Finn glanced up from the Paris street map that he’d earlier purchased at the train station. ‘The rules for survival in the city are no different than those for the jungle, or the mountains, or the desert. Blend in with the environment. And no sudden moves. If you see a cop, hear a cop, or smell a cop, act natural. Don’t give ’em a reason to question you.’
Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Wh-why would the police want to question us?’ she stammered. ‘Do you think the authorities have tracked us to Paris?’
‘No, I don’t think that. But it’s always good to be cautious, right?’
About to nod her head, she caught herself in mid-motion, uncertain if a nod constituted a ‘sudden move’.
They’d gone approximately one block when Kate spotted a brightly painted shop sign with the name ‘L’Equinoxe’ in gold lettering. Beneath that was an image of the Fool, the first card in the Tarot deck. The age-old symbol for infinite possibilities.
‘There’s Cædmon’s bookstore, just a few doors down.’
Several moments later, standing at the entryway, Kate frowned. A small white placard with the word ‘Fermé’ hung crookedly on the other side of the glass door. Behind that, a green curtain had been drawn, preventing her from seeing inside the shop. Turning the door knob, she verified that the shop was, indeed, closed.
‘Do you wanna come back when the bookstore opens?’
Unsure, she glanced at her Seiko watch: 9.26. Local time.
‘Actually, I think it’s best if we seize the bull –’ she banged on the wooden door frame with a balled fist – ‘by the proverbial horns.’
Several moments passed. Again, Kate banged on the door. A bit more forcibly this time.
‘The bookshop is closed!’ a distinctly English voice boomed from the other side of the locked door.
‘It’s important that we speak with you,’ Kate said through the glass.
‘Je m’en fou! La librairie est fermé! Casse-toi maintenant! ’
Worriedly biting her lower lip, she glanced at Finn. ‘He insists that the shop is closed.’ She didn’t bother to translate the profane preface and postscript that bracketed the announcement.
‘Are you sure that’s even Engelbert standing on the other side of the door?’
‘Oh, yes, I’m sure.’ She’d recognize that well-articulated voice anywhere. Refusing to call retreat, Kate again rapped on the pane. ‘Cædmon, please open the door. It’s important that I speak with you.’
The entreaty worked, the deadbolt lock was released and the shop door swung open. A man, nearly as tall as Finn, with shoulder-length red hair, filled the entryway. Not only was his stained shirt completely unbuttoned, the tails limply hanging against a pair of corduroy trousers, but his feet were bare.
‘Kate? Is that you?’
‘Hello, Cædmon.’ She pasted a cordial smile on to her lips. A vision of grace under pressure.
Blood-shot blue eyes narrowed. ‘You have some bloody nerve, showing up on my doorstep.’
20
‘May we please come inside, Cædmon?’
Mockingly sweeping his arm aside, the red-headed Brit gestured for Finn and Kate to enter the bookshop. ‘By all means. Mi casa, su casa.’
As he stepped across the threshold, Finn sized up their ‘host’, instantly pegging the guy for a prick of the first order. Cædmon Aisquith. Hell, he could barely say it, let alone spell it. Standing approximately six foot three, Aisquith had the lean, rangy build of a long-distance runner. And the ashen, hollow-eyed look of an insomniac. That or the English dude was coming off one helluva bender.
Finn removed his Oakley sunglasses and hooked them on the collar of his T-shirt. Perusing the joint, he wondered how Aisquith made a living. Granted, he didn’t know a lot about the book trade, but common sense told him that a dark, unkempt shop wasn’t the kind of place that attracted a clientele. Who the hell liked the smell of mildew? Not only were the floor-to-ceiling bookcases covered in a visible layer of dust, there were unwieldy stacks of books haphazardly arranged on the floor, just waiting for an unsuspecting customer to plough into. To quote his great-uncle Seamus, the place was ‘a slipshod shipwreck’.
Kate cleared her throat. Probably because, like Finn, she’d just swallowed a mouthful of dust motes. ‘Gosh … it’s been a long time. No doubt you’re surprised to see me.’
Aisquith folded his arms over his chest. ‘Baffled to say the least. In your lettre de rupture you succinctly stated that you never wanted to see me again.’
‘I sent that letter sixteen years ago,’ Kate retorted, an exasperated edge to her voice. ‘In hindsight, conveying those sentiments in a letter was terribly unfair to you. However, I was young and inexperienced.’
‘A poor excuse, given the nature of our relationship.’
Standing ringside, Finn quickly gathered that Kate had once shacked up with the dishevelled bookstore owner, and the prick was still royally pissed off that she’d given him the shaft. You go, girl.
‘And including those lines of poetry from Yeats was unconscionable,’ the prick continued. ‘ “In courtesy I’d have her chiefly learned; Hearts are not had as a gift but hearts are earned.” ’
Finn sidled a few steps closer to Kate, a show of moral support. ‘I don’t know. Sounds like a classy “Dear John” letter to me.’
‘And who might you be?’
‘The name’s Finn McGuire. I’m Kate’s new BFF.’ He didn’t bother extending his hand.
The Brit gave him the once-over. ‘A diminutive of Finnegan, I take it?’
Sorely tempted to tell Aisquith where he could shove it after he took it, Finn belligerently tilted his chin. ‘What can I say? My mother had a wicked dark humour.’
‘She must have, to have named you after a dead character in a James Joyce novel. But that’s the Irish for you.’
‘Irish-American,’ he corrected.
‘Mmmm … indeed.’
What the fuck did that mean?
‘So, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?’
Kate hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. ‘I, um, need your help, Cædmon. I’ve just made a long, arduous journey and –’ Eyes bloodshot, cheeks flushed, she stared pleadingly at her old swain. By anyone’s standard, she looked plenty pitiful. ‘Please, Cædmon. I didn’t know where else to go.’
Hearing that, the red-headed Brit instantly dropped the sarcastic attitude. Like he’d just had a deathbed conversion, he placed a solicitous hand on Kate’s shoulder. ‘Of course. Anything. Christ, I’m such a bastard. Arrow to the heart. Wounded to the quick. All that.’
And Kate complained about him not speaking in full sentences. This Aisquith guy had it down to an art form.
‘I’m sorry. I probably should have called ahead or sent an email, but we’ve been on the run. Figuratively speaking, of course.’ A red splotch instantly materialized on each freckled cheek. Two guilty bull’s eyes.
Removing his hand from Kate’s shoulder, Aisquith waved away the botched apology. ‘Doesn’t matter. For you, the door is always open.’ As he spoke, he glanced down at his unbuttoned shirt. ‘Forgive me. I’ve been under the weather.’ He fumbled with one of the middle buttons. ‘A touch of la grippe, as it were.’ Calling it quits after just the one button, he clapped his hands together. ‘Right. I’ll get us some refreshments. A glass of sherry perhaps?’ No sooner did he make the offer than Aisquith noticed the clock hanging on the adjacent wall. ‘Oh, bloody hell! It’s still morning.’