Chapter 29
29
The morning speeds by after taking the cats home and leaving them in the care of the pet sitter, who graciously informs me two cats will cost double to cat sit. While Minou is almost back to full health, Marmalade is not. She’s far too thin and weak from her time on the streets. There’s no time to negotiate with the cat sitter so I agree and set off for work. I shoot Guillaume a text to let him know his co-parent responsibilities have doubled.
He responds quickly:
What! You can’t just go around adopting every stray, Lilou!
I consider drawing it out and teasing him but I’m already far too late for work so I reply:
Ooh? So shall I cancel the adoption of Marmalade who went on an adventure searching for Minou and came off a little worse for wear in her efforts?
I hit send and wait for the inevitable lecture.
You could have led with that, Lilou. Of course we’ll co-parent Marmalade! How is she? If she’s seriously hurt, my heart will surely break.
He’s a softie underneath all that bluster.
She’s going to be fine. Nothing a little TLC won’t fix.
Geneviève’s shop Palais is open when I arrive, so I head straight in to see her, hoping to share with her the outcome of my morning. ‘Bonjour, Lilou. Why do you look so happy? Was it the diary? Did you read the rest of it?’
I’d almost forgotten about the diary after the excitement of the morning. ‘I did. There were only a few more poems! But I still have no clear idea who it is.’ What I don’t say is I fell in love with the words, the sweeping statements of adoration and expectations on what love between us could be. But how can such a thing be possible when I don’t know who the author is? The thing is, my heart knows what it wants, but I’m just not sure the person I’ve fallen for feels the same way so I can’t voice it to anyone, not even Geneviève. ‘My main news is that I adopted another cat. Marmalade from Montmartre cemetery.’
Her eyebrows shoot up. ‘What? How can that be?’
I explain about Minou’s check-up and finding Marmalade had been handed in, after presumably going on an adventure to find her feline best friend.
‘Wow, I can see this cat adoption thing getting out of hand. Are you going to swap real love for the love of pets?’
‘It would be easier,’ I admit. ‘It’s not that I’m becoming a crazy cat lady, but who wants to be the person who splits relationships up, cat or otherwise?’ And really, what’s the difference between facilitating love between two furry felines, or two humans, myself included?
‘Next we’ll have Paris Cupid for Cats.’ She laughs. ‘Mimosa?’
‘Geneviève! If I have a mimosa at this hour, I’ll be asleep at my desk. Minou prefers to sleep during the day, so I’m already running on empty with all his nighttime high jinks.’
‘Pah!’
‘OK?’
‘Sit, sit while I pour you an orange juice then.’ She saunters to the bar fridge and comes back with our drinks. Honestly, how the woman has the energy to get through long market days when she has a mimosa for breakfast and wine at lunch most days is beyond me. ‘What did you decide to do about Paris Cupid?’
I blow out a breath. ‘I decided to face it head on myself. If it happens, it happens.’ I shrug. ‘I might be a laughingstock for a while and people will judge me for the married man thing, if they find it out, but I know the truth so…’
‘Lilou, if they judge you, that says more about them than you. Though the offer is still there if you’d like me to take ownership.’
‘It’s fine. And anyway, I’m still hoping it might all go away.’ I would much prefer sinking my energy into finding love for people than worrying about being outed as the face of Paris Cupid.
‘Oh ma Chérie, this is why we drink champagne for breakfast. It won’t go away, but the bubbles make it easier to digest.’
I laugh. ‘That’s terrible advice, Geneviève, but thanks for the sentiment.’
‘You’re welcome. Now, I need breakfast, would you like a croissant aux amandes from Lumière Boulangerie?’
I’m about to agree when I see a customer waiting at my stall. ‘No, thanks. I’d better go, but let’s meet for lunch?’
‘Oui. We’ve got a lot to discuss.’ She drops her voice. ‘I’ll get those handwriting samples today.’
I nod, wondering just what scheme she’ll use. I say goodbye and dash back to my stall. ‘Bonjour, bonjour.’ I take my keys from my handbag and unlock the door. ‘Come in. Sorry I’m late, I was chatting to my neighbour and didn’t see you waiting.’
There’s something cagey in the man’s eyes. It’s the way he’s squinting at me like he’s trying to get a read or something. ‘Are you Lilou Babineaux?’
‘Oui,’ I say slowly. ‘And you are?’
‘Jorges from Paris Scandale. I’d like to ask you about your part in Paris Cupid. Can you confirm you’re the owner of the site?’
