Chapter 8
Gabrielle tiptoed past a sleeping Annette the next morning, deciding to go without breakfast lest she awaken her sister. A quick glance out her window told her it was overcast and dull. So, she’d slipped on a pair of jeans, a light pink hoodie, and her trainers before running a comb through her long hair, brushing her teeth, and frowning at herself in the mirror.
It wasn’t nice of her to sneak out before Andrew would have a chance to arrive and walk her to class, but she couldn’t make him a bigger part of this than was necessary. No one should be mixed up in Lyam’s mess. Including her, but it was too late for that. She scribbled a note to Annette, asking her to stay in for the day and telling her she’d be home around two. Then, she grabbed her book bag, headed to the door for a jacket, and let herself out, locking the door behind her.
She paused at the top of the stairs to check her phone messages, and to determine the time. It was a little after seven. It wouldn’t take long to get to school. She’d be quite early for her ten o’clock class. However, there was a café on her way that she enjoyed where a lengthy stop for a croissant and a café au lait would be perfect. She hurried downstairs.
The door clicked open and tentatively she edged outside, scanning her surroundings, her heart beating erratically.
“Going somewhere?” asked a drawling voice.
Her bag dropped to the pavement, and she lunged back, fear clutching at her chest.
A figure wearing a large, black cowboy hat untangled himself from the crouched position he’d been in and came to stand in front of her. “I’ve read the body language of enough obstinate animals to know what they plan to do next. Yours told me you’d bolt before I could get here.” Andrew spoke easily, but there wasn’t even a hint of a smile around his usually grinning mouth. “So, I came early. Looks like I was right, too.” He tipped the hat back on his head and crossed powerful arms over his chest, awaiting her explanation.
Gabrielle opened and closed her mouth, fishlike. Her heartbeat was slowing, but the rush of adrenalin left her feeling weak. She reached for her bag, straightened, and lifted her chin.
“And I said I didn’t want to include you.” She knew her words sounded ungrateful and snippy. But how could she keep him out of this situation if he was continually playing the chivalrous card? “Maybe the whole incident was nothing,” she continued in a more subdued tone. “Simple coincidence.”
“You can deny it and believe whatever you want,” he said, a determined edge to his voice. “I know what I saw and I’m not letting anything happen to you. So…” he grinned, but it was more wolfish than pleasant before he said, “You can walk beside me or I follow you ten paces behind, but one way or another I’m coming with you.”
“I see,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“Look…” Andrew’s tone softened. He stepped forward and grasped her shoulders, just as he had done the night before. “I realise you’re trying to think of me, but I can handle myself. I’ll tell you about it sometime. Anyway, I’m not worried for my safety one bit. My concern is for you. I understand we haven’t known each other long, but I—I mean…you’re my only friend in this huge city and you went out of your way to help me when you didn’t have a clue who I was. Consider this a little repayment, okay?” He placed a gentle finger under her chin and tipped her face up to search her eyes.
If Gabrielle felt weak before, she felt it doubly now. Was he going to kiss her? She swayed and Andrew’s grasp tightened. She licked her lips and forced her stiffened cheeks to bend into a smile.
“D’accord,” she said. “For today you may walk with me. I was going to ‘ave a light petit-déjeuner at a café near the university. Would you care to join me?”
“I would,” he said, his good humour returning. He straightened his hat, crooked an arm, patted her hand as she threaded her arm through, and rested it on the sleeve of his leather coat. “How very kind of you to invite me, mademoiselle.”
“You said that tres bien,” she noted and chuckled, feeling better already. They began walking toward the familiar métro station at a leisurely pace. “Per’aps, when you pick me up later…” she glanced up at his rugged profile, “I assume you intend to meet me after school?” He nodded emphatically. She smiled to herself and continued. “Then, we must go to a bookshop I know of where we can buy a book on wine and a simple one on learning the language for you. Oui?”
“Oui,” he affirmed.
As they made their way along larue, her eyes darted to and fro, looking for the man Andrew had described. “Have you seen him yet this morning?” she ventured in an undertone.
“Nope,” he said with a jaunty lilt to his voice. “But if I do, I intend to question him.”
“Question him!” Gabrielle pulled her hand free and stopped short. “You are going to stop him—to talk! You can’t do that.”
