She pointed to a beautiful old building with two large pots outside filled to overflowing with white flowers, beside a café brimming with young Parisians drinking coffee and smoking. If someone had asked her to imagine a scene from France, it would have been very similar to what she was looking at now.
‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
Blake walked to the solid wooden door and turned the handle, but it didn’t move. There was an intercom on the wall, and she pushed it, fidgeting from foot to foot as she waited. No one answered. She pushed it again, sighing as she stepped back and looked around, wondering if perhaps there was a different entrance that she hadn’t seen. Or maybe today just wasn’t a day that anyone was on site?
But just as she was about to leave, the heavy timber door opened, and she was greeted by a very handsome, veryunhappy-looking, Frenchman.
‘Quoi?’
Blake gave him what she hoped was her sweetest smile. ‘I’m looking for Henri Toussaint.’
He looked irritated. ‘Il n’est pas disponible.’
‘He…’ She tried to translate, becoming flustered and not knowing at all what he’d just said.
‘He is unavailable,’ the man said, in English with an accent that would have been charming, had he not been so obviously annoyed. She hoped that she’d simply caught him on a bad day, and that he wasn’t usually like that.
He began to close the door, but Blake leaped forward, placing her hand on the wood to prevent it from shutting completely. ‘Please, I’ve come all the way from London to see him. Mathilda, from Vintage Bazaar, told me to ask for him by name.’
This time the door didn’t click shut as she dropped her hand.
‘Mathilda?’ the voice said. ‘Mathilda sent you here?’
Blake wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, or whether he’d said the name with slightly less arrogance than before. Perhaps he was going to agree that Henri could see her after all.
‘Yes, Mathilda,’ she repeated. ‘She told me that Henri Toussaint might be the one person who can help me identify a designer from the past.’ Blake swallowed. ‘You wouldn’t by any chance be Henri, would you?’
There was silence for a moment, before the door slowly swung open. This time, the man facing her held out his hand.
‘I am Henri Toussaint,’ he said.
‘Blake,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry to turn up unannounced, but I’ve emailed you twice and?—’
‘It’s been a busy few weeks,’ he said. ‘My exhibition begins in two months, so my inbox is a disaster.’
He ran a hand through his rather unruly brown hair, and she noticed that he wore a band of leather tied around one wrist, along with a solid silver bangle. His shirt was untucked, with a few too many buttons undone, and he was wearing jeans rolled up at the ankle with bare feet. She raised a brow. He was most definitely not what she’d expected. She’d imagined an older man wearing an impeccably tailored suit with Italian leather loafers, and instead she was looking at a golden-skinned, blue-eyed, ridiculously handsome man who appeared more casual than high-end fashion, and who couldn’t have been more than thirty. And that accent…she hoped she wasn’t blushing, but everything about him had taken her quite by surprise.
‘I understand, and I do apologise for turning up like this.’ Blake hesitated when he just stood there. He clearly wasn’t going to invite her in. ‘Have you had lunch?’
She glanced at her watch. It was 2p.m., but she was hoping that the French ate lunch late.
He shrugged. ‘Non.’
‘Could I buy you lunch? Or coffee?’ She gestured to the café behind her. ‘I only need a few minutes of your time, I promise.’
Henri looked unsure, but then he took his phone from his pocket and seemingly looked at the time, too. When he glanced up, she noticed just how blue his eyes were. They almost made up for how rude he’d been. Almost.
‘Coffee,’ he said. ‘Give me five minutes.’
Blake nodded and barely had time to step back before the door shut. She stood for a moment, before deciding that he clearly meant for her to meet him at the café. Or at least she hoped so.
She walked next door and found her way to a table out front so she couldn’t miss him, happy to relax in the shade beneath the awning. Her stomach growled and she grabbed the menu, although barely anything made sense to her. The only thing thatwas obvious to her were the wordscroissantandbaguette. She really needed to brush up on her French.
‘Sorry you had to wait for me.’
Blake looked up and the first thing she noticed was the bright blue eyes staring down at her, followed by the change in Henri’s appearance. His shirt was now buttoned higher and he was also wearing shoes, but his sleeves were still rolled up and his hair looked like he’d just risen from bed. She imagined it was more like he’d barely been to bed, given the urgency with which he ordered his double-shot espresso.
‘So Mathilda sent you to me because you have a special piece?’ he asked. ‘That you’d like me to consider for my collection? I must say that I’m intrigued, because I know what an eye she has.’
