Paris Love Match

Chapter 17





Sidney stuffed the key and papers into her pocket, and set off fast.

Piers raced to keep up with her, with Rover only too pleased to bound alongside. “Will you stop?”

“Why? You got another admission to make?” She continued her rapid walk.

“No, I don’t know where we’re going.”

“I do.”

“Well, I don’t and we need to—”

“Need to what? Work as a team? The same sort of team that kept the existence of the black bag to himself?”

“I didn’t keep it to myself. And you have the bag.”

She huffed. “And how can I trust anything you say?”

Rover and Piers kept up, trying to stay alongside her. They walked along a line of shops until Piers called for them to stop.

She stood with her hands on her hips. “What?”

He pointed to the shop behind her. A bank of TVs displayed the frozen image of a girl, one eye half-open and the other closed, rushing toward a Métro exit. Her mouth was wide open and her tongue stuck out. Her wet black hair formed clumps that zigzagged across her head. Her jacket was twisted sideways and the roof-mounted camera was pointed down the cleavage of her blouse.

“Merde!” Sidney said.

He turned and she was already stomping off down the street. He gave chase. “Okay, so they have a picture of you, but it was a miracle they didn’t get a picture on the motorbike.”

“Oh yeah, right. They couldn’t get a picture of me on the bike, could they? No. No action shot for me. No dramatic pose. No catching my best side. No, no, no. For me it’s the five-franc hooker look. The bimbo who’s been groped by every drunk at the bar.”

“What are you talking about? It’s not that bad. Besides, it might slow them up identifying you.”

“Great consolation. I look like a tramp and that might slow up my identification. Yeah, great, thanks.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant. You meant you’re all right and you don’t care about anyone else.”

He grabbed her hand, dragging her to a stop. “Stop it. This is stupid. It’s a picture. It’s a bad picture, yes, but it’s just a picture.”

She shook him off. “Just what you’d expect a man to say.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Pah!” She resumed walking.

He breathed deep and followed her. Rover trotted dutifully, his head down, concentrating on his steps.

She turned down an alley and a minute later, just as Piers thought they had doubled back they emerged into Place des Vosges.

He touched her arm. “Is the Swiss Free Bank around here?”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Do you use your eyes at all?”

It took only one glance. “Sidney. We need to find this bank, not go shopping.”

“I told you. I am not going anywhere in these stinking clothes.” She punctuated each syllable by poking him in the chest. He grabbed her hand, but she pulled away and walked off.

He followed her past the cafés and boutiques that lined the arched walkway around the buildings. Fluffy pastries nestled between elegant china, and mannequins displayed haute couture. Nowhere did he see a price tag.

He felt for his wallet. He daren’t use a credit card. The police had his picture, and maybe his name, so they would track them in moments. “We can’t buy anything here. I don’t have enough cash.”

She looked at him. “I wasn’t expecting you to buy me anything.”

“Okay, I was just thinking, we can’t use a credit card.”

“Listen, do you want a change of clothes or not?”

“Okaaay.”

She walked on past a long string of designer boutiques until she came to one with an alley down the side. “This one.”

Piers looked in through the window and saw rustic wood floors with occasional items of clothing hung from statues, and what seemed to be real miniature trees. The clothes in the window were a uniform bright red. A giant lava lamp bubbled in the corner, and sequins were sprinkled over the floor. He glanced at his bargain basement jeans. It was just his sort of place.

He tied Rover to a bench under the shelter of the arches. The dog sat with his tongue out, and watched them go.

Sidney gripped the door handle. “Just do as I say, understand?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”

They went inside, and she tucked the umbrella into a stand behind the door.

A stick-thin girl appeared from behind a giant mushroom. She wore a fluorescent blue oriental-patterned dress, a glitter-covered black beret, and flat black shoes. Her nose wrinkled as they approached.

“Bonjour,” she chimed in a singsong voice.

“Bonjour.” Sidney’s thousand-watt smile burst out and her voice went up an octave. She explained they were looking for new clothes after they had had an impromptu dip in a fountain. The girl took the idea in her stride, looked Piers over and, to his surprise, quoted his size correctly.

“And you will be swimming again?” she said.

“I don’t think so.”

She looked dubious. “Shoes?”

He looked at his bedraggled Marks and Spencer’s specials. “Uh-huh.”

The girl departed, leaving Piers standing and Sidney looking over the items hanging from the trees. He couldn’t help but notice that one of the outfits she looked at seemed uncannily like the one she was wearing. He stared hard and Sidney saw him. She gave him a cold stare and placed one finger over her lips to silence him.

The girl came back with several suits, all very slim and in a shiny fabric. He chose a dark gray one with a fine pinstripe. The girl didn’t ask about a shirt but simply handed him a bright white one and a thin black tie. He took them to a small, enclosed area that had a revolving mirror for a door.

Outside, he could hear Sidney and the girl discussing the merits of various dress, suit, and shoe combinations. He was glad to catch Sidney steer the conversation away from the red items in the window. Red didn’t have a molecule of low profile to it.