“Why not?” he asked reasonably. “I’d like to know what he’s up to.”
Her brain was working feverishly. Why not indeed? What was she supposed to say that wouldn’t create more questions? If he was in cahoots with Lyam, the man might be armed and most certainly dangerous.
“I—I just think you should stay out of it,” she said miserably, moving the book bag into a more comfortable position and wrapping her arms around her waist.
“Can’t do that. Sorry. It’s not my style. Mom always said confronting problems was the best option. Running from them never works, because they have a nasty way of finding you.”
“Your mother sounds like a wise woman, but this situation might be different. In the first place, it really isn’t your problem.”
“I’m making it my problem,” he said with a determined nod of his head. “And she definitely is a wise woman.” Andrew’s voice cracked. “I miss her,” he looked sideways at Gabrielle. “But I FaceTimed her and Dad last night. She’s planning to come for a visit in May. Wants to see what I’ve done with Uncle Olivier’s shop and to offer her help in getting it running smoothly again. She said it provided him with a good living all these years.”
“I’m sure it did. The apartment your uncle and aunt shared was opulent. What I saw of it looked like the centerfold from a magazine dedicated to lavish Parisian homes.”
He chuckled. “That’s what Mom said too. She did more in their upstairs living space than I thought. I walked through it again yesterday morning and discovered that every trace of Olivier and Clarisse’s life together had been obliterated. All of their clothes are gone, personal items removed, and even pictures were taken off the walls, except for two that mom couldn’t bear to part with. She said he’d asked her to prepare the house for its new owner.” He shrugged. “Guess that would be me.”
Gabrielle could feel sadness emanating from him and changed the subject. “What will you do today?”
He turned his dazzling blue eyes upon her and held out his hand meaningfully. When she moved closer and took it he answered. “I plan to see you safely to school, then go back to the apartment at ten, for your sister. We made a plan, when you weren’t around, to paint and put up the shelves I re-built. After all, if you’re being threatened by this guy then she must be too, and I’d like to keep her close.”
He looked as though he’d like to ask questions, but said nothing more. He clamped his free hand on top of his hat to hold it in place, as a blast of air hit them from the métro stairwell. Still hand in hand, they descended and made their way below street level to wait for the next train.
It wasn’t far from the étienne Marcel to the coffee shop between Odéan métro stop and the University of Paris-Descartes. Although Andrew was silent as they boarded the train and were pressed amongst so many others, Gabrielle knew he was keeping a sharp eye on everyone around them. Because of his height, he gazed over almost everyone’s head. While he attracted curious stares, due to his hat, for the most part, people ignored them.
The train squealed to a halt and more people pushed on, causing Gabrielle to be squished between a well-dressed woman with a carefully coiffed updo, a man wearing a teal business suit, and Andrew. He loomed protectively over her, lifting his arms to rest against the wall of the train on either side of her head. The cowboy was unaware of the emotions that stirred in every fibre of her being as he was pressed ever closer by the encroaching crowd.
The train lurched away. She leaned her face against the smooth leather of his jacket and breathed in the scent of his spicy cologne, feeling his muscles tauten as they swayed around a bend. This man was a safe haven for her, after only a few days of knowing him. How could that be? A long breath escaped her lips as his warmth spread through her bones. She fought the urge to slide her arms around him and hold on tight for the rest of time, or perhaps to ride the rails in just this position forever. She smiled at her fanciful notion and relaxed for what felt like the first time since learning of her pursuer.
It was noisy and chaotic inside the car amid the rhythmic howl of the rails outside as their train hurtled toward Odéon, the next stop. But in no time at all they arrived and made their way into the bright morning sun on Boulevard Saint-Germain.
“You can’t possibly be headed there for your coffee?” Andrew pointed to their left where a huge sign proclaimed the name of Starbucks. “Doesn’t seem very French to me.”
“No,” she stated with a laugh. “Some people protested when the chain store opened in Paris…but…” she continued, shrugging, “they went ahead anyway and are always filled with customers. Per’aps it is frequented mainly by tourists as opposed to the French. I don’t know. Personally, I like the bistro across the boulevard. Follow me.”
