The Paris Trip: A feel-good, laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

CHAPTER FOUR

Leo Rémy… The artist.

That was what the gendarme had said on the street near the Louvre, his expression one of recognition and perhaps even grudging respect.

So Monsieur Rémy was well-known in Paris, at least. And as an artist.

But what kind of artist? The traditional sort who painted portraits and landscapes? Or the wacky experimental type who bunged a load of bricks in a wheelbarrow and called it ‘art’?

Maeve knew which sort she preferred. A painter who stood musing for hours in front of an oil painting, a paintbrush between his teeth… That was the old romantic image of an artist, and one she revered and instinctively approved of. That kind of art was born from many hours of hard work, endless canvases painted and thrown aside in despair, alongside a lifelong study of the great masters…

But there was something unsettling about Leo Rémy that made her suspect he was the other type. A wheelbarrow of bricks artist.

She followed in silence as he trod swiftly up the uneven cobbled path, picking his way unerringly in the dark where she found herself stumbling. Then he ducked his head through a crumbling, narrow archway and led her around the back of some enormous building – the chateau itself, she guessed – while she trailed after him, feeling weary and a little lost, constantly missing her footing in the dark.

Where on earth was he taking her?

The path went on and on into gloom. High walls glowered down on them from all sides. Eventually, she realised they were skirting a garden. In fact, her eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness, she realised it was not even a garden. Just a narrow strip of yard separating the massive chateau from its nearest neighbours, consisting of a few ironwork benches and chairs set beside plants in troughs to lend a splash of greenery.

At last, they passed a row of tall, cream-shuttered double windows at ground level before reaching another arched entranceway, this time opening on an inner courtyard.

‘This way,’ he told her without glancing back.

This inner space was also cobbled, but made more welcoming by adequate lighting, allowing her to see several huge-leaved fig trees growing up against the walls, while bushy geraniums sprawled from stone urns set in pairs at intervals, marking out a pathway that led to a dilapidated-looking door.

Around the periphery of the courtyard, spotlights dazzled her eyes as they picked out a dozen or so windows on upper storeys.

Above their heads, the Parisian night sky glowed a soft dark orange, and she caught the muffled beep of a car horn on one of the streets below, the only reminders that they were in the heart of a great European city and not in the countryside.

Maeve stopped and turned on her heel, taking in these beautiful surroundings with surprised awe. So this was Chateau Rémy? ‘It’s very big, isn’t it?’ she murmured. ‘Though I suppose that’s why you call it a chateau.’

Leo, who was wrestling a large key out of a small inner pocket, flashed her a bemused look. ‘I don’t call it a chateau. It is a chateau. It’s been a chateau for some four hundred years.’

‘Goodness. And have the Rémy family owned it all that time?’

He hesitated, then shrugged. ‘No, you’ve got me there. We did change the name. The Rémy family bought this place a few generations back. But it’s a very old building.’ He was wrestling again, only this time with the lock of the dilapidated back door. Cursing in French under his breath, he rattled the door handle and struggled with the iron key, which was long and ornate, looking like something out of the eighteenth century. ‘And bits of it… keep… not working.’ As he said this, the ancient-looking door handle came off in his hand. He bared his teeth, staring down at it. ‘Or simply fall apart.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Ah, the English and their mastery for understatement.’ Leo bowed his head for a moment as though gathering his strength, and then pulled a mobile phone from his pocket. The screen lit up as he made a call. Somebody answered at the other end and he had a rapid-fire conversation in French with a woman. Who then hung up.

Replacing the phone in his pocket, Leo took a step back and looked up, craning his neck as he studied the upper stories. A light came on above and the sound of thudding feet could be heard.

Seconds later, the door was unlocked from the inside – with some difficulty, as it seemed the handle had become detached on the other side too – and flung open.

A young woman in her late teens or early twenties looked out at them, curvaceous and clad in a tightly belted gold dressing-gown with silky white pyjamas underneath and the unexpected addition of muddy hiking boots.

She had a round face and very pale skin, like a porcelain doll, with sleek dark hair exactly like Leo’s, except it fell to the middle of her back in an elegant black shower. They shared the same dark brows and thrusting nose and impatient, thinned lips. His sister?

‘What the hell, Leo?’ The young woman spoke in French, though the rest of her short brutal speech was lost on Maeve, startled by the speed and ferocity of the woman’s utterances. But she was clearly angry and resentful at having been roused at this late hour. No need for a translation to work that out.

Leo heard her out without any change of expression, then nodded over his shoulder at Maeve. ‘Bernadette, allow me to introduce you to Mademoiselle Maeve Eden,’ he said in pointed English. ‘She’s our guest tonight, so try to be polite.’

