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‘Hello, darling Maisie. It’s only me.’

A woman with heavy eye make-up greeted me when I peeped above the duvet. Confused, I checked the alarm clock that still read 5am and buried my head in the pillow. My mind was still playing havoc and people trying to steal Bella’s manuscript invaded my dreams. I punched the pillow, nestled into the space, sprawled my legs until they were comfortable and settled down. I still had an hour before I needed to get up to travel to Leeds Bradford Airport for the flight to Paris.

The duvet was pulled away and light flooded the room through the open blinds. The woman with oriental style make-up looked down at me but the eyes were familiar. ‘Amelia, what’re you doing here?’ Amelia had taken a step too far. ‘Get out,’ I said, refraining from using an expletive.

After dropping a giant holdall on my bed, Amelia removed garments and hung dresses, trousers and scarves over the wardrobe and above the door frame. ‘I’ve brought you some clothes for Paris. I pulled some strings with designers who send me stuff to wear at events. It was easy really, so no need to thank me for my work.’

The clothes were plain but beautifully tailored. I crossed my arms over my nightshirt with a Forever Friends motif. ‘Bloody hell,’ I blurted in desperation and then frightened myself when I saw my hair ablaze in a tangle.

A plain, green shift dress was held in front of me and a scarf with amber and green colours. I tried not to frown as I searched for the fastest route through the heaps of clothes and into the shower room.

‘Shower and try some things on quickly. You need clothes with some shape, and no need to be so shy and self-conscious. You’re perfectly proportioned and have good skin and hair. I’d love to be you.’ She gently touched my shoulder for reassurance. ‘There’s no way I want Jemima to be a model and actress because I’m constantly hungry. She’s going to be a brilliant linguist in Paris. I know she studies hard but hides it from me.’

Navy blue cropped cotton trousers matched perfectly with a blue and white striped T-shirt. I felt comfortable yet glamorous. And the long green dress enhanced my auburn hair. There was also a strapless olive green playsuit. I wondered how I would fit them in the fully packed suitcase.

Amelia emptied my suitcase like a dustbin. ‘Take one pair of shorts, if you want, but Parisians don’t like them. Subtlety and classic style will serve you well. See, now you’re dressed like a woman rather than a naughty schoolgirl who hates PE.’ She handed me a make-up bag. ‘Here are some basics. I’ve always got more than I need.’ Amelia folded garments she approved of and added layers of tissue paper between them. Pressing everything down with her slender hands, she smiled at me. ‘Laptop should go on the flight with you and not in the suitcase. Once you’re ready, my driver will take us to the airport. I’m flying out to get ready for the Milan Fashion Show. Come on, scoot, scoot. You’re worse than my daughter.’

Inside the limo, I slid down the leather seat and felt tempted to snooze. The car climbed out of the valley, and I marvelled at the wonderful shades of green on the hills and in the fields. Clouds marched above the landscape as if guarding the valley. Stone walls reached across the fields as reminders of how people tried to claim the land for themselves.

Amelia chatted on her phone. ‘Of course, we’ll discuss terms during dinner tonight. Tell Matteo I’ll order my usual selection of starters and my favourite wine. I’ll be fine with the calories because I have only eaten shakes for two days. And don’t let them give me that hotel room facing the wall. I don’t want to sleep in a prison cell.’ Amelia winked at me and then held out her hand to inspect her nails.

When we pulled up at the airport, there was a young, serious-looking woman waiting for Amelia with a clipboard.

‘This is me, darling. The school ma’am is my PA.’ Hand over her mouth, she paused. ‘Oops, sorry. No offence. Get yourself some decent shoes in Paris and lose those white knickers that scream white flag of surrender. Head up, don’t take any crap and stop apologising.’ She air kissed me, and I watched her turn heads in her red cheongsam dress that hugged her figure. I marvelled at how this woman wore clothes like a second skin and grabbed a new identity each time she removed another outfit from the hanger.

*

Seated in the Business Class lounge, I savoured the bitterness of the coffee and felt it jolt me back to life. I seemed to be the only person with a mountain of biscuits and sweet treats on my tiny table. Other passengers opened up their laptops and tapped away. Avoidance of eye contact seemed to be essential, so I took out my pink laptop and dialled into the airport Wi-Fi. Sipping my coffee, I noticed a middle-aged businessman gawping at me and I mimicked Amelia’s high and mighty glare and he turned away. It worked! Dressing like a Frenchwoman brought out my inner confidence. Maybe this would help me to connect with Felix, rather than staring at him with wonder.

When I opened Word on the laptop screen, I watched the cursor blinking at me as if challenging me to write something. I tapped away and managed a couple of lines.

As she walked the dog, she knew it would be the very last time she would hear the crunch of the leaves in the meadow. Her lover waited in Paris to say goodbye forever.

Grant messaged me to ask what I was doing so I texted the two sentences I had dredged up from somewhere.

Do NOT give up the day job! G x

Cheeky! I highlighted the sentence, pressed delete and decided to return to the story I had been working on when in Paris. Danny’s email still sat in my inbox, so I responded to it.

Dear Danny,

I am so pleased all is well and your business is safe. Well done for developing the Big Break tracking app. I also have some exciting news!