Watching for a lull in traffic, Gabrielle darted across the street. She laughed while waiting for him on the other side as cars flew past with their horns blaring. He paused for a decent interval before striking out, and then strode purposely toward her, eyes riveted on her face. She remonstrated with herself for not avoiding this intimacy. It was exactly what she didn’t want to happen—more closeness, shared time, and enjoyment of one another’s company. How would it end? She needed to put distance between them, not fall in love with the man.
As soon as she thought the words, she sobered. Was that what she was doing? Falling in love. She couldn’t! It was too soon. She hadn’t thought she could ever allow herself to feel that way again. And to complicate everything she had Lyam rearing up from her past. She sighed deeply as Andrew reached her side.
“You okay?” he asked. “Your face just went through some crazy transformations. Did you see him?” He whirled around to scan the other side of the street.
“No, no,” she assured him. “I was thinking of all I need to accomplish today.” She peered at her cell phone, buying herself time to set her features back to normal.
The bistro she led him to, Germaine, was cute. A pale blue awning offered shade to people perched on matching rattan chairs surrounding tiny round tables. Tucked between a tobacco store and the arch to Cour du Commerce Saint-André, it was unassuming and quaint.
“Is this it?” asked Andrew, pointing at the tiny café. “What’s down there?” He shifted direction to indicate the narrow alley.
In answer, Gabrielle stepped sideways and lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the bright sunlight as she motioned that he come with her to look. “It’s a lovely little passageway, Cour du Commerce Saint-André dating from 1776. If you look along it you will see that the original cobblestones have been preserved. We could walk down it another day, since it is like strolling back in time to the Paris that existed before Baron Haussmann created the grand boulevards and massive urban change we see today.” She stepped out of the way, as a group of chattering teenagers came through at top speed with no sign of breaking rank.
“It houses many small, and interesting boutiques as well as the famous Le Procope. Do you know of it?”
Andrew shook his head. “Tell me.”
“It is said to ‘ave been the very first café opened in Paris. Created in 1686 it was a gathering place for literary agents and the theatre company of Molière. Later, in the eighteenth-century, other renowned persons met there.” Juggling her book bag, she lifted a hand and began to count on her fingers. “Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, Napoleon Bonaparte, Victor Hugo, and even Benjamin Franklin ate inside the hallowed walls.”
“Impressive, mademoiselle tour guide. How do you know so much?”
She felt the familiar lump of fear and disbelief rise into her throat. “My last boyfriend gave tours of museums, primarily of prized artworks. Plus, I am interested in such things.” But she didn’t want to encourage more questions along that line of thinking. “So,” she forced a false brightness into her tone, “shall we sit dehors ou dedans?” Without offering a translation, she waited while his brain struggled to make sense of the words.
“Wow. It’s hard to make that sort of decision,” Andrew mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “While duh-or certainly has its benefits, I’d have to say that duh-don is a strong contender.” He looked at her, blue eyes dancing with mischief. “Maybe if you told me what in the heck you’re talking about, it would be easier to judge?”
She giggled, forcing her dark thoughts away. “I couldn’t resist. Besides, you’ll never learn the language if I don’t use the occasional French word. I asked if you would like to sit outside or inside.”
She could almost see him digesting the information as he blinked several times and then swallowed.
A young girl with a high ponytail, and short black dress stood just inside the door of Germaine, swinging a platter. She looked at them enquiringly.
“Go tell ‘er what we want,” Gabrielle urged, giving him a little shove.
“But I don’t have a clue what I want!” Andrew resisted, leaning against her hands, and turning a frightened face to beseech her. “I mean, I know what I want…” he paused, ever-so-slightly and glanced at her before he said, “but I can’t say it in French. You tell her.”
Had he meant to insinuate something? Blushing, she ignored it.
“What’s this?” she said in mock horror, clapping a hand to her mouth. “Superman is afraid of a little girl, whose greatest weapon is a serving tray? Inconceivable!”
Sheepishly, Andrew raised his hands, looking at each one in turn. “Guess I left my tights and cape back at Uncle Olivier’s shop.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Tell me what to say and I’ll do my best. We want a table for two, right? And outside would be nice.”
“Une table pour deux, dehors,” Gabrielle whispered. She then took a step back and waited. Would he have the nerve?
Andrew squared his shoulders. “I’m goin’ in,” he declared, with a firm set to his jaw. “Never let it be said Superman backed down from a fight, or a little girl in pigtails.”
