Samantha Tonge - From Paris, With Love

‘This shows me your exact location,’ he said. ‘If this ever flashes up I’ll be with you as quick as I can. Emergencies only, it goes without saying… Although I doubt you’ll ever need it…’

We looked at each other. No words were necessary. Not after yesterday’s fight. I agreed that the idea of my actually uncovering an assassination plot was unlikely. But just in case I did – just in case a sticky situation arose, it was comforting to think I could summon a MI6 agent to my side.

Joe put the lockpicks, lipstick and pepper spray into the handbag.

‘We’ve scratched the surface of MI6 training, Gemma – the self-defence is the most important thing to take on board.’

I smiled. ‘Shouldn’t you call me Agent G from now on?’

‘Whatever you like.’ He passed over a mobile phone number. ‘List me in your contacts as Joe, then text me so I have your number.’

I followed Joe through the bunker, to the entrance door. John Smith stood there, the overpowering smell of his musky aftershave wafting towards me. He looked at Joe, who nodded, before walking away. The last thing I saw before John tied on my blindfold was silver cufflinks in the shape of shields – and expressionless as ever, his stern grey eyes. I also felt his hand against the small of my back as we walked to the car. He ran it gently up and down my spine. Urgh.

‘Enjoy being blindfolded?’ John said, as he turned on the car engine. ‘I’ve a pair of handcuffs in the boot, if that does anything for you.’

With just his sickly smooth voice to go by, I couldn’t tell if he was joking. Ick. Every second spent with John made me realise what a gentleman Joe was.

And even though Joe’s speech was abrupt, it had a sincerity John’s tones lacked.

‘No, ta,’ I said. ‘The sooner it comes off the better.’

‘Spoilsport,’ he said, with a snigger, ‘So, fancy yourself as a spy, do you? Must say I enjoyed watching Million Dollar Mansion . That Applebridge Hall is quite a place. Although – no offence –I thought the Croxley’s competitor, the Baron of Marwick, had the right idea, wanting to turn his castle into a hen and stag night destination, if he won. I’d have paid for a week there myself, to enjoy topnotch wines and sumptuous medieval banquets.’

With his shiny cufflinks and pungent aftershave, it didn’t surprise me that John could relate more to the flash baron.

‘Like the finer things in life, do you?’ I asked.

‘Nothing wrong with that…’ he said and proceeded to tell tales from his missions. Over the last few years he’d wined and dined women in Prague, Thailand and Milan. Whilst Joe was dedicated to his work for the good of the country, I suspected John’s motivation was the jet-setting life. He even boasted about fiddling his expenses, which he used to pull women and buy luxury items.

‘Right. Here we go. I’ll drop you a couple of streets away from The Golden Croissant,’ said John and the car came to a halt. His door slammed and he got in the back with me. Carefully he untied the blindfold and my eyes easily adjusted as outside it was already dark. Then, a little too close for my comfort, John gave a bow of his head.

‘Bravo for wriggling away from me yesterday,’ he said. ‘You’ve got spunk, I’ll give you that. If you ever want to practise again, I could book us into any top hotel you like.’ He grinned. ‘Of course, Her Majesty will foot the bill.’

Yikes. It didn’t exactly inspire confidence in our country’s international security force, when an agent’s moral compass was off-target. Politely, I declined and John smiled as if it say “perhaps next time”. Hastily, I got out of the car and as the black BMW drove off, my phone bleeped. It was a text from Edward.

He was only ten minutes away, back from his day out visiting Chez Dubois and I was desperate for gossip about our place of work! He suggested we had a drink in the bar, down the avenue from our flat, before cooking dinner. So I headed past the seafood bistro, La Perle, which for seven o’clock on a Sunday night looked busy – and awesome, lit up with twinkling fairy lights. I stopped by the Golden Croissant but the window was empty – shame, Edward had described the cakes to me that were on sale yesterday, including mini towers of chocolate sponge, iced and garnished with delicate caramelised swirls, plus triangular shaped fruit tarts in colours brighter than a Harlequin clown. Yum!

The sound of chatting greeted me as I arrived at the bar, went inside and found a cosy corner. I ordered one beer and a glass of wine. What a thrill when the waiter understood my French! Well, almost – I somehow ended up with a glass of red, instead of white.

‘So, tell me everything,’ I said to Edward, as we held hands across the table. My fingers had warmed nicely from the February chill. ‘What’s Chez Dubois like, inside?’

‘Cosy – mahogany wood-panelling halfway up the walls and then burnt orange wall paper to the ceiling. Terracotta tiles line the floor and the tables are decked with primrose-coloured mats. In the middle of each is a candle and vase containing a single yellow rose. From the ceiling hangs a wrought iron, eight candle chandelier– and huge glossy green ferns, in pots, punctuate the whole room. But most impressive of all…’

I raised an eyebrow.

‘The long, polished mahogany bar. What an array of bottles, lined up against a mirrored wall, including all the French favourites – pastis, triple sec, and crème de menthe. Plus a complicated coffee machine stood in the corner…’

Okay. Enough description about the bricks and mortar.Now for the important stuff. ‘What about the people we’re going to work with?’

Edward sipped his beer. ‘Pierre – the boss – is in his fifties with thick black hair. He bought the restaurant twenty years ago and has a girlfriend called Agnes who works at the famous Galeries Lafayette department store.’

‘Cool!’

‘He clearly loves his job. It must be terrific to spend your life doing something that satisfies you so much.’

I smiled. Recent months had made my gorgeous Edward question everything about his future. At first, after winning Million Dollar Mansion , he’d talked of working side by side with Applebridge Hall’s true heir, for years to come. But recently I’d caught him surfing career advice sites, which must have seemed pointless to him before, when his life had been mapped out, managing the future of his ancestral home. But seeing as all that had changed…

‘Perhaps we should go into the restaurant business together,’ I said and grinned. ‘Me as headchef, you managing the staff.’

Edward’s blue eyes crinkled. ‘Talking of headchefs, Chez Dubois’ Jean-Claude is quite a character. Pierre indicated that his abrupt manner regularly caused staff departures – yet he is a whiz in the kitchen, which is why our boss keeps him on. And apparently the American souschef, Cindy Cooper, knows just how to handle him. She’s a glamorous woman, with ladybird red lipstick and immaculate blonde hair, even after a couple of frantic hours working over lunchtime.’

‘Anyone else?’ I’d always thought Edward would make a brilliant witness to any crime. He paid attention to detail like no one I knew and had a memory to beat any winner of Mastermind.

‘Oh yes! Hugo Petit, the headwaiter, around forty and rakishly tall, who let out a snort of disgust when Pierre introduced me – said he’d seen clips of Million Dollar Mansion on YouTube and thought the class system and royal family represented Britain at its worst. Clearly he’s a fierce Republican. He sneered at heir William and Catherine and said – his words, not mine – “they were no different to people claiming state benefits and that their hours should be spent not travelling, but looking for proper jobs.”