Maeve felt this might actually be true. But none of the others appear to believe him, judging by their incredulous expressions. Except perhaps Chanelle, who sighed and looked with tearful sympathy at her new husband.

‘Mon Dieu,’ Bernadette muttered, emerging from the steps down to the kitchen. She had her hands on her hips and was staring at Sébastien Rémy. She had a streak of flour on her cheek and a light dusting in her hair, and was still wearing her cooking apron. ‘You.’

Not a terribly friendly greeting. He was her stepfather, wasn’t he?

Maeve wasn’t quite sure about the tangled familial relations at Château Rémy. Nor did she dare ask.

‘Bernadette,’ Sébastien cried and opened his arms to his stepdaughter. ‘Ma petite!’

Bernadette didn’t move, frozen where she stood.

Awkward, Maeve thought with a grimace, feeling very much in the way and attempting to retreat into the shadows.

That was when she felt Leo’s gaze on her face. He was expressionless. Even so, she caught a wave of conflicted emotions rolling off him…

Anger, pain, grief, despair, yet also a hint of grim humour, as though the situation was so bad, it had become almost funny.

‘Perhaps we should all sit down together for a chat,’ Madame Rémy suggested, but her reluctance was obvious. ‘Nonna is having a nap. She’s at her best in the mornings but I could go and wake her. I’m sure she would like to see Sébastien.’

Flushed and unhappy, Bernadette turned and stamped back down into the kitchen without another word.

‘Oh no,’ Madame Rémy murmured, frowning.

Maeve hesitated, watching the younger woman disappear. She didn’t know why Bernadette was so upset. But she probably ought to go after her.

Perhaps reading her mind, Leo touched her arm. He’d appeared at her side without even seeming to move, she realised. Maeve glanced down to assure herself that he wasn’t on wheels. He wasn’t.

His look was dark and forbidding. ‘Would you please check on her, Maeve?’ His voice was low in her ear. ‘I’m sorry to ask you but I can’t go myself. I don’t want to leave my grandmother alone with… with them.’

Them.

He must mean his father and new stepmother, she guessed, and was shocked by the hostility in his voice. But no doubt he had his reasons.

‘Of course,’ she said automatically, and was rewarded with a smile.

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