Gabrielle chuckled as he marched forward to speak. She couldn’t hear what he said, but he accompanied it with much gesticulation in her direction. Suddenly the girl bent over double, laughing hysterically. Gabrielle closed her eyes. What had he said? She was afraid to find out as it appeared to have something to do with her. The girl, straightening with effort, stood with hands on hips, wiping tears from her eyes as both she and Andrew turned to stare in her direction. Gabrielle lifted a hand to smooth her hair, feeling as though something was awry with her appearance.
Finally, with a face the same colour as his bright red t-shirt, Andrew waved her over. Giggling, the server led them to an outside table near the latticed windows of the bistro and waited for their order.
“Deux cafés au lait,et deux pains au chocolat, s”il vous pla?t,” Gabrielle said, waiting to speak to Andrew until the girl left.
The server winked at Andrew before scurrying away.
“What just happened?” Gabrielle demanded suspiciously.
“I was afraid you’d ask,” he said, taking off his hat and brushing imaginary dust from the brim. “Turns out the server’s English is really good and as soon as I said bun-jure she knew I was lost. Then, when I asked to sit with, ‘da hoore’…” his voice trailed off. “You can imagine what that sounded like.”
“What!” Gabrielle shrieked, recoiling in her seat. “You told her I was a whore?” People at nearby tables paused with food midway to their mouths to gape at this loud exclamation. Ducking her head and lowering her voice, Gabrielle hissed, “You told her I was a whore?”
“Not exactly,” he fidgeted on his seat, looking everywhere but at her. “Uh…I mean, yes, but not intentionally. I tried to tell her we wanted to sit outside, but I…uh, messed it up.”
“Mon Dieu! What next?” she spluttered. “You are not safe to leave alone.”
“I agree,” he announced, bending to set his hat under his chair. “I shouldn’t go anywhere without your supervision. Anyway, you don’t need to worry,” he hastened to assure her, looking up with a sickly attempt at a grin. “As soon as I realised she spoke English, I told her you were my friend who was struggling to teach me French. She understood…eventually…after she caught her breath.”
The incongruity of the situation caused a peal of laughter to burst from Gabrielle’s own throat. Andrew looked guilty, but hopeful.
“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” The server reappeared with two tiny cups of coffee and croissants which she thumped onto the table before placing a hand over her smirking mouth and hurrying away.
Gabrielle lifted her drink and took a sip before answering. “You are forgiven,” she managed, trying to ignore all the stares she was receiving. Pulling her cell phone from her book bag she checked the time. “Fabulous. Not even nine o’clock and I ‘ave been publicly labelled a prostitute. Oh well…” she broke off a piece of her pastry and lifted it in silent salute. “Everyone ‘as to eat breakfast. Even women of the night. Bon appétit.”
The sun felt warm on her shoulders and a slight breeze had cleared away most of the cloud cover from earlier. It was going to be another lovely day. As snippets of conversations echoed around them, they passed an enjoyable half hour over a typical Parisian breakfast. A coffee and pastry were what she was accustomed to, but Gabrielle noticed Andrew picking up crumbs with his fingers and popping them into his mouth.
“Would you like to order something more?” she asked, wondering what he ate back home. Hot cereal? Bacon, eggs, and toast? Sausages and pancakes? Or perhaps all of the above. She imagined he’d need a hearty breakfast to work as he did on the Canadian Prairies. He likely wrestled with cattle, drove heavy machinery, and tossed bales of hay on a regular basis. These thoughts painted an appealing image.
“Gabby!” he waved a hand in front of her face. “Are you in there? I don’t want anything more to eat. I just asked if you think we should go now? I mean, it’s almost nine o’clock and time for me to pick you up at your apartment.”
With a jolt she came back to Earth and stared at him. “Oh,” she said with some surprise, “you are ‘aving another dig at me, because I tried to sneak away. It’s deserved and I apologize.” She glanced at her phone. “But you’re right. It’s almost nine and I should be on my way to class. However, please allow me to pay. Bodyguards must be offered something in compensation.”
After she settled the bill, he thanked her, and they wandered back onto the street, quickly angling over to Rue de l”Ecole de Médecine. Soon they left the bustle of business behind. The sidewalk grew wider and the buildings on either side became somber and studious looking.
