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Cynical, yes, but it had some truth to it.
And the man at her side was, she had to admit, incredibly fanciable, by any woman’s demanding standards…
She gave herself a mental shake. He’d simply offered to keep the pests off her, nothing more! He was just being a good compatriot, that was all. Protecting her from all those ‘foreign johnnies’. A smile tugged at her mouth at his gentle mockery of traditional British xenophobia.
I wonder what nationality he is other than English?
Covertly, her eyes flickered to him again, just for an instant. He was gazing along the length of the chancel, towards the altar, and did not see her look at him. She was glad. She could not, after all, feel anything other than awkward about this whole thing. If it hadn’t been for the pests she would never have been walking around Nôtre Dame with a complete stranger as a bodyguard!
Her stolen glance gave her no more illumination other than Mediterranean. He really could have been anything. Oh, well, it was none of her business anyway. And any moment now the guide would end, and she would thank him politely, and off he would go, his good deed done for the day.
She would never see him again.
‘All done?’
The girl was taking off her headphones, clicking the audio machine to off. She nodded in reply to Markos’s enquiry.
‘Yes. Isn’t it the most amazing place?’ Her voice was breathy, eyes shining. They were like pools of gold, he thought.
She went on speaking. ‘I was worried it might not be as wonderful as everyone says, but it is! The rose window is just unbelievable! And I love the way they’ve painted the ceilings in the chapel—apparently in the Middle Ages they painted lots of the stonework, which seems a bit strange to our eyes. But of course I expect you’ve seen it lots of times before—’
She broke off, as if conscious of running on, and made a business of putting the audio guide away.
‘Not for many years. And one thing I’ve never done,’ he went on, making his voice sound ruminative, ‘is go up into the towers. I always meant to.’ His eyes flickered down at her, meeting hers briefly as she glanced up at him, open surprise in her face. He smiled. ‘Were you planning on making the ascent?’
He could see her swallow. ‘Well, yes. I was going to, actually.’ She sounded a bit awkward, and still delightfully breathy. Markos felt that spear of satisfaction go through him again. She might have paid scrupulous attention to her audio guide, but now she was very much back to being aware of him.
Just the way he wanted her to be.
‘Good.’ His voice was smooth as butter. ‘Well, what are we waiting for?’
She looked blank for a moment. He quizzed an eyebrow at her. ‘The entrance to the towers is around the side—from the outside, I believe.’ He started to usher her towards the cathedral’s exit. Automatically she moved forward, as he directed.
Once back out in the warm bright sunshine again, he saw her pause and start to turn. She was going to say something very English, and polite, and dismissive, he could see.
So he gave her no chance to do so.
‘This way,’ he said, and ushered her forward again, heading sideways across the arched west face.
‘Um…’ said the girl.
He smiled. A courteous, civil smile, that he might bestow on a fifty-year-old female. Nothing like the kind of smile he would direct at a woman he found desirable.
It had the effect he’d intended. She subsided into compliance.
There was, Markos could see, as he gained the north side of the cathedral, a slight queue to gain entrance to the towers. He ushered the girl into the last place, and stood behind her.
‘It shouldn’t be long,’ he said, giving her another brief, courteous, civil smile. ‘Do please excuse me a moment.’
He slid a long-fingered hand inside his jacket pocket and took out his mobile. From the corner of his eye he could see Taki and Stelios, who had emerged from the cathedral where they had been assiduously shadowing him, and punched their number. When Taki answered he spoke briefly in Greek, telling him to cancel his lunch appointment, give Monsieur Dubois suitable apologies and say he would be happy to call on him at his convenience to make amends. Then he cut the connection and replaced his mobile.
The girl was looking at him, a slightly curious expression in her eyes.
‘Greek,’ elucidated Markos, guessing what her question was.
‘I wondered what the other half of you was!’ she exclaimed.
He smiled. This time it was distinctly not the smile he’d give to a fifty-year-old female. He saw her expression change, deep in those lustrous amber eyes, and the shaft of satisfaction went through him again.
