The Little Antique Shop Under the Eiffel Tower (29 page)

I realized Aunt Molly was right. The gems just had to wait for their next owner to find them.

“If you’re sure, I can give you…”

She put her hand over mine, and closed my palm against the gem. “No, I don’t want anything for them. Just that they go to someone you think is worthy. The word around Paris is that’s what you do best.”

Heat pooled in my palm where the gem flashed. “That’s quite a compliment. I’d love to find the collection its perfect partner. But you can always ask for them back. It takes time to find someone who’ll understand your aunt’s story, because it will also be theirs, so there’ll be no rush.”

The woman tilted her head and surveyed me. “You’ll tell her story?”

I nodded. “That’s the most important part.”

After she’d retreated into the summery day, I took a cloth and polished the lapis lazuli set, thrilled the captivating jewelry wouldn’t be kept in a musty drawer anymore. They deserved to be on display, shining brilliantly until they caught the eye of someone special. I already knew it would be someone who loved animals, someone who helped protect them.

Key in hand, I unlocked the glass display cabinet and shuffled some jewelry around to make room. Lost in thought, I imagined Aunt Molly, exuberant that she’d completed her mission to save the whales – but was she scared in the end? I liked to think she just closed her eyes, and heard the music of the whales as they spoke to her under water, a symphony of thanks. I was a little teary thinking of such a thing.

Perched over the glass to check the positioning of Aunt Molly’s treasures, I didn’t hear the door, and jumped, and clutched my heart when a voice said, “I believe this belongs to you.”

How did he always creep up like that? My gaze dropped to the floor, to check he wasn’t wearing some kind of special spy shoes, but they looked like regular summer loafers. I snatched my handbag from him. “The old steal the bag so you can return it trick?” I raised an eyebrow and sauntered back behind the counter.

He grinned, his blue eyes flashing. “You dropped it,” he said. “You’re just lucky I was there and saw it fall from your shoulder as you leapt out of the train like you were being chased.”

I unzipped my bag. “Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly how it happened.” With a glare at him, I rifled through it, checking my cell phone, which was switched off. Maybe he didn’t have time to decipher the French messages if it had run out of battery.

I wanted to clap a hand to my forehead. I had to remember Tristan wasn’t an ordinary man, no matter what Lilou said. If the phone had run out, he could have easily charged it. There was a pin code security on, but again, he could override that if he wanted to. It just depended on the real reason he took the bag. The roll of Euros was still held tight with a rubber band. I couldn’t check the secret pocket with him there, in case he hadn’t seen our list of suspected auction houses.

“Now you’ve thanked me and we’re all caught up…” he said.

“I didn’t thank you.” I glowered. “It’s caused me quite a bit of grief actually.”

“I can see it in your eyes, how truly happy you are to be reunited with that red lipstick of yours.”

So he
had
gone through my bag! But why?

“What?” He widened his eyes acting the innocent. “It wasn’t zipped up. A few things spilled out.”

I folded my arms, and pursed my lips.

“As I was saying, I came to invite you to a little party I’m hosting. You and your family…”

“Why?” How did this figure into his plan? My first instinct was to say no, but maybe this was a better way to keep tabs on him. I wouldn’t take my eyes off him all night, even if I had to follow him to the bathroom and hide behind a ficus or something.

“The grand reopening of the Ritz Paris is worth celebrating, no?”

“Of course.” There was much excitement about the grand reopening, after major restorations had seen the Ritz Paris closed for the last few years, and a further few months after a fire had broken out, delaying it.

It was every girl’s dream to spend a night at the Ritz in one of their sumptuous suites, or visit one of the many bars and restaurants, each steeped in history. As a worshipper of antiques, I could only imagine how much beauty I’d find there. And I bet he knew it; he
knew
I couldn’t say no to such an invitation.

Tristan’s gaze was playful. “I told them to watch out for you – you drink champagne like water and then kiss strange men.”

“Let’s hope there are canapés to soak up the alcohol this time, non?”

“Touché. I’m a bad date.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“OK, it was a drink, followed by some French kissing… And a promise from you, that you’d love me forever if I was a Robin Hood in disguise.”