“Merci beaucoup for walking me safely to my destination,” she said, stopping in front of the huge double doors. “I’m sure I will be fine from ‘ere.”
“You promised to take me shopping for books later,” he reminded her. “I’m counting on it. That kind of fun doesn’t come around too often, and I don’t want to miss it.”
“You’re teasing me again,” she said with narrowed eyes. “Very well, meet me ‘ere at three. If you can find it again,” she added with a hint of mockery.
“Touche!” he laughed. Waving, he turned on his heel and strode away.
She watched him till he was out of sight, taking note of several women who turned to follow his progress, as she was doing. It wasn’t just because of the hat either. For a woman that was supposed to be putting distance between herself and this man, she was failing. Failing utterly. She sighed, pushed open the door, and went inside.
* * *
It wasafter three when she stepped onto the street looking for Andrew. She’d sat through today’s two classes, taken notes, and studied in the campus library. She yawned. Sleep had proved difficult these last few weeks, but last night was awful. She’d tossed and turned until almost 2 am.
With pleasure she spied Andrew detach himself from the wall across the street and stride toward her. She noticed he’d left the leather jacket behind, he only wore his blue jeans, boots, and red t-shirt. Waving, she started out to meet him. That particular shade of crimson he wore, had always been her favourite colour which, she told herself, was why she was so drawn to it now.
“Hi,” he said, doing an abrupt turn and falling into step beside her. “Come here often?”
Despite herself she chuckled. “Is that ‘ow you meet girls in Canada?”
“Figured I’d give it a try,” he drawled. “How about this one?” Quickly he stepped in front of her and cleared his throat. “May I carry your books, mademoiselle?” He bowed low, tucking one arm to his waist, and flinging the other high behind him in a flourish. His hat tumbled onto the cement, catching a wayward breeze it rolled away before he caught it and rammed it back on his head.
“Your delivery is lacking, but I think your ‘eart’s in the right place…so yes,” she said with a laugh. “You may carry my books.” Unlooping the bag from across her shoulders, she handed it over. He slung the bag over his neck. Suddenly it looked small and the strap too short.
“Thank you,” he said gravely. “I’ll work on my approach.”
“Are you okay?” she asked, as he shifted the bag several times. Finally, he dragged it back over his head and hung it off his shoulder instead.
“Yeah, I’m great. The sun is shining. Your sister and I got all the painting done.” His face beamed with happiness. “I haven’t seen that guy’s ugly face all day. And I’m walking with the prettiest girl in the whole of France. Things couldn’t be better.”
“C”est incroyable! I am so ‘appy for you. Is that where Annette is now?”
“Yep. She wanted to finish up some trim, so I told her we’d be right back. After a trip to the bookstore, that is.”
Gabrielle touched his arm to get his attention, looked him in the eye, and enunciated distinctly, “La librairie.” She thought it was as good a time as any for a new word to be learned, and an excellent way to bypass his remark concerning her looks.
“The library?” he said, looking confused. “I thought you said I was buying books, not borrowing them.”
She rolled her eyes. “La librairie, is French for the bookstore.”
“Ahh, I see.” Andrew walked in silence for a few moments. “No. On second thought, I don’t see. Then what do you call a library? La bookstore?” He laughed at his own joke, alone, and then coughed. “Sorry. What do you call the library then?”
Giving him a severe look, Gabrielle again spoke clearly. “La bibliothèque.”
Immediately, Andrew tried to repeat it, but everything jumbled up in his mouth. “La ba-by-tech,” he said, pausing after each syllable. He raised a hand as though to ward off a blow. “Go easy on me. I am but a simple man, unused to these fine Parisian ways of yours.”
“C’est vrai,” she said with a groan. “We had best hurry and per’aps buy every book in the store on learning the French language. You are going to need some ‘elp.”
“Naw. I don’t need help. I have you,” he stated. His blue eyes twinkled down at her, and her heart leapt.
The bookstore she had in mind was on Boulevard Saint-Germain, not far from the university. A bell tinkled as she pushed open the door and an older man straightened from a table of books he was arranging. The lighting was soft as though welcoming the customer into the pages of well-loved books filled with old friends and glorious adventures.
