He shakes his head. ‘Why do you want to hear what they’re arguing about anyway?’
‘Why do you?’
‘Makes the day go faster.’
The voices quieten down. ‘Guess we’ll never know.’
16
I’m meeting Geneviève on the left bank of the river to hunt through a nighttime antique market held in mid-August. Under the guise of searching for stock for Ephemera and Palais we spend time shopping at various market and vintage shops across the city, searching for curios and all sorts of weird and wonderful. You never know what you’re going to find. Some days we come away empty-handed, other days rich with spoils.
I walk under the shade of horse chestnut trees as I spot Geneviève. She stands out in the crowd wearing a scarlet wrap dress, looking every inch a movie star while she chats to a vendor who we befriended a while ago who keeps an eye out for love letters and diaries for me.
When I get closer, I note the stiffness in Geneviève’s posture. Outwardly, she’s chatting and laughing away, but inwardly something is amiss. When I get to the table, I make pleasantries with the vendor while I scheme up a believable way to get Geneviève away from here so I can ask her what’s wrong.
‘Sorry, Lilou,’ the vendor says. ‘I haven’t come across much this month.’
I wave her apologies away. ‘Thank you for keeping a look out. Geneviève, would you mind joining me for a drink before we peruse the market? It’s been one of those days…’ I make a great show of appearing frazzled and fraught but must have overplayed it because Geneviève narrows her eyes ever so slightly.
But really, it has been one of those days. I made the mistake of checking Paris Cupid as soon as I woke up only to find a number of complaints about the sudden hiatus. There were also a tonne of enquiries from journalists pushing for interviews and asking for the inside scoop on Emmanuel Roux. Not all of them believe he’s legitimately in love either. The press messages ranged from friendly enquiries to downright threatening.
‘Of course, Lilou. We have all evening so there’s no rush.’ Geneviève links her arm in mine. We walk along the path as boats chug along the river. Mostly they’re dinner cruises. Guests stand on the deck, champagne glasses in hand, fairy lights twinkling above them. I often wonder what it would feel like to be a tourist in Paris. It must be magical to visit the beautiful city and try and take in all the sights, the history, and the culture.
‘What is it?’ I ask as I turn my head to her, moonlight reflecting off the inky Seine.
Geneviève glances behind us before she says, ‘So, I joined a few of those Paris Cupid online groups.’
I wrinkle my nose. I’ve figured it’s best to ignore those types of sites; they can only be full of speculation and gossip. ‘Which groups? The ones mentioned in the tabloids?’
‘Oui. It intrigued me. I’ve been checking these groups sporadically, keeping an eye on what they’re saying about finding out the mastermind. Mostly they were positive posts. There were a range of Parisians chatting about Paris Cupid helping them find true love, so they were there to share their story and encourage others to join.’
‘OK, that’s good news. I’ve matched over one hundred couples now so it’s still going strong, even though new sign-ups are suspended. I’m just not sure who is genuine and who isn’t now it’s been exposed like this.’
‘You can only do your best, Lilou. And if the match doesn’t work then you try again, just like you’ve been doing so far.’
‘So the groups weren’t saying anything else? It all seems rather tame.’
‘There are a few members pushing the group to find out the identity of Cupid. At first, the majority were adamant about the importance of keeping Cupid’s identity a secret. Lately, more are switching sides. Itseems’ – she exhales an angry breath – ‘that since applications have been suspended, it’s roused their suspicious nature. That or they’re just some really convincing online trolls who are set to get as many other converts as possible on board. I feel terrible, Lilou, because it was my idea to put membership applications on hold.’
Poor Geneviève really does look like someone took the wind from her sails. She leans heavily against me as we walk. I want to reassure her, even though the idea of them trying to find me is a worrying one. ‘It’s not your fault. I’d have done the same thingwithoutyour advice. There’s just no way I can handle all those applications alone. I’m still going through the influx after the very first Emmanuel Roux interviews. It’s a lot of work so I dread to think how many more would have come in if I didn’t shut it down.’
She nods, her lips pressed in a tight line. I haven’t convinced her.
‘Geneviève, seriously. Without your guidance I actually might have pulled the plug on the whole thing, and I’m so thankful I didn’t. There’s definitely a future for Paris Cupid, but it’s going to take some planning, some restructuring to keep it exclusive and manageable.’
‘You’re being very kind. Perhaps you need to read some of the posts. They really want to find you. And really, is that so bad?’
I try to hide my worry, but I’m sure it’s evident in my eyes. ‘If only my dating history wasn’t such an unequivocal disaster story.’ I can see the headlines now and know just what they’d lead with. It doesn’t bear thinking about, especially as I don’t want Geneviève to stress further. ‘Let’s not worry. Maybe they’ll get bored and move on?’
‘Maybe you need to take control of the narrative?’
‘How?’
‘Tell them to stop searching for you or it will take the magic away. Tell them you’re only doing this if your anonymity is guaranteed.’
‘Would that not provoke them further?’ It’s not that I’m ashamed of my dating history, it’s only that how can they trust in me to find their perfect match when I can’t find that for myself? What sort of matchmaker is single at the prime of her life? And being that my last relationship was with a married man will surely not come over well, no matter how much I protest my innocence.
Concern lines her face. ‘It might. It’s so hard to know what the best course of action is, Lilou. It bothers me they speak about you in such a way. Some of the posts are nasty and I just cannot fathom why.’
