‘I’m going to find this bar,’ I said when he opened the door. ‘You coming?’
‘I’m guessing I don’t have a choice.’
I darted past him and picked up his camera case by the strap. ‘Stay here if you want, but I’m taking this.’
‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’ He swooped in and snatched it from me, as I’d known he would, and walked out of the room ahead of me.
‘Anyone ever told you you’ve got an unholy obsession with that thing?’ I said as I followed him up the dim hallway to the elevator.
‘Oh, so you’re talking to me again now?’
‘Someone has to be the grown-up here.’
‘Pot. Kettle. Black. I thought I was back in high school for a while there.’
With my new-found maturity, I decided not to respond to this comment.
‘So how do we get to this place?’ I asked as we stepped out of the hotel.
‘Buggered if I know,’ he said.
I stopped in the middle of the footpath. ‘What do you mean you don’t know? I thought you had directions?’
‘Not anymore.’
‘What?’ I stood with my hands on my hips, speechless.
As I stared at him in disbelief, one corner of his mouth started to tip upwards. He struggled to maintain his innocent expression, but quickly lost the battle and smiled broadly. ‘I gave the directions to you, you goose. So why don’t you tell me where to go?’
‘I thought I did that last night,’ I shot back. ‘I don’t remember you giving me anything.’
‘That’s because you were too busy checking me out.’
‘I was not,’ I lied. ‘Come on, look it up on your phone so we can get moving.’
‘I’m sorry, what was that?’ Nick cupped a hand behind one ear. ‘You want me to look it up on my phone? What happened to the old-fashioned way? Come on Burrowes, where’s your oversized map today?’
‘Nick.’
He sighed. ‘It’s on Rue Nicolet. I already looked it up and worked out how to get there.’
‘So let’s go.’
‘You’ve got no sense of humour, Burrowes.’
‘No, you’re just not funny.’
He grinned in response and set off up the hill. I cursed under my breath before following. So much for unflappable Sarah. After a few minutes, we turned off to the left. The sloping streets were cobbled and lined with patisseries, and everywhere I looked people were carrying baguettes. It was like a cartoon depiction of France, except it was real. I almost expected to see men in black and white striped shirts and black berets. Couples paused on street corners to kiss passionately. I felt a twinge of envy. As good as things had been with James, we’d never been that kind of couple.
As Nick and I advanced deeper into the tangle of streets, the patisseries and boutique shops were replaced by gloomy bars. Bohemian types sat by the windows, cigarette smoke clouding their faces, wine glasses in their hands. This neighbourhood had a very different vibe from the more staid and elegant area down the hill.
‘This is Rue Nicolet.’ Nick pointed down a narrow lane to our left.
‘That’s it!’ I gestured to an old, faded sign that hung above a tiny bar. I could just make out the words Le Chat Masqué. The window looked as if it were covered in a lifetime of grime from dust and cigarette smoke, and I couldn’t make out anything inside. This certainly didn’t look like the kind of bar that the manager of a successful band would want to own. On the other hand, maybe it was the perfect cover for an illegal operation.
‘Before you go blustering in there, I suggest we play this cool,’ Nick said.
‘What does that mean?’
‘We should at least order a drink and try to look like normal people,’ he said.
‘That’ll be difficult for you.’
‘Hilarious, Burrowes. I’m just saying we can’t look too conspicuous.’
I eyed his camera pointedly. ‘Think you’re going to blend in with that, do you?’
‘I’m an enthusiastic tourist. Don’t worry, I won’t attach the telephoto lens.’
I smirked. ‘Heaven forbid anyone should equate the size of your lens with something else.’
‘You’d know, wouldn’t you?’
‘Let’s go in.’
I pushed open the heavy door. A couple of older men sat at a table in the corner, smoking and playing cards, but the bar was otherwise empty. The listless bartender was drying glasses with a tea towel that had seen better days.
‘Bonjour,’ he said. His face registered neither surprise nor pleasure at new patrons.
‘Bonjour!’ I said, eager to use the French I’d studied from Nick’s phrasebook on the flight to Paris. ‘Je ne parle pas anglais.’
Nick snorted and I glared at him. ‘What? You’re not helping.’
He laughed again. ‘You just told him that you don’t speak English.’
‘Oh.’ I turned back to the bartender, who was now looking amused. ‘Clearly I do speak English, but obviously I’m not doing so well with my French.’
‘Would you like something to drink?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Nick interjected. ‘I’ll have the Trois Monts, and a glass of sauvignon blanc for the wife.’
I frowned at Nick. Going incognito was one thing, but I hadn’t signed up for a fake marriage, especially with someone who actually said ‘the wife’. Though we probably argued enough to look the part. The bartender pulled out a long-neck bottle of beer, which I could see from the label was eight per cent alcohol.
‘No, not that one,’ I said before he could pop off the lid. ‘My husband can’t drink too much this early in the day. Give him a smaller one.’
Now it was Nick’s turn to glare at me.
‘You know how you get when you’re tipsy, honey,’ I said with an innocent smile.
He gave me a venomous look in response, took the small bottle of beer the bartender had substituted and sat down at one of the tables near the filthy window. When the bartender had poured my wine, I joined Nick at the table. He was clearly sulking, and I couldn’t help chuckling.
‘You’re enjoying this far too much,’ he said.
‘But it was your idea, honey,’ I said. ‘We’re working, remember?’
‘One beer wasn’t going to incapacitate me,’
