Chapter 26
26
Minou is safely ensconced at my apartment with a cat sitter. A no-nonsense teenager who promises me she’s seen it all before and whatever the cat throws at her she’ll be able to handle. She’ll administer his medications and make sure he doesn’t escape his inflatable collar. I’ve come to learn Minou has about six different personalities and with no warning he will turn from sleepy cuddler to acrobat. Eventually his energy wanes, and I clean up the debris as if a hurricane blew through and left only destruction in its wake.
As I come to the market square, I stop at Coraline’s stall to buy flowers in the hopes she’ll share any news about her Paris Cupid match.
‘Bonjour, Lilou,’ she says, giving me a wide grin.
‘Bonjour. How are you?’ I peruse the flowers on offer, picking up a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils.
‘Daffodils mean new beginnings, Lilou. Is that what you’re after?’
I smile. Has the old Coraline returned so quickly? ‘Hmm.’ I pretend to consider it. ‘New beginnings are exactly what I’m after. Leaving the past behind and moving on is what I’m aiming for.’
‘Let me wrap them for you.’ Coraline hasn’t wrapped my flowers in years. It’s sweet to see her take pride in her work once more.
‘Merci. There’s something different about you today? Your cheeks are aflame, your eyes are shining; if I didn’t know better I’d say you’re in love.’
She lets out a girlish giggle. Love really is the tonic. It’s as though Coraline has been transformed. Even her hair is shiny and sleek. It’s such a marked change, seeing the smile reach her eyes and every part of her radiating. ‘I got matched on Paris Cupid.’
‘Ooh! Right, I almost forgot about that. I take it that it’s going rather well.’
She nods as she hands me the beautifully wrapped bouquet of bright yellow daffodils. ‘It’s been lifechanging. I know that sounds dramatic considering we haven’t met in person yet, but I’m taking it slow this time.’
‘And your match, what makes him so great?’
‘He’s a bookseller and he writes the most romantic prose. Like me, he’s been lonely but unsure of where to look for love. I don’t know where this will lead, so I’m enjoying it for what it is – a pen pal relationship that has the potential to become more. If it doesn’t develop into love, we’ve promised each other to remain friends and catch up eventually anyway.’
I love this for Coraline. It appears she’s figured out that rushing into relationships, and having a sort of saviour complex with men who were poised to take advantage, was not the best way forward even though she did nothing wrong and her intentions were pure. How many other Parisians make just the same mistakes when it comes to love? We all want to believe in the person beside us in bed.
‘I really hope it works out for you both.’
‘It will. Because even if I don’t find love, I know I’ve found a friend and that’s enough for me.’
It’s hard to know which way the wind will blow, but I send up a prayer to the love gods and will it to be so. ‘I’m glad you tried Paris Cupid. It seems like everyone is talking about it these days.’ I really shouldn’t pry but Coraline is the go-to for gossip so she’ll know if there’s anything new in the rumour mill.
‘Thank you for suggesting it. Without you, I wouldn’t have taken that leap. Are you sure you’re not Paris Cupid? You do have a penchant for love letters!’ She laughs at her own joke while I use every effort to keep myself from fainting at her feet.
‘Ha! It’s not me.’
‘Well, I didn’t think so. Not with your disaster of a dating life. Didn’t you date a cryptomancer once?’
As always I come so far with Coraline and then jump two steps back. ‘We didn’t exactly get to the dating stage; we were chatting for a bit and then he tried to get me to invest in crypto. Men, eh?’ More fool me for sharing these titbits with Coraline.
‘And then there was that married guy…’
I reel back as if slapped. ‘That wasn’t my fault.’
‘Still. It doesn’t look good, does it? Everyone always says they don’t know, when they actually do.’
I cock my head. ‘Why are you bringing all of this up?’
‘I want to solve the Paris Cupid mystery! I’m intrigued. I joined an online sleuth group and their main focus is finding Cupid. There hasn’t been gossip this juicy for an age. The current theory is it’s someone from Saint-Ouen Flea Market. Your name was mentioned because of the love letter link.’
It takes a lot to remain calm. ‘My name? How ridiculous. Why do they think it’s linked to the market?’
