Million Love Songs(36)

‘I’m sorry if I’ve scared you, Ruby, but I am doing my best to protect you.’

‘From myself?’

Charlie laughs. ‘That too. What you need is a man like Gary Barlow. He’d never let you down.’

She’s probably right. How could I have been so stupid to fall for Mason’s chat-up lines? Am I really that desperate? Will I be the butt of all the jokes at work? Serves me right if I am. It looks as if I’m going to be just another notch on my boss’s bedpost as Charlie warned me. I should have listened to her. So much for me being this sexually liberated femme fatale. Now I feel like a complete twonk.

I turn to her and pout. ‘I need that cake now.’

‘My treat,’ Charlie says, trying to cheer me up. ‘I’m sorry that I’m not deliriously happy for you, but I don’t want us to fall out over it.’

‘We won’t. But you can buy the cake and I want a big bit,’ I inform her. ‘A huge bit. The chocolate one with the sprinkly things on top.’

‘You’re on.’ Charlie looks relieved that I am taking solace in calories.

Frankly, I need something sweet to take away the sour taste that’s suddenly in my mouth.





Chapter Thirty





I’m in Paris, the city of love and lovers, and I can hardly believe it. And I suppose I am with my lover. Of sorts.

I didn’t ring Mason and cancel our trip. Obviously, you can tell that. Also, I will spare you the details of all the soul-searching and agonising that went on over the last couple of days. The amount of times I tapped his number into my phone to tell him that I’d changed my mind, only to then bottle the call. Packing alone had me in a turmoil of anxiety. I’ve got one small wheelie case, but I could have gone the whole Kim Kardashian and taken my entire wardrobe. Google said that Paris is best seen on foot, so I’ve packed comfortable walking shoes as well as heels. We’re only here overnight, so I don’t know how much sightseeing we’ll be able to cram in. I spent hours dyeing my hair and defuzzing myself in all the little important places.

For your own sake, I’ll skip the slightly awkward journey on the Eurostar where Mason was charm personified and I was more shy than my painfully shy teenage self. It felt like my first ever date and I’d rather that was consigned to the dustbin of memories. Three glasses of champagne helped to get over that bit, eventually.

We can’t avoid the fact that I came over all shy because, essentially, I’m going to be spending the entire weekend with a man that I don’t actually know very well. More fool me for agreeing to it. However, I’m here now, with the delights of Paris spread out before me and I should make sure that I enjoy as much as I can. I’ve been all over Google checking out what there is to do.

We take a cab from Gare du Nord to our hotel and I’m so excited to see the city whizzing by the windows. Even the cab smells French and I’m sure any minute now there’ll be the sound of a street accordion playing and an onion seller complete with stripy jumper and beret will cycle by. Squee.

Mason is amused by my enthusiasm, but I don’t care. I want to lap up every minute. This might be a standard thing for someone as well travelled as Mason but for me it’s a Big Adventure!

The hotel is lovely. Small and elegant rather than overwhelmingly grand – perfect for a romantic weekend – and is in a street lined with attractive little cafés and pavement tables. Just as it should be. It would be nice to unpack and come down here for some lunch. I’m starving after our early start and, after all, our main mission is to try out menus for Mason’s idea of setting up a chain of French-style cafés. I’m hoping that wasn’t simply a ruse as Charlie suggested.

I feel self-conscious as Mason checks in for us and it’s clear from the receptionist’s reaction that he’s a regular visitor. She’s young, pretty and her smile for him is very warm, slightly secretive.

‘Bonjour, Monsieur Soames. So lovely to have you visit us again.’ Her accent is sing-song, sexy.

‘Hello, Valerie.’ Mason beams back at her.

Valerie, eh? First name terms.

‘You have my usual room for me?’

‘But of course.’ She flicks her long, glossy black hair as she hands him the keycard. ‘I hope you have a nice time during your stay.’

‘I’m sure we will,’ Mason answers and again, it sounds loaded.

Huh. I reckon he’s had a little fling there or something.

‘You know her well?’ I ask as he carries our bags across the lobby.

‘I’ve used this hotel for years,’ Mason tells me. ‘Valerie’s been here for a while.’

We cram into the small wrought iron lift and we go up to the room. Mason’s hand caresses my back. Inside, it’s beautiful, the furnishing – all cream and black – chic and understated. Mason tosses our small cases on the bed and then opens the doors onto the balcony. The Eiffel tower is straight ahead of us. This is as French as it gets.

‘Wow.’ I’m impressed. ‘That’s some view.’

‘Paris is one of my favourite cities.’

‘I can’t wait to see it,’ I say. ‘Shall we freshen up a bit and go straight out?’

‘I thought we’d celebrate our arrival first,’ Mason says and then I notice the bottle of champagne chilling on ice standing on the coffee table.