Chapter 22
22
On Thursday when the market is closed to the public, I’m at Ephemera catching up on paperwork. Paris Cupid work has been so much fun with Geneviève on board to help, but I’ve let things slide here. I have new stock arriving and need to shuffle things around to make room. I love working in solitude like this when the place is deserted and there’s only the faint hum of electricity. Once the bookwork is done, I shut down the laptop and survey the stall, wondering how to move the cabinetry around to fit a new glass display cabinet that will house my more valuable prayer books. I don’t get many shoplifters, but I also don’t want to tempt fate, and a collection of rare prayer books I have are worth thousands of euros.
I’m about to move a small shelf when I spot what looks like a rolled scroll. It’s bound with red ribbon. I unwrap it and read the beautiful calligraphy writing.
Why is love so difficult to share? I almost told you. I was so close to sharing how I felt and asking if there was any chance between us. Instead, I froze in the moment. Driven by fear that you’d laugh in my face. Fear you’d think I was joking. That you wouldn’t take me seriously, or worse, you would take me seriously and still say no. I write to you now and wonder if anyone has captured your heart like you’ve captured mine. If I knew how you felt I could act on this impulse. But I don’t know how you feel and I don’t want to make things awkward.
My pulse thrums as I roll the letter up and re-tie it with ribbon. Is this meant for me? And if so, who is the author? Is it Felix? The reference to joking makes me believe it must be him. But then it’s written in calligraphy, so could it be Benoit? I can’t see it being Pascale. It could be anyone from the market. The more these arrive, the more I can’t deny they’re being left for me to find. It’s wildly romantic. I can’t wait to show Geneviève and get her take on it.
‘Geneviève!’ I yell when I see her coming up the stairs.
‘I know I look fabulous for my age, ma Cherie, but these stairs require some careful manoeuvring on my part.’
She’s as spritely as they come. It’s more likely her killer stilettos are the culprit to Geneviève navigating her way up the flight of stairs.
‘What is it? You’re flushed. If I didn’t know better I’d say you finally got over your sex drought.’
I laugh and roll my eyes. ‘Not exactly a drought, Geneviève. Just a pause. I was here yesterday working and found this scroll. Have a read and tell me what you think.’
Geneviève takes the proffered letter and rummages in her handbag, vintage Hermès today, for her glasses, before settling on the chaise to read. ‘It looks like we have ourselves a love… square.’
‘A what?’
She lets out an impatient sigh. ‘Like a love triangle but with more players. You have Felix sending you the card, a couple of calligraphy letters which must be Benoit, and there was a typed letter too, wasn’t there? That’s Pascale, for sure. Then all the other trinkets and the beautiful prayer book; we’d have to figure which man sent those. Don’t you see?’
I rub the back of my neck as I contemplate it. As usual, Geneviève puts two and two together and makes about five hundred. ‘Oh, Geneviève, as if! This is too fanciful even for you to dream up. You’re expecting me to believe that all three men are interested in me and instead of admitting it, they’re going to these great lengths?’
Geneviève’s face dissolves into a smile. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying! They know your love language is letters! I’m not sure they know they have competition in each other, that part remains a mystery, but as for the rest, I’m convinced it’s all three of your new neighbours – who, might I remind you, all told me they had feelings for someone when I prodded them about joining Paris Cupid.’
‘I just don’t see it. It’s not all three. Pascale can’t even stick around long enough to share a coffee with me. Though I think it could well be Felix.’
‘It could be. But Felix doesn’t have a gift with calligraphy. Leading me to believe they’re all wooing you with their specialities.’ She stares me down. I feel a lecture coming. ‘You’re in the business of love and yet you doubt yourself every step of the way.’ She shakes her head so vehemently I worry she’ll rupture something. ‘Why wouldn’t they all vie for you? You have that French fragile beauty about you, with your pixie cut and doe eyes. A certain je ne sais quoi. You’re beguiling, yet you don’t even realise it. In the past, men may have mistaken you for an ingénue, but that’s because you’re captivating, and they were not, so they felt the need to diminish you somehow.’
I double blink, taken aback by Geneviève’s protestations. Eventually, I manage, ‘Merci.’
