11
‘Nancy!’ Madame Dubois called from the back room. ‘Come in here, please.’
Nancy put down the box of books she was carrying and headed to the back of the shop. Madame Dubois smiled at her as she walked in from behind her desk. ‘This morning’s delivery had the book your customer ordered. Perhaps you’d like to call him,’ Madame Dubois said, indicating the big black 1930s-style phone on the desk. ‘I’ll be out in the shop,’ she said, winking at Nancy as she left.
Was she matchmaking, too? Olivia had asked several times over the last few days whether the book had arrived yet.
The order book was on the desk, open at Hans’ order.
Nancy picked up the receiver. The dial tone sounded different to the one she was used to at home. She took a deep breath and dialled the number. It rang and rang. No reply. She felt strangely disappointed. But it was the middle of the morning on a weekday. Hans was most likely at work doing whatever biologists do, not that she knew what that could be. Did he work in a lab? Did he roam the shrubberies of Bois de Boulogne looking for insects? Perhaps he worked in a zoo. Did Paris even have a zoo? She hoped it didn’t. Seeing animals locked up in cages always upset her.
She headed out into the shop again.
‘When is Herr Schmidt coming in to pick up his book?’ Madame Dubois asked.
‘I don’t know. I couldn’t get through.’
‘That’s a shame. Try again after lunch.’
‘I know where he lives, so I could deliver it.’
‘Even better! I always like to exceed my customers’ expectations. Is it far?’
‘No. Only a few streets away, very near my flat.’
‘Excellent. You must take it with you when you finish this evening.’
Nancy left work promptly, clutching Bleak House neatly wrapped in plain brown paper and tied up with red satin ribbon, which Madame Dubois conjured up from somewhere in the depths of her desk drawer. She had tucked a business card under it, which Nancy studied on the way home. “Bespoke bindings for the discerning customer” was embossed on one side, with the shop phone number printed in black underneath. On the other side, Madame Dubois had written. “Thank you for your order. If we can help you with any of your binding needs, please pop in again.”
It was an odd thing to write. Nancy hadn’t really thought about the “bespoke bindings” aspect of the business since the day she saw it mentioned on the sign outside the shop. As far as Nancy was aware, all the books they supplied were standard ones unless Madame Dubois’s appointments with her gentleman callers were to do with recovering old books. She’d not considered that as an option, though it was more realistic than the brothel theory. None of them had left with a book-sized parcel yet, though. She’d have to ask Madame Dubois when she returned to work tomorrow.
The sky had clouded over. It looked like it was about to rain, which was a shame because when Nancy had left the house this morning, Paris had been bathed in glorious sunshine, and she’d confidently stepped outside without bothering to take a coat. Judging by the state of the pavements, it had rained earlier this afternoon too. She started walking as fast as she could. Bad clothing choice, Nancy - there’s no chance of running in this pencil skirt.
As she turned the corner into the next street, large raindrops began to spatter the pavement. Great! It wasn’t just a shower, it was going to throw it down. Nancy picked up her pace with her head down as the rain became heavier. She tucked Hans’ book under her jumper, unconvinced that the brown paper would be enough to protect it from a downpour.
A car sped past, spraying her with water from a large puddle in the gutter. She looked down at the muddy spots that were now all over her pale blue skirt. It was going to have to go to the dry cleaners now. Where even was the nearest dry cleaner? She’d have to consult Olivia when she got home.
By the time Nancy arrived at number 27, she was soaked. She opened her handbag to get out the keys, but they weren’t there. It was only a small bag, so how could they be hidden? Then she remembered taking the rubbish downstairs before she left for work this morning. She’d put the keys in her coat pocket so she could get back in the apartment, but, of course, the coat was now hanging on the back of a dining chair inside. Marvellous. What a perfect day. She rang the bell.
Madame Morceau opened the door immediately. Wrapped up in a hat and coat, she looked as if she was on her way out.
‘I forgot my keys,’ Nancy explained in English, struggling to recall what the French for keys was.
Madame Morceau looked Nancy up and down disgustedly, then she stood back to let her in. She turned and slammed the door shut after herself without offering Nancy any further help. Let’s hope Olivia is back from work. If she isn’t, you’re going to be stuck outside in your dirty, sodden clothing.
Nancy ran across the courtyard to the stairs and stood dripping in the small hallway. She wiped her hand across her face to stop the water running off her nose. She looked at the bump under her jumper. Her original plan had been to drop the book off with Hans on the way upstairs, but there was no way she wanted him to see her in this state. She’d have to pop down with it later after she’d dried off and got changed.
