Paris Lights by C.J.Duggan

Author:C.J.Duggan [DUGGAN, C.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hachette Australia
Published: 2016-11-13T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

I had begun the day most pleasantly, chatting and pouring juice for the early-rising tourists. The restaurant wasn’t a big space, and it seemed that the busiest time of day was breakfast, people filling their bellies up with sustenance before pounding the pavement to see the sights. I watched as an older couple from the US flipped through images on their expensive camera. If I thought my pronunciation of the local attractions was bad, theirs was downright woeful. Still, they were all set and excited for a new day’s adventure, with their knee-high socks and bumbags. I kind of envied them – for their carefree spirit, not their bumbags.

Cathy had set up the station with cereals, juices and breads, doubling back with a fruit platter and setting it on the breakfast bench.

‘Did you want me to help with anything?’ I asked, looking over her shoulder to glance through the kitchen window.

‘I wouldn’t go in there if I were you, not just yet,’ she warned.

My heart sank. ‘Did the meeting with Louis not go so well?

Cathy shook her head. ‘That would be an understatement,’ she said quietly, peering over her shoulder as if double-checking no one was listening. ‘He made Francois cry.’

‘What? That’s not cool,’ I said, my heart aching for young Francois.

Cathy looked grim. I felt she was keeping something from me, that she was holding back on the dramatics, and that worried me.

‘He wants me to keep my evening free, whatever that means,’ I said. I was eagerly telling everyone what Louis had had said to me in the hope that maybe someone knew why, but no one did. They were too busy looking after their own areas of the hotel. The sudden dismissal of Philippe yesterday had really lit a fire underneath everyone.

Cathy’s eyes shifted over my shoulder, a familiar glimmer of fear flashing in them as she quickly moved back to fuss over the breakfast bar. I turned, already prepared for what would face me, and sure enough, there he was, as if we had summoned him by some form of magic, all smart casual with a pin-striped blue shirt, a navy jacket and tan pants. He was dressed like he might be chartering a vessel to sail the Mediterranean; it was surely a different look for him, and much to my own horror, I was disappointed to find myself thinking he looked really handsome, as if he had stepped out of a Tommy Hilfiger catalogue.

Louis didn’t wait to be seated, he just chose an empty two-seater table on the border between the restaurant and the lounge, the farthest away from the whispering tourists who were trying to pinpoint who he was. Then it registered on their faces. Just like Louis, I paid them no attention as I weaved my way through the tables, aiming to treat him just like anyone else.

‘Coffee?’ I asked, holding up the pot.

Louis’s eyes shifted from the pot in my hand to my face. He seemed to be tossing up whether it might be poisoned or not.

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