To his surprise, the outfit was his size, though the jacket was cut for a tight fit. He looked at himself in the mirror and got the immediate impression he had turned into an extra for the set of Mad Men. At least he didn’t smell like a dumpster anymore.

The girl knocked on the mirror and handed him two pairs of shoes, both extremely pointed. He chose the one he thought would inflict the least long-term damage and thanked her. She gave a smile that was at least 900 watts lower in intensity than Sidney’s.

He emerged, standing straight and looking sharp. The girl was suitably impressed, though Sidney paid him no attention.

Sidney took several patterned dresses into the changing cubicle and closed the rotating mirror.

The girl fussed over Piers’ suit. “It makes you feel happy, no?” said the girl.

Piers kept a straight face. “I guess.”

She walked around him. “We could take it in a little.”

“No, no, its fine.”

“Just don’t get it wet.” She wagged a finger at him. “No swimming.”

“I’ll try not to.”

The girl nodded approvingly.

A phone rang. His phone. The sound rattled from the changing room. Damn, he hadn’t emptied his pockets into the new outfit. Without warning his old clothes came flying over the top of the cubicle’s walls and clattered on the ground. His phone stopped ringing. He retrieved it from his pockets just as it rang again.

Sidney called, “It’ll be mummy.”

He looked at the display and flipped it open with a sigh. “Hello, mum.”

The girl turned away. He was sure he saw a smile creep across her face.

“Piers. You never called me back, dear. I waited and waited and you know I was worried but you didn’t call back.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I know, dear, you said before. Very busy. Has that girl stopped crying?”

“Yes, mum. She’s stopped crying.”

“Well, I certainly hope you weren’t upsetting her.”

“No, mum, I wasn’t upsetting her—”

“Because it sounded like it.”

“I wasn’t upsetting her.”

Sidney spoke from the changing cubicle. “Not then, he wasn’t.”

“Mum, I wasn’t upsetting her.”

“I know, dear, you said.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Is this a girl you know?”

“Sort of, I guess.”

“Sort of? You don’t sound very sure, considering she was crying over you.”

“She wasn’t crying over me, mum.”

“Are we going to get to meet her, dear?”

“No, mum, no. No, I doubt it. She’s …”

“She’s what dear?”

“Ummm, she’s … she’s—”

“Oh, Piers! Don’t tell me she’s pregnant!”

“No! She is not pregnant. Definitely. Nothing like that.”

“Don’t lie to me, Piers.”

“Mum. She is not pregnant.”

The girl behind the sales counter quickly averted her gaze and busied herself with her paperwork when she noticed Piers looking in her direction.

“Well, this is a turn up. You go abroad and meet a girl who is crying to you and who isn’t pregnant.”

“She is not pregnant. You meet people, you know, and things happen.”

“Things? What things, dear?”

“Nothing, mum. There’s nothing to worry about. The girl’s not pregnant, I’m okay and there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“So you said, but mothers worry about these things. Not that I’d expect you to understand a woman.”

“I do understand women.”

A bark of laughter erupted from the changing cubicle along with several indecipherable mutterings.

“I have to go. My, er … taxi’s here. I have to go.”

“A taxi? Where are you going?”

“Have to go, mum. Call you later.”

He pressed the off button with a sigh of relief.

The girl behind the counter was still busy with her papers, studiously avoiding eye contact.

The rotating mirror spun, and Sidney walked out of the changing cubicle. She wore a tailored floral dress with a medium neckline and short hemline. The material shimmered and bounced as she walked, propelled by every touch of her curves.

She rotated back and forth, admiring herself in the mirror, twirling the skirt, fascinated with the way it moved. Her smile evaporated the moment she saw Piers was just as fascinated.

“This’ll do,” she said.

“It’s wonderful,” Piers said.

She grunted. “Well at least you told her I wasn’t pregnant.”

“Oh, what, my mum?”

“Unless you’ve told anyone else that I’m not pregnant lately?”

“No. She was just worried. The previous call. The crying. The, you know, everything.”

“Everything? Everything such as there’s a fictitious taxi waiting for us? Or that you’re okay?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It certainly is. Everything with you is.”

“No, not everything is complicated, just some things.”

“Like the truth.”

“No. It’s just … white lies … to protect her … she’d worry.”

“Course she’s bloody worried, you’re lying to her all the time.”

“Not all the time. Just things she wouldn’t understand, like being abroad.”

“She can’t be frightened because you’re in Paris?” She spread her hands out to gesture to the city. “I mean, is the War of the Roses still going on?”

“The War of the Roses was in England. It was the Hundred Years War between Britain and France.”

“Oh right, that helps clarify everything, doesn’t it.”

She turned away from him and faced the girl. “I’m going to need a coat. Wool. Something durable.” Sidney cast a disparaging glance at Piers, “You better get him . . . something similar.”

The girl disappeared behind a multicolored series of overlapping circles and emerged with two coats. Black. Matching.

“Twee,” Piers said.

“No,” said the girl, a shocked look on her face, “Ralph Lauren.”

