Dream Paris (32 page)

There was a subtle change in the atmosphere as we entered. The customers looked up at Madame Joubert, one or two of them inclining their heads in acknowledgement. A fat little barrel of a man hurried out from behind the baskets of
croissants
and
pains
set out on the counter.

“
Bonjour,
(1)Madame Joubert
. Si vous souhaitez entrer dans la sale. Suivez-moi, s’il vous plaît.
”

“
Merci,
André.”

André led us to a neat little back room, decorated with painted flowers. There were two people seated there already. One of them looked as if he’d been sleeping in the gutters. I recognised the other straight away. So did Francis.

“What are you doing here?”

M Alain Duruflé remained perfectly composed. He steepled his fingers beneath his neat little grey beard and looked up at us.

“Why should I not be here?” he asked. “I am a member of the
Révolution
!”

“You’re the Chief Accountant for the
Banca di Primavera
!” I said.

“A man can have two roles,” said Mme Joubert. “M Duruflé maintains a Chinese Wall within himself to ensure that there is no conflict of interest.”

“What?” said Francis. “That’s bollocks.”

“It’s a banking term,” I said. “My father used to talk about it. It’s how you keep the investment section from speaking to other parts of the bank who could use the information.”

“That sounds like even more bollocks.”

“My father said that, too.”

“That may be true in your world,” said M Duruflé. “Here there is no problem. Today I work for the
Révolution
.”

“What’s going on here?” I asked. “You, Mme Joubert, Mr Monagan. Is there anyone else going to turn up that I know?”

“I don’t know,” said M Duruflé. “Perhaps we can find out. May I introduce Paul?”

Paul looked as if he slept in the gutter. He scratched himself and muttered something we didn’t catch.

“Where’s Luc?” asked Mme Joubert.

“
Je suis désolé, j’étais occupé
.”

I turned and saw a man who, while I’d never met him before, I’d known about even before I set off on this journey. He was the man implied by my fortune. I’d never seen a man look so at ease with world. He walked with gentle swaying rhythm, wearing the gentle smile of a man who was pleased just to be out in the city, seeing the sights, maybe to drink a little coffee, have a little conversation. In a city that had raised ‘looking smartly dishevelled’ to an art form, I had just met the undisputed master.

Long black woollen coat just thrown on, black trousers, polished black boots. His white shirt was undone at the neck and I caught a glimpse of the coffee-coloured skin of his chest. Curly hair down to his shoulders and face full of stubble. He was the most relaxed, the most beautiful, the most
sexy
man I have ever seen. Even Francis felt it. He looked from Luc to me and you could see the realisation dawn in his eyes, and I blushed because it was so obvious. It seemed to me that the entire world could see it. Everyone must know what I was thinking.

And yet Luc took it all in his stride. He came up to the table and gave such a wonderful smile.

“
Hé, c’est quoi le problème
?”

“
Pas de problème
,” I said, defensively.

He pulled out a seat for me, waited for me to sit and then slid into the chair opposite.

“English? Yes?”

“Yes.”

He smiled again. Such a lazy smile, his beautiful eyes half-covered by the lids.

“There is a
problème
. You’re so…” He struggled for the word. “
Bouchon
. Everything is… trapped inside. You need to…”

He opened his mouth, he mimed singing. “You need to play. To release. You are musical?”

“I…”

He shook his head.

“You are musical. I can tell. But all the music is trapped within you. Not good. You need to…”

He pretended to sing once more. I found myself looking at those big coffee-coloured hands. So smooth and beautiful. Musician’s hands. And then I realised that I was lost in a little bubble, and that there were people outside looking at me. Francis, M Duruflé, Mme Joubert and Paul.

“Er… sorry,” I said.

André coughed politely. I was relieved: it broke the tension.

“
Oui
?” said Mme Joubert.

“
Est-ce que ce sera tout, madame
?”

“
Je pense que oui.
Dominique
peut nous servir.
”

He bowed and left the room. Dominique entered the room like a ray of sunshine, a golden beauty of a young woman. Bright blonde hair pinned up, dress stretched over her curves. Francis spotted her straight away. Of course he did. She was old enough to breed. No, that wasn’t fair. I had no reason to feel bitter. Not with Luc sitting over there, smiling that lazy half-smile at me.

Francis leaped to his feet.

“Would you like a hand with that tray?”

“My
daughter
is perfectly fine,” said Mme Joubert.

Dominique blushed. Luc just smiled.

And just then, I saw what was going on.

We were being played with.

We had been played with since we entered Dream Paris. I’d been played with since Mr Twelvetrees entered my kitchen.

I felt so stupid. I should have known from the start. My mother had told me about this trick.

“
Let the other person realise that they know less than you do. Make them realise just how out of their depth they are. Do everything you can to intimidate them. Use your accent, your clothes, your position.
”

I was a foreigner, I didn’t speak the language. I didn’t know anyone here, and they all knew each other. Since I’d arrived, everyone in Dream Paris had been playing that trick on me. Making me think I was in control, whilst all the time they were putting me in my place, keeping me off balance, calling me
tu(14)
and treating me like a veal calf.

And I’d finally realised it.

I looked at Luc, looked deep into his amber eyes. Was he in on this, or was he just another unwitting dupe, brought along to secure my cooperation? Just like blushing Dominique, glancing at Francis from the corner of her eyes.

“Now,” said Mme Joubert. “Shall we begin?”

“No,” I said. “No, we won’t.”

Cold fury was rising in me, stronger than the embarrassment at my naivety.

Mme Joubert raised an eyebrow.

“Young lady, you’re our guest. I don’t think you are in a position to dictate what happens in this meeting.”

