Page 60 of The Paris Trip

‘Are you all right?’ Leo asked softly, concerned that he might have genuinely upset her.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, but shakily, turning to face him. There were tears in her eyes. He was taken aback, wondering what on earth he had said to make her so unhappy, until she added quickly, ‘No, honestly, I’m fine. I was just thinking about the last time I came here, that’s all. That awful day… Getting my bag snatched by that fiend on the motorbike, being knocked out, missing the coach home, and my lost passport…’ She bit her lip, a tear rolling down her cheek. ‘It feels like such a long time ago. And yet everything has happened so quickly too. I suppose I’m just a little homesick and wishing I knew when I’ll get back to England and start my life again.’

‘Of course, it must be upsetting.’ He noted that others behind them were waiting impatiently for their turn in front of the famous painting. ‘Shall we move on?’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s time to catch a river boat along the Seine, anyway, and grab a quick lunch on board.’

She was wiping away tears. ‘Yes, thank you. I’m looking forward to that.’

Making their ways through the crowded, noisy galleries, they eventually reached the exit and emerged into bright sunshine. She was wearing Bernadette’s sleeveless dress again. Today though, she had found a belt so that it didn’t hang so loosely, and her narrow waist was emphasized where it cinched in, folds of material falling softly to her knees.

He stopped dead, fixated by her again, urgently wanting to paint her in that dress and that position. But of course they were far from the studio.

He dragged out his phone and said roughly, ‘Hold still a moment, please.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Hush.’ Hurriedly, he took a variety of photographs of her as she stared back at him, turned at an angle towards him, the sun slightly behind her, turning her gold hair into a halo, a burst of light that streamed past one cheek…

‘You’re very strange,’ she said, not for the first time.

Putting away his phone, he grimaced, aware that he had behaved erratically. ‘Sorry. It’s an old habit. I often sketch from photographs. And just then you looked…’ Leo stopped himself from saying something he would later regret. ‘Well, I liked the way you looked.’

There was colour in her cheeks. She bent her head, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear as though embarrassed by this.

‘Lunch, you said?’

They waited on the quayside a short distance from the Pont de l’Alma. There was quite a crowd queuing for tickets in the midday heat. Maeve had not bought a hat, and was looking flushed. Leo studied her with concern, and then slipped away to a stall he had seen further along the quay selling scarves, sunglasses and hats. Among the vast array of ‘I Heart Paris’ baseball caps he spotted a floppy-brimmed straw hat and bought it.

He took it back to her. ‘Here, this will stop you getting sunburnt.’ When she protested, he shook his head. ‘No, I insist.’

‘Thank you,’ Maeve said shyly, putting on the oversized straw hat, her face instantly shaded.

He was deeply conscious of the fact that her funds were limited. Bernadette had taken her to a bank where she had been able to access a few hundred euros to tide her over this enforced stay in Paris. But that would hardly stretch to luxury items. To his mind though, a hat was an essential in this baking summer weather.

Besides, she looked strangely alluring in the straw hat, glancing up at him occasionally from under its floppy brim…

Having been brought up in Paris, Leo was thoroughly bored by the time they were able to board the lunch boat. Maeve seemed delighted though, and as they sat at a table inside, he pointed out landmarks along the river, while she exclaimed and took a keen interest in the tourist commentary being piped through speakers. It was only a quick lunch service, as they would be disembarking at Notre Dame on the boat’s second pass around the Isle of France. But the boat went slowly enough and he enjoyed studying her profile as she gazed eagerly up and down the river.

She really was quite ordinary-looking. And yet…

The Mona Lisa was ordinary-looking too, when studied in detail. Yet hers was a face that had captured millions of imaginations, he considered.

For some reason, Maeve Eden had captured his artistic imagination. He had hoped that, in beginning to paint her, he would gradually work out the puzzle of his attraction. Yet all it had done was increase his desire to spend time with her. Which was disastrous, really. Soon she would get her passport back and be on her way home to England.

‘Have you heard from the embassy yet?’ he asked abruptly, just as she was chatting about the other people on her coach tour, who sounded to him like a bunch of very dull people.

She blinked. ‘Oh, yes, I did… There was a phone call this morning. Just to let me know they’re still working on it. There’s still some complication over my place of birth. I don’t understand it myself. The fact that I was born in Paris has never been a problem before. But then,’ she mused, ‘I’ve never left the country before.’

He was astonished. ‘You’ve never left the United Kingdom before?’

‘I suppose you think I’m terribly parochial. A real country bumpkin.’

They had been speaking in English, which he enjoyed practising. But this expression threw him. ‘Country… bumpkin?’

‘Yes, a bumpkin is a sort of peasant…’ She gurgled with laughter at his shock, and her face was transformed. ‘It’s an awful expression. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have used it. I’m sure people who live in the country are every bit as clever and educated as people live in cities. I only meant… Oh, forget it. I’m just babbling.’

‘I don’t think my great-grandmother has ever left France,’ he remarked mildly. ‘She’s still the wisest woman I know.’

‘Your Nonna? Oh, I love her. When a marvellous woman.’ She frowned. ‘I hope she’ll be all right, walking about this afternoon in this heat. She really didn’t need to come too.’

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