The ground beneath me tilts. I freeze, unbalanced and unsure of how to answer. Why are Paris Scandale involved!
‘Well?’ Jorges prompts. ‘I’d love an exclusive with you. You can get your side of the story out first.’
Eventually my brain catches up. ‘What do you mean “my side of the story”?’ Is there any point denying it at this stage? All I can do is try and minimise the damage.
Jorges gives me a sly smile that makes my skin crawl. ‘Well, it’s not going to look good, is it? A matchmaker with a rocky love life according to your social media posts going back the last few years. There was the married man and seven children. The catfish from America. The engagement that lasted all of three weeks before he stole your bicycle and ghosted you. The list goes on. You really should have used your privacy settings if you didn’t want that sort of thing found.’ He glances at a notebook in his hand and flips a page. ‘With that sort of history, what makes you think you’re capable of finding love for other people?’
I want to slap my own forehead. Why didn’t I delete all those old posts? But he’s not simply going back a few years, he’s also going back to my early twenties, a decade ago. When I shared online in detail all about those silly heartbreaks just like everyone else did.
My dithering is replaced with white-hot fury as anger roils up inside of me. ‘Dating mistakes aren’t a crime, last time I checked! Yet here you are making it seem like it’s my fault for believing in what a man tells me on face value. Shouldn’t you be doing an exposé on men who date and dash? Men who lie about their identity, their marriages? Isn’t that a much more important story?’
He lets out an impatient sigh as if the truth is boring him. Pen poised, he says, ‘So you admit you’re Cupid?’
I’m so taken aback, my mind a scramble as I desperately try to think. ‘I admit no such thing.’
He slips his pen into his jean pocket. ‘OK, then we’ll run the angle we want and you won’t get a say how this plays out.’
‘You’re threatening me?’ How dare he! ‘You’re a scourge on society, you know that? You’re the reason people stop believing in love, when you write shallow exposés about innocent women trying to find the one.’ I’m surprised to find my eyes fill with tears. If Jorges from Paris Scandale is this brutal, how is everyone else going to react when the news gets out? Jorges stands there as if rooted to the spot. ‘I want you to leave. Get out of my stall!’
There’s a thunder of footsteps and I turn to find Pascale stomping towards us, glower at the ready. ‘Is everything OK, Lilou?’ he asks me, shooting daggers at Jorges, who is suddenly looking a lot less confident with Pascale breathing down his neck.
I swipe at my eyes, hoping Pascale doesn’t notice my tears. ‘Not exactly. I’ve asked this man to leave, but he’s not listening.’
‘It’s not that,’ Jorges says jovially as if he wasn’t just threatening me. ‘I was giving you one last chance to tell your side of the story, that’s all.’
‘Never in a million years,’ I say through gritted teeth.
Jorges shrugs. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘Do not speak to her like that.’ Pascale’s practically breathing fire. ‘It’s best if you leave now or I’ll make you leave.’
Jorges lets out a pig-like squeal and jogs away, looking over his shoulder as if he’s worried Pascale is going to change his mind and chase him out. From the murderous expression on Pascale’s face, Jorges is right to be worried. And it’s really rather upsetting to me that a man will only comply when another man arrives, all guns blazing. This is exactly what women are up against.
‘Didn’t I tell you already violence is never the answer?’ I say, my weak joke falling away as I glance at Pascale, who has his hands fisted at his sides.
‘What was all that about, Lilou?’ A muscle works in his jaw and it’s all I can do not to confide in him.
How to answer? Do I even need to? ‘You’ll soon find out. I’ve got to speak to Geneviève.’
‘Lilou.’ He places his hands on my shoulders. Big strong man hands that make me feel safe. I roil against the feeling of being the meeker sex. The woman who needs a knight in shining armour. I want to be able to take charge myself. Not rely on a man to scare away other men. ‘Take a moment to breathe. Breathe,’ he says. ‘Your whole body is trembling.’
I’m practically vibrating from the adrenaline that’s coursing through me. My hands shake so hard, I clasp them together and focus only on my breaths. I close my eyes and will myself to relax. I can’t make any decisions when I’m wound up like this.
‘Good, that’s better. Give it a couple of minutes. Do you want me to find Geneviève? Sit down for a minute, I’m worried you’re going to faint.’
It feels as dramatic as all that. The barely disguised threats Jorges gave me about what he was going to write to make me look inept as a matchmaker. ‘Oui, find Geneviève.’ She’s the only person who will understand and will tell me straight.
