Paris Love Match

Chapter 13





Rain forced Piers and Sidney to shelter under the awning of a small shop, but it washed the trash from the gutters, and to Piers’ relief, many of the pedestrians from the streets. He adjusted his jeans. They were still damp from the shower. He pulled out the paper with Auguste’s address. “How far is it to his place?”

Sidney shook her head. “We need to get clean clothes first, or has your nose stopped working?”

Piers shoulders sagged. “I know, but we’re under a little pressure here. Can’t clothes wait?”

Sidney glowered at him and sighed. “Damn you.” She kicked at the ground. “All right. It’s about a mile. But afterward, it’s clothes.”

“Okay. Excellent. We can walk.”

“Haven’t you noticed the wet stuff coming down?”

“I’m still wet from the shower. Besides, I am not taking another taxi.”

Sidney adjusted her collar and prepared to step out into the rain.

“Oh, wait,” said Piers, “the police might be there.”

She gave him a glum look.

He thought the situation over for a moment. “Still, the police are everywhere.”

“Right. So, we’re going?”

“We could. But is this the best time? Won’t there be lots of people about?”

“So, you don’t want to go?”

“Well, there’s the police, and the people, and they’re probably guarding his house and—”

“Do you want to bloody go or not?”

Piers stood with his mouth half open and his brow furrowed, staring at her. “Errrr.”

She threw her hands up. “All right, we won’t go.”

He shook his head. “No, no. I think we should go. I don’t want to, but we have to.”

“Really? Because I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

“No, no, definitely, let’s go.”

Sidney readjusted her collar and they walked down a road lined with cafés. Striped awnings kept the patrons dry as they enjoyed their coffee and croissants. Piers watched as she passed nonchalantly through the tables and chairs, sweeping an umbrella from a man’s chair before stepping back out onto the sidewalk.

Piers caught up with her as she popped the umbrella open. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Keeping dry.”

“That was somebody’s umbrella.”

“Someone’s” she said, stressing the one. “Somebody means some dead body, and I’m pretty sure dead bodies don’t use umbrellas.”

Piers scowled. “Even if they did, you’d nick it off them.”

“I’ll give it back,” she said, shaking her head with her wide eyes staring at him.

“You don’t think the guy might want it, like, now, when the rain’s coming down? Or that he might call the police?”

“Oh, stop it.” She moved to one side of the umbrella. “Share?”

Piers huffed “no,” and carried on in the rain. After a moment, he slicked his wet hair back, muttered to himself, and moved under the umbrella.

She smiled at him. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

“It was—”

She held her finger over his mouth. “Da da da. No more complaining. I need to look after you. Especially if your mummy isn’t around.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She obviously looks after you.”

“She does not!”

“Well, she didn’t sound very happy.”

“She wasn’t happy because this nutcase was wailing and crying right next to me. That’s not normal, Sidney.”

“I was trying to get us out of our little situation.”

“Little situation? We’re being followed by a pair of maybe, maybe not, trained killers who want us to return a painting we know squat about before they decide to do away with us, and you call that little?”

Sidney came to a stop at the end of a block, leaving Piers to walk on an extra pace, around the corner, out of the umbrella, and into the rain.

“What?” he said. “Does the truth hurt?”

“No.” She nodded across the street to a knot of police officers and yellow tape. “We’re here.”

Piers ducked back behind the corner of the building. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just did.”

“I meant before I walked out into the full view of Paris’ finest.”

“I got us here, all right? I can’t think of everything.”

“What now?”

“How would I know? You were the one who wanted to come here.”

Piers groaned. He looked around the corner of the building. “We need a plan.”

“You’re on fire today, aren’t you?”

He rolled his eyes at her and looked up and down the street. “We need a distraction.”

She gave him a sour look. “As long as it doesn’t involve me taking my clothes off.”

He screwed up his face. “Have I ever suggested anything like that?”

“I’m just saying.”

He looked up and down the street. “There’s a phone box over there.”

“So?”

“You need to make a phone call.”

She pulled out her mobile and waved it in front of him.

He shook his head again. “You need to phone the police. Give them a tip.”

“Phone the police? Me?”

“Yes, you. Tell them you spotted the people on the TV a few blocks from here.”

“Guy on the TV,” she corrected. “They didn’t have a picture of me.”

“Okay, okay, tell them guy.”

“And why do I have to call from a phone box?”

“Because they could track your phone to you, and then they’d know where you are and that you’re involved.”

“But phone boxes smell.”

“I’m sorry. Try to stand outside.”

