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Chapter 9
I ran my fingers along the metal frame of the bike. Because the engine had only just been switched off, it was still hot under the pads of my fingers.
‘Everything ok?’ I asked.
‘It was making a strange sound,’ said Léo, his voice muffled as he bent down to check the front tyre and then the back one, his brow furrowed with concentration, his long fingers prodding at the rubber.
The way my day was going, I wouldn’t be surprised if the bike had broken down, leaving us stranded on the wrong side of Paris, miles from the train station. I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to remain calm. This was an adventure, I told myself; a glitch in my otherwise very ordinary life. And anyway, if I had to, I could walk back to Gare du Nord. We hadn’t run out of time yet.
‘It is fine, I think,’ he said, standing up, wiping his face with the hem of his T-shirt, revealing his perfect abs again. He probably had them out at every opportunity.
‘Is it safe to drive?’ I asked.
He patted my shoulder reassuringly. ‘Do not worry, Hannah, the bike is not going to explode on us.’
I gave him a withering look.
‘So. Come,’ he said with a typically Parisian shrug. ‘A look at the river. And then we must go.’
‘It’s just a river,’ I said, grabbing his jacket and following him begrudgingly across the grassy promenade. I had no desire to see the miserable view of the Seine I still remembered. ‘We do have the Thames at home, you know.’
The two of us leaned on a wall overlooking the water and directly across from the terminal for the Bateaux Mouches tourist boats on the opposite bank. They slid elegantly up and down, swinging in and out of the jetty, enthusiastic tourists sitting out on the deck, cameras poised. Surprisingly, I wasn’t finding them anywhere near as irritating this time around.
‘Impressive, non?’ said Léo.
‘If you say so,’ I said, putting my camera to my eye and zooming in on the glass roof of the Grand Palais glittering in the distance.
I caught him watching what I was doing.
‘Do you like photography?’ I asked.
I’d told him loads about myself and he was full of questions, but I realised I knew very little about him.
‘I never tried,’ he said peering at my camera with interest.
‘You want to have a go?’
He nodded and I pulled the strap over my head and looped it over his. He brought the camera up to his left eye and swivelled from side to side, looking for a subject. Settling on a flat, sleek-looking boat called the Catherine Deneuve, which was moving slowly past us, he clicked the shutter.
‘How do I focus?’ he asked, his voice heavy with concentration and I had to stop myself from smiling.
‘Here.’
I reached over, our cheeks almost touching, my wrist bone resting on his shoulder. I felt my neck begin to flush.
‘Rotate this button gently, until the picture is crystal clear.’
He took a few shots and then turned the camera on me.
I put my hand over the lens. ‘Don’t you dare,’ I said, laughing.
‘You are shy?’ he said, grinning at me, and it struck me that we already felt comfortable enough to tease each other.
‘Very,’ I said. ‘And I don’t photograph well.’
‘I do not believe that,’ he said, handing the camera back to me, then ruffling his hair and looking back out at the water. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.
‘You did not say how it is that you are alone here,’ he said. ‘With no suitcase and no warm clothes.’
