The Little Paris Patisserie. Julie Caplin

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       Chapter 3

      As she stepped off the train at the Gare du Nord, finding it rather wonderful and amazing that she was now in another country and that she’d whizzed underneath the channel, she was tempted to pinch herself. Just two hours ago she’d been at St Pancras and now she was in Paris. Gay Paris. On her own. Away from the family. It felt as if she’d shaken off a very heavy feather duvet that was in danger of suffocating her. Even as she’d climbed into the car with Dad to go to the station, Mum had slipped a handful of Euro notes into her hand and muttered, ‘For a taxi when you get there. So you don’t have to worry about the Metro with all your bags.’

      And then her dad had done exactly the same thing when he dropped her at the station. Bless them both. She wasn’t ungrateful, but really! She was perfectly capable of getting the Metro on her own.

      Despite listening to a French language app throughout her Eurostar trip, Nina was slightly disappointed to realise that she still couldn’t understand a single sentence of the thousand-words-per-second, rapid delivery of the man at the information desk. Unfortunately, he was determined not to speak any English and the only word they could agree on was taxi. So much for her first independent foray! At least Mum and Dad would be pleased.

      The taxi brought her into a wide boulevard, lined with trees shading small cafes and their bistro tables and chairs. On either side of the street were buildings of five or six storeys running the full length of the road, where all of the windows had those cute wrought iron balconies and there were imposing looking wooden front doors interspersed at regular intervals.

      Despite the old stone walls and the heavy wooden trim, the door to the building opened with an electronic buzz and she found herself in a stark entrance hall with a narrow, tiled staircase curling upwards. Sebastian had taken up residence in a hotel as there was no lift here at his apartment block. With a sigh, Nina looked upwards at the broad staircase. How on earth was she going to lug a big suitcase as well as the heavy tote bag and her handbag up to the top floor? This is independence. Remember — what you wanted. Even so she glanced around, almost hopeful that someone might materialise to help. But unlike in the movies, no handsome knight appeared offering to carry her cases for her. With a dispirited groan, she put her messenger bag across her chest, hefted her tote bag higher on her shoulder and picked up the suitcase and got on with it.

      As per Sebastian’s texted instructions, Nina rang the doorbell on flat 44b and almost before she’d taken her finger from the bell, the door opened, making her jump.

      A slender woman looked out. Her dead straight blonde hair was arranged in a sleek ponytail framing her face accentuating high cheekbones and a firm chin. She might have written the book on classy chic and haughty sang-froid, as defined by her indifferent expression, glossy pointy shoes, the wide-legged cream trousers and a high-necked silk blouse in pale blue, all of which made Nina feel doubly hot and sticky.

      ‘Bonjour, je suis Nina. Je suis ici pour les clés de Sebastian.’ The words burbled out in desperation and from the quickly concealed smile on the face of the elegant woman, she’d not made a terribly good fist of it.

      ‘Bonjour, Nina. I heard you coming all the way up the stairs.’ Nina felt her disapproval. ‘I’m Valerie du…’ She didn’t quite catch her surname, as Valerie sounded as if she’d swallowed every syllable. ‘Here are the keys.’ She held them out at arm’s length with a rather regal, keep-the-peasants-at-a-distance touch. ‘When you see Sebastian, please give him my very best wishes.’ Her flawless English and very sexy accent highlighted Nina’s sense of being under-dressed and travel-soiled. ‘I shall miss him, he’s such excellent company.’ Valerie added with a knowing, naughty look.

      Nina swallowed. ‘I will. Erm, thank you.’ Valerie looked at least fifteen years older than Sebastian. Without any more ado, Valerie shut the door.

      ‘Welcome to Paris,’ muttered Nina under her breath. ‘I hope you had a good journey. If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask, as you’re in a strange apartment, in a foreign city and you don’t know a soul around here.’

      As she battled her way through the door, dragging her suitcases, her phone pinged.

       I’m assuming you’ve made it. I need you to bring some of my stuff over to the hotel from my apartment. Ring me and I’ll talk you through what I need. If you come over here, we can have a meeting about what will be required from you. I suggest about 3 p.m. Sebastian.

      She wilted slightly at the strictly business text. Couldn’t he give her a break? She’d been in the city for less than an hour and had no idea where the hotel was in relation to here. At the moment, her priority was locating a kettle and coffee and ransacking a cupboard to find something to eat. He could at least have given her chance to settle in?

      Sebastian was just being bloody pedantic, Nina decided as she hauled down a wheelie suitcase from the top of the cupboard in the hallway. Surely it would be easier to transport everything in this instead of the leather holdall he’d asked for. The wheelie case, which looked like an oversized silver beetle with latched sides, would be much easier to pull along rather than having to carry the other bag.

      After a brief conversation, in which he’d given her the address of his hotel, she’d scribbled down the list of what he wanted. First up, his laptop and papers, which she gathered up from the table in the lounge. Then she moved to the bedroom. Five shirts, as requested, folded and packed, the toiletry bag filled from the bathroom and dressing table, including the Tom Ford aftershave he’d specifically asked for – and no, she didn’t do that girly thing of sniffing it, even though she did wonder what it smelled like. Next, underwear. Hesitantly she opened his top drawer. Yup, underwear drawer. Somehow she might have guessed he’d be a jersey boxer man. And Calvin Klein rather than M&S. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen plenty of men’s underwear in her time but … this felt too personal. Thinking about Sebastian in this. No, she was not going there. He was just a bloke. Nick’s friend. A silly boy once. She’d known him forever. Telling herself to get on with it and quit being so stupid, she grabbed a handful, and as she did, she nudged a cardboard box. Shit. That was different ball game. Wincing at the double entendre, she looked at the box. Condoms. A pack of twelve. Featherlite. Open.

      Don’t look inside. Don’t.

      With a bump she sat down on the bed.

      Four missing. Sebastian. Had sex. Has sex. Is having sex.

      And it was absolutely, definitely, no way of interest to her. Nothing to do with her. She was not going to look at the use by date on them. And there was no earthly reason for her heart to have that silly, stupid, ridiculous pinching feeling.

      Sebastian was a good-looking guy. No state secret. Of course he had women. The last time she’d seen him, he’d had a girlfriend. And the time before that. Different ones. He had girlfriends. She knew that. This was hardly a surprise and meant nothing to her.

      Oh heck. So what was she supposed to do СКАЧАТЬ