I’m finally travelling to Paris. I’ve never travelled alone before. Felix has organised a Business Class ticket and glamorous AirBnB accommodation. Though I can’t wait to take in the culture, I’m going to investigate my aunt’s disappearance.

I am still convinced my aunt may be alive and well. There have been a series of blogs about her search for Bella Caron and I worry she has got herself into trouble. I should probably let the dream go, but I can’t so I’m on my way now. Grant thinks I caught Marple fever from Heatherbridge.

So, my adventures begin… Anyway, if you have any hot tips for what to visit in two days during a stay in Montmartre then drop me a line.

Maisie x

PS: Thanks for the advice about Nora and Camellia. Camellia was arrested for growing cannabis in her flowerpots.

Once I pressed the send button on the email, we were escorted onto the plane. With no one at my heels trying to push on before me, I felt relaxed. I wheeled my suitcase behind me and lifted it into the locker, feeling grateful to Amelia for lightening the load and transferring make-up and essentials to my handbag. When I sat down, I checked for a response from Danny but there was nothing, and the silence niggled me.

Delighted with my champagne and the smoked salmon and avocado sandwich, I luxuriated in the experience. To distract myself, I recalled the name of the bistro I wanted to visit called Chez la Mère Sylvie. I planned to find the artists’ square mentioned in Aunt Ada’s blog. Sacré Coeur Cathedral was also circled on the map, and if nothing else, I wanted to experience her Paris. Stunned I remembered the places, I went on to dream about the tang of the lemon sorbet and I allowed myself to visualise a reunion with Aunt Ada.

When I opened my eyes, I realised I had dribbled down the side of my face again. The middle-aged businessman from the lounge caught my eye and smiled. The sun glaring through the plane window shone on his head, so I covered my eyes, squinted and pretended not to see him.

Using my thumb, I scrolled through my emails but there was no response from Danny. The pain au chocolat waiting on the plate called to me. It was so delicious and buttery that I closed my eyes to savour each luxurious bite.

The middle-aged bald man smiled at me again. Typical! Grant called me a bum magnet, but I did point out that I had attracted him as a friend.

Placing my sunglasses over my eyes like the visor of a knight’s helmet, I tried to give out the signal this businesswoman teacher was not to be disturbed.

My first experience in the Business Class cocoon finished too quickly, and I pressed my passport down on the screen until the gate slid open to let me begin my adventure. People pushed past me as I attempted to work out which sign to follow. There were many couples kissing and flinging their arms around each other. I thought of Danny. Alone with my tiny suitcase, I scanned iPads and handwritten messages held up by taxi ranks and airport transport services but failed to find my name. I walked up and down the line, knowing Amelia would have treated it like a catwalk and attracted a cavalry of support. Airport announcements mingled into the voices surrounding me.

I sat on a bench and searched through my contact book for Robert’s phone number and noticed an email from Danny. Excited at the speed of his response, I could not wait to read it.

‘Maisie Bloom.’ A man’s voice boomed.

I heard my name but did not recognise the man’s theatrical voice. Now on my feet, I spun around, and half expected to see one of Grant’s friends from our university days. There was no one there apart from an elderly man who had stepped straight out of the pages of a weekend magazine feature for glamorous retirement.

Dressed in beige chinos, a white shirt and navy-blue blazer, the elderly man stepped towards me. ‘ Bonjour, Maisie. I’m so sorry I’m late. The traffic was terrible. I should have left more time but got preoccupied with a painting.’ He pulled me towards him to kiss me on both cheeks, and I remembered the scenes of reunion I had seen at the airport gate earlier.

‘Nice to meet you, Mr Laine,’ I said, shaking his hand, taking in his gentle eyes and broad smile. And then it dawned on me that he knew me instantly without me showing any identification, but I was so pleased he had turned up.

‘Please call me Robert,’ he said, pronouncing it without the final ‘t’. Though he pronounced his own name the French way, he spoke with a well-defined English accent. He took my suitcase and I followed him as he carved a route through the crowd. As he glided, I seemed to trot along like an enthusiastic poodle. Not one hair of his thick grey thatch moved as he made his way towards the doors.

I followed him into a lift and up to a car park and prepared to sit in a shiny silver limo.

He opened the passenger door to an ancient, bright yellow 2CV and asked me to take a seat. My suitcase was thrown into the boot. The soft black top took a little while to roll back and fix into place. He reversed out of the space at great speed, narrowly missing a concrete pillar and beeped at an elderly lady trying to drive out of the space opposite.

‘Patience!’ he shouted, raising his fist. ‘I hate driving in Paris. They’re such terrible motorists. I didn’t even use my car in the Loire and felt the stress melt away. It will take a little while to get to the apartment, but I’ll take you out to a little bistro once you are settled. The apartment is very central. Felix tells me you love shabby chic so the apartment should appeal to you.’

When he sped down the slip road my hair danced above me until it covered my face, and he handed me a floppy beige sunhat. My knuckles were white as I held onto the door to steady myself. It was difficult to walk on the floor as there were various paint brushes and unopened paint pots scattered around. Now I wondered if the apartment would be the same as the photo Felix had showed me.