Million Love Songs(40)

When my bones are starting to seize up with the cold and I’ve finished my coffee, I push on. Soon, I’ve negotiated the building traffic and am standing beneath the edifice of the Eiffel Tower, which is magnificently impressive. The delicate ironwork legs that stretch skywards do a good job of dwarfing every other building. Even at this hour, there are plenty of people here. There’s a photographer doing a photo-shoot with a handsome couple posing with a red balloon. Bit clichéd, I suppose, but it reminds me to take out my phone and snap a few selfies. Despite not being the biggest fan of heights I’d love to go to the top. It has to be done, no? But it doesn’t open for another three hours and you’d probably be better to buy tickets in advance. Maybe I can come back another time. I’m sure Mason would know what was the best thing to do but, of course, he’s otherwise engaged. I check my watch again. I’m sort of putting off going back to the hotel. What if Valerie’s still there and they expect me to get down to it again? Shudder. Don’t think I could do that in the cold light of day. That’s definitely an activity best undertaken after too much champagne, red wine and brandy. That thought makes me feel slightly queasy.

I meander round the adjoining park and stroll down to take a look at the murky brown ribbon of the Seine. The sun is slowing rising higher now, warming my face. Then my phone pings and it’s Mason. Where are you? I’m worried.

Just walking, I text in return.

Come back. Let’s get breakfast.

While I’m hesitating over my reply, another one comes in.

Valerie’s gone now.

The coast is, therefore, clear. On my way, I tap.

I’ll see you here. Their croissants are the best in Paris. An address pings in too and, once again, I let Google Maps steer me to the right street.

Mason is already waiting inside the busy café when I get there. As I make my way towards him, he stands and fusses with his napkin. His face is the very picture of concern.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ I say, taking the seat on the other side of the table. ‘I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d do a little bit of sightseeing. The Eiffel Tower is very beautiful at dawn.’ I sound forced and too cheerful.

He orders me coffee, which I’m grateful for. I bury my nose in the menu so I don’t have to look at him. I’m not feeling in the slightest bit hungry even though it feels as if rather a lot has happened since my chocolate mousse at dinner.

‘About last night.’ He lowers his voice as he speaks, though I don’t think anyone else here is paying us any attention. ‘You’re OK about it?’

‘Fine,’ I bluster. ‘God, yes. Fine.’ I don’t really want to talk about it at all. The less said about it the better in my book.

‘I was concerned when I woke up and you were gone.’

I probably should be glad that he even noticed. ‘Hangover,’ I say with a tinkling laugh. Which is, of course, absolutely the truth. ‘Needed some fresh air.’

‘I thought you might find it fun,’ he adds. ‘A bit of naughtiness away from anyone who knows us.’

It just highlights that Mason really doesn’t know who I am and, to be honest, it makes me consider if I know myself. I thought I could be modern, liberated, enjoy a bit of X-rated sex with a new man, but I don’t think this is for me. I’d rather be in Paris with someone who loves me, wants to be with me – and only me. This trip could have been so very different.

‘It’s not really your thing, is it?’ Mason says.

‘No,’ I admit. ‘I kind of like it the usual way.’

He laughs at that. ‘I’m sorry, Ruby. It won’t happen again. Will you forgive me?’

‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ I tell him. And I sort of mean it. ‘I went along with it.’

‘It’s not something I do often. Just when I’m in Paris. Valerie’s a nice girl,’ he offers when I don’t reply. ‘There’ll be no awkwardness.’

I wonder why, if he thinks she’s a nice girl, he brings other women for their playtime? Why doesn’t he just come here to see her? Why drag someone else in the equation? But I don’t ask any of these questions. What Mason does is his own business. As long as he doesn’t involve me again.

‘She’s not working today,’ he adds. ‘Not at the hotel.’

Then the penny drops. Perhaps it’s a business arrangement between them? Does he pay her for services rendered or does she do it for free, for the fun? I can’t bring myself to ask him that either.

Instead, I try to quell the lurching feeling in my stomach by ordering Eggs Benedict and some freshly squeezed orange juice. I figure that some extra vitamin C will get me back on track again. While I wait, I pick at the basket of butter croissants that Mason has previously requested.

‘We can do whatever you like today,’ Mason says.

He’s trying so hard to be nice, but both he knows and I know that a line has been crossed. All I have to do is get through today then I can run back home and be boring Ruby Brown instead of trying to be someone I’m not.

‘There’s a flea market in Montmartre, if that’s your kind of thing,’ he continues. ‘Or we can take a trip in a bateau up the Seine. It’s up to you.’ His hand covers mine when he says, ‘I’m at your service, Ruby. I want you to have a good time.’