She gives me a lazy shrug. ‘Lately there’ve been a lot of matches with market vendors. Almost as if someone around here is orchestrating it.’
Geneviève and I have focused on those we knew from around here because we knew bits and pieces about their dating histories and felt they deserved a happy ever after.
‘I can’t believe there’s another group digging into it. Don’t you feel bad considering how Paris Cupid has helped you?’
Coraline squares her jaw. ‘Why should I?’
Seriously! ‘If the people who run Paris Cupid wish to remain anonymous why would you not respect that after what they’ve done for you? You’ve just spent ten minutes telling me how much you’re enjoying a burgeoning new friendship with P…’ I stop short, his name dying on my tongue. Did she pick it up? I scramble to cover my folly. ‘…with a Parisian bookseller, and now you’re ready to throw that back in their face. It’s not nice, Coraline.’
She narrows her eyes. Why am I even having this conversation? The longer I talk to her the more likely I’m going to speak out of turn and then the jig will really be up.
‘Our sleuth group doesn’t agree with all the secrecy. Transparency is good business practice. We have every right to know about the face behind the site. After all, members have shared personal information with Paris Cupid and I for one would rather know that my privacy is going to be guaranteed.’
All of the confidentiality guarantees are written into the terms and conditions that each member signs, but I can’t exactly bring that up without exposing myself. ‘That’s hypocritical! You’ll expose their anonymity to make sure yours is safe?’
She grunts as if I’m too dense to understand the complexities of such a thing. ‘I’m not the one making millions of dollars here.’
Millions of dollars! It’s nothing of the sort. Sure, there is a cost involved, but my time is worth it. ‘Oh be real, Coraline, you just enjoy the drama.’
‘Maybe. My theory is it’s got to be someone with a connection to love letters, so if it’s not you then it has to be Benoit, who writes those calligraphy letters, or Pascale maybe. Although Pascale doesn’t seem like the romantic sort but he could be hiding in plain sight. Then there’s Felix with all those hand-pressed greeting cards?’
Mon Dieu! This has escalated fast. I’d been of the opinion speculation had died down, when it’s actually been building up in the background. ‘It’s a shame you can’t be happy to be matched and leave it at that.’
She makes a show of rolling her eyes with dramatic flair. ‘If you don’t get your daffodils in water soon, they’ll droop.’ With a flick of her hair, she flounces behind her display of flowers.
There’s nothing else I can do except stomp into the Marché Dauphine, muttering and mumbling under my breath. I manage to catch Pascale’s attention. He frowns as we exchange a glance but I don’t have the energy to worry about him. I open my stall and deposit the daffodils in a crystal vase. Their beauty has been marred by Coraline, but I try not to hold it against the yellow flowers.
I move my display tables out front with a loud grunt – did they get heavier? I’m so mad I’m sure steam is coming out of my ears. It’s not only that Coraline is hell-bent on digging into the face behind Paris Cupid, it’s that she has no compunction about doing such a thing even after finding a successful match herself because of our help! Geneviève spent hours upon hours trying to figure out what made Coraline tick so she would find her the perfect correspondent in the hopes she could build a real relationship with a person who wouldn’t take advantage of her like so many men have in the past.
I don’t bother putting my pot plants out; instead, I launch myself on the chaise and replay the conversation with Coraline. Will it all go away if I ignore it? Hard to tell with Coraline, who embellishes the truth for sport. When I consider it, she doesn’t have any concrete details.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath and then exhale all the angst.
‘Rough morning?’
Can this day get any worse? I open my eyes to find Pascale leaning against the door jamb, smiling like a loon. What’s that all about?
I grimace. The morning has been a nightmare but I’m sure he doesn’t really care. ‘You could say that.’
He lifts a brow. ‘What’s up? You’re usually so happy in the mornings. This is the first time I’ve seen you banging and crashing around the place like you’ve got something big on your mind.’
‘Well, if you’ve come to complain, now is not the time.’
He grins. Why is he grinning! Can’t he see I’m absolutely furious?
‘I’ve come to see if I can help. Who should I hunt down? Point to them and it will be done.’
