Page 82 of Pretty Mess

“That sounds appallingly energetic.” His tone is light, but there’s something dark and secret in his eyes. I wonder what he’s thinking. His expression clears, and he holds out a hand. “Come on.” I stare back at him without moving, and his eyebrow rises. “Wes?”

“I’ll only get dressed if you eat and watch a film with me.”

“I beg your pardon.”

I make myself shrug. “I want you to eat something. I bet you haven’t eaten all day.”

“And you’re prepared to lie there until I do?”

I grin at him. “Yep, and until we watch a film. I’ll let you choose the film, though,” I finish magnanimously.

“Hmm. What a suspicious honour. I think I’ll choose the one calledI Don’t Want to Do That, and then we could watch its sequel,And You Can Lie Naked on the Floor for Eternity and IWon’t Change my Mind. I heard that’s very good. It even won some awards.”

I bite my lip to keep my laugh in. “I don’t think they’re very good choices. I happen to know they scored some Razzies.” His mouth twitches, and I decide to push my luck. “Please. It’s my first time flying.”

“And to celebrate that you want me to eat and watch a film?”

“No, I want you to relax for an hour.”

“There’s barely fifty minutes of the flight left.”

“That’s okay. We can watch an episode ofThe Jackalinstead.”

“Aseries?” he says, looking horrified. “That implies a longstanding commitment.”

I raise my hands to my mouth, aping The Scream painting, and his lip twitches. Finally, he grimaces in capitulation. I restrain my sound of triumph because the floor is actually getting very uncomfortable. “One episode?” he checks, and I nod. “Very well, then.”

I jump to my feet and reach for my clothes.

He raises his hand. “I have one condition.”

“Shoot.”

“You watch it naked.”

I grin at him. “Can I just say that I love your negotiating tactics?”

“No.”

“Shall we lie together, and I can feed you?”

“Don’t push your luck, Wes.”

eleven

Paris is beautiful. I think I was expecting something like London, but it’s completely different. It has an elegance to it, a pure beauty. Shops and restaurants line the busy streets, and the sound of people speaking French gives me a surprising thrill. I’m actually in another country. Me. Wes Archer.

Our cab stops at a traffic light, and I crane to look out the window. At first, the streets were grubby and packed, but we’ve moved into a different neighbourhood now, where it seems much more well-to-do. Tall, honey-coloured buildings with sloping roofs surround us. They’re five or six storeys tall with black wrought iron balconies, stripy awnings, and flower baskets. I watch a woman come onto her balcony with a watering can and start to water her flowers. I wonder who she is. Does she go to work? What is her life like living in her picture-perfect home? I wonder what she’d think of mine.

The taxi moves forward again, and there’s something reassuringly familiar about the busy traffic. It’s just like being in London. We pass a florist where bright flowers spill from buckets, and I open the window. I catch a sweet floral scent mingling with diesel, and then we’re onwards again.

We pass occasional courtyards guarded by wrought iron gates, and I peer intently, trying to glimpse through them. The driver takes a left, and we come into a square. He tuts as the traffic lights turn red, but I smile in delight. Cherry trees rich with blossoms line the square, the pink almost psychedelic against the old stone of the ancient-looking buildings. They’d usually have lost their blossoms by this time of the year, but I suppose the cool weather has made them cling onto their brilliance a bit longer. Paris has obviously had the same dismal spring as London.

Cars beep in front of us, and our taxi driver jerks like he’s been shot and instantly lays his hand on the horn. I’m almost positive he doesn’t know what he’s beeping at.

“What do you think?”

I turn and smile at Mac. When we started our drive from the airport, he very pointedly got his laptop out, obviously so I wouldn’t extract any more bargains from him. It made me want to smile, but I’d happily focussed my attention on the city. Now, his laptop is closed, and I get the sense he’s been watching me for a while.