The Little Antique Shop Under The Eiffel Tower. Rebecca Raisin
I bit back on a laugh at the way Tristan mimicked him.
Joshua narrowed his eyes, and said, “You were warned. Next time I won’t be so nice.”
“Duly noted. Now go away.” Tristan shooed him like he was a fly and turned his back, leaving Joshua standing there like a fool.
He finally stalked off, with an angry glint in his eye. I’d never seen anyone upset Joshua before. I had a new level of respect for Tristan knowing instinctively how to act around that rat of a man.
When we could finally talk properly without fear of being caught behind the curtain I said quietly to Gustave, “Why did he say it was all an act with me?”
Gustave pursed his lips and then said, “To make trouble. You know he manipulates the situation in his favor.”
I nodded, not convinced it was that simple. “Every day I wonder if I was under some kind of spell to have ever thought I loved that man.”
Gustave gave me a paternal pat on the back. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Anouk. None of us knew what he was like.”
“I was so awful to Tristan a few minutes ago and then he goes and does that.” I gave Gustave a thin smile. “So, we walk out and pretend we saw nothing?”
“You’re just protecting yourself with new faces on the circuit, and rightfully so.” Gustave smiled. “We walk making small talk, and you don’t mention what you just saw.”
“Oui. Thanks.”
We wandered back out, chatting in French, pretending we were mid conversation about classical music. “Ah, there you are,” I said to Tristan. I waited for him to tell me about the altercation but he just put his hands together and said, “Paperwork is all done.”
“Merci.” In light of what I’d just witnessed I said, “That was very nice of you, Monsieur Black. I do appreciate it. That cello is very special to a customer of mine.”
“My pleasure.” He raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps we can have a dance or two at the May Gala?”
His expression was so genuine, so sweet that I surprised myself by saying, “Oui, of course.”
Would the usual gala glitterati make a beeline for the stylish Monsieur Black? Perhaps a little digging would unearth his secrets, and I’d have some tidbits to share when my colleagues enquired after him. He was sure to make an impression with his powerful saunter, and strong jawline. It was his eyes that caught me off guard; they were so blue, hypnotic, and I reminded myself to be careful. Business and pleasure did not mix.
Safely ensconced in my shop with the door bolted for privacy I made some calls about Tristan Black.
Rachelle from the little flower shop near the Notre Dame was usually a hive of information. An unassuming Parisian with russet curls, and wide brown eyes. I’m sure the flower shop was a front for something because she knew too much about everything, but I never asked her directly. Often she tipped me off about antiques that were making their way to Paris from outer regions of France. “Non, Anouk,” she purred. “I haven’t heard of such a man. What did he do? Rob you? Because if so, I know a man who can sort him out!”
My eyes widened. “Non, non, he hasn’t. I don’t need a man to…sort him out, I just wondered if you’d heard anything on the usual channels.”
“Nothing. But if I do, I’ll let you know. And, if he does step out of line, you let me know…” Her voice was as hard as steel, and I smiled. Joshua’s betrayal had made my colleagues protective of me, and it was sweet even if I was a little alarmed at exactly what ‘sort him out’ might’ve entailed.
“And Anouk, tomorrow, if you go the flea markets on Rue des Rosiers, find a man with a carnation in his pocket, wearing a pink bow tie. He has something for you. Tell him I sent you, and he will know.”
“Merci. I’m intrigued.”
“My maman was very happy with the gift you sent. It was so sweet, Anouk. Every morning I hear the music as she warms up; the dedication she has to her ballet is astounding.” Rachelle’s maman had always wanted to be a ballerina, and now finally had the time to try. People thought it was preposterous. At sixty? they’d cried, how silly. But why couldn’t a woman learn to dance at sixty? She wasn’t expecting to grace the stage at Opéra National de Paris!
I’d found some vintage ballet shoes that had never been worn and a leotard and sent them with a note saying Dance your way to happiness. I liked the idea that passion didn’t fade away no matter what age a person was, and if she wanted to plié her way around her living room where was the harm in that?
“Your maman is a wonderful woman,” I said, meaning it.
We gossiped about a few things before saying au revoir.
Next, I phoned Madame Dupont to see what she’d make of the newcomer and what had happened earlier. I fell into a walnut leather wingback chair that I’d rescued from an estate sale. The executor of the estate had wanted to clear the belongings out fast, and had ignored my pleas to save the chair, and other valuables littered on the verge like lost souls. Take it, he’d cried, take it all! And I did. The leather was crazed, and dimpled, and it sighed wearily when I took my place on it. It was like an old friend, and I’d never get it rejuvenated. I loved it, scars and all.
“Anouk, my darling, did you get the cello?” Madame said huskily.
“Oui, not without a little drama.” I filled Madame Dupont in on the morning.
“Ooh la la, I adore him already! Joshua must have been seeing red! What a delight! What does he look like this devilish Monsieur Black?”
I shook my head. I could have bet money Madame Dupont would ask such a thing. “Like a man with too much money.”
“Parfait!”
“Parfait for what?”
“For you, Anouk! Lilou and I are in agreeance on this matter. It really is time to throw yourself to the wolves and see what happens…”
“I’ll get eaten alive!” I laughed. Honestly, they had this idea that I was missing something in my life, but they just couldn’t see I wasn’t made like them. Love did not come first for me.
Madame’s loud drawing of a cigarette filtered down the line. “Is he a collector, or a dealer?”
“I don’t know, he spoke like a collector, but he was out the front of my shop the other day and then he turned up at Andre’s estate as I was leaving, so I suppose he could dabble in both. A way to alleviate the ennui I suppose.”
“He’s a dashing American. A knight in shining armor! I can’t wait to run into him.” In the background the ticking and chiming of various clocks rang out. I wondered how Madame Dupont could stand the disharmonious symphony.
“Oui, and he has that same innate charm, exudes confidence. Eyes the color of the ocean,” I sighed. Why couldn’t men like him be French, staid and solid? That kind of man I could go for.
Madame Dupont let out a sensual sigh. “If I was your age, Anouk, there’d be no stopping me. In fact, even at my age, there’d be no stopping me, because who dares wins. Why don’t you dare, just this once?”
A customer knocked on the door, and I motioned for him to come in. It was Elliot from the wine bar, who often browsed the shelves for décor, and stopped for a chat about business. “Won’t be long,” I said to him.
“No rush.” He moved about with his hands in his pockets, peering at a selection of mirrors hung from gold hooks along the walls.
I lowered my voice. “Madame, aside from your many petit affairs, I’m just like you. I don’t want