‘She said there’d come a time when I was ready to find love again. I’d feel it. But how do I know that this is the time? What if I’m wrong?’
‘What if you’re not?’
‘I’m too old for this caper.’
‘Just think of this like having a pen pal. A friend to correspond with. I’m sure Clementine has all the same reservations as you. There’s nothing here suggesting there’s any expectation except friendship to begin with.’
‘Can I write that in my letter, do you think?’
‘Why not? Honesty is the best policy.’
‘Thank you, Lilou. A new friend wouldn’t be so bad. Forgive an old man his tears.’ He takes a handkerchief from his top pocket and scrubs his face, while I send Mathilde my thanks. I bet she’s orchestrated this from wherever she is. She was the type of woman not to let death stand in her way.
15
After meeting Guillaume at the pâtisserie, I head to Ephemera. When I get upstairs, Felix calls me over, cheeky smile at the ready. ‘A courier left this for you.’ It’s a box of stock from a new Parisian supplier.
‘Merci!’
‘Do you ever write love letters, Lilou?’
I stop short. I have never written a love letter and that fact has gone unnoticed by me until this very moment. ‘I’ve been so focused on finding them that it’s never occurred to me to write one myself, even with a previous flame. Why is that?’ I’m not going to tell Felix that I’ve been single sincele scandale, and before that my relationships were so short-lived that I didn’t get to the pining-for-them stage where I’d have felt comfortable pouring my heart and soul out in love letters.
‘Ah, because they haven’t been the right man for you! What you need is a ginger-haired prince of men, one who will…’
‘What? Make me stay out until the witching hour and drink far too much champagne?’
‘Now that sounds like a fun night!’
As always, I don’t quite know how to take Felix’s flirtatious nature. It comes across so jovial that it’s impossible to take seriously. But is that his way of showing me he’s interested in me? He can’t be though; he flirts with everyone just the same, men and women alike. It’s just his bubbly, fun persona. ‘Thanks for this.’ I hold up the box. ‘Maybe we can get that glass of wine after work soon?’
He makes a great show of clutching his heart as if in some sort of rapture. ‘You’ll make all my dreams come true.’
I cock my head. ‘You’re simply a showman.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘Au revoir.’
‘Bonne journée.’
I unlock my stall and wheel out the display tables, taking great care not to look in Pascale’s direction. I don’t bother to light candles or play music, not because I’m conceding to him but because I’d rather open the box of my new treasures.
As I’m going through it, a greeting card falls out of the bundle. I pick it up to inspect it. It has a pressed picture of Cupid on the front. Inside is printed too, with a phrase that reads:
To the woman who makes my heart sing. I wish I could tell you how I feel.
My pulse quickens. Has someone figured out I’m Cupid? If so, the message inside doesn’t make much sense.
Just as I’m mulling it over, Geneviève sashays in, a cloud of perfume following in her wake. ‘What’s that?’ she asks. ‘If you keep frowning over your work you’re going to age before your time.’ She attempts to smooth the furrow between my eyes with a fingertip. ‘Tell me what’s got you daydreaming like that?’
‘I’ve got a stack of new letters from a Parisian supplier, and this card was in the box. Do you think someone knows I’m ParisCupid? This wasn’t part of my order…’ It’s sospecific. It has to be. ‘The supplier – it can’t be her.’ I barely know the woman. We chat via email and aside from a few pleasantries about the weather, we only talk shop.
Geneviève takes it from my hands and dons her spectacles. ‘This looks like the type of personalised hand-printed cards Felix makes.’
‘He accepted the delivery because I wasn’t here!’ The card is like one of Felix’s made on his vintage press with his luxe paper and traditional font. ‘But there’s no way he could know that I’m Cupid, is there?’
Geneviève frowns over the top of her glasses. ‘Do you think I’ve made it obvious it’s connected to you when I’ve visited market vendors and tried to spread the word about Paris Cupid? I hope I haven’t blown your cover.’ She massages her temples as if the idea gives her a headache.