Worry gnaws at me. How am I going to face public scrutiny if I can’t face one reporter? Pascale takes me into his arms and gives me a hug. The gesture grounds me, brings me back to the now. Once again, there’s a real sense of being safe with him. As though he’s a life raft in stormy seas. I don’t overthink it; I don’t have the energy right now.
When he releases me, I miss the warmth of his embrace. ‘I’m going to find Geneviève, OK? Sit on the chaise and sit tight.’
I fall back on the chaise longue, holding my head in my hands, wondering how to salvage the situation.
A few moments later, Geneviève appears, clutching a paper bag of croissants, worry lining her face. ‘Lilou, what happened? Pascale said you needed me urgently. Are you OK?’
‘Ah – well…’ Pascale is still hovering, hands on hips, eyes wild as if he’s hoping Jorges will return for round two so he can have a piece of him. I furtively motion to Pascale, and Geneviève gives me a nod as if she understands the message loud and clear.
‘Merci, Pascale. Lilou is fine with me now. Is that a customer at your shop?’
‘They can wait.’
‘Ooh, aren’t you lovely? But I can take it from here. Lilou’s had a bit of a morning, you see. She’s probably got a cracking headache. Though it’s nothing a mimosa won’t fix.’ Her voice is high and giggly, and it sounds false even to me.
‘Are you sure? That man gave her a fright and I’d like to know why. I didn’t like the weaselly look about him.’ Pascale’s face is pinched with worry. I’ve never had a man stand up for me like that before. Part of me likes it, but the other part wants to tell him I don’t need anyone to do my shouting for me.
‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Geneviève is right, it’s just a slight headache.’ I run with her excuse. ‘And an obnoxious visit from some random gutter journalist to contend with.’
Pascale surveys me so hard I blush. ‘He said he was giving you a chance to tell your side of the story. What did he mean? What story?’
The truth sits on my tongue. ‘I’m…’
‘She’s being investigated about a cat smuggling ring. Lilou is perfectly innocent, of course.’
Whaat! A cat smuggling ring? Has Geneviève lost her mind?
Pascale lifts an eyebrow. ‘A… what?’
If we dig ourselves into a hole any further, we’ll be buried.
‘She has adopted both her cats, and we can prove it!’ The situation has an unreal air to it and I have to bite back on sudden laughter. Although, on reflection, maybe it’s best if we discuss the way forward before I confide in anyone, especially Pascale, that I’m Cupid.
‘I did. I adopted them from the vet, and yes, they were cemetery cats, but they needed care. There was absolutely no smuggling involved.’
He gives us a long look that implies he believes not one word but can’t prove it. ‘So that guy was after some kind of admission about a… cat smuggling ring?’
Geneviève nods so fast I’m sure her head is going to come clean off. ‘Aha. It’s rife around Paris, allegedly. If you wouldn’t mind keeping this between us for now, we’d appreciate it.’
‘O… K.’ Pascale’s posture softens as if he can’t quite believe he nearly launched Jorges from the market over an accusation of smuggling felines. ‘While I’ve got you’ – Geneviève takes a piece of paper from her handbag – ‘would you mind filling in this quick survey for me?’
He takes the proffered paper. ‘A survey about my favourite haunts around Paris? Why?’
‘Why not? We get plenty of tourists in the market, and I thought it would be nice to give them a guide to our beautiful city. Just fill it in at your leisure and have it back to me by no later than’ – she glances at her watch – ‘lunchtime.’
He frowns, as if trying to work out what’s really going on but comes up blank.
‘I’ve filled in mine,’ I say as if in solidarity. ‘We’re lucky to live in Paris, are we not?’
‘Ah – oui.’ Confusion is evident across his features. Geneviève has managed to waylay his suspicions about reporter Jorges with the supposed cat smuggling ring. At least that’s something. For now. ‘Lunchtime. Got it.’ He gives me one lingering look before he turns and heads back to his stall.
I exhale a pent-up breath. ‘Geneviève, what the hell?’
She dons the wide-eyed Bambi look. ‘What?’
‘A cat smuggling ring?’
With a loose shrug she says, ‘You were about to admit to him you’re Cupid. I could see it written all over your face. And while I adore Pascale, I think it’s best if we make a solid plan before you go blurting it out to all and sundry.’
‘Oui, you’re right. It’s just he was so… nice. So comforting. I briefly lost my mind.’
Her eyes light up which can only mean one thing. I stop her before she can voice it.
