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

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

But there was no time for an answer to that excellent question. The baying mob who apparently wanted to photograph her with Leo, for no reason she could possibly fathom, would have to wait. Because Sébastien Rémy was already reaching for her hand and she turned to face him, unsure what to expect.

‘Mademoiselle, how wonderful to make your acquaintance. I am Leo’s papa, Sébastien, and you must be Maeve.’ He took her hand and bowed over it, putting his lips to her skin. His English was very good but heavily accented. ‘You are more beautiful than in your photograph, Miss Eden. It did you no justice… No justice at all. You are radiant in that very special way that English girls have.’ When she stared at him blankly, he smiled. ‘Simple. Understated. Au naturel.’

‘Erm… Thank you, I think.’

Simple? Understated? Who was he trying to kid? And ‘au naturel’ just meant she hadn’t got any make-up on and her hair was probably an unholy mess, caught up in a hairband this morning, but with flyaway bits straggling here and there.

She glanced at Leo and saw a fulminating darkness in his face. Of course. He’d told her how much he didn’t want his estranged father to visit them… And yet here the man was, filling the hall with his larger than life presence.

Sympathy sparked in her and she shook his father’s hand coolly, adding, ‘Nice to meet you too. I’m not sure I understand though. What photograph?’ But as her gaze returned to Leo’s face, she caught a sudden look of consternation there. Even dismay.

What was he hiding?

She was a teacher. She had seen enough teenagers concealing their phones under their desks not to know that expression.

‘What’s he talking about, Leo? I’d like a straight answer, please. And what on earth are all those people doing outside the door?’ She drew a deep breath, fighting off confusion. ‘Why did that man want a photograph of you and me?’

‘It’s complicated,’ Leo ground out.

‘I’m fairly intelligent, I can probably keep up.’

‘They are the paparazzi,’ his father told her, still holding her hand, smiling like one of the angels in heaven. He seemed oblivious to her discomfort. ‘You have heard of the paps, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good… So, you start a relationship with my son. My son is quite famous in Paris. Yes, and around France too. The newspapers, the media, they want “a piece of the action,” as the Americans might say. So they try to take a photograph of you and my son. Because love, romance, passion… It’s what makes the world go around. Especially in Paris.’ To her horror, Sébastien Rémy winked at her. ‘This is the city of love, never forget.’

‘Start a relationship with your son?’ she repeated slowly, and then pulled her hand free. ‘Excuse me, Monsieur Rémy, but I have done no such thing.’ Her back had stiffened and she’d automatically used her ‘no-nonsense’ teacher voice, noting how everyone’s head turned towards her. The ‘voice’ wasn’t loud, but it was authoritative and could cut through kids’ chatter in a busy classroom. ‘What even gave you that idea?’

Leo, having now locked the front door for good measure, came forward, shaking his head. There was a warning look in his face. ‘My father is mistaken. And they…’ He gestured over his shoulder. ‘The paparazzi… They’re mistaken too but it’s not my fault.’ He pointed at his cousin. ‘Jean caused all this.’

Jean shrank back, shaking his head as he stared miserably at the ground. ‘It was only one picture. I wasn’t to know they’d come here. I… I just wanted the money.’

‘And now they know my father is here too,’ Leo said sharply. ‘They were already in a feeding frenzy because of his marriage. Now this… Damn it, Jean, this is worse than when Francis died. They had people camped outside the chateau for weeks. We’ll never get rid of them.’

The woman she recognised from that magazine photograph as the new Madame Rémy touched him on the shoulder. ‘I know it seems bad, Leo, but they’ll soon lose interest. Something else will happen and the paps will disappear.’ To Maeve’s astonishment, the slender blonde seemed almost flirtatious with her stepson. Though they were a great deal closer in age, she considered, than the three-decade gap between her and Sébastien. ‘You’ll see, mon cher.’ These last words were said so lovingly that Maeve’s gaze shot to Leo’s face, but he seemed unmoved.

‘Could someone please explain all this from the beginning?’ Maeve heard her voice, breathless and a little shrill, and took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. There would be a simple explanation, she was sure. But all this nonsense about a photo and the paparazzi… She was beginning to panic. ‘Leo?’

Leo thrust his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, and the fine white-T-shirt he was wearing strained, highlighting flat abs and a muscular chest. Maeve stared, and then noted the young blonde staring too. She forced her gaze to shift a few inches higher to his face and stay there.