“Bonjour,” the proprietor said, taking off his glasses and giving them a polish from a handkerchief in his breast pocket. “Est-ce que je peux vous aider?”
“Bonjour Monsieur,” Gabrielle said. She went on to ask if he had any beginner books on learning French for English speakers, and for entering the world of French wine.
“Oui, mademoiselle.” The man shuffled around an extensive rack of postcards depicting the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe, and between two aisles that stretched to the ceiling with books. At the end of it, down low on the wall he pointed to a shelf that held what they were looking for. Bending, he pulled one out and handed it to her.
“Voila,” he said, inclining his head graciously. “C”est le mieux pour un débutant.” He looked meaningfully at Andrew.
“Merci.” Gabrielle took it from the man and handed it back to Andrew. “He said it’s the best book for beginners.”
The owner beckoned with a finger, gnarled from the ravages of arthritis. She followed him again to a section of books higher up and further along the same wall. He jabbed at a row of books, but made no attempt to choose one for her this time.
With a nod of gratitude, she leaned in to peruse a selection of glossy, beautifully illustrated books covering information on a wide range of wines. Unfortunately, they were all written in French.
“This isn’t going to ‘elp you,” she said sorrowfully. “You’ll ‘ave to look a few books up on the internet and order online. Until then I will do all I can to educate you.” She craned her neck around the corner to see where the storekeeper had gone, then looked back at Andrew with a playful smirk.
“Per’aps I could write up a few flash cards in a believable sequence. Then, instead of speaking to your customers, you could simply hold up a card that says, ‘Ello, my name is Andrew.’ Then, ‘The price of this wine is__.” And the last card could wish the customer a good day and thank them for their patronage. It would be much safer than actually speaking to them. What do you think?”
“I’ll show you what I think,” he growled. Andrew made a swipe for her, but she jumped nimbly out of his reach. Laughing, she hurried to the cash desk where he joined her, clutching his book and giving her a look that plainly said, ‘Just you wait till we’re out of here.’
Andrew paid with due decorum, accepted the paper carrier bag, and thanked the man with a bold, “Mercy bow-coop.” Afterwards he marched stiffly to the exit to open the door for Gabrielle.
Once outside, however, he glowered at her in mock anger. “Flash cards, hey? I suppose you think you’re pretty funny?”
“Actually,” she said coquettishly, “I do.”
This time, when Andrew snaked a long arm out, he caught her around the waist and pulled her roughly to him. Laughing, she slammed into his chest, her hands flying forward to push him away. Except as their faces came close, and their eyes locked, the merriment ceased. Of their own volition, her hands slid gently up his chest to cup his face, and her fingers glided over the smooth skin of his shaven cheeks to pull his face closer. When their lips touched she felt as though she might melt with the rush of emotion that flooded over her. Nothing else mattered. She forgot where she was and what she was doing.
“Excusez moi, mademoiselle!” barked an irritated voice.
Gabrielle felt someone pushing her aside. Andrew pulled her closer, out of the person’s way. Shaking her head, she broke free of the embrace, feeling woozy, as though she’d had too much wine. She staggered. Coming to her senses she saw two plump, white-haired ladies dragging their two-wheeled shopping carts home from the grocery store, each of them turning to glare at her for such a public display of indecency.
“Désolé mesdames!” she called after them, but they only snorted as they scuffled on in their long coats and headscarves despite the warmth of the day.
She didn’t dare look at Andrew. What had she been thinking? She’d flirted shamelessly with him after promising herself she’d begin pulling away from their friendship. Now, here she was kissing the man on a busy street. She swiped a hand across her forehead, pushing back the mane of hair that sometimes allowed her to hide from the world.
Andrew stood next to her, his arm still touching hers and his breathing rapid. “Come on,” he said, clearly sensing her regret. “Let’s get you home. We’ll stop to pick up Annette and I’ll see you both to your door. It’s been a long day.”
* * *
The tripback to Caviste de Tremblay was uneventful. After what had just taken place, neither of them said much. Gabrielle found Annette with her hair tightly pulled into a ponytail, tapping the lids onto several paint cans she’d been using. Her jogging pants and t-shirt were splattered with the efforts of her labour.
“It looks good, n”est-ce pas?” She stood up, roller in hand to survey the shop with Gabrielle.
