Camille returns with fresh produce and gets to work in the kitchen while Manon and I get back to painting Library Anaïs. The cutting in has been done, so all we have left to do is roll the middle.
‘You achieved a lot this morning, Manon,’ I say, marvelling at the amount she got done while I was chatting to Noah.
‘Uh-huh. Work horse, that’s me.’
I hold my roller still over the plastic mat and narrow my eyes at my wily cousin. ‘You roped JP into it, didn’t you?’
She grins. ‘Well, he did start late; it was the least he could do to make up for that. I might be in love with the guy but that doesn’t mean he can take advantage.’
‘You’re the one who made him late, and now you’re taking advantage of him!’
Her mouth falls open. ‘How didImake him late? Isn’t he a grown man with a brain in his head?’
‘Because I know you, Manon! You would have bullied the poor guy to do whatever you wanted, and point proven: look at this room.’
‘I can’t be everything for everyone all the time. He can’t expect me to paint all day and then have the energy to wander the streets of Paris on his arm all night like some love-struck teenager.’
‘You evil minx. I thought you were having trouble communicating basic sentences with the guy?’
‘Ouibut I can text. I sent him a message saying how I lacked energy after our evening out and one thing led to another,etvoilà, the high bits and low bits are done.’
I shake my head. She is the limit and gets away with it, the lucky devil. ‘Noah and I are having fun trying to solve the mystery of room nineteen.’
‘Is that all you’re doing?’ She waggles her brow.
‘Unlikesomepeople, I can control myself.’
‘Touché.’
‘So shall we decorate the tree tonight?’
‘Non, non.How about tomorrow? That way JP can help. He’s got dinner with hismamanthis evening.’
‘Are you going too?’
She blushes. ‘Oui, he is insisting on it.’
‘Ooh la la.Meeting the parents already!’
She pinches the bridge of her nose, smearing paint across her freckled skin. ‘Parents are never thrilled when they meet me. I’m not sure why. Do you think it’s all the black clothing? The big boots? The dramatic winged eyeliner?’
I consider it. Manon is edgy, but that’s her style and it suits her. ‘Does it matter? Those things are all cosmetic and they’re what make you, you. You’re not thinking of changing your look, are you?’
‘I don’t know, maybe it’s time for a change? For the first time ever, Icarewhat the parents think of me, you know?’ She massages her temples, spreading yet more paint. At this rate she’s going to have black and white hair like a dalmatian.
‘It’s lovely that you care what they think of you, Manon, but what you wear doesn’t define who you are as a person. If they judge you because of your style, that’s a bit of a red flag.’
She’s only half listening and gives me a distracted nod.
A few hours later, Camille finds us packing up the plastic mats in Library Anaïs and asks us to wash up and head into the dining room. Our feast awaits. Manual labour really does increase a person’s appetite, so I’m excited to try her signature dish.
After we’ve scrubbed paint from our hands, we take a seat in the dining room. ‘Is that smoke?’ I sniff, looking towards the kitchen.
‘The oven probably needs a good clean,’ Manon says distractedly as she swipes her phone open.
‘Manon,’ I say more urgently. ‘The kitchen looks like it’s?—’
Camille comes out bearing two plates. ‘This iscote de bouefwithcafé de Parisbutter and duck fat roast potatoes. I’ve also made a side salad of fresh leafy greens.Bon appetit.’