“Actually, I rather think I am.”

Was Francis surprised at my tone? No. He was impressed. He nodded in support. I continued, gaining in confidence all the time.

“I’m the person everyone in this city is interested in. It’s just taken me some time to realise it. What I want to know is, who are
you
, Mme Joubert?”

Mr Monagan was turning a deeper shade of orange.

“Miss Anna, Mme Joubert is the leader of the
Révolution
! You can’t speak to her like that!”

“Why not? Anyway, I thought that the Committee for Public Safety ran the
Révolution
. That’s what Jean-Michel Ponge told me.”

“Hah! Jean-Michel Ponge and the rest are so concerned with
Égalité
they are ignoring the very people who could make this city great again! The Committee of Public Safety has allowed the
Banca di Primavera
to buy up whole tranches of the city with impunity! They have allowed the
terroir
to claim people for its own! I tell you, when we regain control there will be no people sleeping in the streets! There’ll be no Dream Prussians controlling our skies!”

“That’s nothing to do with me. I just want to find my mother and go home!”

“That’s all you want? Do you really expect us to believe you’re that naive?”

She turned to Francis. He didn’t look well, sitting there with that big, heavy pack stuck to his back.

“And you, why are you here?”

“To protect Anna.”

“He thinks he’s telling the truth,” said M Duruflé. “They wouldn’t have told him the full story. They’d be afraid of someone using the truth script on him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re being used, Anna! You’ve opened up a path between Dream Paris and London!”

Of course, we had. Francis had trailed a wire all the way back home.

“So what if I have?” I blustered. “It’s not just my mother trapped in this city! There are hundreds, thousands of other people, trying to find their way home!”

“And what might come the other way, little spy?”

“Well…”

I faltered. The other way. I hadn’t thought of that.

“What do you want with me?” I asked, much subdued.

M Duruflé leaned forward.

“We want to help you find your mother, and then we want you to go home. No offence, Anna, but Dream Paris would be better off without the pair of you.”

“Is that you saying that, or the
Banca di Primavera
?”

“I’m speaking for the
Révolution
at the moment. The
Banca di Primavera
holds no territory here.”

Paul, the dirty tramp of a man who sat at the end of the table, perked up at that.

“The
Bancas
have no toehold here! Nor will they ever! Not while the
Révolution
is strong! Not whilst the people work to denounce those who would sell us out!”

He smashed his fist on the table.

“There was a
patissier
on the
Rue de Cygne
, he was ready to sell his business to the
Banca
. He would have taken the money and moved to the
Rue de la Petites Hotels
, left us here with the leg of a
tour
in the middle of the
Quartier Latin
! The traitor boasted of the money he would make over wine and cards. And then…”

He drew a finger across his throat.

“A leg of a
tour
?” asked Francis.

“An Eiffel Tower,” I explained.

“That’s how the
Banca di Primavera
acquires land,” explained M Duruflé. “Four plots, and then they start to build upwards and along. Before you know it you have a tower growing above you.”

“Why are they all wrapped in cloth?” I asked.

“How else would you build a
tour
?”

“In the Paris that I know there’s only one
tour
, and it’s nothing but a skeleton. Only iron beams.”

M Duruflé looked up at that.

“You’ve been to
Paris Ancien
?”

“Never mind that,” said Francis. “You said you would help get us home. How?”

“Mr Monagan here will help you. Mr Monagan is a resourceful man.”

“So we just need to find Anna’s mother. But why should we trust you?
Everyone
wants to find her.”

“We don’t,” said M Duruflé. “Margaret Sinfield has no part in this city. There is no record of her. There is no record of her ever having been here.”

“Of course there isn’t,” I said. “So isn’t it obvious where she is?”

At that, they all gazed at me open mouthed at that, and I
just
resisted the temptation to smile. Now who was the one in the know?

LA PLACE DE LA RÉVOLUTION

F
RANCIS WAS GLARING
at me. No surprise there. Men hate it when you’re cleverer than they are.

“What’s the matter, Francis?”

He opened his eyes fractionally wider, shook his head just a little.

“I think,” said M Duruflé, “your friend is telling you to be quiet. He’s wondering if you can trust us.”

“I don’t know if we can trust
anyone
, M Duruflé,” I said, smiling.

Mr Monagan’s bottom lip quivered.

I turned to Francis. “But we’re going to need help. And at least these people want to build schools. That’s got to be a good thing, hasn’t it?”

Francis held out his hands, palms up. He shook his head. “Whatever. It’s going to have to be your call, Anna.”

He looked grey, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“So,” said Mme Joubert. “Your mother. Where is she?”

I looked at her, I looked at Francis. He shrugged. Should I have said? I don’t know. I was tired. And today was
Nivôse 22nd
. Tomorrow I would be arguing with my mother. I was due to meet her any time now. What was the point in remaining quiet?

“My mother is in the Public Records Office.” I couldn’t help sounding smug.

Everyone sat up a little straighter at that.

“How do you know that, Miss Anna?” asked Mr Monagan, genuinely impressed,

I grinned. I couldn’t help it, I was little Miss Know-it-all. For the first time since Mr Twelvetrees had arrived at my house, I was ahead of the game.

“Think about it. If you didn’t want to be found, where else would you go? The very place where you could alter the records. She would have access to her record card, she could remove the address herself. And then she wrote that message…”

“Of course,” said Francis. “
Use your common sense.
”

“Yes. And I did.”

Mme Joubert and the others were speaking to each other in rapid French. Most of their comments seemed to be directed at Paul: filthy, stinking Paul. He looked at me.