Chapter 31
31
I get to the market bright and early and am relieved to find Geneviève inside Palais. I rush inside and greet her. ‘Bonjour, Geneviève. Have you seen Paris Scandale’s socials today?’
‘Oui, why do you think I’m here so early? What do you make of it?’
She pours two mimosas and today I don’t bother arguing. I take the proffered glass and big gulp. ‘I’m not sure. How could they get it so wrong?’ Paris Scandale’s article this morning announced:
The face behind Paris Cupid exposed! We can report the face behind the popular matchmaking site Paris Cupid is a thirty-three-year-old man who, despite his claims to help others in their quest for love, remains resolutely single. Scandale! Stay tuned for an exclusive interview with Cupid himself as he says, ‘I’ll tell you everything, if you then leave well enough alone.’ What we know so far is, he set up the company in a friend’s name, in the hopes to keep his own identity secret. When our reporters tracked this “friend” down and confronted her, he then contacted us and admitted he was Cupid. Stay tuned. Exclusive coming tomorrow!
‘Who is this man? Someone chasing clout?’
I shake my head. ‘Surely they’d do some sort of due diligence and check? They can’t just believe anyone who walks off the street and announces something like that.’
Geneviève refills her mimosa with champagne. ‘So he’s managed to convince them somehow, but who could it be? Who would know enough to be able to pull that off? There’s no one. Is there?’
It hits me. The question in his eyes, the way he surveyed me looking for an answer. ‘It’s Pascale!’
Geneviève’s eyes widen. ‘How would he know for sure?’
‘Yesterday Pascale wanted to eject that reporter by his ears. You told him I was being accused of cat smuggling!’ The idea is so preposterous I laugh. ‘It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out we were lying. Plus, he comforted me the day Coraline riled me up about digging into the identity of Paris Cupid, even though the site had matched her. He knew those online groups had a strong theory that it was someone from the market, and their focus narrowed in on us. It’s not hard to join those dots when it’s clear I sell love letters, and Paris Cupid’s ethos is all about keeping them alive in a modern day world.’
She smacks her forehead. ‘Oui. He figured it out. So why then would he claim to be Paris Cupid?’
My mind spins. ‘To protect me.’
Outside, Felix arrives and wiggles his hand as if he’s carrying a coffee cup. I hold my champagne glass aloft to let him know Geneviève is a very bad influence and coffee is not on the agenda today. He waves a finger as if telling me off and I laugh.
‘So what will you do? Ask Pascale outright?’
‘I guess. Do you think he’s done the exclusive interview already?’
With a shrug, she says, ‘I doubt it, or they’d have rushed to get that released, to break the news first.’
‘I’d really hate that smarmy reporter to get the exclusive, even if it is all a lie.’
‘Ask Pascale. It seems odd that he’d give that smarmy reporter the exclusive if he wanted to throw him out by his ears.’
‘It’s to save me from being exposed.’
Benoit arrives and gives us a friendly wave, before opening his shop. He pokes his head into Felix’s shop and soon their laughter floats over.
Geneviève takes a seat behind her desk and holds her chin in her hand. ‘That’s the mark of a great man. Pascale doesn’t seem to be the type that would like public scrutiny any more than you do. In fact, he’d like it even less and that’s saying a lot. Makes you wonder why he’d go to such lengths…’
‘You offered to do the same thing.’
‘We’ve been best friends for years, and I love a good scandal, as you well know.’
‘Just say it, Geneviève.’
‘The man loves you. Pure and simple.’
‘But we’ve already ruled him out. The handwriting didn’t match.’
‘Oui, that one bothersome fact.’
Pascale arrives and opens up his shop. Geneviève elbows me so hard I’m sure it’s going to leave a bruise.
‘I can see him, Geneviève, there is no need to physically assault me.’
He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t even look in our direction. Have we got it so wrong? If it was him wouldn’t he be even the slightest bit curious to glance over and see how I am?
‘Go, go ask him!’
‘I’ll go later.’
‘It’s always later with you! And that won’t do! The time is now, Lilou, and if you don’t go I’ll march you over there myself.’