‘My cousin took a photograph of us when we were out to dinner together. I saw him do it and went over to investigate, but he claimed he’d just been looking at his phone. I should have taken the damn thing away and checked the photo history. Instead, I trusted him.’ His jaw hardened. ‘He sold the photo to the press. And now it’s all over social media.’

‘Good God. But… But why? Maybe I’m being thick, but what’s so special about you and me having dinner, for goodness’ sake?’ Maeve was flabbergasted. She looked from Jean to Leo to Sébastien, and then back to Leo, her gaze drawn back to his face like a magnetic needle seeking north. ‘Because, trust me, I haven’t got a clue. Perhaps it’s the language barrier. Or maybe I’m missing some important piece of information.’

‘But how sweet she is!’ the blonde exclaimed, tittering behind one raised hand, on which flashed a large diamond ring and wedding band.

Glancing her way in impatience, Maeve suspected the new Madame Rémy had made that gesture simply to draw attention to her ring finger.

‘You don’t need to be ashamed of your feelings for my son, mademoiselle,’ Sébastien assured her. ‘You certainly don’t need to conceal them and pretend there’s nothing between you.’ Ignoring her stunned expression, he beamed at her and Leo. ‘As soon as I saw that photograph, I knew the truth. It didn’t need a caption to tell me you two were in love.’

Leo swore very rudely in French, and Maeve had to agree with him.

‘In… In love?’ she faltered, then gulped. ‘So you’re saying, because of this photograph, everyone in Paris now thinks that you and I… That we’re… an item?’

Heat crept into her cheeks as everyone turned to look at her. It was hugely embarrassing. And, as a teacher, she was used to being stared at for hours on end, and by at least thirty curious and sometimes hostile pairs of eyes. But this was beyond even that scale. Because this was personal.

‘Not just Paris,’ Leo told her bitterly. ‘Try the whole of France. All Europe, in fact.’

‘The entire world,’ Sébastien added softly, a smile still playing on his lips as he looked her up and down as though she were a juicy lambchop he’d like to sink his teeth into.

Maeve stiffened at that vaguely lecherous look, thinking, you’re not sinking your teeth into me, mate.

‘Well, that’s just stupid and ridiculous,’ she told them flatly, and marched to the front door. ‘It will take all of ten seconds to disabuse that lot. Just watch me.’

And with that, she flung open the door and faced a rabble of reporters on the doorstep, all of whom began to shout at once, falling over themselves as they reached for cameras and phones and microphones.

Behind her, there was a shout of horror.

Hands grabbed her back into the hall and tried slamming the door shut. But the same persistent photographer had yet again stuck his foot in it, so she was still able to shout through the closing gap.

‘He’s not my boyfriend. I only met him a few days ago. Print that, please,’ she yelled, determined to be heard, despite being dragged away. ‘He’s just a friend. A friend, you understand? Un ami.’

Jean gave the reporter an almighty shove, warning him in voluble French to get his foot out of their door, and Leo wrestled the door shut again.

The blonde caught Maeve as she staggered backwards and helped her upright again. ‘Oh dear, you really shouldn’t talk to the paps,’ she told Maeve with soft-voiced reproach, shaking her head. ‘They print whatever you say.’

‘Good. That’s what I want.’

‘Ah yes, but they always leave out anything that spoils their story.’ Sébastien’s wife twirled a lock of blonde hair around one dainty finger, gazing thoughtfully towards the door. ‘You used the word, ami. Now they’ll make it sound as though you were admitting to being his girlfriend, and claim it’s a whirlwind romance, because you only met him a few days ago.’

Maeve peered round at her in dismay. ‘Oh… You really think so?’

The blonde sighed. ‘I know so. Best to say nothing. Let them make up the story on their own.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘They always do anyway, whatever you say.’

‘Sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced,’ Maeve said awkwardly, sticking out her hand. ‘I’m Maeve Eden, and I’m absolutely not Leo’s girlfriend. I’m sorry about the misunderstanding but I am genuinely just his… ami. Well, more his acquaintance, really. We barely know each other, in fact.’

She was babbling, she realised, and stuttered to an embarrassed halt. We barely know each other, in fact. Feeling Leo’s gaze on her face, she coloured hotly, recalling their kiss on the attic landing.

‘I’m Chanelle Rémy, Leo’s new stepmother,’ the blonde said in return, and shook Maeve”s hand gingerly, almost as though it were infected, using just the tips of her fingers. Her smile was perfunctory. ‘Enchantée.’

