Page 80 of Daughters of Paris

She paused. He swaggered towards her in that manner that made him look like a Hollywood film actor.

‘You haven’t told me your name.’

‘It’s Fleur.’

‘It’s good to have met you, Fleur.’ He reached out unexpectedly and brushed his thumb over her lips firmly enough to smear the lipstick she had applied so carefully. When she cried out in indignation, he grinned.

‘I need to keep my reputation intact, mademoiselle. Auguste and Marcel, that old couple on the stools, believe me to be a modern-day Casanova and I would hate to disappoint them.’

It was an odd thing to do but at least he hadn’t helped himself to a kiss to achieve the effect.

‘Oh, I see.’ Fleur twisted her finger in the curls at the side of her head and pulled the hairpins slightly askew. ‘There, that should help too.’

He chuckled. ‘Thank you, Fleur. I can see you understand what we have to do. Until next week.’

‘Until next week,’ she replied, pushing the door open.

The sunlight blinded her. She walked out past the men who were still playing cards. One of them muttered something to the other, who chuckled as she mounted the bicycle and pedalled away. She felt euphoric.

Exhilarated.

What a strange man, and what an odd encounter. It had been more like a fencing match than a conversation. She smiled to herself, thinking that at least Laurent’s reputation as a lothario was intact, even if he sadly hadn’t done anything to merit it.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fleur agonised over what to wear for the meeting for much longer than she usually did, much to Colette’s amusement.

‘Why does it matter so much? Just pick a pretty dress.’

‘I don’t have any pretty dresses!’ Fleur pointed out with increasing irritation.

To her dismay, the grease stains from sitting on the workbench hadn’t come out of her yellow one and her wardrobe, which had started the war full of already well-worn items, had been diminishing and becoming shabby as items were forced to last longer than they should. Most of Paris was in the same situation, though women like Colette who had started with a fuller wardrobe were suffering less. Fortunately, the weather would soon be getting cooler and she would be able to change the cotton dresses for sweaters and heavier cotton twill skirts.

‘I want to make a good impression. I want Laurent to think that I am capable and sensible.’

‘In which case, why are you spending so long picking out earrings and scarves?’ Colette asked. She was lying on Fleur’s bed, feet dangling over the end. ‘I wish you would tell me how the first meeting went. Sébastien keeps asking me how you liked Laurent and I have nothing to tell him.’

The customary spams of covetousness Fleur expected was immediately submerged beneath a squirming, fluttering feeling inside her belly.

‘I wasn’t there long enough to form an opinion of him. You’ll meet him today and you can make up your own mind,’ Fleur pointed out.

Once Colette had discovered that Sébastien was accompanying Fleur, she had invited herself along.

‘We spoke. I gave him the message from Sébastien. I left.’

She didn’t consider it lying, merely omitting unnecessary details … such as the buzzing in her lips whenever she remembered the touch of his thumb, and the blue of his eyes when a beam of light had caught them.

‘It doesn’t matter what I wear, does it? Men barely notice these things. I’ll just take this one.’

She picked out the scarf Colette had given her when they were younger. She smiled at Colette as she arranged it around her throat. ‘It’s still my favourite.’

Colette clambered from the bed. ‘Then it’s a good choice. Come on, we will be late and that will make a bad impression.’

They arrived at Café Broderie before either of the men. It was already bustling despite the weather being cooler.

‘We are waiting for friends,’ they told the waiter. He indicated a table outside on the pavement and returned shortly with a carafe of water and two glasses.

‘Do you think they will arrive together?’ asked Colette. ‘This is supposed to be a relaxed meeting.’

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