The Little Antique Shop Under the Eiffel Tower (4 page)

I enjoyed our sisterly time together, and the fact we could be ourselves and relax into the afternoon. I wondered if that might change if we lived together. The thought of Lilou wreaking havoc inside my pristine apartment, where everything was just so, was enough to make me rue my choice not to say no to her – but how could I? Parisian apartments were expensive, and I knew she couldn’t keep up paying for hers for any length of time. I calmed myself, promising there’d be rules she’d have to adhere to. She would be on her best behavior surely?

We ordered our meals, and the waiter filled our wineglasses. I sat back feeling my limbs loosen with the first sip of crisp white wine.

“As I was saying,” she said, giving her hair a customary flick, “I know my match-making choices haven’t been ideal but this Didier…” She pretended to pull her collar out as if she was hot, and waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Whoa! Seriously, you have to meet him.”

I clucked my tongue like my maman would do when Lilou was being
too
Lilou. “No thank you. Your choices have been downright hideous.” I gave her a withering stare. “A magician? A sixty-year-old count? You might think I’m mature but I’m only twenty-eight for God’s sake. I don’t think we need to reach for the fringes of society just yet. And certainly not a man old enough to be my papa!”

She leaned forward and whispered, “Some women find silver foxes very attractive, I’ll have you know.”

It was like speaking another language with Lilou. “Silver foxes?”

“Oui,” she said. “Silver foxes, you know, a man with a sprinkling of gray, a little mature but a whole
lot
of sex appeal.” She slapped her hand on the table and let out a roar of delight.

“Hush, Lilou. Mon Dieu!” All eyes were cast toward us.

“What?” She blew out her cheeks. “You can’t nurse a broken heart forever. Six months is enough grieving time,
too
much time for a man like him. You need to have a passionate affair!”

I shriveled in my seat, hoping no one could understand her fast-talking sentences. “I’m not grieving –” I scoffed “– far from it. I don’t have time for it, that’s all.” Lilou knew the intimate details about Joshua because the
petit espion
had found my diary and read every single word. If not for that she’d know zero, because who would tell the world a horror story like that? “And if I did have time for a relationship, I wouldn’t reserve it for the type of men you’re suggesting. A silver fox, I mean…?”

Laughter burbled from her. “You said you wanted someone extraordinary! Gray is the new black, non?”

I arched a brow. “I don’t think so, Lilou.” Really, she was so adamant about the most ridiculous things.

Tugging her dress down as she sat back in her chair, she said, “Sister of mine, I hate to say it, but you are only
twenty-eight
. Not eighty-eight. Why can’t you have a little fun while you’re waiting for Mr. Right? Even Madame Dupont beds more men than you do, and she
is
almost eighty.”

Madame Dupont took Lilou into her confidence when it came to matters of the boudoir. Lilou was a good secret keeper
when she wanted
to be
, and Madame Dupont trusted her. They recognized something in one another: a spark of similarity, of lives lived the same, only half a century apart.

I struggled not to roll my eyes at Lilou’s disappointed expression. “For some of us, it’s not all about sex you know. There’s more to intimacy than that.”

She sighed. “What do you want – flowers, chocolates? A sonnet or two? Your name written in the sky?” She pretended to yawn as if she was bored. “A cookie-cutter romance? No, Anouk, no. You need to dust off your lingerie, and throw yourself at the first available debonair man, and let nature take its course. High octane, a helluva lot of adventure, and boom, you’ll never remember what’s-his-name.”

It was impossible not to laugh.
Dust off my lingerie?
“Thanks for your input, Lilou, but I don’t think that’s very sage advice. Throw myself at just anyone as if I’ve been sex starved or something! What’s the rush? What if Monsieur First Available is a raving sociopath? He could be married, or a misfit, or a gambler. What if he had a hairy back? A passion for flat-pack furniture?” I suppressed a giggle at Lilou’s darkening expression. “What’s wrong with taking time to get to know someone and then later expressing love with little gifts, especially a poem?”