‘Trust me, Lilou. I’m not the only person on planet earth to notice what a catch you are. Those three men working in close proximity to you are all under your spell. They probably have no idea that they’re each vying for your attention. And that makes this exciting, non? Do you have romantic feelings for any of them? Better yet, all of them? Who will you choose? Or will you choose them all!’
Laughter bursts out of me. Only Geneviève could get away with keeping three men on the go. She has a soft spot when it comes to me and always talks as if every man will fall at my feet in some sort of frenzy, which just isn’t the case. ‘It’s all fun and games, philosophising about it, but I’m not convinced. So, I cannot answer the question of who.’
She lets out a dramatic sigh. ‘Sometimes I want to shake sense into you. What will it take for you to believe it’s all three of them trying to romance you?’
I go back to my desk and stash the scroll, mainly to escape a stare-down from Geneviève. ‘I – I don’t know! Perhaps the modern way. They ask me on a date, that sort of thing?’
She places a hand on her chest and feigns a heart attack. At least I hope she’s feigning. ‘Lilou Babineaux, have a listen to yourself!’
When she throws my surname into the mix, I know I’m really about to get a talking to. ‘Quoi?’
‘You, the keeper of love letters, the reader of diaries, would prefer a man ask you on a date rather than go to the trouble of romancing you the way they so clearly are? The way you read about all the time in love letters you’ve found from a century ago? They’ve all heard about the popularity of Paris Cupid, so perhaps that’s given them the idea to try something out of the ordinary. What’s gotten into you!’
‘When you put it like that, no, I would prefer this. It’s just I’d have to suspend belief to believe it. Be realistic: when does stuff like this ever happen to me? It just doesn’t.’
‘It clearly does!’
‘Well, if so, I’ll need some concrete evidence.’
She holds up a hand adorned in so much bling I blink away prisms of light. ‘Stop. Stop. Is that your grand plan? To wait? You’re a fan of slow-burn romance, I get it, but come on, Lilou!’
How is she not getting it? ‘What else is there I can do? I’m not going to march over to each one of them and ask! How ridiculous would I look if they gave me a blank stare?’ Which I suspect they would.
‘OK. I’m only giving in because there’s no convincing you.’
Geneviève’s phone rings, so she holds up a finger to me to wait while she answers it.
I glance outside and view my neighbours as they go about their workday. Could it be real? For one lonely moment, I pretend it is and let myself fantasise about which one is right for me… Felix directly opposite me is concentrating on his printing press. From what I know of him so far, he’s more the spontaneous sort, more likely to blurt out how he’s feeling. While he tells me every day he loves me and flirts up a storm, I’ve always thought it was done in jest, just some light-hearted banter. He very well might have sent the Cupid card to make me smile because he’s friendly like that.
Next, I move my gaze to Benoit’s stall. He’s leaning against the counter, a book of stamps open before him as a customer chats away. Even from here, I can see Benoit’s eyes glazing over as if the customer has bored him silly, but he’s far too polite to make excuses and end the customer’s monologue. Could he have written that letter on gossamer-thin tissue-like paper? Then somehow have roped Pierre the bookseller by the Seine into the farce? Pierre’s story about the abandoned 4th arrondissement apartment had been believable. Surely he wouldn’t have made that whole narrative up? And then there’s the beautifully worded calligraphy scroll? I smother a grin as I see Benoit slump that little bit more as his customer gesticulates wildly, not once looking at the book of stamps open before them.
To the left of Benoit is Pascale. Scowl firmly in place as he bashes away on a typewriter, ignoring a customer who flutters around him. Typical. How the man does any trade is beyond me. He must sense my gaze and turns his head towards me. I do the adult thing and spin on my heel out of his line of sight. If I shelve my dubiousness for a moment, could I see myself with any of these men? Really, they’re all magnetising in one way or another. Even Pascale. There’s something wild about the guy that makes my heart race, not that I’d ever tell him that. Or anyone.
Once she ends her call, Geneviève drums her ruby-red nails on the desktop, the sound like some kind of ticking time bomb, and her scrutiny of me returns.