It did indeed look good. Thanks to a tall ladder, Andrew and Annette had been able to refresh the ceiling with a light cream colour, and new lighting had been erected which added vibrancy to the space. On the walls, a pale grey-blue had been used and the shelves were strewn about the room to dry, having been given a revitalising coat of chocolate brown.
“Thanks to Annette, I’m much further along than anticipated,” Andrew said proudly, hands on hips as he surveyed the room. “I think Uncle Olivier would be pleased.”
“Several of the local people from the neighbourhood stopped by to ask what we were doing today,” Annette said, scratching her nose and leaving a long line of cream coloured paint behind. “I was able to tell them who Andrew was and that he was opening for business next week. They appeared happy with the news and said they would tell their friends.”
“That’s wonderful,” Gabrielle said. Really, it was coming together faster than she ever would have guessed.
As though reading her mind, Andrew spoke. “It’s because of you two,” he said simply. “I could never have done this alone. I can’t thank you enough.” He turned away, walking to the far end of the store to turn off the lights. “Now, I’ll walk you home and we’ll all get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow I’ll raise the shelves and start filling them.”
“Could you use some help?” Annette sounded eager.
“I’d love it.” He smiled at her, but his eyes shifted past the younger woman to rest on Gabrielle with a haunted look in their depths. “What time is class tomorrow?”
“It is getting close to finals,” she lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “There are not so many classes after this, but my first exam is two days from now, Friday afternoon. I’ll stay at the apartment and study tomorrow.”
For a moment, Andrew looked disappointed, but he corrected himself immediately, reaching for his hat to walk them home.
“Really, you don’t need to do this,” she protested.
“Why not?” asked Annette. “I think ‘e is showing us a taste of old-world courtesy. No one has ever walked me home—until now.” She grinned up at Andrew and sighed. “It ‘as been a productive day for you and gives me something to do, besides shop while Gabby is working.” She walked out the door with Gabrielle close behind. Raising her arm, she rubbed the glass with her elbow.
“These windows are going to need cleaning too,” she remarked happily. “I can do that tomorrow.”
Gabrielle was pleased her sister had found a purpose during her visit and glad Andrew’s store was progressing so well, but the last thing she wanted was to encourage more togetherness. She paused, waiting while Andrew locked up. Nothing was going as it ought to. She should have put a stop to this as she promised herself she would, before now. She stole a look at the broad-shouldered man at her side, her heart was singing to its own tune and ignoring her.
When they reached the apartment, Andrew left them at the door. She lifted subtle hands in question, and he shook his head slightly to indicate he hadn’t seen the man. She felt her body relax. Maybe the whole incident had been blown out of proportion. It could happen. There were so many visitors to the City of Lights that it wouldn’t be unusual for someone to appear on your radar twice and at popular sights. But driving a car near her home, directly after seeing him in a completely different area? Not likely. That didn’t fit the scenario of coincidence, but she kept trying to convince herself otherwise.
“Bonne soirée,” Annette said, giving Andrew a quick peck on both cheeks and disappearing inside.
“Good night,” Andrew called after her. He turned to Gabrielle. “So, maybe I won’t see you tomorrow, hey?”
She shook her head with a rueful smile. “No. I must study.” She made no move to offer him the same farewell as her sister had done; les bisous, the kisses which were so much a part of French life. It felt far too risky.
Instead, she laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you so much for caring about us and going out of your way to ensure we are safe. Still...” she paused and lifted an arm to indicate the world around her before she said, “everything seems perfectly fine today. Per’aps yesterday was pure coincidence.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed doubtfully. “But I don’t think so.” He moved away from the door and raised a hand. “Anyway, if you’re staying home tomorrow you should be fine. Just, please let me know if you want to come over or go out…I’ll go with you.”
She nodded, having no intention of doing so. What was her body language telling him now? Did he know?
“I’ll come around in the morning to collect Annette. Goodnight, gorgeous Gabrielle,” he said, his voice dropping to a low timbre. “I hope to see you soon.”
She gave him an answering wave and went inside.
Inside the apartment, she and Annette prepared a simple evening meal of salad and sat in front of mindless television. Annette was thoroughly engrossed in the plot, but Gabrielle couldn’t concentrate on the program. All Gabrielle could think of was the feel of Andrew’s lips on hers and the warmth and sense of rightness in his embrace. Was she losing her mind? How could these feelings be so strong after such a short time? It had only been five days since she met him. She lifted her fingers to her mouth. They still tingled with awareness of the man. And desire.