“It’s just so last century.” She raised her hands up. “And let’s be real, can we? You’re not going to meet anyone stuck at work or holed up in your apartment, are you? I can see your tombstone already.” She gazed over my shoulder, and scrunched her face up as if she was crying, with a faux sob she said, “Here lies Anouk LaRue. Born. Worked. Died. She leaves behind her beloved little antique shop, who’ll miss her dearly.” For effect she buried her face in her hands and faux wept, once again drawing attention from curious onlookers. If only they knew.

“There’s nothing wrong with the amount I work. It’s called,” I enunciated slowly, “
being responsible
. Setting myself up for the future. A man would complicate all of that. When the time is right, I’ll date again, but at the moment, the thought makes me want to scream. I just simply do not have a minute of the day left to worry about another person. You make it seem like we need men to survive! We don’t!”

She took her hands from her face. “No time? You spend an age reading the newspaper. You play around on your laptop every evening! How much time do you need for love? Joshua was a nasty excuse for a boyfriend – I get that. Pure evil, and enough to break the steeliest of hearts, but so what? That was a million years ago, and it’s time to forget it. If you hide away it means he’s still winning. We don’t
need
men? We don’t
need
wine either, but how much sweeter is life with it?”

I shook my head. She didn’t understand, and she never would. Lilou was a free spirit, and so utterly different to me. Yet here she was suggesting I missed love, but it just wasn’t an issue for me. The thought of another man in my life was enough to make me recoil in horror. I just couldn’t envisage it. Didn’t need it. Didn’t miss it. I’d choose the wine option any day.

“Lingerie aside, Lilou, it really is more complicated than that and you know it. I have to work doubly, even triply hard after Joshua sold the piano from under me. My savings were tied up in that piece, and without any help from the gendarmes, what could I do, except to scramble to sell antiques at a discount so my business wouldn’t go bust. I’m still trying to get my finances stabilized and replenish the stock. And if
that’s
what love does to you, forget it.”

Even after all this time the memory of Joshua and what he’d done still stung. I was a fool to have believed a word that poured from his honeyed mouth. Every single sentence that fell from his lips, I listened to rapt. So exotic with his American accent and bright-eyed gaze. His declarations of love seemed so sincere and took me to a place I’d never been before.

“I don’t have time to sift through their lies.” I swished another mouthful of wine, glad for its numbing properties.

“Not all men lie,” she said giving me a pointed look.

I scoffed. “And how do you know that? Your longest relationship has been three weeks, Lilou.”

She shot me a glare. Joshua had taken a selection of antiques from the secret room, including a very rare piano, very
expensive
piano, promising me they were off to good homes, people he’d known forever. Payment to follow. The sale would fund our ‘grand plan’.

And the buyers were French people, he said. Trustworthy.

In that flurry of love, I had believed him. Of course I had.

It was the greatest shock when I stumbled on them at an online auction and confronted him about it.
Non, non, non
, he mimicked my French accent,
remember your messages? The antiques are mine as you said so many times! Au revoir, Anouk. It was fun while it lasted.

Ambushed.

And fraught, the gendarmerie couldn’t help me. They said I’d gifted them to him. They had proof. Text messages that came from my cell phone, saying those exact words. Joshua was clever. He’d been ribbing me, he called it. Teasing me about ‘gifting’ my treasures and like the lovestruck idiot I was, I played along by text, waiting months for these so-called buyers to pay. By the time I realized what he’d done, he was on the arm of another woman. Antiques vanished. And those texts came back to taunt me.

The grand piano once owned by Fania Fénelon
is yours! A gift from me to you. Love Anouk xxx

It was the cold, calculating way he did it that struck fear in me – the thought that a man could fake a love like ours broke something inside of me. I begged, yelled, pleaded for the gendarmes to listen to me, but they gave me a bored stare, and asked me to come back with more proof, like I should do their job for them.

Joshua and I had planned to pool our resources and were going to buy the best antiques, build a museum, so the world could clap eyes on such rare beauty, and not just people who could afford such luxuries. In order to do that, we had needed to sell some bigger pieces to fund it, and then source the most famous, the most illustrious of what France had to offer. Little did I know, he was selling them to amass
his
fortune… He’d played
me
like a piano, knowing instinctively I’d fall for it because it was a lifelong dream of mine to open a museum for cherishables.

