9
Wednesday, Thursday and Friday at the bookshop continued in much the same vein as Tuesday: two or three male visitors for Madame Dubois each day and only a few book sales, though the shop had been busier with more customers coming in to browse. Nancy tried to quiz Philip on what he knew about Madame Dubois’s gentlemen callers, but he kept changing the subject. Perhaps he didn’t know any more than she did, or he did know and didn’t want it to put her off. If Nancy’s theory was correct, it might explain the high staff turnover.
Philip told her that he always took Saturdays off, which meant Nancy would have a new colleague tomorrow - someone called Carol, who Philip said came from Manchester and was studying French literature at the Sorbonne for a year. She hoped Carol might be more talkative on the subject of the mysterious men.
Olivia arrived home from work on Friday evening, clutching a bulging carrier bag with a baguette sticking out of the top.
‘We have got a party to go to tonight,’ she announced as she took her key out of the lock.
Nancy perked up. Nice as Philip and Madame Dubois were, she could do with some social interaction with other people. ‘Where is it?’
‘At Christa and Ingrid’s. They live across the road. They’re German translators in the office next door to me. I think you’ll like them. I’ve been to their parties before. They usually invite a good mix of interesting people. That’s where I met Pierre. He’ll be there this evening.’
‘Count me in.’ Nancy was intrigued by Olivia’s latest boyfriend. She’d not mentioned him in her letters. From the little she’d said since Nancy had arrived, they’d only started seeing one another a few weeks ago. He was about 30 years old and some sort of artist - not Olivia’s usual professional type at all. He’d been away all week, so tonight would be Nancy’s first opportunity to meet him.
‘Excellent!’ Olivia said. ‘We might find a Billy replacement for you.’
That might be a bonus. Nancy’s resolve to remain single in Paris was starting to waiver. But based on this week’s bookshop clientele, Nancy wasn’t going to find a new lover there. ‘Dress code?’ she asked.
‘There isn’t one. Wear whatever you like.’ Olivia started unpacking her shopping bag. ‘I’ve got some more bread and cheese. I suggest we fill up on that before we go out. That should line our stomachs nicely. Christa and Ingrid are rather generous with their drinks. I’ve got some gin for us to take with us, too.’
‘Not wine?’ Nancy had noticed that Olivia always kept a bottle of white in the fridge.
‘They’ve billed it as an international cocktail party, so you and I are expected to bring British drinks. I drew the line at beer.’
Later that evening Olivia took Nancy across the street to the modern block of flats where Christa and Ingrid lived.
‘No stair climbing here,’ Olivia said. ‘They have a lift.’
She pushed the button for the second floor. Two minutes later, they walked out onto a bright white corridor with plush, green carpet.
‘It’s a lot more upmarket than our building,’ Nancy said.
’The Germans must pay better - or they get a decent accommodation allowance.’ Olivia led them to the door of apartment 2C and knocked.
A petite woman with dark hair tied in a high ponytail and wearing a bright red dress opened the door and gave them a beaming smile. ’Perfect timing, ladies. I’ve just mixed our first cocktail of the evening.’
‘Nancy, this is Christa,’ Olivia said.
‘So lovely to meet you.’ Christa welcomed them into her living room. ‘How are you finding Paris, Nancy?’
‘I haven’t seen a lot of it yet.’ Nancy smiled. ‘Olivia’s promised to show me the sights on Sunday.’
‘Has she?’ a deep voice said behind her. ‘I was hoping she’d be spending the weekend with me.’
Olivia smiled seductively at the man who now had his arm around her waist. ‘Nancy, meet Pierre.’
Judging by the wrinkles around his eyes and the sprinkling of grey hair at his temples, he was nearer 40 than 30. But he sported an impressive tan and stubble, and he looked quite fit. She could see why Olivia might find him attractive.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said, though the look in his eyes gave Nancy the impression that he wasn’t pleased at all. ‘I need to whisk Olivia away for a while. We have a lot of catching up to do.’
Olivia looked apologetically at Nancy but didn’t resist as Pierre quickly led her across the living room and onto the balcony, shutting the door behind them.
‘Pierre doesn’t like to overdo the charm,’ Christa said. ‘Come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone else, but first, you need a drink.’
Christa led Nancy past a few other guests in the spacious living room and into a large, modern kitchen. One of the work surfaces was covered in an assortment of bottles of various shapes and sizes.
‘We bought gin with us, but Olivia’s got it with her,’ Nancy said apologetically.