Shaking herself, she leapt to her feet, thinking she’d prepare her notes and books on the table for tomorrow so she could get an early start. But she needed a pen and highlighter first. Where were they? Ah right, in the depths of her old purse that hung by the door.
Glancing at Annette, who had stretched out on the sofa the second she left, Gabrielle walked to the entryway and dug an arm deep into her purse, searching for what she needed. Instead, her hand came upon the letter she’d forgotten to open.
She fished it from her bag, letting the purse drop unheeded to the floor as she studied the handwriting. The familiar icy tendril of dread clutched at her heart. Yet, it wasn’t Lyam’s scrawl, she was sure of it. Turning the envelope over in her hands she slit it open and pulled a plain sheet of folded paper into the light. Unaccountably, her fingers trembled, but she wasn’t sure why. It was just a letter, after all. Maybe it was from her mother, or a friend, or even for some odd, obscure reason to do with school. Although it wasn’t anyone’s penmanship she recognised.
She leaned against the door, feeling as though her legs wouldn’t support her as she unfolded it. Her eyes scanned the contents before it slid, fluttering to the floor. Then, galvanized into action, she rushed to the balcony windows and pulled them shut with a bang, ensuring the locks were on. Despite the warmth of the room, she yanked the heavy drapes shut. Next, she hurried to the window in her bedroom and then jogged to the kitchen, securing the locks each time, ripping the heavy outer curtains over the thin sheers to close out the night. Panting, she dropped onto a kitchen chair. She would not let fear overtake her. The last thing she wanted was to scare Annette, but she felt a cold terror take hold of her body. She felt chilled to the marrow. Telling herself to take deep breaths, she willed her heart to stop its wild racing before moving back to the door where she stooped to pick the letter up and read the contents again.
Lyam left a painting in your apartment. I want it. You have till 3 pm this Tuesday to find it and give it to me outside your door. He’s rotting in jail because of you and your big mouth. Involve the police again and people you care about will suffer. I’m watching every move you make. If I don’t get what I want, you’ll pay.
Today was Wednesday.
In neglecting to read the letter when it had arrived, she’d missed the deadline given to her to produce a painting she knew nothing about. No wonder someone had been following her. But she didn’t have the painting! Lyam had left nothing here. He’d never even given her a birthday present. What could this person mean? She crumpled the paper and hurled it across the room.
Gabrielle wracked her brain, trying to remember any friends Lyam had ever introduced her to, any family he’d mentioned, or the names of those he’d been in partnership with. A heavyset man with black hair and a goatee…nothing came to her.
Her brain felt fuzzy and her mind frantic. Pleading tiredness, she went to her bedroom. With the TV blaring in the next room, she quietly paced for what felt like hours. This letter mainly threatened her, but ignoring it meant she had endangered people she cared about too. All because of trying to do the right thing. Should she have simply broken up with Lyam and turned a blind eye to his wrongdoings? No. She couldn’t have lived with herself. But now her family was in danger. And her friends. Where was this painting?
A sudden vision of Andrew flew into her thoughts. If this person was watching her, seeking revenge as they said, they would know about Andrew’s shop. Perhaps they were watching as she held his hand—kissed him. She groaned. Why had she gotten involved with this innocent man? Now she had to worry about him as well as everyone she spoke to. Should she leave Paris? Go into hiding somewhere?
She had already informed the police she thought she was being followed. That much could not be undone. They’d been interested too since at least one member of Lyam’s gang had never been found. But did she reveal this further development and then fear what might happen to those she loved? Who knew how far this threat would be taken? Did they want her dead? Maybe Lyam had directed one of his cronies in crime to seek revenge and punish her for reporting his despicable crimes and pinpointing where the police could find him.
Wearing herself out with nervous exhaustion, she finally threw herself into bed around 3 am, still fully clothed. She knew she would do whatever it took to keep those around her safe. That meant Andrew too. She would refuse to see him again. It was the only way to keep him from harm. Annette must return home to Toulouse.
Apart from that, there was no other solution. She would have to face this alone.