Page 61 of The Paris Trip

‘You’d have to tie her to a chair to stop her. My great-grandmother is a deeply curious woman. Though I think the best English word for her is… nosy.’

Maeve grinned. It lightened his heart, looking into her laughing eyes. ‘I shall be just the same if I ever get to her age. Nosy and determined to keep up with everyone.’

Leo thought back to what she’d said about her Embassy call. ‘So you’ll be going back to England soon?’

Her laughter died. ‘It does look that way, yes. They suggested I come back to the embassy in person in about three or four days. For another interview.’ She frowned, biting on her lip. ‘I hope it’s just a formality. I find that place rather intimidating. I keep thinking they’re going to arrest me and drag me off to the Bastille and I’ll never be seen again.’

‘The Bastille doesn’t exist anymore. It was demolished.’

‘Oh.’

The boat was juddering as it slowed, backing gracefully toward a wooden jetty where tourists could disembark for the Ile de la Cité and Notre Dame, although repairs to the great cathedral were still ongoing, following extensive fire damage, so no visits were yet being permitted.

‘This is our stop, I believe,’ he said. They had pre-paid for lunch as part of the boat ticket price, so it only took a moment for them to leave the restaurant area and climb up onto deck into the sunshine. The wind snatched at her dress and made his trouser legs flap. But at least it provided a little relief from the heat. ‘If you were arrested, I would come and rescue you. Even if I had to blow the prison gates off.’

It was a silly joke, and yet he meant it. The realisation surprised him. He was becoming oddly protective of their English guest. What did that mean?

‘Then you’d end up in prison too,’ she pointed out.

‘I wouldn’t mind if I was in the same cell as you.’

Another joke. Wasn’t it?

‘Do they have unisex prisons in Paris?’ Her look was cool. She thought he was mocking her. And he probably was. That made the most sense, he decided.

‘I’m sure if I bribed someone, it could happen. So I wouldn’t go to prison. I would simply rescue you and we’d ride off into the sunset together, never to be seen again.’

‘I can’t ride.’

He loved how prosaic she always was. Or was irritated by her down-to-earth replies. He couldn’t be sure which. ‘Not a problem,’ he insisted, and ran a smoothing hand through his hair as the wind ruffled it. ‘I’ll bring a large motorbike. You can ride pillion and hold onto me.’

‘Oh well, in that case… I’ve always had a soft spot for a biker boy.’

He looked round at her with raised brows, but Maeve was already drifting away, threading her way between tourists planning to disembark, apparently keen to watch the boat’s slow approach to the quayside.

He raised his head to the sun and closed his eyes as the gangplank was set in place, enjoying the heat.

He had been cooped up indoors for too much recently, he thought, absorbed by family business, like Henri’s fire disaster at the vineyard. Or just painting…

‘Alight here, mesdames et messieurs’ the crew member on the gangplank was announcing, ‘for the cathedral of Notre Dame and the left bank…’

‘Maeve?’ She had disappeared into the crowd, he realised. ‘Maeve? We have to go.’

At last, he spotted her leaning over the side of the riverboat a few metres along the open deck, just past the jetty, as though straining to see something in the murky waters below.

He hurried towards her, but the tourists blocked his way, shuffling towards the gangplank. She must have seen him coming though, because she pointed down into the river, her face animated.

‘Oh, Leo, look… Is that a fish?’ she asked, her voice muffled as she leant even further. ‘I’m sure that’s a – oh no!’

It was famously gusty along the Seine, summer and winter alike. Shorts or jeans were de rigueur on the river.

As he elbowed his way towards her, Maeve’s over-large borrowed dress was caught by one of those sudden gusts and blown upwards, granting him – and everyone else in the vicinity – a view of pale rounded thighs and an equally rounded and delectable derrière.

Leo stopped dead, his eyes widening at the sight of her bottom in tight white underwear. He didn’t mean to but couldn’t help it.

‘Mon Dieu…’ he breathed.

Meanwhile, Maeve had gasped in consternation as the dress blew up, as well she might, given what was now on show. Releasing the floppy hat she’d been holding in place, the modest Englishwoman clamped both hands to the hem of her dress instead, swiftly dragging it down…

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