What a faux pas. That night would haunt me for the rest of my life. “Robin Hood? That doesn’t make any sense.” I blanked my face, hoping a blush wouldn’t give me away. Had I told him I was spying on him? I clearly wasn’t cut out for this type of lifestyle.

“You were full of mysterious quips,” he said. “If you didn’t speak English so well I’d blame it on translation, but there’s more going on in there, more than you let on.” He stepped forward and ran the pad of his finger along my temple. My mind raced, and my heartbeat matched its pace. It was hard to know how to react because I wasn’t sure what he knew.
And
he was touching me again. It irked that some secret part of me liked it.
Remember, he is a mirage; he isn’t real
. “If that’s all, I have to get back to work.”

Why couldn’t he just be an antique collector? Why did he have to steal?

Thief! Robber! Criminal!
While I couldn’t yell the words, I felt better thinking them.

Outside, a busker set up his music stand, and blew on a trumpet. The tinny sound drifted in. People sauntered slowly past, eating ice creams or drinking chocolaty milkshakes. Paris in summer was almost carnival-like. Music, food, gaiety. Just outside those doors was a city full of frivolity.

He followed my gaze to the musician, and then said, “You’re right. Some people dedicate their life to work no matter what it costs them.” His eyes were full of melancholy.

“Are you referring to me?” My family had harped on to him about my obsession with the shop, and the fact I didn’t have many friends, and no love interest. Anyone would pity the person they’d described.

His gaze darkened. “Why do you stiffen like that? I wasn’t referring to you.”

“Well who were you referring to?” I wasn’t going to take anyone’s pity.

I couldn’t read his expression. He distanced himself, like he’d done so many times before. It was almost like he was angry, not at me, but at something inexplicable. I surveyed him for the longest time, wondering if guilt was nudging up against him. “Forget it,” he said. “So I’ll see you at the Ritz? Nine o’clock tonight?”

“Sure, we’ll all be there. You won’t miss us.” I’d be his shadow, and this time, I’d keep hold of all my faculties. I had a premonition the catch-up was a ruse, and I’d find out why. And
this
time I’d be prepared.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Maman stumbled along the uneven cobblestones. I grabbed her elbow to stop her falling into the street. “I told you not to wear those heels!” I said.

She laughed, and hitched her skirt up so she could see her feet, as if she could make them cooperate on the pencil-thin heels just by watching them. “Ma chérie, I’ve never been to the Ritz, but I’ve always wanted to. I can’t wear my peasant shoes, can I?”

I tutted. “You should’ve worn whatever was comfortable. We don’t need to try and be anyone other than ourselves!” The sentiment came out more like a command than I’d meant. But my family, including ring-in Henry, had jumped and yodeled like they’d just won the lottery when I told them they’ve been invited to Tristan’s party. I had tried to tamp down their excitement, but they wouldn’t hear a word of it.

“Anouk!” Maman scolded me. “It’s
the Ritz
. I may be a simple village dweller but even I know you don’t sashay in there in any old thing! You of all people should know that.”

“Oui, she’s right,” Lilou concurred. She was practically skipping ahead in her excitement.

“See?” Maman beamed at me. Her features shone with happiness, and she looked beautiful, as if she’d found the fountain of youth. Lilou had taken pains to fix Maman’s hair into a high stack of cascading curls. Back home, she usually wore a house coat, and simple shoes, and her hair was always tied in a tight bun; here she was flourishing, shedding layers to reveal a different woman, maybe the one she’d always wanted to be.

“You need to relax, Anouk,” Lilou said. “Is it because you’re nervous about dating again? It’s like riding a bike. You just get back on after a fall…” I narrowed my eyes at her. She knew exactly why I was nervous. At least she had kept the secret so far.

I replied, “I’m not dating him! And you’re all animated like he’s some kind of celebrity, and he just isn’t.”

She went to counter, but I held up a hand. “Now’s not the time, Lilou.”

Maman groaned as she wobbled along. “Honestly, Anouk, sometimes I worry you’ve spent too long among inanimate objects and it’s warped your mind. Tristan is a lovely man. He wants to get to know you better.
All
of us better. And what’s wrong with that?”

“Wait, what? How do you know he wants to get to know us?”

She bit her lip and had the grace to blush. “He told me.”