Didn’t I promise myself I’d try love once more? Open my heart again, no matter the cost? ‘They’re all charming in their own ways, I suppose. Even Pascale can turn it on when he wants to.’
‘Especially Pascale.’
‘Hmm.’ I still find it hard to believe but keep my thoughts to myself rather than suffer another lecture. ‘OK. I’m going to risk it and ask Felix on a date. A proper date. It’s got to be him. I’m still not one hundred per cent sure how I feel about the guy, but I’m ready to throw myself back into the world of dating.’
‘That’s the spirit! When will you ask?’
‘At the end of the day?’
‘Why not now?’
‘I’d like some time to obsess over all the ways in which this could go wrong.’
She rolls her eyes dramatically. ‘One step forward, twenty-five back. Tell me as soon as you do!’
Once Geneviève takes her leave, I go over my orders and get them ready to post. I finish editing my latest newsletter and send that out to subscribers. On an online auction site, I bid on some special prayer books and pay for orders I’ve previously won. For the moment I have a healthy range of stock for Ephemera, but that’s subject to change. Finding long-lost treasures is the hardest part of the business, and I often worry what I’d do if supply dried up. Paris Cupid is a nice little side biz, and the future of that is looking promising indeed…
I’m keeping a close eye on Felix and debating whether this is a good idea or not. It doesn’t help I sense Pascale out the corner of my eye and wonder why he hasn’t complained about anything in weeks. When he leaves, stomping out without an au revoir, I take a deep calming breath and approach Felix’s stall.
‘Nearly done for the day?’ I ask as he glances up from his press.
‘Lilou! Sorry, I was miles away. I need to get this order finished up. Invitations for an engagement party.’ My heart almost stops when I notice they have a Cupid figure in the corner. The exact same as the one on my card, only smaller.
‘That’s a nice Cupid figure.’
‘The god of love. What’s not to like?’ He grins.
‘I think I’ve seen that same Cupid before actually but on a larger scale.’
‘You have? Where?’ His usually open face is suddenly blank and hard to read. Is he nervous that I’ve figured it out? That’s he’s my secret admirer?
‘On a hand-pressed card in a box of goods you took delivery for a while back, remember?’
‘Non, I don’t remember. I’m always taking your deliveries. And for the others too. I guess that’s what happens when I’m usually the first to arrive and last to leave.’
Why is he making this so hard? I lose my nerve to ask him on a date and then remind myself it’s more of a fact-finding mission. ‘Would you like to go on a date, Felix? With me?’ Oh boy, this is probably why I’m single. This is so awkward and feels all wrong.
‘A real date?’ He grins.
‘Ah, what other kind is there?’
He dusts his hands on his jeans. ‘Désolé, Lilou. I thought you knew? You’re not exactly my type.’
Please ground, swallow me up. I want to die of mortification. It’s a little shocking that he’s so blunt about me not being the one for him. I’d have expected Felix’s rejection to be a little more… gentle. But he seems quite certain I am not ‘his type’. ‘I – ah. Well, sorry to have interrupted you.’ I want to run far, far away. This is why I avoid mixing work with pleasure. I spin away but he grabs my wrist.
‘Lilou, wait. What I meant was, you’re not my type. You know?’ Who’d have thought sweet, funny Felix really likes putting the boot in when you’re down.
‘Ah, oui, Felix. You’ve made that abundantly clear.’
He laughs. What on earth is wrong with this guy! I’m never asking another man out ever again!
‘I’m gay, Lilou. That’s why you’re not my type.’
‘Ooh!’ I slap a hand to my forehead. I did not see that coming. ‘That’s a relief!’
He cocks his head.
‘I mean…’
‘I know what you mean.’ We both dissolve into giggles. My first attempt at asking a guy out might have ended in a rejection, but this is a rejection I can handle. ‘How about that drink then?’
‘I’d love to.’
After a fun-filled evening sharing canapes and drinks with Felix, I text Geneviève.
One mystery solved – it’s not Felix. I’m not his type.
She replies a few minutes later.
Ah. I see! We’ll have to find him a boyfriend…
I shake my head. She knew straight away what ‘not his type’ meant. He did say he had feelings for someone though. I wonder who it is?