My eyes widen. ‘You think violence is the answer?’
‘Depends on the question.’ That provokes a slight smile that I try my best to extinguish. Pascale might not be so laissez-faire when he finds out he’s part of the plot.
‘Coraline is in an online sleuth group who are set on exposing the person behind Paris Cupid and is suspicious of me, but then she discounted it because of my woeful dating history. It upset me. She always manages to annoy me, so I don’t know why I keep trying with her.’ Why do I? Time and again she shows me her true colours.
His eyebrows shoot up. ‘Why did she think you were Cupid?’ He says it with so much disdain, like I couldn’t possibly be that person. I’m almost tempted to tell him the truth just to throw it back in his face.
‘Why couldn’t I be Cupid? Are you saying I’m not capable?’ Why does this man bring out the worst in me?
‘What? No, you’re misunderstanding me. I’m on your side. It’s just this Paris Cupid avalanche of speculation is taking its toll. It’s all anyone around here ever talks about.’
Thanks to Coraline, I bet. I should have trusted my first instinct and kept my mouth shut, but no, stupid me had to help her.
‘Why are they invested in such a silly thing anyway? Who cares who Paris Cupid is? What does it matter to any of us?’
‘I’ve only heard small bits of gossip about Paris Cupid here and there. I didn’t know it had gathered so much momentum.’
With a sigh, he lifts his palms in the air. ‘Who knows, but if the rumours are anything to go by, it’s someone who works in the market.’
My heart beats hard against my ribs. ‘You’ve heard that too?’
‘Yeah, apparently it’s Geneviève because she’s been encouraging people to join for months.’ I rub my temples as a headache takes hold. ‘Are you OK?’ Pascale asks, his eyebrows pulling together.
‘No… not really.’ I’m close to confessing to him. And where would that get me? Not far, I’d imagine. ‘It’s just… it feels intrusive. Like they’re trying to ruin a site that’s helped many who struggled to find love the usual way.’
‘It’s a shame but that’s how it always is around here. When there’s a lull between customers the gossip starts. Don’t worry about it. It’s got nothing to do with you anyway.’
Little does he know. ‘I like this version of you.’
‘This version?’
‘Oui. Who knew there was a practical comforting side to you? Usually you’re glowering and grunting and shooting me glares.’
He folds his arms across the wide expanse of his chest. ‘Is that so?’
‘Here we go. Tell me I’m wrong.’
‘You’re wrong.’
I arch a brow.
‘I might be a little testy occasionally but that’s because I’m constantly being interrupted when I’m trying to write.’
‘Not this again!’
‘It’s true. I’m writing a novel and I’m easily distracted, and then I lose the thread and it all feels so hopeless.’
‘What’s your book about?’
‘An anonymous matchmaker in Paris.’
I grin. ‘It is not.’
‘Non. It’s a coming-of-age story, but I’m doubting my ability to finish it. I can’t seem to concentrate since I moved here.’
‘All those scented candles and my obnoxious laughter?’
‘Exactly.’
We lapse into a comfortable silence. Who knew that Pascale had literary ambitions?
‘So the big move disrupted your writing mojo?’ And that’s why he’s stomped around like a tyrant?
‘Oui. I’ve been… distracted by other things and now I can’t connect to the book. It’s frustrating.’
‘Have you always wanted to write?’ Is it Pascale who has the soul of a poet, and not Benoit, like I presumed just from the way they looked? Have I judged him too harshly?
‘I’ve been bashing out words ever since I was a teenager. I’ve got lots of half-finished drafts, many abandoned projects. This time I promised myself I’d get to the end. And yet here I am stuck in the middle again.’
‘What’s stopping you though?’
‘Writer’s block? Stubbornness. Fear of failure. Imposter syndrome.’
I can’t help but scoff. ‘I just can’t see you being plagued with doubt. You exude confidence. You’re like a superhero stomping around all over the place, bellowing down your phone or ignoring customers.’
He tilts his head. ‘Me?’
Is he serious? ‘Yes, you!’
‘Well, I guess I don’t see myself that way.’
‘How do you see yourself?’
‘Usually through a lens of crippling self-doubt.’