‘Oh.’ His sister regarded her with brief interest, a touch of hostility in her gaze. ‘A new girlfriend?’ she asked him in French, her tone sardonic.

Well, really…

Maeve decided to embarrass the other woman by ignoring her rudeness. ‘Hello, I’m Maeve,’ she said in slow, painstaking French, ‘it’s very kind of you and Leo to let me stay here tonight.’ She seized Bernadette’s hand and shook it before his sister could protest, giving her a big brave smile. ‘My French isn’t very good, I’m afraid. I hope you can understand me.’

At least, she hoped that’s what she was saying. It was hard to tell, especially as the other woman didn’t bother responding.

Bernadette pulled her hand free and transferred her unfriendly stare to her brother. ‘Liselle is still in bed. She’s been asking for you all day. Apparently, you haven’t been to see her for days and you’re ignoring her calls and texts too. For God”s sake, Leo, just go and speak to the girl. Make her understand it’s over, so the rest of us can get on with living our lives.’ She turned back inside, then paused and added casually over her shoulder, ‘Enchantée, Mlle Eden.’

Then his sister stormed back up the stairs, her boots rapping on the uncarpeted stairs; for all the world, Maeve thought, like one of the Billy goats crossing the wooden bridge in the old folktale. Though that, she considered more carefully, would probably make her the troll living under it…

‘I must apologise for my sister, Miss Eden,’ Leo told her, bending to retrieve some screws that must have fallen out when the door handle broke, a frown of concentration tugging his brows together. ‘She’s not much of a charmer, I’m afraid. But I doubt anybody else is awake at this hour.’

‘I hope you’ll inform your sister that I’m not your girlfriend,’ Maeve said with just the right amount of indignation, holding herself stiffly.

Leo looked amused. ‘You caught that, did you? I thought you didn’t speak much French.’

‘It was hard to miss.’

‘In that case, I’m sorry. I will certainly tell her. Though I’m sure she meant it is a joke.’

Maeve felt a little stab of annoyance. Why would it be a joke? ‘Excuse me?’

Without answering, Leo gestured her inside and shut the door behind them, again having to wrestle with the lock. Thankfully, this time it worked.

‘I’ll need to come back and fix this properly before I go to bed,’ he muttered, then realised she was staring at him. ‘What? Oh, that… Sorry, I’ve not been in the habit of asking women out on dates lately. Too busy, I guess.’

‘Really? So, who’s Liselle?’

He raised his brows. ‘Is that any of your business, Miss Eden?’

She blushed fierily, and was glad he probably couldn’t see her face that well in the dimly-lit hallway. ‘Erm, no, sorry. You’re right, that was uncalled-for.’

Her toes curled in embarrassment, which she now discovered was actually a thing. What on earth was wrong with her? She was ordinarily polite and well-behaved, especially with strangers. But there was something about this man that seemed to be lowering all those internal barriers she had taken years to erect. Well, in the morning, she would hurry back to the embassy as soon as possible and be out of their hair for good. Begone, Monsieur Rémy…

‘As I said,’ she added, stumbling over the words, ‘this is very kind of you and I’m grateful.’

‘No need to keep thanking me. You”re very welcome.’ He nodded her towards the stairs. ‘After you.’

She preceded him up the stairs and into a honeycomb of narrow, poorly-lit corridors with high ceilings, some hung with unlit chandeliers, some festooned with cobwebs, the walls decorated with dusty gilt-framed portraits of long-dead ancestors, each one bearing the name of the ancestor underneath on a gold scroll. Lights gave off a dull glow at intervals. The walls appeared to be painted a dull, glowering red where they weren’t panelled in dark wood.

‘Which way now?’ she asked at the end of one corridor, her voice echoing in the enclosed space.

‘Follow me,’ Leo said, heading rapidly up another set of stairs, glancing over his shoulder to be sure she was still behind him. They passed through huge doorways and along corridors broad enough to drive a car down, and up and down staircases until she was flagging and quite unable to remember the way they had come in.

‘How big is this place? We seem to have been walking for ages.’ When he shot her an ironic look, she added guiltily, ‘Sorry, but I’ve been up for hours and I”m bloody exhausted… If you”ll pardon my French.’

He gave a rough bark of laughter. ‘Your French is pardoned.’ Stopping abruptly before a low door, he pushed it open with his foot and gestured her inside. ‘Your room, my lady.’

He snapped on the light.

Wonderingly, Maeve stepped inside, looking about herself. It was a small attic room with a sloping ceiling.

Going straight to the window, which had no shutter but a tatty curtain on a rail, she looked out over the twinkling lights and dark roofs of Paris at night.

