‘Never in a million years,’ I say through gritted teeth.
Jorges shrugs. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘Donotspeak to her like that.’ Pascale’s practically breathing fire. ‘It’s best if you leave now or I’llmakeyou leave.’
Jorges lets out a pig-like squeal and jogs away, looking over his shoulder as if he’s worried Pascale is going to change his mind and chase him out. From the murderous expression on Pascale’s face, Jorges is right to be worried. And it’s really rather upsetting to me that a man will only comply when another man arrives, all guns blazing. This is exactly what women are up against.
‘Didn’t I tell you already violence is never the answer?’ I say, my weak joke falling away as I glance at Pascale, who has his hands fisted at his sides.
‘What was all that about, Lilou?’ A muscle works in his jaw and it’s all I can do not to confide in him.
How to answer? Do I even need to? ‘You’ll soon find out. I’ve got to speak to Geneviève.’
‘Lilou.’ He places his hands on my shoulders. Big strong man hands that make me feel safe. I roil against the feeling of being the meeker sex. The woman who needs a knight in shining armour. I want to be able to take charge myself. Not rely on a man to scare away other men. ‘Take a moment to breathe.Breathe,’he says.‘Your whole body is trembling.’
I’m practically vibrating from the adrenaline that’s coursing through me. My hands shake so hard, I clasp them together and focus only on my breaths. I close my eyes and will myself to relax. I can’t make any decisions when I’m wound up like this.
‘Good, that’s better. Give it a couple of minutes. Do you want me to find Geneviève? Sit down for a minute, I’m worried you’re going to faint.’
Itfeelsas dramatic as all that. The barely disguised threats Jorges gave me about what he was going to write to make melook inept as a matchmaker. ‘Oui, find Geneviève.’ She’s the only person who will understand and will tell me straight.
Worry gnaws at me. How am I going to face public scrutiny if I can’t face one reporter? Pascale takes me into his arms and gives me a hug. The gesture grounds me, brings me back to the now. Once again, there’s a real sense of being safe with him. As though he’s a life raft in stormy seas. I don’t overthink it; I don’t have the energy right now.
When he releases me, I miss the warmth of his embrace. ‘I’m going to find Geneviève, OK? Sit on the chaise and sit tight.’
I fall back on the chaise longue, holding my head in my hands, wondering how to salvage the situation.
A few moments later, Geneviève appears, clutching a paper bag of croissants, worry lining her face. ‘Lilou, what happened? Pascale said you needed me urgently. Are you OK?’
‘Ah – well…’ Pascale is still hovering, hands on hips, eyes wild as if he’s hoping Jorges will return for round two so he can have a piece of him. I furtively motion to Pascale, and Geneviève gives me a nod as if she understands the message loud and clear.
‘Merci, Pascale. Lilou is fine with me now. Is that a customer at your shop?’
‘They can wait.’
‘Ooh, aren’t you lovely? But I can take it from here. Lilou’s had a bit of a morning, you see. She’s probably got a cracking headache. Though it’s nothing a mimosa won’t fix.’ Her voice is high and giggly, and it sounds false even to me.
‘Are you sure? That man gave her a fright and I’d like to know why. I didn’t like the weaselly look about him.’ Pascale’s face is pinched with worry. I’ve never had a man stand up for me like that before. Part of me likes it, but the other part wants to tell him I don’t need anyone to do my shouting for me.
‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Geneviève is right, it’s just a slight headache.’ I run with her excuse. ‘And an obnoxious visit from some random gutter journalist to contend with.’
Pascale surveys me so hard I blush. ‘He said he was giving you a chance to tell your side of the story. What did he mean? What story?’
The truth sits on my tongue. ‘I’m…’
‘She’s being investigated about a cat smuggling ring. Lilou is perfectly innocent, of course.’
Whaat! A cat smuggling ring? Has Geneviève lost her mind?
Pascale lifts an eyebrow. ‘A… what?’
If we dig ourselves into a hole any further, we’ll be buried.
‘She has adopted both her cats, and we can prove it!’ The situation has an unreal air to it and I have to bite back on sudden laughter. Although, on reflection, maybe it’s best if we discuss the way forward before I confide in anyone, especially Pascale, that I’m Cupid.
‘I did. I adopted them from the vet, and yes, they were cemetery cats, but they needed care. There was absolutely no smuggling involved.’
He gives us a long look that implies he believes not one word but can’t prove it. ‘So that guy was after some kind of admission about a… cat smuggling ring?’