‘Sébastien?’ A faint cry came from the grand staircase behind them, and they all turned to see Madame Rémy – the original – standing on the stairs, clutching the newel post at the end of the banister, staring at her son.

‘Mama,’ breathed Sébastien in return and hurried to greet his mother, kissing her three times on the cheek, then embracing her with a great sigh. ‘Mama, Mama… How I have missed you. How are you?’ He released her, saying, ‘My poor mama, it’s been so long. And I wanted to come and see you. Oh, so often, so badly… But I didn’t think I would be welcome at Chateau Rémy.’

His mother had closed her eyes, shaking her head as though she didn’t believe a word he was saying. ‘Not even when dear Francis died?’

‘Don’t!’ Her son thumped his chest in a gesture so staged and melodramatic, Maeve almost looked around for an audience. ‘You wound me. I loved Francis. My son, my first-born. How could I stay away from his funeral? Well, I didn’t.’

Everyone stared at him.

‘Yes,’ he continued, nodding with obvious satisfaction as he saw he had everyone’s attention, ‘I was there. But in disguise. I came to pay my respects to my son, but not to speak to the family.’

‘Why would you do that?’ Madame Rémy demanded, her brows knitted together, staring at him with a perplexed frown.

‘I didn’t wish to cause a scene at my own son’s funeral. And it would have caused a scene if you had known I was there.’

Maeve felt this might actually be true. But none of the others appear to believe him, judging by their incredulous expressions. Except perhaps Chanelle, who sighed and looked with tearful sympathy at her new husband.

‘Mon Dieu,’ Bernadette muttered, emerging from the steps down to the kitchen. She had her hands on her hips and was staring at Sébastien Rémy. She had a streak of flour on her cheek and a light dusting in her hair, and was still wearing her cooking apron. ‘You.’

Not a terribly friendly greeting. He was her stepfather, wasn’t he?

Maeve wasn’t quite sure about the tangled familial relations at Chateau Rémy. Nor did she dare ask.

‘Bernadette,’ Sébastien cried and opened his arms to his stepdaughter. ‘Ma petite!’

Bernadette didn’t move, frozen where she stood.

Awkward, Maeve thought with a grimace, feeling very much in the way and attempting to retreat into the shadows.

That was when she felt Leo’s gaze on her face. He was expressionless. Even so, she caught a wave of conflicted emotions rolling off him…

Anger, pain, grief, despair, yet also a hint of grim humour, as though the situation was so bad, it had become almost funny.

‘Perhaps we should all sit down together for a chat,’ Madame Rémy suggested, but her reluctance was obvious. ‘Nonna is having a nap. She’s at her best in the mornings but I could go and wake her. I’m sure she would like to see Sébastien.’

Flushed and unhappy, Bernadette turned and stamped back down into the kitchen without another word.

‘Oh no,’ Madame Rémy murmured, frowning.

Maeve hesitated, watching the younger woman disappear. She didn’t know why Bernadette was so upset. But she probably ought to go after her.

Perhaps reading her mind, Leo touched her arm. He’d appeared at her side without even seeming to move, she realised. Maeve glanced down to assure herself that he wasn’t on wheels. He wasn’t.

His look was dark and forbidding. ‘Would you please check on her, Maeve?’ His voice was low in her ear. ‘I’m sorry to ask you but I can’t go myself. I don’t want to leave my grandmother alone with… with them.’

Them.

He must mean his father and new stepmother, she guessed, and was shocked by the hostility in his voice. But no doubt he had his reasons.

‘Of course,’ she said automatically, and was rewarded with a smile.

Goodness, Leo’s face lit up when he smiled. He looked like an altogether different person when he wasn’t scowling or concentrating on a painting.

But as she slipped away towards the kitchen, Madame Rémy spotted her and her face lightened. ‘Mademoiselle Eden,’ she exclaimed, ‘I didn’t see you there. Please wait, I need to tell you something.’

Maeve halted, torn.

‘I’ve been in contact with my old friend Agathe,’ Madame Rémy went on, ‘and she’s asked us to coffee at her apartment tomorrow afternoon. I presume that will suit you?’

Maeve sucked in a breath, registering this amazing news with difficulty. Yet she managed a nod. ‘Oh yes, thank you, Madame. That’s wonderful.’ As the words sank in a little more deeply, she added breathlessly, ‘Really, thank you so much. Did you, erm, explain about me?’