“Men pee in them.”

“Well, not this man. Maybe some men do, but this man doesn’t.”

“And women, too. I’ve seen that, you know. Women peeing in phone boxes.”

“All right. Okay. Very sorry. Just make the phone call and get straight back here.”

She stomped off, taking the umbrella. He watched her dance around the phone box, standing outside it, inserting her money, and holding the receiver with the tips of her fingers. She kept it at a distance from her mouth, spoke loudly, hung up, and walked back. “Done.”

“Where did you tell them we’d been spotted?”

She pointed back the way they had come. “Down the street, turn left, then ten more blocks.”

“What? So this is the quickest route?”

She nodded, “Yeah.”

“Oh my god.” He slapped his forehead. “We wanted to get rid of them, not bring them to us.”

Around the corner shouts broke out among the police officers. With a squeal of tires, a string of police cars headed in their direction. Piers grabbed her hand, ready to run. She pulled him back, shoved him against the wall, and pressed herself hard against him. She popped open the umbrella and flipped it over her shoulder, blocking them from view, then pressed her face into his neck.

Piers heart thumped. “I—”

She shushed him and wrapped her leg around his, rubbing the back of her ankle up and down his leg. “Act natural. No Parisian will notice a kissing couple,” she whispered, “just don’t you dare let your hands wander.”

“I—”

“Shut up, I know it must be difficult for you, but act like you’re enjoying it.”

He folded his arms around her and stroked her back. Her breath was warm on his neck. He tilted his head to press his face to hers. He could feel her bra and the softness of her body pushing against him. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, squeezing his biceps playfully.

The tension in his limbs dissolved and a warm glow spread through him. A calm smile spread across his face. She rubbed her hand across his shoulders and her long hair brushed against his ear. He closed his eyes and squeezed her tight.

“You only have to act like you’re enjoying it,” she said.

He opened his eyes and loosened his hold. “I am,” he cleared his throat, “acting.”

“You better be.”

A cavalcade of cars and motorbikes raced by, sirens blaring. He pulled the umbrella in closer to make sure their faces were obscured. The sounds diminished and he risked looking out. “They’re gone.”

Sidney slid from him. He let his arms fall away slowly. He breathed out, stifling a sigh, and didn’t breathe back in. Her leaving him felt like a physical blow. It took all his willpower not to reach out for her. The rain had made her tousled curls a vague memory, but her eyes were bright and, even in the cold, her high cheekbones had a natural tint to them, the slightest of pinks, just enough to accentuate the flawless white of her skin.

He watched, mesmerized, as she opened her mouth. “Now what?”

“Huh?”

“I said now what? I did my bit by phoning from the pee-box. What’s next?”

He shook his head and took a gulp of cold air. The adrenaline and tension returned to his muscles. “Right, we have to go.”

He turned the corner and headed toward where the throng of police had been. There were only a couple left on guard.

Sidney tugged at his sleeve. “Is this a good idea?”

Piers took her hand. “No. Start crying.”

She looked at him.

“Start crying. Like before, on the steps. When we get there, just act like we’re breaking up. Then come back over here and wait for me. Just don’t give up easily.”

She shrugged and started sniffing. Her tears built as they crossed the road and by the time they reached the guards she was balling her eyes out.

Piers shook himself free of Sidney’s hand. “I’ve told you. It is not possible. We cannot continue like this.”

She looked at him through eyes that were gaining bloodshot rings. “Why not?”

“My wife. Your husband. Not to mention the friends you bring to the parties. Non, non, it is all too much.”

“So this is it?”

Piers bent his head down. “I am sorry, ma chérie.” Then he turned, stepped to the police officer and tried to push past.

The officer didn’t move. “This building has been secured, monsieur.”

Piers look indignantly at the man. “Non, non. I live here.”

Sidney grabbed Piers hand. “Please. You can’t leave me. No one else uses leather like you.”

Piers shook himself free and re-addressed the officer. “Monsieur, really, I must go inside.”

The officer shook his head.

Sidney grabbed Piers by the shoulders and pulled him a step backward. Piers wrestled himself free, colliding with the officer and pushing past.

“Sir, I—” said the officer, but Sidney crashed into him, her arms flailing.

The officer fought her back.

Piers paced backward into the entranceway of the building. “I have to go. We need to make a clean break of it, for her sake.”

Sidney struggled with the officer. “No! Don’t leave me, don’t leave me.”

