From Paris With Love This Christmas. Jules Wake

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      ‘Passport, miss,’ snapped the uniformed man in the little booth. ‘Please put your phone away.’

      ‘Sorry.’ She gave him a brilliant smile which surprisingly had no effect at all. Miserable little man. Still smiling, determined to win him over, she pushed her passport under the glass toward him and shoved her phone in her bag.

      No point phoning Laurie now, when she’d see her in a few minutes.

      With a bored glance, the terse passport officer stared at her, back at her photo and then pushed the passport through a barcode reader. He studied something on the screen for a longer moment. For a brief second, Siena’s heart beat faster. Surely nothing would have been flagged up; not this quickly?

      He looked at her face, then back at the passport. When he looked at her face again, she tried to keep her face utterly impassive, just like her photo. Her heart thumped uncomfortably hard. Yves’ family had contacts throughout the French legal system. Did they extend here?

      After the longest thirty seconds in history, the passport was finally pushed back under the glass. Siena almost sagged with relief as she tucked it into her bag and strode without looking back through the Nothing to Declare channel.

      Done. Through this point and she was home and dry. Officially in England.

      As she neared the double doors, she slowed. Would Laurie look the same? Was her hair any different? Inside her chest, Siena’s heart did a little squiggly jump and she pushed through the doors, another smile already lighting up her face as she scanned the waiting faces. A blur of faces peered back at her, eyes anxious and hopeful.

      She quickly smoothed her hands down her denim-clad thighs, the palms ever so slightly damp. In her hurried departure, there’d been no time to visit the hairdressers or have a facial. Although her jeans were 7 For All Mankind and her top was Stella McCartney, it was a going shopping outfit rather than a stepping off a first class flight into the international arrival hall at Terminal 4. Thankfully she hadn’t seen anyone she knew on the flight and it didn’t look as if there were any paparazzi here.

      Siena’s gaze flitted backwards and forwards with the eagerness of a spectator at the Roland-Garros tennis final. Where was Laurie? It was difficult to see everyone. There were quite a few smartly dressed men, holding up signs with names handwritten in misshapen capitals. How much nicer was it, being met by family? Someone to hug and kiss like they always did in the films. Usually when she arrived anywhere with her parents, they’d have a driver waiting.

      Again she scanned the faces. Had she missed Laurie? She looked back.

      Maybe her sister was late. Just parking the car. Nearly quarter to twelve. Traffic should be good now, although perhaps not. The Arc de Triomphe at this time on a Saturday night was bedlam. She checked her texts again. Had she given her the right time of the flight landing? Maybe in her rush she’d told Laurie the plane left at eleven instead of landing at eleven. Nope, there it was, the last text she’d sent earlier this afternoon.

       Hey Laurie. You know you’ve been inviting me to come stay, forever, and how I was welcome any time and that you’d come pick me up? Don’t faint. I’m coming. My plane lands at 11.00pm tonight. Heathrow. Air France. Flight 1080. Can you pick me up? Can’t wait to see you and to finally get to stay in my room.

      Where was Laurie?

      Even if the number of people hadn’t thinned in the last half hour, she would have noticed him straight away. Anger and irritation rolled off him in waves. Like an angry Moses, his strides ate up the floor, people melting out of his path. From the inside pocket of his black leather jacket he pulled out a white piece of paper and held it up, then slumped against a pillar.

      Siena almost laughed out loud. This guy needed to learn a thing or two about customer service. His eyebrows had merged into one angry slash across his forehead. With a scowl like that he’d scare his passengers back onto their plane.

      His face now held a look of bored resignation, the sheet dangling from his hand as if it was too much trouble to even lift it to chest height like the other drivers did.

      She checked her phone again. Still no word from Laurie. It was now ten past twelve.

      Siena shifted her bag and her weight from foot to foot.

      The movement caught the attention of the dark-haired guy at the barrier as he briefly turned around. How could a grown man pout like that and still look attractive? He should have looked ridiculous but that fuller lower lip was really rather cute. She sneaked another look at his face and he swung around properly to give her a baleful glare. As he did, she caught sight of the name on the sheet he held.

      Ah merde!

      He’d spelt her name wrongly but then most people did, so she could hardly hold that against him. Flashing her best million kilowatt smile, she took a step forward, her head inclining towards her name. He looked down at the name and then back at her, not saying a word. His face didn’t warm one iota, if anything he looked even more forbidding.

      Like a Mexican standoff, both of them stood waiting for the other to break and say the first word. They stood there as the seconds ticked away, neither saying anything. Clenching her hands to her sides, the tiredness she’d been fighting won. ‘I’m Siena. Just one ‘n’.’

      ‘How do you know I’m not here to pick up Sienna, two ‘n’s?’ he grumbled.

      Damn, that hadn’t occurred to her. She shrugged, ‘Sorry, my mistake.’

      She’d only taken two strides when a hand grabbed her arm.

      ‘I’m guessing you are Laurie’s sister?’

      ‘Yes.’ Siena observed him with curious eyes. Piercing blue eyes bored into her, the wide mouth with its full lower lip had flattened into a mutinous line. Gorgeous and grumpy, without an ounce of charm.

      ‘I had to pick you up. Laurie isn’t around at the moment.’

      ‘Oh.’ Siena felt a bit put out. ‘Where is she?’

      He raised an eyebrow. She hated it when people could do that. ‘Where is she? You’re asking that?’

      ‘It wasn’t a trick question.’

      ‘Seriously? You text at six in the evening. Expect her to drop everything. Pick you up and then you ask, ‘Where is she?’’

      ‘I don’t see what it’s got to do with you.’ Whoever this man was, he had a cheek.

      He stood and considered her for a moment, she felt like a model being sized up to see if the designer’s clothes would fit.

      ‘No, I guess you don’t. You’re right, it has nothing to do with me.’ Despite agreeing with her, he still managed to make it sound like an insult. ‘She’s up in Yorkshire.’

      ‘Yorkshire!’ Siena felt a bit stupid echoing his words but she didn’t actually know what or where Yorkshire was or why it was up. That sounded decidedly odd, as if it were in space or something, which she was pretty sure she would have heard of, if any part of the world had colonised space.

      ‘Norah had a fall, Laurie’s been at the hospital for most of the day. She asked me to pick you up. She can’t get a great phone signal СКАЧАТЬ