I cocked my head. “When did he tell you? He only invited us this afternoon…” She hadn’t seen him since that awkward night when he arrived at the apartment and squirreled me away to drink too much champagne, right?

With a squirm, she said, “He dropped over this afternoon after he saw you. I guess he wanted to make sure we
got
the invite…” Her voice faded away. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

That man! “See what I mean? Why the pretense, hmmm?” He managed to dash around Paris like it was a small village. Was there no end to his manipulations? “And what else did he have to say?”

She shrugged noncommittally. “I got the impression he’s lonely. You might think he leads an exotic lifestyle, and maybe he does, but I detected a real emptiness in him. He’s drawn to you, sees something he likes in the way you live, and us too. I don’t see why you can’t offer friendship? It would be churlish not to. I didn’t raise you to be so judgmental.”

How could she understand? I hadn’t told her my suspicions about Tristan, so she thought I was being petulant for no good reason. “Fine.” I gave in. It was not the time to explain, and if I did, they’d act out of character and he’d know we were on to him.

Maman grabbed my hand and pulled me along. “Smile.” She smoothed her fingers along my forehead. “Stop frowning.”

The change in my maman was incredible. Here she was doling out advice, calm and relaxed as could be, wearing a sky-high pair of heels, and one of my vintage wrap dresses, so vividly yellow it was like sunshine. I felt a pang for my papa home alone with charred curtains, waiting for Maman to come back. If he could see her now, in her element, he’d fall in love with her all over again. I wondered what they each needed in order to be happy.

No one wants to see their parents split up, but Maman was like a bird free of her cage, and it made me wonder how much she had settled for in her life, when perhaps she always yearned to flutter her wings elsewhere. Would I suffer the same fate – by holing myself up at work, talking to customers and claiming they were my friends, not realizing my life had flown by, and end my days with only a collection of beautiful, meaningful things and no one to share them with?

Before I knew it, we were outside of the Ritz Paris; its awnings were concertinaed, like the half-lidded eyes of someone in love.

We were greeted by a doorman who welcomed us with a flourish, tipping his hat. A frisson of delight washed over me at the honor, even if it was at the hand of the ruthless Monsieur Black.

Inside we stopped, bumping into one another as our mouths fell open at the view before us. Hotel Ritz Paris was sumptuous from the glittering chandeliers above, to the ornamental walls, and plush carpet beneath. Gilded golden mirrors clung to walls, and an ambient glow followed us as we inched our way forward.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” Maman’s voice was hushed.

A handful of men in sharp black tuxedos smiled and welcomed us further in. “Welcome. Monsieur Black is waiting for you in Bar Hemingway.”

Being surrounded by such opulence stole the words from our lips. It was like being in a dream, golden hues, and shimmering crystal. I had never laid eyes on so much glamour all at once. It was hard to move, let alone speak.

Maman composed herself first. “Thank you very much; we’re honored to be here.”

We were shown into Bar Hemingway, and my breath hitched. Black and white pictures of Hemingway lined the walls. In some he was on the verge of laughter, his hair silver; in others he was much younger, and his expression studious like he was lost inside his mind with his characters. Once upon a time, he sat here, and told stories to an eager audience. Would I feel his presence still? Did he hover under the slivers of moonlight, waiting for someone to tell a tale, a long story with twists and turns made better by a cocktail, or two?

Leather couches were angled along one side, with high-back chairs around mahogany tables that were littered with his books. The bar was sleek, bottles lined up on mirrored shelves, bright lighting shining down catching the amber liquids and turning them gold. Manly stools lined the bar and that’s where Tristan sat, in Hemingway’s spot, nursing a tumbler of whisky on the rocks. He gave us a huge grin and stood to hug Maman.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” He kissed the rouge of her cheeks, and pulled out a stool for her. His words were so silky smooth, and genuine, I did a double take.

“This place is magnificent,” Lilou said, shaking his hand in her excitement.

“Ah,” he said, taking my hand and staring deeply into my eyes. “You’re spellbound. I knew you’d like this place.”

“I want to live here,” I said. “It’s breathtaking.”

“And so are you.” His smile reached his eyes, and I wondered what had changed. In his relaxed state, he was the epitome of the perfect host, making us feel special in such a grand place.