‘Don’t thank me. Milord told me that you have a rare talent for telling tales of your life in London. I’m expecting to be well entertained for my trouble.’
We arrived down on the quayside. I waited in the shadows while J-F ambled on to join some bargemen sitting on barrels, smoking long-stemmed pipes. He was soon chatting familiarly with them. I shivered, glancing nervously behind me: for all J-F’s ease, I still feared to hear the sound of pursuit. The discussion ended with him shaking hands with one of the men and handing over some coins. He looked towards me and gave a whistle.
‘Oi, sister! Hurry. We’ve got our ride!’
‘A whistle?’ I asked in a low voice as we followed the bargeman on to his vessel. ‘Since when did you summon me with a whistle?’
‘No need to explain to the bargeman who you are now, is there?’ J-F was acting very pleased with himself, relishing the adventure and his own cleverness. This struck me as both infuriating and endearing at the same time.
‘I suppose not,’ I acknowledged. ‘So am I allowed to whistle to get your attention?’
‘You could try – but I won’t answer.’ The king of thieves of the Palais Royal had obviously not forgotten the respect due to him, even if we were about to leave his territory.
The bargeman led us to a long shallow-draughted boat moored opposite the Conciergerie prison. The roofs that had so recently housed the Avons were outlined against the dark sky like dunce’s caps – a fitting reminder if I needed it of the mess I had made of my errand for Mr Sheridan. It was I that should be wearing the fool’s hat, not the building. If ever my patron took the risk of employing me again on a similar journey (which I very much doubted he would), I hoped to act with more discretion. But then, Reader, I know myself well enough to realize that I’ll always be a jump-in-without-first-looking girl, so I expect I’ll continue to blunder from mistake to mistake. Let us hope I continue to live to regret it afterwards. It had been rather too close for comfort this time and I was still not safe.
It seemed apt that my stay in Paris should have come full circle: I was close to the place where Frank and I had first spotted the towers of Notre Dame but this time I was fleeing the great city. I spared the cathedral a respectful nod as we climbed on board. Directed to a snug cabin in the stern, we prepared to settle down for what we hoped would be an uneventful night.
‘I’ve persuaded our captain to set sail immediately. You sleep – I’ll keep watch,’ yawned J-F, ever the gallant gentleman.
I was too tired to argue the point. Not used to the frantic activity of the last few days, I felt I could sleep for a week. J-F had not failed me yet: I had learned the hard way that I could put my trust in him. He really was an extraordinary person. But I wasn’t so sure that his motive for accompanying me was merely to have a holiday. Somehow, somewhere along the journey we had travelled together the past few days, we had become part of each other’s lives. Brother and sister, he had said. Perhaps. But why then did my eyes always turn to him when he was in a room, only to find he was already watching me? There was something between us that we hadn’t yet had a chance to put a name to; maybe the time on the barge would give me the answer.
‘You’ve surprised me, J-F,’ I admitted.
‘How so?’
‘You seem not to mind that you’ve spent the last few days getting me out of trouble.’
‘But you forget that I’m being well paid by milord – and besides, who said a thief can’t have a friend?’
‘I won’t forget it.’
The last thing I remember before I closed my eyes was J-F sitting by the stairs to the deck, softly humming the tune to which we had danced.
Life slowed to walking pace from the hectic career of that week in June. We saw out the month and the early days of the next making our way slowly downstream on the barge. J-F procured me some shoes and clothes at the first riverside market we came to and now we could stroll arm in arm along the bank among the meadows thigh-high in grass and summer flowers, keeping pace with the horses pulling our vessel along the sluggish waters of the Seine. Two town mice, we learned on that journey to take life more gently, to sit still and watch the water roll by, to cook over open fires under the stars. Every mile separating us from Paris made me feel safer. I was able to relax for the first time since coming to France and enjoy the companionship of my new friend. It was a magical interlude.
Our captain was a taciturn man but he evidently liked having young people about. His own son had gone into the navy and he spent too many hours alone with no one but his dog for company. At first he divided tasks as he thought best, me to do the cooking and J-F to help about the boat, but when he found I was more skilled at managing the tow ropes than the kitchen, there was a rearrangement of roles to everyone’s mutual benefit. J-F cooked some wonderful stews, rich with herbs and garlic, which with the accompaniment of some fresh bread made a feast truly fit for kings.
But as the days passed a question still hung unresolved between J-F and me: what exactly was going on between us? Was the pleasure we took in each other’s company just the result of a holiday – a bubble of emotion that would burst at the first prick of reality? I was amazed at how fickle I was! First confused by Syd’s kiss, then languishing hopelessly for Johnny, now wondering about the feelings of a funny-looking French boy with a personality so intriguing that it became harder and harder to think I’d have to leave him so soon.
It wasn’t as if the prospect of returning to London was so very alluring: all my friends away and only my enemies waiting for me.