She guessed they must be high in one of the turrets. Perhaps at the very top, from the way the ceiling curved in on itself with ancient, exposed beams. He had called her ‘my lady,’ and although she knew it had been a silly joke, it put odd thoughts into her head. She wasn’t much given to fanciful notions but rather liked the idea of being a princess trapped in a tower.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your long hair… Except her practical, shoulder-length hairstyle wouldn’t get her very far during a rescue attempt, alas.

He watched her with a half-smile. ‘I apologise for the long trek. I know you must be incredibly tired. But the only habitable rooms are already occupied, so we had to prepare an attic room instead.’ He paused. ‘I believe the bed’s a little lumpy. But I hope it won’t be too uncomfortable.’

She tested the bed with a hand. Yes, it was a little lumpy, and the furniture was old and ramshackle, and there were even packing cases and tea chests in one corner, partly covered with sheets. But the bed was a four-poster and had been made up with a lacy white cover and several large pillows, and the shaded light overhead was reassuringly modern.

Set against the wall opposite the bed was a heavily scratched dressing table with a cracked mirror, but someone had set fresh lilies in a glass vase there, filling the tiny room with their sweet, cloying scent. Plus, two fluffy and generously-sized white towels had been left on the bed for her personal use, which was thoughtful. She also noted with astonishment that the paperbacks stacked on the bedside cabinet were all in English. Talk about attention to detail!

‘This is marvellous, thank you. Though I wish your grandmother hadn’t gone to all this trouble for me. She was hurt this afternoon and should have been resting her ankle… I feel really bad.’

‘Please don’t concern yourself. My sister prepared the room for you. My grandmother merely directed her what to do. Besides, her ankle is much better.’ As she lingered over the towels, he pointed down the corridor. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t an ensuite. But there’s a good-sized bathroom with toilet just down there. Though if you prefer a shower, there’s one on the floor below. Whichever you use, please remember to open the windows to let the steam out. It’s an old-fashioned house and we haven’t had any ventilation or air conditioning fitted.’

‘Of course.’

He went to the door, glancing back at her. He was looking tired too now, and she felt guilty at having forced him to drive halfway across Paris to collect her, then kept him up with all this. ‘Is there anything else you need?’ he asked.

Maeve thought longingly of her suitcase, no doubt sailing merrily across the Channel by now, deep inside the belly of the coach she’d missed, containing all her lovely clean clothes and bathroom essentials. But she didn’t want to appear rude by saying anything negative, so shook her head and smiled. ‘No, this is brilliant. Thank you so much.’

‘You said you’d been parted from your luggage.’ As he looked her up and down, she wondered again if he was a mind-reader. ‘Of course… You don’t have any clothes. Including pyjamas.’

‘It’s alright, I’ll manage.’

But he was frowning. ‘I’ll ask my sister if she can spare something for you. I daresay she won’t have gone back to bed yet. Meanwhile, I’ll bid you goodnight, and see you in the morning. No doubt you’ll want a lift back to the embassy.’

‘I don’t want to put you out.’

His brows rose. ‘It’s too far for you to walk, and you don’t have any money for public transport. It would be ludicrous not to offer you a lift. Besides, my grandmother wouldn’t hear of letting you leave Chateau Rémy under your own steam.’ He ran a hand through his hair, fatigue in his face. ‘Goodnight, Miss Eden.’

‘Good night, Monsieur Rémy.’

‘Leo,’ he reminded her.

Slightly nettled, she thrust her chin in the air, saying, ‘Maeve, then.’

‘Goodnight, Maeve,’ he said softly and closed the door behind him.

Maeve stood there a moment, listening to the unfamiliar silence of the ancient chateau around her, and the muffled sounds of the city that continued even in the middle of the night. Slowly, she began to remove her shoes… Then the enormity of everything that had happened that day struck her. She sat down heavily on the bed and burst into tears.

‘It’ll be alright,’ she sobbed under her breath, trying and failing to comfort herself. ‘Everything is going to be all right.’

A knock at the door brought Maeve upright in a flash, horribly embarrassed.

‘Um, hang on a tick… I mean, un moment, s’il-vous-pla?t.’

Hurriedly, Maeve rubbed at her damp face and sniffed a few times, wishing she had a pack of travel tissues to hand, mortified to be caught weeping over something as insignificant as a missed bus and a stolen passport. But the tissue pack had been stowed neatly in her rucksack, so was now in the possession of criminals. No doubt that horrid biker was gleefully blowing his nose on her tissues right now, dreadful man…

‘Entrez!’ she called, struggling back to her feet.