She climbed the stairs to the top floor and knocked on the apartment door. There was no reply. ‘Olivia!’ Nancy shouted through the door. ‘I forgot my keys.’ She banged more stridently this time. Still no reply.
‘Can I help?’ a familiar voice behind her asked.
She turned to see Hans standing at the top of the stairs. He had that slightly amused expression again. ‘Herr Schmidt,’ she said.
‘Hello, Nancy. Please call me Hans. I heard you banging on the door.’
‘I forgot my keys.’
‘Madame Morceau should be able to let you in.’
‘She was on her way out when I arrived.’
‘Oh,’ he said.
‘But Olivia should be back from work any moment now.’ Nancy shivered, realising the rain had soaked through to her underwear. It felt clammy against her skin now that she was standing still.
‘You will catch a cold like that,’ he said, looking concerned.
She smiled, trying to make light of the situation, though inside, she was cursing her bad luck. This was only the third time that Hans had met her, and yet again, she was in some form of distress. Even if she had wanted to start going out with him, there was no way those feelings would be reciprocated now. ‘I do feel a little like a drowned rat.’
‘Or some other animal,’ he grinned.
What did he mean by that? Another droplet of water ran down her nose and dripped onto the floor.
‘You are welcome to wait in my flat until Olivia comes home,’ Hans offered.
‘Thank you.’ There was nothing to lose.
Hans led the way down to the third floor and invited her in. The apartment had a similar layout to Olivia’s but with higher ceilings and taller windows, making the living room much brighter. It was neatly but sparsely furnished. Nancy’s gaze was drawn to the dining table. It looked as if Hans had been eating a snack.
‘Sorry! I’ve disturbed your meal.’
‘Not at all. I was just finishing.’ He walked over to the fireplace, turned on the two-bar electric fire then pulled one of the armchairs close to it. ‘This will help dry you off,’ he said.
‘I might make your chair soggy.’
‘Soggy?’
‘It means damp, from my wet clothes.’ she explained.
‘Oh, I see. I have a solution to stop you from making it soggy. Just a moment.’ He disappeared into what Nancy guessed must be the bathroom and returned with two fresh towels. He handed one to her. ‘For drying your hair,’ he said. Then neatly refolded the other to make it fit perfectly across the seat and the back of the chair. ‘There. You can sit now without fear of making it soggy.’
Nancy sank into the armchair, feeling grateful for the warmth of the fire as she watched its bars glow steadily more orange. She dried her hands on the towel, then dabbed her face with it.
‘I was going to pop down to see you anyway,’ she said, ‘I’ve got your book.’ She carefully removed the parcel from under her jumper.
‘Thank you for delivering it.’ Hans looked at the card. He appeared as puzzled by the message as Nancy had been.
‘Have you any need for bespoke bindings?’ Nancy asked.
‘No. It’s a very, how do say, niche market.’
‘One that seems to appeal to older men.’
‘What makes you say that?’
It felt a bit gossipy, but she’d have to say something now. ‘It’s just that Madame Dubois’s bespoke clients seem to be men who are over 50.’
‘I expect it’s an expensive service. Are there many of them?’
‘A few a day.’
Hans looked thoughtful. She decided to change the subject. ‘I’m curious. Why Bleak House?’
‘I’m trying to improve my English. Charles Dickens is one of your greatest writers, and it is supposed to be his finest book. Have you read it?’
‘No. I had enough of Dickens at school. Far too wordy for my tastes.’
‘Who would you recommend I read?’ Hans was sitting in the opposite armchair now.
‘I’m enjoying the latest John Le Carré. The Spy Who Came In From The Cold.’
Hans looked thoughtful. ‘I have heard of it. But it is not, how do you say, my cup of tea. Which reminds me, I’m forgetting my manners. Would you like a coffee?’
‘Have you got any tea? I’m not really a coffee drinker. It’s too bitter for my taste.’
‘Well, you haven’t drunk my coffee before. And I’m sorry we haven’t any tea. Can I offer you a glass of water instead?’
‘I think I’ve had enough water today, one way or another.’
Hans laughed. ‘I will make you a coffee to try. I won’t be offended if you don’t like it.’
He headed to the kitchenette.
‘No Dieter today?’ Nancy asked.
‘No. He went to Ingrid’s.’
‘You’re not visiting Christa?’ Stop fishing, Nancy!
