‘Hand holding?’
He reels back. ‘This is private, Lilou! I’m a gentleman!’
‘Désolé, of course. As it should be. And how about the matchmaking site itself? Were you happy with it?’
He grumbles under his breath. ‘Mostly. Benoit said it was legitimate but with all this talk about who is running it, it does make a man worry.’
‘Oh? What talk is that?’
‘Allegedly the person behind it won’t reveal themselves, so the general consensus is that they’re obviously hiding something. I just hope my bank accounts are safe.’
‘Why wouldn’t they be?’
‘Theinternet, Lilou, that’s why! There’s probably another Guillaume wandering around Paris right now, taking out mortgages in my name, living a life of luxury.’
‘That’s not quite?—’
‘I’ve heard all about it. Identity theft. Cloning. The list goes on.’
I shake my head. ‘Well, at least you’ve found a match.’
‘Oui.’
‘And Clementine, what does she think of Paris Cupid?’
‘She thinks all the speculation about who is running it is a waste of time and that we should all be happy such a service exists, but this is coming from a woman who enthusiastically shops on the internet when there are brick and mortar shops all around as far as the eye can see. It befuddles me, but thebibliothécairetold me to keep my trap shut when it comes to a woman’s proclivities for retail therapy, onlineoroff.’
‘I like thisbibliothécaire.’
‘Bossy, she is, unrelenting, like someone else we won’t name.Lilou. Anyway, I’ll pick up the cats this evening, and they can stay with me for the week. Clementine is excited to meet them too. She’s coming over for apero tomorrow.’
‘She’s going to fall in love with them like we have.’
I wonder what he’ll think when the news breaks that I’m Cupid. I only hope it doesn’t change anything between us.
30
My head pounds as the interminable day continues. The gossip around the market is on overdrive and I’m sick to death of hearing about Paris Cupid rumours. Many a time I almost screamed the truth from the top of the stairs but stopped myself from being hasty. What if the reporter was all bluster? Although, deep down, I guess investigative reporters have ways and means to find out faster than online sleuths.
I’m about to close when Geneviève comes rushing in, brandishing paperwork in her hands. ‘Lilou,’ she whispers. ‘I have the handwriting samples!’
That gets my attention. I guess I have been more invested in finding out who my so-called secret admirer is than I’ve let on.
‘Have you got the other correspondence they sent?’ she asks.
‘Oui, in my desk. Shall I close up? What if one of them walks in?’
Geneviève shakes her head. ‘Non, if they happen along, we can gauge their reaction. Get the letters, Lilou.’
I find the previous deliveries and open my phone to the picture of the delicate parchment with calligraphy from the copy ofMadame Bovarythat’s framed and by my bedside in myapartment. We study them all one-by-one. My posture stoops. ‘Not a match. Not even close to a match,’ I say.
Geneviève blows out a breath. ‘How can that be?’
‘It’s not one of them, I guess.’ Why then do I feel so deflated? I take a moment to piece it together. Is it because there is a man across the hall who makes my heart beat double time? Though apparently I can’t admit it, even to myself? Whyisthat? This is proof that making a wish for love on Buste Dalida is another Parisian myth. I’ve always admired Dalida and, even though it seems so childish, I really did hope my wish would be granted. Clearly desperation. Not only am I unlucky and hopeless in love, but my alter ego is about to suffer a mortifying public execution.
‘I’m sorry, Lilou. I wassocertain.’
‘It’s OK. It’s probably a practical joke, and there is no secret admirer. That would be just my luck to start falling for the words of a ghost, a fake. I can add that to my repertoire.’