‘No, Geneviève, it doesn’t mean anything. That horrid journalist caught me unawares is all, and then Pascale playing the superhero only added to my confusion.’
‘Oui, oui. I wasn’t about to suggest anything. Except…’ She toys with a strand of her hair. ‘Who doesn’t like a man who defends a woman’s honour in such a way? Call me old fashioned but men like that don’t really exist these days, do they?’
I scoff. ‘Shouldn’t we be more concerned that Jorges only left me alone when Pascale came to my rescue? When I asked him to leave, he blithely ignored me. That’s the bigger issue here.’
‘Of course, you’re right, you’re right. But…’ She gazes wistfully across the hallway to Pascale’s typewriter stall. ‘Isn’t it remarkable that Pascale was on your side without knowing a thing about what the conflict between you and Jorges was? It means no matter what, he’s there for you.’
Does it though? Or is it just some macho thing? A flex. A show of dominance? ‘Hmm.’
‘Oh, you and your hmms,’ Geneviève says. ‘I’m going to give Benoit his survey.’
‘But shouldn’t we discuss Paris Cupid first?’
‘Oui, I’ll be right back for that.’
‘Don’t you think this is more important right now? What if Jorges comes back?’
‘Call out for Pascale! Although, by the looks of it, he’s already standing sentry.’
Instead of sitting bashing at his typewriter temperamentally the way he usually does, he is leaning against the door of his stall, shooting daggers to all who cross his path. Really, if the man continues like this he’ll be out of business by the end of summer.
‘OK, Geneviève. Hand out the survey to Benoit and then we’ll convene a Paris Cupid meeting.’
‘Done.’ She flounces off in Benoit’s direction as I spot Guillaume coming up the stairs. He makes his way to me, a box in hand.
‘Bonjour, Lilou.’ We exchange la bise. ‘I’ve just got back from Rouen and have some stock for you to look at.’
‘Why aren’t we meeting at Montmartre cemetery?’ I love our meetings there in the sunshine surrounded by cats and ghosts.
‘I’m pressed for time, so I figured I’d just pop in. I’m trying to get everything done as quickly as possible so I can pick up the cats this evening. I hope that’s amenable to you?’
I search his features. His complexion is pink, his eyes darting around as if his mind is elsewhere. ‘Oui.’ What else can I say? I don’t want to discourage him while he has stock on hand, but I really want to discuss the Paris Cupid disaster with Geneviève. ‘We can chat now, Guillaume, but I don’t have much time.’
‘Oui, oui. Always rushing, is Lilou.’
‘Moi?’
He rocks on the balls of his feet. ‘Let me show you what I found.’
At my desk, he opens the box to reveal a stunning gold embossed prayer book. It almost glows, the gilded cover is so bright. ‘It’s very rare, Lilou. Very delicate. You might search further than Paris for its next owner. Maybe you could list with a prestigious antique auction?’ From his pocket he takes white cotton gloves and puts them on before lifting the prayer book from the box. ‘It’s circa 1800, and as you can see it’s more a piece of art than a book to be read and thumbed through.’
I agree that the artefact deserves a unique approach and recognise Guillaume is being very generous sharing this prayer book with me when he could have easily resold it himself for a hefty profit. ‘It should be in a museum.’ We discuss the book and its possible provenance. It’s decided I’ll ask contacts in the museum world first about a possible sale. We haggle over price but I know I’ve got myself a bargain and the profit margin will be a healthy one. Once our business is concluded I bring the conversation around to the cats. ‘What time are you picking up Minou and Marmalade this evening?’
His face softens. ‘I have a full day of client visits but I plan to finish around six pm if that suits you?’
‘Sure, I can be home by then. How are things with you and Clementine?’
He blushes and fumbles with his key chain. ‘Wonderful, wonderful. Clementine took it upon herself to visit Rouen for a few days while I was there. It was lovely to do some sightseeing with her in the medieval town.’
I give him a wide smile and pretend I don’t already know. ‘Things have moved swiftly, I take it?’
He clears his throat and holds his head high. ‘My private life is just that, Lilou. Private.’
‘I understand, Guillaume, but you may remember I suggested you try Paris Love Letters, and now I’m really rather invested in your private life.’
His shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath and exhales theatrically. ‘It’s Paris Cupid, you infernal busybody, and if you insist on being meddlesome, I suppose the only solution is to give you some breadcrumbs, otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it.’
‘That’s true. I can only escalate from here.’