‘Oui, you are a writer!’
We break into laughter. This conversation is so refreshing and paints Pascale in a whole new light.
‘I’m hoping to get this book published. But first I need to finish it.’
‘So stop making excuses and get it done.’
‘Yes, boss!’ He salutes.
I grin. ‘I know you can do it if you set your mind to the end goal.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do. You fit the stereotype of frustrated writer.’
Benoit appears in the hall outside, waves and strides over to my stall. ‘I better go,’ Pascale says as Benoit approaches. ‘I’ve got customers to ignore. Hope your day gets better.’
‘Merci, you too.’
Benoit takes Pascale’s spot and leans against the door jamb.
‘Bonjour, Benoit. How are you?’ I feel lighter after talking to Pascale, a feat I’d never have imagined before. Electric, even. Is it that he’s not the grumpy brutish guy I’d pegged him for? My bad mood has evaporated and I feel fully charged.
Benoit is fidgety, distracted, as if he’s got something on his mind. ‘Good, good. How is Minou?’
‘The same – happy one moment, crazy the next. I used the cat backpack! Let me get my phone and show you the photo of his face. Minou is definitely going to be in contention for the next grumpy cat meme.’
I leave Benoit and search for my handbag and locate my phone. I flick through until I find the photo. Even now it provokes laughter. ‘Minou despised the indignity of having his photo taken at home in the carrier before we enjoyed a stroll around the neighbourhood. He was more settled that evening.’
Benoit’s face breaks into a wide smile. ‘I see what you mean about the meme potential. Hilarious. How did the inflatable collar go?’
‘So far so good. He hasn’t managed to pull it off and his abrasions are healing nicely because he can’t get near them.’
Felix arrives holding a café crème and joins us at the door. ‘Mademoiselle. Caffeine to start your day?’
Benoit drops his gaze as if suddenly shy. ‘Enjoy your coffee. And keep the cat memes coming.’
I laugh. ‘Sure. Au revoir.’ I take the proffered cup from Felix. ‘How’s your week been?’ I ask.
‘Busy! Yours? You’re a cat parent now?’
‘Oui, a part time co-parent. And better yet, I’ve lived to tell the tale. Secretly I love the tiny terror, but I’m also looking forward to a decent night’s sleep once Guillaume takes his charge. Minou loves zooming around the house at nighttime, specifically using my face as his launch pad. This can go on for hours, and if I shut my bedroom door he meows from the other side until I give in and open it and the whole exercise starts again. I suppose he spent his days at the cemetery snoozing in the sunshine and nighttime is where he got up to mischief.’
Felix grins. ‘How will Guillaume go handling such a wily beast?’
I sense how things are going to go for Guillaume because the clever cat knows exactly what he can get away with. ‘I bet Minou will be on this best behaviour around him. Guillaume will tell me the nocturnal behaviour is all in my mind, that his darling cat would never do such a thing. I’ve hired a cat sitter for Minou when I’m working at the market, to keep an eye on him during his recovery.’
‘Ah! I’d planned to invite you on a ghost tour tonight. Perhaps we’ll have to leave it until your fur baby is with his other parent?’
‘A ghost tour?’ It’s such a Felix thing to do, something wacky and fun.
‘It’s a walking tour visiting a range of spooky places around Paris. While it’s a little macabre, it’s also got a historical element to it.’
‘Another time, for sure, once Minou is better. Ooh, I almost forgot. A customer came looking for you yesterday but you’d already locked up, so she left a package for you. One moment and I’ll find it in my desk.’
I go and find the envelope in my desk. ‘Here you go. She said it’s full of design ideas for her wedding invitations.’
He groans. ‘Merci. She only wants one hundred of them, and by next week. No rest for the wicked, eh?’
‘Get to it. My turn tomorrow.’ I waggle my keep cup. When he leaves, I take a feather duster and make my rounds. When I get to the bookshelf near the front door, I find a diary that isn’t one of mine. Did Benoit or Pascale plant it? They each had time to when I had been distracted. I lean against the door jamb and survey them. Neither of them is paying any attention to me; they’re all busy working. Perhaps the diary will give me more clues.