Page 60 of Daughters of Paris

There was something cagey in his manner.

‘Is she really a cousin?’

‘What else would she be?’ Sébastien gave her an innocent look, but his shoulders were tense.

‘I’m teasing,’ Fleur said. ‘I thought you might have a secret lover you don’t want to take to the café.’

‘Oh.’ His expression was neutral.

‘Do you have any lovers at the moment?’ Fleur asked idly.

It was none of her business but if Colette did like Sébastien, as Fleur suspected, then she wanted to know if it was reciprocated.

Sébastien’s shoulders dropped. ‘No. There is no one I am involved with at present.’

‘Is there anyone you would like to become involved with?’ Fleur asked quietly. She held her breath, heart in her throat. If he was to say Colette’s name, she would hate it.

He scratched his chin then ticked his finger at her.

‘I’m not going to incriminate or embarrass myself by answering that question. Francine is not my blood cousin, but she is somebody I grew up with in the same village and that makes her as close as. I swear to you – and to anyone else who might have a passing interest in knowing – that she isn’t and has never been my lover. So, please can she stay here?’

‘Of course.’ Fleur felt a little embarrassed at having pressed him. ‘I am sure Monsieur Ramper would be delighted to know his home is a shelter for others.’

He left. Fleur pottered around the apartment, tidying the shelves and dusting, not happy at the thought of visitors coming in and seeing the neglect. She investigated the bedrooms and turned back the counterpanes on each bed in preparation for Francine’s visit. The rooms were good sizes and she considered for a few moments whether she was being silly not to move in. She remembered the promise she had made to Monsieur Ramper and before she left, she selected four of the volumes from the bookshelves that might be risky to leave around. She would hide them in the cold frame in the garden where no one would discover them.

She was in the process of unlocking her bicycle wheel from the drainpipe next to the shop when someone touched her shoulder from behind. She cried out in alarm, her immediate thought of the books she had wrapped in a dishcloth and put at the bottom of her basket of shopping.

‘Why so jumpy? It’s just me.’

Pierre. She sagged with relief and turned to face him.

‘You took me by surprise. Why are you creeping up like that?’

He looked disgruntled. ‘I brought you this to replace the one I ate.’

He held out an apple, then leaned forward and dropped it into her basket where it lay innocently on top of her contraband. She expected him to move away but instead he caught her up in his arms and kissed her. She pushed him away and glared at him.

‘Why did you do that?’

‘Because you are charming. Because I wanted to apologise for being rude earlier.’ He tilted her chin back with a fingertip and leaned close. ‘Because I am in an odd mood and can’t help but think every day might be our last. You and I are the same, Fleur. We are both poor and trying to make our way in the world.’

He whispered the words against the side of Fleur’s neck, playfully tickling the sensitive skin. ‘We are the workers. The people who keep things going. Paris should belong to us and we need to take it. This is where we belong.’

His words broke the spell that his tongue had been writing over her flesh. She wriggled free.

‘I don’t want to just belong here. I love Paris – it’s my home – but I want to travel. I want to see the world. Colette has been to England. I’ve been nowhere.’

Pierre twirled a lock of Fleur’s hair. ‘What were you to her while she was there? Your friend, Colette. I don’t say there is anything wrong with her, but what use is she to the world compared to you? I would rather a hundred Fleurs than a single Colette.’

Fleur flattened against the door. What had she been? Colette hadn’t even written to her. ‘What are you hoping to achieve by saying this?’

‘I think you’re still pining for Sébastien and he’s pining for your friend. That’s clear from what he says. Forget him. Be with me.’

He put his hands on either side of her face, his body leaning against hers to keep her still. He began to kiss the side of her neck. His moustache was coarse, but it wasn’t exactly unpleasant. Her body responded even if her mind and heart were less enthusiastic. He worked his way round to her mouth, tugging at her lips with his and when she didn’t reciprocate, he leaned his head back.

‘Do you want me to stop?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe not. Pierre, I don’t love you.’ She wasn’t sure after his outburst earlier that she even liked him very much.

---