The thing that hurt the most was that I did love him. When it all came to light I realized I had been in love with a ghost. Joshua wasn’t who he portrayed himself to be. The man I loved didn’t exist. The one who held my hand as we slept, or woke me with butterfly kisses, was a charade. So if I held myself at arm’s length from the world, that’s why, and I wasn’t going to be apologetic about it.

Sadly, Joshua was still working the antique circuit, so I ran into him often, which felt like a stab wound to the chest.

Lilou gave my hand a pat, dragging me back to the present moment. “Three weeks might be my limit with a guy, but that’s because I haven’t found anyone who makes me want more.” She lifted a shoulder. “I know what that crétin did, and the fallout that remains. I’d strangle him if I knew I could bury his body and get away with it.” Her eyes blazed at the thought. “All I’m suggesting is ease yourself back into the dating game with a few one-night stands. Pick a rugged type, one that has commitment-phobe written all over him, and go from there…”

“Lilou! I couldn’t do that. Non. I need to know more about a man before I let him sprawl all over my cotton sheets…”

She wrinkled her nose. “Oh God, because they’re some kind of special antique material? Fine, swap the sheets for a cheap supermarket brand for one night!” Her voice rose with every inflection.

A waiter hovered close by, refilling the wineglass of a woman at the table beside ours, and overfilled it as he concentrated hard on us out of the corner of his eye. Ruby red wine spilled over, staining the white tablecloth. The woman gasped, and the waiter wrenched his gaze away, apologizing profusely to her.

Lilou jerked a thumb in his direction. “Prime example: nice taut derrière, sleepy eyes, and sensual full lips. Just picture those buff arms tangled around you, the bed sheets…”

This time the waiter knocked over the woman’s wineglass. Burgundy liquid spilled quick and fast into the woman’s white-skirted lap. Lilou gave them a cursory glance. “OK, maybe not him, he’s too clumsy.” His face colored scarlet.

“Stop!” I hissed, struggling to remain composed. “I see your point and I’ll take it under advisement.”

She swallowed back half a glass of her wine. “I hate it when you say that.”

***

Lilou and I stood out front of the little antique shop, languid after lunch, and hugged our goodbyes. “See you tonight,” I said.

“Actually you won’t.” Lilou gave me an elfish grin. “I’m off to follow a musical festival around Normandy with Claude. I thought I might do a collection of jewelry based on sound. It’s a research trip.”

“What?” My big-sister instinct kicked in. “You’ve only just got back. You and Rainier were only going away for a week. It’s been three and now Rainier is gone, and there’s someone called Claude, and you’re going to follow a
music festival
? I thought you were doing a line of sunset-inspired jewelry? No, Lilou! You’re supposed to be studying. At least try and build up your online site so we have ammunition if Papa finds out.”

She let out a long harrumph as if I was the veritable thorn in her side. I could guess what was coming next…

“Anouk,
you only live once
!”

Voila!

Once Lilou had her sights set on something, she was a force to be reckoned with. Even though her life lacked direction, I had a feeling she’d always be OK by using her charm and quick wit. She was irresistible when she flashed her radiant smile. Deep down she was a minx, but I loved her so, even though she added an element of drama to my already busy life and created the worry I carried in my heart when she was off on one of her adventures. I was desperate for anyone or anything to slow her down and keep her in one spot, long enough that she’d plant roots and stay.

I dreaded another call from my papa, asking after her. I’d have to cross my fingers, and lie yet again, knowing eventually it would all come crashing down around me.

A part of me envied her; I was never that frivolous, never had been. My days revolved around work, sourcing antiques, investigating their history, traveling near and far for estate sales and auctions, hunting through bric-a-brac for gems at flea markets and vintage fairs. That didn’t leave much time for anything else. My heart and soul went into my business. I kept myself coiled tight against any uncertainty that came my way.

I shook the familiar feeling of angst away before it could settle, blackening my mood.

“When Papa phones me what do you suggest I say?”

With a groan, she said, “Tell him I’m at the library! Or at study club, or out with a lawyer…who cares.” Typical flippant Lilou style.