The obligatory head shake returns but his face is full of colour, as if he’s been renewed by his time away with a visit from Clementine. ‘Fine. Our correspondence went remarkably well. In fact, we were writing back and forth every day, our letters arriving out of sync, which I didn’t even mind since we were simply enthusiastic about getting to know one another.’
‘Them arriving out of sync bothered you a little, didn’t it?’ I grin and fold my arms, ready to battle him on this point. My friend is pedantic in the purest sense of the word.
‘Oui, oui. It bothered me greatly but I was a willing accomplice so I let it go, despite them being out of order and making no sense. After six weeks of back and forth, just like Mathilde foretold, I felt a level of… certainty. She said I’d know when the time was right and that seemed to be the case.’ He flushes scarlet and his chin dips down, as if he’s embarrassed to share this so openly with me. ‘I had the Rouen trip coming up and I felt like it might be time for us to take things to the next level.’
‘So then what happened?’ I lean against the counter.
‘I asked Benoit to pen my next letter in formal calligraphy as it seemed fitting for what I was about to suggest.’
‘To meet up?’
‘I wrote about how my feelings were true, and that I only had good intentions. And if she felt the same and was amenable, would she care to accompany me to the ballet at the Opéra National de Paris.’
My eyebrows shoot up. ‘The ballet?’
He lets out a giggle. An actual giggle! ‘I have no idea about romance, Lilou. I asked the bibliothécaire to help me use those hellish machines at the library and I googled what women like when being courted.’
I press my lips together. Could he be any more adorable? ‘Great idea.’
His faux-grumpy expression returns, as if he wants to disguise his efforts in the art of wooing a woman. ‘Oui, oui, all very silly really. Advice such as deliver chocolate-covered strawberries to their place of work, or a dozen long-stemmed roses. The bibliothécaire pointed out some of the advice was out of date, and I was best to go with the ballet invitation.’
‘How was the ballet?’
‘I fell asleep, but that’s not exactly my fault. We shared a bottle of Beaujolais at dinner before and the event started rather late. I caught the end. There was a lot of pliéing and whatnot.’
‘Did Clementine enjoy it?’
He gives me a decisive nod. ‘Then it was she who suggested she visit Rouen for a few days during my jaunt there. At first, I was rather taken aback. Is that the done thing these days, women asking men? It was very forward, in my opinion, so I asked the advice of the bibliothécaire once again and she gave me a stern lecture about the progression of women’s rights and how I was acting like a dinosaur. Sufficiently reprimanded and more than a little regretful that I’d judged Clementine, I accepted her offer and gave her details of the hotel I’d be lodging at.’
I can’t help but grin as Guillaume learns the ropes to modern day dating. ‘And just like that you spent a few days together?’
‘What’s that ridiculous thing you’re doing with your face? For your information, we had separate hotel rooms, not that it’s any of your business. While our relationship has progressed, we’re still in the very early stages.’
‘Hand holding?’
He reels back. ‘This is private, Lilou! I’m a gentleman!’
‘Désolé, of course. As it should be. And how about the matchmaking site itself? Were you happy with it?’
He grumbles under his breath. ‘Mostly. Benoit said it was legitimate but with all this talk about who is running it, it does make a man worry.’
‘Oh? What talk is that?’
‘Allegedly the person behind it won’t reveal themselves, so the general consensus is that they’re obviously hiding something. I just hope my bank accounts are safe.’
‘Why wouldn’t they be?’
‘The internet, Lilou, that’s why! There’s probably another Guillaume wandering around Paris right now, taking out mortgages in my name, living a life of luxury.’
‘That’s not quite?—’
‘I’ve heard all about it. Identity theft. Cloning. The list goes on.’
I shake my head. ‘Well, at least you’ve found a match.’
‘Oui.’
‘And Clementine, what does she think of Paris Cupid?’
‘She thinks all the speculation about who is running it is a waste of time and that we should all be happy such a service exists, but this is coming from a woman who enthusiastically shops on the internet when there are brick and mortar shops all around as far as the eye can see. It befuddles me, but the bibliothécaire told me to keep my trap shut when it comes to a woman’s proclivities for retail therapy, online or off.’
‘I like this bibliothécaire.’
‘Bossy, she is, unrelenting, like someone else we won’t name. Lilou. Anyway, I’ll pick up the cats this evening, and they can stay with me for the week. Clementine is excited to meet them too. She’s coming over for apero tomorrow.’
‘She’s going to fall in love with them like we have.’
I wonder what he’ll think when the news breaks that I’m Cupid. I only hope it doesn’t change anything between us.