Samantha Tonge - From Paris, With Love

‘Sorry, but you’re no Daniel Day Lewis.’

Chiselled face expressionless, he raised one eyebrow.

‘Oh, come on Joe, loosen up…’

Those determined lips pursed.

‘Let’s head off for a burger and chips. I’ll even buy you a Martini, shaken not stirred, or whatever it is you agents drink in real life…’ I stuck out my tongue and winked.

Wait for it… There it was, his shoulders relaxed and… Pow! With my free hand I punched his solid throat. Joe staggered back, just giving me time to yank myself away and charge to the other side of the room. Yay! I’d done it, but how my knuckles throbbed.

‘See, I have my own tactics,’ I said, ‘like chatting my heart out. It’s called distraction… Did you really think me fluffy enough to cut training for a fast food snack?’ Cue what I imagined to be a smug look from me. ‘Dear oh dear, I’m surprised you dropped your guard. Perhaps MI6 should lower their retirement age to… what are you, Joe, in your mid-thirties?’ I strolled back over to him.

Those maple eyes danced for just one second – blimey, sign of human life under that starched veneer. He straightened up and rubbed his neck.

‘Not a bad attempt, but as you probably guessed, I let go of you then, on purpose. Just to boost your confidence. But that was the last time I cut you some slack.’

‘Yeah, yeah, stop trying to save face.’ I glanced at a red blotch on his neck and my stomach pinched. ‘Um, you okay? Soz about the punch but…’

‘Hardly felt it.’ Joe put both hands on my shoulders. ‘Right, try to get away again.’

I stared straight at him. ‘You’ve got amazin’ long eyelashes.’

Joe sighed. ‘Gemma! You’ll need more subtle distraction tactics than that.’

‘But seriously…’ I leant forward. ‘Did you know there’s a Brazilian cockroach that eats the eyelashes of sleeping children? Learnt that in a pub quiz, I did. Gross or what?’

He paused and then nodded. ‘Impressive insects in Brazil… On a mission there I once got bitten by…’

Ha, ha! Fooled him again! I stamped hard on his foot (still didn’t like hurting him so used the front sole of my shoe, not the heel). Yay, one of his hands dropped. Frantically I wriggled but just couldn’t get out of his grasp.

‘Nice try,’ he said dryly. ‘Now, remember – don’t panic. Good foot work but keep calm. If your first move doesn’t work, try something else, like…?’

‘Um… I could poke you in the eyes or knee your groin. Perhaps lift the heel of my palm upwards and strike you mega hard on the nose…’

‘Excellent. Now, what if I’d grabbed you from behind?’

‘An elbow to the ribcage… Although I hate all this violence. Soz about your foot…’

‘Stop apologising, Gemma. Learn to trust and respect your instincts. Whilst it’s a last resort– used in a proper, controlled manner, violence is a useful tool.’

‘S’pose…’ I looked at his hand on my shoulder. Nice nails. Clean. Well-groomed. ‘Well, whatever. Look, Joe, you can let go of me now. My training’s all done. I proved myself anyway, yesterday, when you first spoke to me and I screamed in your face before making my escape across Paris.’

‘Nope.’ His grip tightened.

‘Huh?’

‘Earn your return to Edward tonight by getting free. No holds barred… Really act as if I’m the enemy.’

‘But I’ve already hurt your throat and foot,’ I said.

A smile almost flickered across his face. ‘I’ll survive. Us agents are made of strong stuff. Right. Let’s crack on.’ Roughly, Joe dragged me a few feet across the room, by one shoulder.

‘Ow! My arm will leave its socket at this rate.’

‘Do your worst then – unless I’ve made a mistake and you’re not up to the job.’

Thinking back to the childhood wrestles I’d had with my brothers, I gritted my teeth and jerked my body from side to side. With no progress made, I remembered Joe’s advice not to panic. Okay, step one, try a knee to the groin. But Joe saw it coming and dodged to one side. So quick as a flash, I pushed the heel of my palm up to his face, but he grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm behind my back.

‘Ow!’

Joe didn’t respond. Nor did he loosen his hold. I bit my lip. This was no joke… Wait a minute. What about that move involving slipping out of clothes? I could wriggle out of my cardigan and get away.

With all my might, I yanked out my free arm and almost escaped but again he saw through my manoeuvre – and then things took a nastier turn. Joe lifted me up and carried me to his imaginary getaway car. All urge to laugh left me. What would I do if this was for real and he was some terrorist or assassin? What if…? Deep breaths… Okay, inhale, exhale… There was only one thing for it…

‘Joe, everything feels funny,’ I said and put on a weak voice. ‘The room’s spinning and…’ I let my body go as limp as an out-of-date celery stick and closed my eyes, pretending that I’d blacked out.

‘Gemma? Stop messing about.’

Slowly, very slowly I breathed, face botox-still, keeping my body motionless despite a really annoying itch on my nose.

‘Gemma?’

I held my breath just for a few seconds and before I knew it, he’d put me on the floor in the recovery position and knelt down, not far away. As discreetly as possible, I slipped off my shoes which had a slight heel. Then, without giving Joe time to study me further, focused all my strength into pushing my body up and sprinting for the far wall.

Almost there… Just a few more feet… but at the last moment an arm came around my neck and pulled me back.

I squealed. ‘All right… You win…’ My legs paddled in the air. ‘Joe, it’s hurting, put me down…’

Eventually he did and, taking big gulps of air, eyes wide, I turned around, trying not to look spooked.

Joe studied me for a minute. ‘No… We both won. I’m impressed.’ His tone softened. ‘Playing dead – sometimes a good tactic. Removing shoes which might slow you down – good work. You were cornered but used initiative.’

I rubbed my arm. Joe came forward and rolled up my shirt sleeve. Gently his strong hand ran over marks left from when he’d held me really hard.

‘But what if you’d been a real criminal?’ I muttered.

Joe stood back and stared at me again. ‘Glad you’re finally taking this seriously, Gemma.’

I nodded.

In silence, we walked back over to our chairs. Joe passed me my water bottle and we sat down.

He glanced sideways at me. ‘You’re shaking.’

‘No, I’m not,’ I said, cross at the waver in my voice. ‘But it’s nice to know you care.’

Any warmth left his eyes. ‘I can’t afford to care in my job. It’s my responsibility to keep you in one piece, that’s all…’

He looked away and for some reason I didn’t believe him. Why the hard act, all the time? What had happened in his past?

There was a knock at the door and creepy John came in, after looking over his shoulder because, really, we weren’t supposed to be there.

‘Right. Role-play again,’ said Joe. ‘This time with John.’

I pulled a face, unable to think of anything worse than wrestling with that smarmy bloke. Joe met my gaze again.

‘Look….’ He bit his lip. ‘I’d understand if you’ve changed your mind, Gemma.’ His eyes bore into me. ‘But I’d never ask a civilian to get involved like this, if I didn’t feel strongly that something truly suspicious – be it murder or not – was afoot. Regardless of what the powers that be say, I’m not prepared to ignore any sort of threat towards the heir to the throne. Not even if it means putting my career on the line…’ He gave me a wry smile. ‘Or putting someone – you – in a potential line of fire.’