Piers stepped inside building and headed straight up the stairs. When he reached the first landing, he started checking the nameplates beside each apartment. On the fourth floor, he found he needn’t have bothered. A door hung off its hinges and yellow crime scene tape had been draped across the entranceway.

He listened for movement before stepping over the tape. He found a bedroom, bathroom, and a small kitchen/living room with threadbare rugs over wooden floors. The furniture looked old but well-cared-for. Pictures of April adorned the walls of the bedroom. In the entrance hall, a large color poster showed a panoramic view of a beach, busy with people. Piers guessed it to be in the south of France.

The living area had practically nothing in it. An old TV, a coffee table, and a paisley loveseat. Perhaps the police had already removed everything from the apartment?

From the window, he saw Sidney walking back to the corner where they had stood and hugged. No, he reminded himself with a deep sigh, where they had acted.

Only, he hadn’t acted.

The feel of her body against his had been a shock at first, and her breath on his neck had been intoxicating. He’d had to tell himself to keep his hands on her back and nowhere else, but then she had embraced him, and the whole world seemed to go quiet. The cars, the trains, the voices—it was as if Paris had come to stop, holding its breath to see what would happen.

Only, nothing happened. They’d been acting. It had been a wonderful moment. A moment when she had washed away all his doubts. A moment when she had calmed all his fears. A moment he wished had never ended. But it had, and now he felt guilty standing in the dry apartment while she stood in the rain. At last she flipped open the umbrella and he had to fight back the urge to run downstairs and hold it for her.

He dragged himself away from the window and into the kitchen. The drawers were full of pots and pans, all well-used. He rummaged through them and found nothing. An enormous collection of sharp knives lined the work surfaces and Piers felt a chill as April’s words trained killers pushed into his mind.

He used a spoon to stir the sugar, the coffee beans, and the flour, but there was nothing hidden in any of them. The breadbasket contained an old French loaf, which was hard enough to be classed as an offensive weapon. Outside the kitchen window was a rusty fire escape that looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

The bedroom was different from the other rooms. He felt uncomfortable as he looked at an array of candles and a line of furry animals. Auguste wouldn’t have had them without April. Piers bit his lip as he remembered her walking off into the crowds. He should have treated her better. He hadn’t appreciated Auguste and April’s relationship, he’d only thought of him as the man that nearly got them killed and her as a woman keeping secrets.

The scent from the candles was feminine and a blessed relief from the stink from his clothes. He gave a short laugh as he remembered Sidney’s apartment. She dressed well, but her home had been a mess—not dirty, just well-used. He ran his finger over the candles and wondered if there was a softer side of Sidney.

The closet was divided down the middle, April’s clothes on the right, Auguste’s on the left. Each of them had three pairs of shoes. He had a black umbrella in his corner; she had a red one in hers’. Piers looked back around the room. They had been very exact about everything. This man didn’t improvise.

Piers drummed his fingers on the closet door. Auguste didn’t just decide he was going to steal the painting on a whim. He’d planned it in advance—when he was going to steal it, how he was going to steal it, and how he was going to get away. It wasn’t a heat of the moment thing; he had train tickets and his girlfriend waiting at the station for him.

Piers moved to the bathroom and found it had April’s touches, too. A painting of a sunflower hung beside the door and a line of creams and fragrances stretched along one side of the sink. Auguste’s razors and shaving foam were in a cabinet above the toilet. The cabinet had a slope to it, and Piers had to catch a razor that fell out as he opened the door.

Under the sink there were the usual cleaning items and a metal bar with two points that Piers couldn’t envisage a use for.

He slumped onto the edge of the bath. He’d found nothing. The place was a model for clean and organized. Everything had its place and everything was in it. April must have had her own apartment, because her presence in this one was restricted to the bedroom and bathroom. But where she had a presence, everything had been shared, fifty-fifty, even steven, right down the middle. He looked up with a wry grin, everything except the cabinet above the toilet, and who’d want to put anything in there, if it was going to roll out into the toilet?

Piers stood up and looked at the cabinet. The rest of the house was well looked after, organized, cared for. It wouldn’t have taken much to adjust the cabinet so things didn’t roll out. He ran his fingers around the edge of the cabinet. It was solidly fixed to the wall. He opened it up and saw why. The rear of the cabinet was metal and two tamper-proof security bolts secured it, top and bottom. He ran his finger over them. They were rough with small holes in them.

He heard voices downstairs.

He wrestled with the cabinet, but it wasn’t going to move. Whoever put it on the wall, didn’t want it to come off.

The voices grew excited, something about a hoax caller, a misuse of police time, and tracing the call. The police were back.

