She hesitated. Mia’s idea of a good night was a nice dinner and a glass of wine, or an evening at home curled up watching a movie, not being in a room full of strangers. Ethan had always laughed at her and said she preferred hiding behind her camera, observing life rather than being part of it herself. Not to mention she wasn’t about to say yes to going on a date with a man she’d just met.
‘It’s just back at the bar,’ Joe said. ‘I promise it’ll be fun.’
‘Your boss is hosting the party?’ she asked.
‘Something like that,’ he said with a shrug. ‘So will you come?’
‘Surely you have your pick of girls to ask without needing a stranger to accompany you?’ Her stomach fluttered and she tried her best to ignore it.
‘There’s no one I want to ask, and with us, it can be a business arrangement. We both get what we want,’ he said, as if it was the most sensible idea in the world, before flashing her a heart-stopping grin. ‘What do you call it in English? A charade?’
She was still hesitant, but she was asking a lot of him, hoping that he’d help. At least this way she might find some answers to her questions. ‘You promise to help me with my search? You’ll really help me to find out where this bottle came from, if I agree?’
Joe inched his hand a little closer to hers. ‘I promise. I’ll also ask around in the morning, find out what I can from some of the older bartenders. There’s every chance I’ll find someone who knows something.’
Mia closed her eyes for a second, but she knew what her answer had to be. She raised her hand and pressed her palm to Joe’s as he lifted an eyebrow.
‘This is just a charade, nothing more,’ she confirmed as she shook his hand.
‘Just a charade,’ he said with a grin. ‘I promise.’
‘Just to warn you, my French is non-existent, so I won’t be much use in a crowd of Parisians.’
Joe just laughed. ‘Even better. You won’t be able to understand my sisters and mother when they try to interrogate you.’
‘Well,’ she said, her breath hitching with nerves, ‘I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night then.’
They faced each other, holding hands until Mia let go and he waved out to a taxi.
‘Until tomorrow night, Mia from London,’ he said, leaning in and kissing her cheek.
She breathed in the citrus scent of his aftershave, her hand against his shoulder for the barest of moments until he stepped away and opened the door for her.
It had been a long time since she’d stood so close to a man, since she’d felt butterflies in her stomach, and even though it wasn’t a real date, she felt another flutter of anticipation as she climbed into the taxi.
A flutter that had nothing to do with finding the answers to her aunt’s mysterious past.
10
FRANCE, 1936
Hope had never stolen anything in her life before. Not a sweet from the grocer, not a biscuit from her mother’s oven tray, and certainly not anything of value. But as she sat on the train and felt for the little pouch in her pocket, she didn’t feel any sense of shame about the coins she’d taken from her father’s drawer before she’d run away.
As far as she was concerned, he’d left her no choice. When she’d set off in the early hours of the morning, the house still quiet, her belongings were packed in one bag and her art supplies in another. Other than the money, the only other thing she’d taken that belonged to her parents were two slices of bread and some cheese, because she hadn’t known when she would next eat. Hope hadn’t even intended on taking the money, until she’d touched her tender cheek and been reminded of what her father had done to her, and what else he might do if she stayed and didn’t obey his orders.
She leaned her head against the glass, staring out at the scenery seeming to fly past, and wondering if she’d ever return home again. It was familiar, and all she’d ever known, but at the same time, she couldn’t find it in her heart to mourn what she was leaving behind. Even her brothers, who’d once been sofun, had turned their backs on her when she’d told them of her dreams, teasing her and belittling her ideas. Pierre had shown her some kindness of late, but not enough to make her want to stay. Even he had frowned and told her she was living a fairy tale if she truly thought she could make her own way in the world. She’d wondered if he might change his mind if he saw her bruised face, but in the end, she’d decided to go without waiting to see his reaction.
Her stomach leapt with nerves, but Hope only straightened her back and lifted her chin, refusing to give in to her worries. She’d fought for her independence, and now she had it. The only thing that was uncertain was precisely what she was going to do with her new-found freedom, because she didn’t have the first idea about where to go in a city that was mostly unknown to her. She’d pored over books and newspaper articles about Paris, and she had visited twice with her family years earlier, but it was all so new to her.
I need to find somewhere to live, then a job and a studio to paint in.It’s as simple as that.
As far as she could imagine, Paris would be filled with people like her who wanted to create a life around art, just as she did. All she had to do was find those people, and she’d be on her way. That, and find a job so that she could afford to pay rent.
Because she didn’t even want to think about what became of young women with no means to take care of themselves. The very idea sent a shudder through her, and made her more determined than ever to be a success, no matter how hard she had to work. As far as she was concerned, failure was not an option, not when she didn’t have the luxury of going home.
Three days later, Hope stood in the centre of an apartment in Paris, trying not to show how disheartened she was. Earlier that day she’d struck up a conversation with another artist, Celine, at a studio she’d stumbled upon and now, only a few hours later, she was being shown a room the size of a broom cupboard, trying to pretend that it was everything she’d been looking for. The cheap hotel she’d been staying in wasn’t much better, and she’d been terrified there might have been bugs in the stained sheets. She’d needed to get out of there and into something more permanent as quickly as she could.
All of this is still better than marrying a stranger. It’s still better than letting my father control my life. It’s still me choosing for myself rather than being told what to do.
