Chapter 13
13
A market friend from downstairs rushes into my stall. ‘Fair warning, a tour bus arrived an hour ago and they’ll be making their way up here soon. It’s a huge group and so far they’ve been buying up a storm, so get yourself ready.’
The market can be like one big happy family some days, where we all look out for one another. I suppose like any family, we can also have bad days, where certain sides aren’t talking, someone’s in a huff about something, a deal goes sour between two stalls, that sort of thing.
I thank my friend and rush over to tell Felix and Benoit, who are standing in the hallway chatting to each other. ‘A tour group is on its way up.’
‘Merci, merci,’ Benoit says.
‘Let’s hope they aren’t those destructive types.’ Felix sighs.
Big tour groups can be hit or miss. Sometimes they do more damage than they’re worth with an influx pouring into our small spaces and taking photos and moving stock around without buying a thing. Other times, they spend up big and find our unique stalls a marvel. It’s always a little stressful having so many people arrive all at once but it’s part of Parisian life, and without tourists our businesses would struggle to survive.
‘I hope so too.’ I give them a wave and go to tell Pascale. ‘A big tour group is on the way.’
He groans and cups his face. ‘Should we close up, pretend we’re not here?’
I shake my head, as always slightly baffled by him and the way he actively avoids customers. That doesn’t stop them buying though, even if he treats them appallingly. I just don’t get it. He spends more time bashing at his typewriter than anything else.
‘Are you joking?’
‘Should I be?’
‘Don’t you need to sell a typewriter or two to survive?’
‘I sell plenty.’
‘You could probably sell more if you didn’t ignore customers all the time. Yesterday, I saw a woman hovering behind you for a good ten minutes before you finally acknowledged her.’
He leans against the door frame and folds his arms, his biceps bulging all over the place like he’s some kind of muscle man. Urgh, that’s probably why he draws so many people in – that animal magnetism of his. While I admit it is slightly alluring, it’s also obvious to me that he’s the type of guy that would stomp all over a heart and not have a care in the world about doing so. He’s just so one-dimensional with his gruff exterior and fiery temperament. I can’t see Pascale ever wooing a woman, and as for romance, I bet it’s not in his vocabulary.
‘So…? I was busy.’
‘You were typing?’
‘And?’
I take a deep breath. Why is he so monosyllabic with me? ‘So, don’t you think you should have stopped typing for a moment and helped your customer find what she was looking for? Your customer service reflects on us all.’
He screws up his face. ‘How?’
‘We all get lumped together when tourists post reviews like “Upstairs at Marché Dauphine” so it would be nice if you were considerate of our businesses and the fact that while you might not care about turnover, we do.’
‘I care, just not enough to stop working when I get a bunch of customers asking me every little thing about vintage typewriters and then they go off and buy them online anyway. If they’re serious buyers, they’ll get my attention.’
I shake my head so hard I get dizzy. ‘How can you know that for sure? What if they’re shy, or hesitant to interrupt you while you’re typing?’
‘Then they miss out on my sparkly personality and witty repartee.’ He grins and it transforms his villainous face and makes him seem affable, but it doesn’t last and I suppose it’s not genuine since he was being sarcastic.
‘What are you typing, by the way? Your memoirs?’ I try and fail to hide my smile. He’s just the right sort of egotistical to pen a whole book about himself.
‘Something like that.’
‘How To Offend Customers and Get Away With It.’
‘I’ll take that title into consideration.’
Our chat is interrupted as a horde of smiley-faced shoppers thunder up the stairs. They’re wide-eyed and walking fast with that whole just-arrived-in-Paris energy I see so often.
‘Mon dieu.’ The fiery facade is back. ‘This is not going to be fun.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ I shake my head and jog back to my stall, greeting the influx of customers with a cheery ‘Bonjour!’
Later that afternoon, I’m tidying Ephemera after the whirlwind of visitors from the tour group. The money they spent more than makes up for the mess they left behind. Mostly, stock has been put back in the wrong spot, and there’s a few discarded water bottles and empty takeaway coffee cups. Not too bad considering. I’ve got a spring in my step after a busy day serving customers who were really taken by the idea of old diaries and love letters and purchased them as keepsakes of their time in Paris.
‘I found out something interesting just now.’ Geneviève slides on to the chaise longue.
‘Oh?’ I say.
‘I was just doing my usual drumming up of potential business for Paris Cupid.’
She knows very well that Paris Cupid is on hold for new matches at the moment while I catch up. I narrow my eyes at her. ‘Drumming up business for a matchmaking site that’s on hiatus, or putting your nose into other people’s love lives because you can’t help yourself when it comes that sort of thing?’ Honestly, Geneviève would make a fabulous matchmaker. When it comes to romance and, let’s be frank, sex, she is invested. She only wants everyone to be as content as she is in that department and doesn’t mind poking and prodding to get information out of people.
‘OK, fine, it’s a bit of both.’
I raise a brow.
‘So after the tour group left, I innocently glided over to that devilishly handsome Pascale and asked him if he’d heard of the site and what he thought of joining.’ She gives me a coy smile.
‘Innocently glided? I’d like to see that! You only did that to find out if he was single, didn’t you?’
‘Oui.’
‘And…?’ Not that I’m the least bit interested. It’s only if he is in a relationship, I’ll be very surprised. He doesn’t seem the commitment type to me.
‘He said he wouldn’t ever use a matchmaker and it didn’t matter anyway as he’s already met someone recently he has feelings for… What do you make of that?’
I glance over towards him. As usual, he’s at his desk, typing away. I didn’t have a moment in the rush to see if he was engaging with the tour group or ignoring customers as usual, but I can hazard a guess it was the latter. I’m intrigued as to what sort of type he’d go for. But I don’t dare admit that to Geneviève or she’ll be off and running, taking my interest as a sign I like the guy, which I do not.
‘I suppose everyone deserves love, even alpha males,’ I say with some reluctance.
‘What sort of answer is that?’
‘A truthful one.’
She guffaws. ‘Well, I also asked Felix and Benoit if they’d heard about Paris Cupid and if they liked the idea of writing love letters to woo a new flame.’
I perk up a bit. I’m keen to know what they thought. There’s something rather sweet about both men. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I feel a real sense of ease around them. Felix the cheeky flirt, and Benoit, shy and handsome. ‘What did they say?’
‘They both said they’ve got feelings for someone they’ve recently met.’
‘All three men said the same thing?’
‘A version of it, oui.’
‘Interesting.’
‘I found their use of “recently” very interesting indeed.’
‘What do you…’ I study her expression to see what she’s getting at. ‘Oh, Geneviève, only you could put two and two together and wind up with ten.’
‘What?’ She puts a hand to her heart. ‘Think of the market reshuffle. Suddenly they work across from two very beautiful women, and while I’m all for dating younger men, in fact I prefer it, I don’t sense they’re attracted to me, more’s the pity.’ She gazes lovingly over to Pascale and gives him a saucy wink when he catches her looking. He laughs and sends an exaggerated wink back. Why is he so laid back when it comes to Geneviève and always irked around me? It’s infuriating.
‘You’re reaching, Geneviève.’
‘I’m not. I’m telling you now, I can feel the sexual tension in this place and eventually something is going to go bang.’
I can only laugh. Geneviève is desperate for me to find love that she’ll magic it up if she can. Still, while I clean around Geneviève, I think of Benoit, the man with the soul of a poet, and wonder who he’s crushing on. Perhaps Geneviève could do a little more digging in that regard…