‘No, she didn’t want to see me today. I don’t think she wants to see me most days.’ He laughed awkwardly
‘So why do you keep asking her out?’
‘I don’t know, ‘ he hesitated. ‘Perhaps I am an optimist.’ He went quiet, concentrating on putting the coffee filter in the percolator.
It was obviously a sensitive subject, which was understandable as his feelings weren’t being reciprocated. Time to talk about something else. ‘How long have you lived in Paris?
‘Just over a year.’
‘And what do you do here?’
‘I’m in import-export.’
‘Olivia thought you were a biologist.’
‘Dieter is the biologist. What did you do before you came to Paris?’
‘I worked for my father’s business as a secretary.’ That seemed a lifetime away now.
‘Did you enjoy it?’
She could easily spend a full half an hour explaining why she didn’t enjoy it, but she decided not to bore him with the details. ‘No. I’m not cut out for office work. It was far too monotonous. I prefer something more adventurous.’
‘Like working in a bookshop?’ He gave her that attractive grin again.
‘Cheeky,’ she said. ‘It’s a means to an end. I get to see a little more of the world while I save to go travelling a lot further away.’
‘Where are you going to next?’
‘On a round-the-world sailing trip, then possibly Australia.’
‘That’s a long way to go. Do you know anyone in Australia?’
It was Nancy’s turn to hesitate now. ‘No. How about you? How long will you stay in Paris?’
‘For a few more months at least.’
‘And where’s home?’
‘Berlin.’
‘It must be peculiar living in a city that’s split in two.’
‘Yes, it is. Though I haven’t spent a lot of time there since the wall was built. Where’s home for you?’
‘Coventry. That’s where I grew up, but Devon is the place I feel most at home.’ She went on to tell him about Dashford-on-Sea and spending her childhood summer holidays at her grandmother’s grand house.
‘That explains why you want to go sailing.’
‘Yes, I love being out at sea. The wilder the weather, the better.’
He returned with her coffee. ’Try this.’
Nancy tentatively took a sip. It was quite pleasant. ‘Actually, it’s not bad. Thank you.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s a milder roast than you usually get in France, and I add warm milk. Have I converted you to being a coffee drinker?’ He settled back into the other armchair.
‘I wouldn’t say that, but it’s a lot better than the coffee Olivia makes.’
Nancy heard footsteps upstairs. ‘Talk of the devil. It sounds like she’s home.’
Hans frowned. ‘I thought you and Olivia were best friends?’
‘Oh, we are. “Talk of the devil” means you’ve been talking about someone, and then they coincidentally appear.’
Hans smiled. ‘I understand now. I will have to remember that.’
‘I better go. Thank you again,’ she said, finishing the coffee.
‘My pleasure. Thank you for improving my English.’
Nancy thought for a moment. She’d like another conversation with Hans. ‘Perhaps I can help you improve your English again?’
He smiled. ‘I would like that. I’ll consult my diary later and let you know when I’m free.’
‘Where have you been?’ Olivia asked as she opened the apartment door to Nancy.
‘I could say the same to you. You’re usually back well before now.’
‘You look like a forlorn panda.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you need to check your face in the mirror,’ Olivia said with a chuckle.
Nancy walked into the bathroom. Good god! Olivia was right. Thanks to the rain, her mascara had made a bid for freedom and was now covering the skin under her eyes and her cheeks with gungy black streaks. It looked like she’d smeared it around in big circles while she was drying off her face at Hans’ earlier. And you sat talking to him looking like that!
‘I got caught in the storm,’ she said as she washed the mess off.
‘You don’t say. Did you finish work late today?’
‘No. But I couldn’t get in because I left my keys here.’ Nancy headed over to the dining table and checked her coat pocket. There they were. She put them back in her bag. ‘Were you working late today?’
‘No. I went for a stroll in the Bois de Boulogne with Pierre.’
‘Pierre?’ What was Olivia doing back with that waste of space? ‘I thought you’d dumped him.’
‘I had, but he persuaded me to give him a second chance.’
‘How did he manage that?’
‘He sent me a gorgeous bouquet of roses at work. He’s invited me to his family’s chateau as well for Easter Sunday and who can resist a chateau.’
That explained it. Olivia had always preferred men with means. ‘Where’s that?’
‘In the Loire Valley. He’ll inherit it eventually.’
‘So you can forgive him for being selfish in bed, provided you get to play Lady of the Manor in twenty years’ time?’
‘You make me sound so mercenary! Anyway, it’s not just a chateau. He’ll inherit the vineyard as well.’