‘Don’t worry,’ Christa said. ‘As you can see, we have plenty. We’re starting with mojitos. Can I tempt you with one?’
‘That would be lovely.’ Nancy had no idea what a mojito was, but she was willing to give it a try. Christa picked up a jug of clear liquid and poured it over a large tumbler full of ice. She stirred it vigorously with a plastic stick, added a sprig of fresh mint and a straw, then handed it to Nancy.
Nancy eagerly sucked in a mouthful. It was confusing. It tasted of rum, but the rum she was used to at home was deep brown.
‘Is there a problem?’ Christa asked.
‘No. It’s delicious. I was just trying to work out what was in it.’
Christa reeled off the list of ingredients, including white rum. Who knew you could get that? Nancy had a feeling she was going to learn a lot this evening.
Nancy spent the first half an hour or so having an animated conversation about sailing and surfing with three attractive Californians who lived in the flat upstairs until Christa persuaded them to mingle with the rest of the guests.
Ingrid made an appearance an hour later, apologising for being late to her own party, which, judging by the ribbing she got from the other guests, was a regular occurrence. She was accompanied by a short, cheery, dark-haired man, who she introduced as her boyfriend, Dieter.
Olivia was monopolised by Pierre, who, as far as Nancy could tell, barely took his hands or lips off her all evening.
Christa, meanwhile, flitted from group to group, topping up glasses and snacks or offering fresh cocktails with recipes that seemed to get more complicated as the night wore on.
At one point, Nancy found herself stuck with an earnest PhD student who had just returned from Greece and was eager to share far too much detail about how the marble had been carved out of the rock above Athens.
Christa swooped in on a rescue mission. ‘Georges, Elise is dying to hear about your latest finds,’ she said, nodding towards an unsuspecting woman relaxing with a cigarette on the balcony.
‘Thank you so much,’ Nancy said when Georges was out of hearing distance.
‘My pleasure. You stay there. I’ll be back with something you’re going to adore.’
A couple of minutes later, she returned with an enormous martini glass full to the brim with bright blue liquid. A cocktail umbrella balanced precariously on the edge of the glass, with a maraschino cherry stopping it from falling in.
Nancy smiled. Olivia had been right. Nancy did like Christa and Ingrid. She’d also been right about their generosity with drinks. This was Nancy’s fifth or possibly sixth cocktail. It was getting harder to keep count.
‘I really shouldn’t,’ Nancy said, surprised by how much she was slurring now. She prided herself on being able to handle her drink, but Christa and Ingrid must have been more generous with their measures than she thought. She took a sip. It was delicious - orangey with only a hint of alcohol. Surely something so sweet wouldn’t do any harm.
Olivia looked horrified as she swam into Nancy’s blurry vision. ‘Good god. You knocked that back in one.’
‘Did I?’ Nancy looked at the glass in her hand. How had it suddenly become empty?
‘This isn’t some of your homegrown Devon scrumpy,’ Olivia whispered in her ear. ‘There are probably at least three shots of vodka in that.’
‘I’ll have you know that scrumpy can be quite potent,’ Nancy said, feeling affronted on behalf of West Country cider makers.
‘There’s potent, and there’s potentially blinding. And Christa’s cocktails fall into the latter category. I should’ve warned you. I’m sorry I was so busy with Pierre. I’m obviously too late now.’ Olivia stood with her hands on her hips, looking thoughtful. Or at least Nancy thought she did. It was becoming very difficult to focus.
‘I’m perfectly fine!’ Nancy tried desperately to concentrate on Olivia’s face. ‘I’ll just sit still for a few moments, and all will be well.’ She closed her eyes.
‘Apfelschnaps, ladies?’ Ingrid asked.
Nancy opened her eyes again to see Ingrid with a tray of shot glasses filled with a clear liquid.
‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ Olivia replied.
‘But I’ve never had Apfelschnaps,’ Nancy protested.
‘And you’re not having it now.’ Olivia sounded adamant about that. Nancy knew there was no point in arguing with her when she used that tone of voice.
‘I think we should go back home so you can sleep off what you’ve drunk already,’ Olivia suggested. ‘Though how I’m going to manage to get you across the road and up four flights of stairs, I’m not quite sure.’
That was the last thing that Nancy remembered before drifting off into a strange dream about being dragged along a tarmac path by a horse and then falling into a soft white cloud, though it was baffling how you could fall into a cloud in the sky when you were lying on the ground.