They both tried them on. Piers’ was too tight. He handed it back. Sidney took hers off. “I’d better have a larger size, too.”

The girl looked puzzled. “But it seemed to fit perfectly, madame.”

Sidney shook her head. “I’m going to need something with a bit more room to move. Life’s been action-packed since he turned up.”

The girl smiled.

Sidney shook her head and frowned. “Sadly, it’s not what you might think. So far today I’ve been shot at, been rescued by an idiot on a motorbike, been threatened by the mob—”

Piers’ face fell. “Sidney, stop it.”

“Forced down a garbage chute—”

“Sidney.” Piers grabbed her elbow.

“Showered in a public cubicle,” she shook him off, “forced to lie—”

“Sidney.”

“And gained a dog.”

The girl’s eyes went wide. The features of her face seemed to move in slow motion. “Oh. My. God.” Her hand flew to her face and she started bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

Piers touched Sidney on the arm “I think we need to go.”

“No!” said the girl. She rushed around and stared at Piers’ face from different angles. “My god. You’re the man on the motorbike, the guy on TV. I should have known. Everyone’s talking about you. That was soooo brave.”

“Brave?” said Sidney, her face screwed up.

“Oui, how he rescued you. C’est magnifique!”

“You obviously don’t know him like I do.”

The girl clutched Sidney’s arm. “You are so lucky.”

“I’m lucky to even be alive after meeting him.”

The girl shook her head in awe. “In the middle of such danger, he whisks you away. It is soooo romantic.”

Piers looked at Sidney with a smile that she didn’t return.

“Okay. We need to go,” Piers said.

The girl’s eyes widened even further. “Oh non, non, wait, wait.” She pulled out an iPhone from behind her counter. “I need a picture. Pleeeaaase.”

“This might be exciting news for you, but we’re trying to keep a low profile.”

The girl waved her hands. “I know, I know. Now you are being hunted by the police. It’s like, like, like Bonnie and Clyde. Ahhhh. It is so romantic.”

Piers stared at her. “Bonny and Clyde ended up dead.”

The girl shrugged and regained her composure. “Please, you must let me have a photograph.”

“Well.”

Sidney put her arm through Piers’. She gave her best smile and hugged him toward her. He joined her smile and the girl took a picture. She waved her phone in front of Sidney who oohed at the photo.

“Just one more,” said the girl, “please?”

She took several more, moving them around the small shop, snapping away.

“Okay, we’ve really got to go,” said Piers.

Sidney flipped through the pictures on the phone while the girl added up the bill.

“Can we have a talk,” whispered Sidney, dragging him into the cubicle. She took a deep breath. “This isn’t working out as I planned.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, she’s nice.”

“And?”

“Nice. She’s nice. She’s so excited to see us, and she took pictures … of us. So, we can’t, I mean, I can’t, maybe you can, but I can’t . . .”

“What? Can’t what?”

Sidney leaned in close. “Run out on her.”

“Run out on her? In these clothes? Was that your plan coming here? Try a few things on and steal them?”

Sidney crossed her eyebrows. “All right. We’re not all blessed with a sugar mummy.”

“I don’t have a sugar mummy.”

“She’s phoned you twice in one day. I’d say she’s looking after you.”

“She just doesn’t have anything else to do.”

“Except look after you.”

“All right, all right. So, if your master plan of stealing these things isn’t on, what now? I don’t have enough cash, and I’m guessing you don’t either since I’ve paid for everything since we met.”

“Oh, right, money. Just like a man.”

“Look, I’m just trying to be practical.”

“Oh, yeah, the dog catcher, you’re all about practical.”

“What’s that supposed … oh, never mind.”

She stared at him and he stared back. He cracked first. “I have to pay with a credit card, don’t I?”

She gave a sheepish smile. “She’s been so nice. Took pictures and everything.”

“Pictures? Is that all you think of?”

“Pictures are important.”

“What’s important is that the police will have our location the moment she swipes my card.”

“Maybe not.”

There was a knock on the mirror door. Piers flipped it open.

The girl was outside. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing. I know you don’t want me to swipe your card, and I totally don’t want to be the one who gets you caught. So, I was thinking, maybe I could write down the number and I’ll charge it in a few days. You know, when you’re a long way from here.”

“Really?” Sidney grabbed hold of the girl’s hands. “That would be great. Really great. Wouldn’t it, Piers?”

The girl beamed.

“Oh yeah … great, “ Piers said.

Sidney and the girl stared at him. He blew out a deep breath and gave a smile. “I’m sorry. Yes, that would be great. This has been a stressful day. We’re making this up as we go.”

The girl’s smile returned.

Piers pulled out his credit card. She wrote down the number. “I’ll give you a few days to get away, okay?”

“That should be enough,” said Sidney as she looped her arm through Piers’, “Because, apparently, I’ll be traveling by taxi with a man who understands women.”

The girl sniggered, but Piers was frozen to the spot. Beyond the miniature trees, beyond the red outfits, and beyond Rover’s big eyes, police officers were spilling into the grace and tranquility of Place des Vosges.