‘Oui. But my brother doesn’t understand that loaning means you make repayments. I’ll never see that money again.’
‘You sound really close, despite your misgivings.’
He nods. ‘He gets away with bloody murder but we love him so. He was sick for a long time, and we thought we’d lose him. That sort of scare really changes your perspective on life. How could I say no to this crazy new plan when a few years ago we didn’t think he’d make it this far? So, of course, he uses that to his advantage.’
‘I’m so glad he made it through.’ Benoit is one of the good ones. A man with a big heart.
‘Merci. We were lucky. And so now I have his ginormous dog who eats more than I do and insists on being walked three times a day. If I don’t take him out, he whimpers and wails at the window, driving my neighbours crazy. Really, he’s just as needy and conniving as my little brother.’
‘How will you feel when it’s time to give him back?’
Benoit gives me a wide smile. ‘We might have to become co-parents too. But most likely my brother will secede custody and that will be that. I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t spontaneously buy a horse or a pony or something equally outlandish.’
‘Next minute you’ll be living on a farm with a menagerie of animals your brother has adopted.’
‘While he travels the world and calls me when he needs more spending money.’
We both laugh at his sibling’s antics. ‘You’re a good brother.’
We arrive at the restaurant and I take a snap of the windmill before we go inside. Benoit takes my hand as we’re directed by the maître d’ to our table. It feels totally natural, as if we’ve clasped hands so many times before. Like Felix, I feel so comfortable in Benoit’s company. Could he be my secret admirer? Those beautiful calligraphy letters certainly point to him. Could he be behind all the mysterious deliveries? I reserve judgement and see how the evening pans out.
Once our orders are taken and wine poured, I take a slice of baguette and add lashings of salty house-made butter. ‘Have you heard much about this Paris Cupid scandal?’ Benoit asks out of the blue, just as I bite into the bread. It lodges in my throat at an odd angle and I do my best not to die. Death by bread, that would be just my luck. I take an unladylike gulp of wine to help wash it down.
‘Sorry, what?’ I finally manage.
He blushes as if embarrassed to have to explain such a thing. ‘Oh, it’s nothing really. I just caught the tail end of some gossipin the market this afternoon as I was tidying up before I closed. There’s a Parisian matchmaking site that’s got everyone talking. They’re trying to uncover who is behind it. It’s all hush-hush apparently, leading to a lot of conjecture.’
‘Oh, yes, I have heard some whispers about that. I tend to avoid all that gossip. It gets so exaggerated, you never quite know what to believe. Why – are you thinking of joining?’
His blush increases. ‘Non, non. That’s not my style at all.’
‘So you wouldn’t write love letters in an effort to romance a woman?’
The poor man could not blush any harder, but our conversation pauses when the waiter returns with our entrées: two steaming bowls of bouillabaisse – fresh fish and seafood soup with a spicy undertone. Benoit is saved by the soup as he picks up his spoon and dives in… Is he just hungry or is he avoiding the question? Did the question of love letters make him react that way? Suddenly Benoit seems the most likely to have placed the prayer book in Ephemera. Or am I totally off track? He’s gorgeous and wise and ticks all the boxes, but is there a spark there?
24
I wake up bleary-eyed and having a sneezing fit. Am I allergic to cats? Or am I coming down with something? Minou lies on the pillow beside me, as if he’s a human and not a once-wild cat. ‘Oh, now you decide to sleep,’ I say, giving him a gentle stroke behind the ears.
Last night didn’t quite go the way I thought it would. After a lovely early dinner with Benoit, I met with Guillaume and took my charge home. That’s when the chaos began. It seems that Minou has a wild side to his personality. Either that or he really doesn’t like glasses, cups, plates, vases, clocks, curtains or sofas. If he can knock it from its perch, he will. The curtains made a fabulous playground for him to run up and down, and my sofa is much more fun as a scratching pole than the actual scratching pole I bought at the vet for an astronomical price.
My phone rings and it takes me a moment to track the sound. I find it under my pillow. The noise doesn’t even make the cat stir. Last night he exhausted himself, and me in the process. Woolly-headed, I answer. ‘Bonjour.’ A yawn gets the better of me and I fall back against the pillow.
‘Are you OK?’ Guillaume asks. ‘I woke up to your manymanymessages, Lilou. The last one was only a few hours ago! What on earthhappened?’
I check the time. I’ve had about two hours of sleep. If you can call it that; it was more that I gave up and fell into a coma. ‘How do you feel about changing Minou’s name to Destructor Cat?’ I explain my wild night with the tabby terror who now sleeps angelically in my bed.
He clucks his tongue. ‘Of course there’s going to be some issues. He’s used to being outdoors and having to fight for everything. This is going to be a period of adjustment, that’s all.’
‘Uh huh. Said by the man who didn’t host a cat party that raged all night long and well into the morning.’
‘Perhaps we need to speak to the vet? Minou’s supposed to be resting.’
I gaze over at the mound of fur. ‘He’s quite content now. Maybe he’s a night owl?’
He does his usual impatient sigh. ‘You panicked, it’s to be expected. And his behaviour is probably explained away by an energy burst after being sedated. Today will be better.’
I sneak from the bed so as not to wake the tabby terror and go to the living room, the sight of mass destruction still evident. Cushions lie on the floor, ripped and pulled. My chenille throw rug is a tangled mess. The strap of my leather handbag has tiny bite marks down the length of it. That’s not to mention the debris I’d already cleaned up – smashed glass and ceramics. ‘All those toys we bought – he didn’t touch one of them. Maybe he’s never seen a cat toy before, so he has no idea what they’re for.’ The garish-coloured cat toys lie abandoned and untouched, and the idea that our wild little friend has no idea what to do with them almost makes me well up. Who knew cat ownership would be a roller-coaster ride of emotions?