‘Ooh,’ I say, glancing to Ephemera. ‘There’s Pierre, the bookseller. Better run.’ It’s unusual for Pierre to visit, he rarely leaves his bookshop by the bank of the Seine during the day but at least he’s saved me from another Geneviève lecture while I process what to do. What to think about Pascale.
‘OK,’ Geneviève says. ‘Come back when Pierre leaves.’
‘Oui.’ I kiss her cheek and go to Ephemera. ‘Bonjour, Pierre. To what do I owe this honour?’
‘I know.’
‘You know what?’
‘Everything. And I want to thank you. Coraline is going to be a great friend, something I desperately needed.’
How does he know I’m Cupid? Does that mean everyone knows?
‘Ah…?’ My mind spins what to say. Do I outright deny it, or admit the truth?
He gives me his lopsided grin. ‘It’s OK. Your secret is safe with me. I just wanted to pass on my personal thanks.’
‘So it’s just friendship between you and Coraline, nothing more?’
‘Nothing more. But that’s enough for now.’
‘How do you know it’s me?’
‘A friend.’
‘Who?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘Why all the mystery?’
‘Why not?’
‘OK. While I’ve got you, that calligraphy letter you gave me, was that story about the apartment in the 4th all a lie?’
He frowns. ‘No, the abandoned apartment was real.’
‘But the letter inside Madame Bovary?’
He has the grace to blush. ‘Another gift from your secret admirer.’
‘Who is…?’
‘Enraptured with you and got a bunch of us to help, because he wanted to romance you the way you would enjoy. He’s a great guy. Speaking of, here’s one last letter from him.’
I narrow my eyes. What is going on? I open the letter and all it says is:
Meet me at the Jean Rictus garden square
‘Give love a chance, Lilou. You’ve helped so many others. Now it’s your turn.’
Geneviève sashays back in and reads the letter over my shoulder. ‘Ooh, the love interest! Well, what are you waiting for, Lilou? Go! I’ll watch Ephemera for you.’
‘What if it’s someone I don’t know? Or worse, don’t like? What if he’s a cat smuggler, a serial killer?’
Geneviève turns to Pierre. ‘See what I’m working with here?’
He smirks. ‘Go, Lilou. What have you got to lose but a bit of time?’
‘Think of what you’ve got to gain! You tell people all the time to trust in the process. It’s time for you to trust in this.’
‘But…’ But they’re right. What if this is the man of my dreams? There is a man I’ve come to adore, but I can’t even admit it to myself most days. ‘Fine, I’ll go. But I just need to do one thing first.’ I log on to the Paris Cupid website and type. I’m not going to hide any more. I have nothing to be ashamed of.
I’m writing today to demystify the truth about who I am and why I built Paris Cupid. My name is Lilou Babineaux and I’m Cupid. I wanted to remain anonymous because I didn’t think matches would trust in a matchmaker who couldn’t find love herself, and because some of my past relationships were a disaster. But what I’ve learned along the way is that those disasters are part of the journey to finding real and everlasting love. We’ve all had relationships that didn’t work, betrayals of trust – I am just the same as my matches who only want to believe that love is out there for them, it’s just a matter of finding it. I wanted to bring the lost art of love-letter writing back so we’d have these keepsakes in the future and we could look back to the past and remember how it felt in that first bloom of love by sharing all of our hopes and dreams on paper. I’m incredibly proud of Paris Cupid and the commitment each match has made to try this new way of finding love, friendship or a pen pal. That’s all I hoped for. After all, isn’t life so much better when you’ve got someone to correspond with? I hope by sharing who I am, you’ll understand my motivations were pure. All I ever wanted was to help ease the lost, the lonely and the heartbroken, but it’s developed into so much more than that. I might not be the matchmaker you imagined, but I promise you, I’m good at what I do. And I did it all for you.
I post it on the site and on my personal social media accounts. ‘OK, I’m ready.’ From behind the desk I grab my personal diary and shove it in my handbag and dash out the shop, but not before I see my neighbours’ eyes trained on me. Does that mean it’s not one of them?