‘Absolutely not! But who else could it be? Another man from the market?’
‘It’s been a long day, Geneviève. I’m going to shut early and head home. Play with the cats before Guillaume comes to collect them. Consider adopting a third one. Maybe a fourth.’
She laughs. ‘Don’t let it get you down, Lilou. We’ll figure it out.’
I’m glum and ready to eat my feelings because I know soon enough the Paris Cupid news is going to break and then my secret admirer will probably run away screaming too. ‘Au revoir, Geneviève.’
I stop past Maison du Croquembouche and buy far too many sweet treats before continuing on foot to home. I head to PlaceMarcel Aymé,walking by the statue of Le Passe-Muraille, the sculpture of a man who can walk through walls. I love the quirkiness of the street art. He really is situated halfway between the wall, and his hand is golden from all the visitors who have tried to pull him out. Next I stop at Rêves de Champagne to buy a bottle of wine. A few months ago I matched the owner with a woman who works at the Louvre and I’m thrilled to see her hovering by the door to say hello to him as I leave. I recognise her by her bio picture, but in real life she’s even prettier and has love hearts for eyes when she chats to him.
Once home, the cats circle my feet as the cat sitter jumps from the sofa, eager to escape the confines of my tiny apartment. ‘They’ve been good today. Minou is a different cat with Marmalade here. I don’t want to put myself out of a job or anything, but I don’t think I’ll be needed here any more.’ Marmalade’s injuries aren’t as severe as Minou’s, it’s really only that she was dehydrated.
‘That’s great to hear. They are settling in much better now they’re together again.’
Her phone beeps. ‘Sorry, it’s my sister and if I don’t reply she’ll bombard me with messages until I do.’
‘Is everything all right?’ It strikes me I know virtually nothing about the cat sitter, having trusted the pet sitting site because I didn’t have much choice at the time.
‘Oui. She says she’s figured out who this Paris Cupid person is. Honestly, it’s all she ever talks about.’
Seriously! I double blink. ‘Who does she think it is?’
‘All she said is it’s someone who works close to her. A guy.’
A guy?‘Where does your sister work?’ Have they turned their attention in the complete wrong direction? ‘Saint Ouen Flea Market. She’s a florist.’
Mon Dieu, what are the chances? I’ve only got Coraline’s younger sister pet sitting for me! We’ve never shared personaldetails. She usually dashes out as soon as I get home, off to do whatever it is teenagers do over the summer holidays. Other times, she leaves an hour or so before I get home because she has another long-term cat-sitting job to get to.
‘A florist. How nice. Did you reply to her?’
‘Oui.She’ll dangle that carrot now and won’t give me any details until I beg her for them. And really, who cares about Paris Cupid? It’s a matchmaking site for old people. Like, really old people. Who’d want to write love letters when you could easily text? It makes zero sense.’
I can only laugh at such a teenager statement. ‘Ah-huh. Texting would be a lot more efficient. So did she have a name for the guy?’ Who have they pinned this on?
‘No she didn’t say. Anyway, here’s your key. If you need me back let me know.’
‘Merci, I will.’ She gives the cats one last cuddle and leaves. ‘Now, where’s that wine?’ I say to my charges before I pour myself a large glass and tell the cats all about my day and the relevant drama in my life. Minou stalks off, as ever not the best listener, but Marmalade stands riveted to the spot as if fascinated by human life.
31
I get to the market bright and early and am relieved to find Geneviève inside Palais. I rush inside and greet her. ‘Bonjour, Geneviève. Have you seenParis Scandale’s socials today?’
‘Oui,why do you think I’m here so early? What do you make of it?’
She pours two mimosas and today I don’t bother arguing. I take the proffered glass and big gulp. ‘I’m not sure. How could they get it so wrong?’Paris Scandale’s article this morning announced:
The face behind Paris Cupid exposed! We can report the face behind the popular matchmaking site Paris Cupid is a thirty-three-year-old man who, despite his claims to help others in their quest for love, remains resolutely single. Scandale! Stay tuned for an exclusive interview with Cupid himself as he says, ‘I’ll tell you everything, if you then leave well enough alone.’ What we know so far is, he set up the company in a friend’s name, in the hopes to keep his own identity secret. When our reporters tracked this “friend” down and confronted her, he then contacted us and admitted he was Cupid. Stay tuned. Exclusive coming tomorrow!
‘Who is this man? Someone chasing clout?’
I shake my head. ‘Surely they’d do some sort of due diligence and check? They can’t just believe anyone who walks off the street and announces something like that.’
Geneviève refills her mimosa with champagne. ‘So he’s managed to convince them somehow, but who could it be? Who would know enough to be able to pull that off? There’s no one. Is there?’
It hits me. The question in his eyes, the way he surveyed me looking for an answer. ‘It’s Pascale!’
Geneviève’s eyes widen. ‘How would he know for sure?’
‘Yesterday Pascale wanted to eject that reporter by his ears. You told him I was being accused of cat smuggling!’ The idea is so preposterous I laugh. ‘It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out we were lying. Plus, he comforted me the day Coraline riled me up about digging into the identity of Paris Cupid, even though the site had matched her. He knew those online groups had a strong theory that it was someone from the market, and their focus narrowed in on us. It’s not hard to join those dots when it’s clear I sell love letters, and Paris Cupid’s ethos is all about keeping them alive in a modern day world.’