He thumped the cabinet on the side. The razors and shaving foam fell out, clattering onto the floor and splashing in the toilet bowl. The security bolts were weird. They had a sloped surface with two small holes. French engineering, he thought, always got to be different. It’d need—

He dived for the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the metal bar. Its two points fit the bolt, and he rotated it as fast as he could. The remaining contents of the cabinet fell out, splashing toilet water down his jeans. He twisted on.

The voices were heading up the stairs. He heard calls for a fingerprinting kit and a photographer.

The first bolt fell out and he went for the second. The cabinet rocked on the wall and the bolt wobbled about. The lever slipped off, his hands slick with sweat. He reseated it and turned frantically. The cabinet sagged forward, obscuring his view of the bolt. He used his forearm to push the structure back onto the wall, but then he couldn’t move the bolt properly.

He heard footsteps climbing the old wooden stairs.

He flipped the lever over to his right hand so he could hold the cabinet with his left, but lost hold of the lever. It crashed into the toilet bowl and clattered into the water.

The footsteps stopped.

Shit! He grabbed the cabinet and wrestled it back and forth, levering it away from the half-removed bolt. The wood splintered and cracked. He twisted the cabinet to one side. There was a compartment behind the cabinet with a small black plastic bag in the rear corner

The footsteps resumed, faster this time and accompanied by shouting.

He grabbed the bag and ran for the kitchen fire escape. The latches were stiff and dug into his fingers as he pried them open. The window creaked as he slid it up. He threw himself through the opening, not caring about the state of the rusty metalwork, and pulled the window down.

The steps were narrow and doubled back on themselves with each floor. He bounded down, two at a time, bending his knees to mute the sound of his steps. Only when he reached the second floor did he realize the bottom two floors of the stairs were missing.

He looked down. It was a long drop. Didn’t the French have bloody fire regulations? He cursed whoever had taken the last steps and considered hanging by his arms to get low enough to jump without breaking anything. He looked again. It would still be ten feet to the sidewalk.

He was beside a window. Inside was another kitchen. He kicked hard and the glass disintegrated around his foot. He stamped on the bigger of the jagged pieces that were left in the frame before squeezing through the gap.

His shoes crunched on the broken glass. The apartment was identical to Auguste’s, only the owner wasn’t as fastidious about cleaning up. A dog stared at him from a basket in the corner. The room smelled worse than Piers. The dog wagged its tail and bounded over. Piers swept him up to keep his paws from the broken glass. The dog licked his face and Piers tried to wrestle him into a different position, one that kept his breath as far away as possible.

He ran for the door and tossed the animal onto the couch on the way. The dog bounded off the couch, and beat Piers to the front door, its lead in its mouth.

“No, stay here.”

The dog bounced up and down.

Piers pushed the dog away and listened at the door. It was quiet. He clicked the lock and opened it an inch. There was no sign of anyone on the landing. Restraining the dog with his foot he stepped out. Before he had closed the door, the dog bolted past him and down the stairs. Piers gave chase, using his hands on the bannisters to leap five or six steps at a time. He reached the hallway at the bottom and his shoes slapped onto the marble floor. Two police officers at the door turned. The dog barked and dived between them.

“Stop him!” Piers said, shoving through the police officers and running flat out after the dog.

The dog went away from where he’d told Sidney to wait, but he didn’t care. He ran after it, calling, “stop,” and praying that it didn’t.

After two blocks, the dog came to an abrupt halt by a gate into a park. He looked up at Piers, wagging his tail and shaking the leash in his teeth. Piers looked behind him and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the officer hadn’t followed.

He hooked the leash to the dog’s collar. The park wasn’t that big, but perhaps he could tie the dog to a tree. The dog wagged its tail, sweeping the ground in an arc behind him. Maybe his owners would pass this way as they returned home. Piers looked up and down the street, maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, he couldn’t walk the dog back to his home.

He toyed with the idea of Sidney handing the dog back over to the police outside Auguste’s apartment, but that was still too much of a risk. The dog ran around his feet, wrapping him in the leash. He let go and untied himself. The dog looked up, and made small jumps while his tongue flapped from the side of his mouth.

Piers took a deep breath. The dog had gotten him out of trouble; the least he could do now was look after him. They could walk around the block and get back to Sidney without passing the police in front of Auguste’s apartment building. Then he would find something better to do with him.

Piers bent down and looked at the tag on his collar. God, some people were inventive. He patted the dog’s head, and walked off to meet Sidney, Rover bouncing along beside him.