‘I did,’ Madame Rémy admitted, looking guilty. ‘Agathe was surprised to hear from me after such a long time. So I felt I had to warn her that you would be coming too, as my guest. I hope you don’t mind?’

‘No, it’s better to be honest… She might not have wanted to see me once we arrived and that would have been difficult.’

‘Exactly my thoughts. Agathe was hesitant at first, but she seemed pleased once I’d explained the situation… That you’re stranded here in Paris for a few days and thought you’d try to look up your family. She said she was looking forward to meeting you.’

Maeve smiled, pleasure warring with trepidation inside her at the thought of meeting her maternal grandmother at last. What would she be like? Would the old lady truly be happy to see her once they came face-to-face? And would Maeve finally hear news of her absentee mother after all these years?

‘I’m glad I could help you,’ Madame Rémy said happily, though her smile faltered as she hesitated, glancing towards the newcomers. ‘Have you met Sébastien, my son?’

Maeve felt her own smile freeze in place. ‘Erm, yes.’

‘We spoke before you came downstairs, mother,’ Sébastien cut in. ‘She’s an angel, this sweet little English flower,’ he added, his smile turning sly as he glanced from Maeve to Leo. It was clear their conversation about his mother’s old friend had bored him rigid, probably because it wasn’t about him. Now it seemed he was determined to be the centre of attention again. ‘Though an angel with a naughty streak, I suspect.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Maeve demanded, turning in outrage. What on earth had he meant by that?

‘Oh, no offence intended… I just meant, posing for an artist of Leo’s reputation was bold of you.’ Sébastien Rémy gave his new bride a knowing wink. ‘My son used to paint only nudes, cherie. Leo told me once that painting a woman with her clothes on was a waste of time, as she would take them off for him soon enough.’ Leo’s father threw back his head, roaring with laughter. His wife joined in, tittering behind her hand, apparently finding this anecdote hilarious too. ‘Now Jean tells me you”ve been sitting for Leo. So, does that rule still stand, I wonder?’

‘Father!’ Leo ground out angrily.

Sébastien hesitated, looking round at his son, a little uncertain at last. The uneasy silence that followed didn’t last long but felt awkward.

‘Well,’ he said eventually, ‘I suppose we all grow up in the end. A man needs to settle down. Talking of which…’ He held out a hand to Chanelle, who took it with a brilliant smile, bearing white teeth. Honestly, Maeve thought, with that smile, she could be stuck on a headland to warn ships not to run aground on the rocks… ‘Mama, may I introduce my wife to you, Chanelle. Darling, this is my mother.’

As the two women smiled and kissed each other stiffly on the cheek, Maeve shook her head and hurried after Bernadette.

She couldn’t wait to meet her grandmother Agathe and speak to her about the French side of the family. For all she knew, she might have cousins and aunts and uncles galore here in France. But she and Bernadette had started to warm to each other after an initial period of mistrust, and she didn’t want to leave her new friend alone and unhappy. It was obvious Bernadette didn’t much like the man who had presumably been her stepfather. And having met Sébastien for herself now, she could see why…

Though she still felt a little off-balance, mentally checking she had understood his French correctly.

My son used to paint only nudes. He once told me that painting a woman with her clothes on was a waste of time, as she would take them off for him soon enough.

No, even given the speed at which that anecdote had been delivered, there wasn’t much ambiguity there. It was not just that though that was worrying her.

Leo had spoken out furiously, silencing his father at once.

But he hadn’t denied saying that, had he?

Partway down the steep, winding steps to the kitchen, a hand on her arm stopped her dead. Sharp, scarlet claws dug into her skin. ‘Stop,’ Liselle hissed.

‘Ouch!’

‘Let me go after Bernadette. I want to check she’s all right,’ Liselle muttered, pushing past her down the steps. ‘You can go back… Stay with the others. She’s my friend, not yours.’

Rubbing her arm, Maeve stared after the woman in dismay, but didn’t feel it worth tangling with Liselle just to prove a point. Instead, she headed slowly back up the stairs only to find the grand entrance hall empty, a distant echo of voices sounding from one of many winding passageways in the old chateau.

The Rémys had all vanished.

With a shrug, Maeve found her way back to her attic bedroom as discreetly as she could.

Perhaps it was just as well.

The Rémy family was wildly complicated, and their troubles were none of her business.

My son used to paint only nudes.

Artists ought to come with a warning label, Maeve considered. ‘Fascinating but dangerous.’ To her peace of mind, at any rate.