a Sh, or Shaaarles as he corrected me on my first day.
‘This is my thinking face.’ My thinking I’d like to strangle Remy face.
‘Non. It is your angry face.’
‘How are you?’ I ask, moving on to Charles’s favourite topic. Him.
‘I would like to say bien,’ he says, dropping his Louis Vuitton messenger bag to the desk and almost knocking over the framed photograph of Loulou, his precious pet spaniel. ‘But living with the man you love, ’oo no longer love you, it makes my ’art ’urt.’
It takes me a moment to discern his response, though the way he dramatically clasps his hands over his ’art, I mean, heart, helps.
‘Rough weekend, huh?’ We both worked Tuesday through Saturday last week, and while Sunday and Monday aren’t technically a weekend, it was my weekend. Two mornings of late wake-ups and café au lait and croissants on the balcony while staring at the gloriously blue sea. And two days of mooching around Monaco, doing touristy things. I visited the port at La Condamine, people watched from a café at the marina before visiting an old church, the name of which I forget.
‘Ouais,’ he affirms with a nod. ‘Phillipe, he spurned my advances again. I want the makeup sex, but he said no.’ He pouts like a child denied dessert, his oddly cherubic features marred by a frown.
‘That sucks,’ I reply, taking my empty cup for a refill. While French coffee, not to be confused with the much less delicious French roast we get back home, has become my unofficial addiction, I stick to jasmine tea while at work. My mind is already working like a squirrel on speed, no thanks to being ghosted by the man who brought me here.
‘Non—there was no sucking! This is the problem!’
‘Yeah, because you dumped him on Friday, right?’ It’s like The Bold and the Beautiful around here.
I slip out of my jacket, which was a mistake for this time of the year. Draping it over the back of my chair, I then ease my index finger between my throat and my Wolf Industries silk scarf to loosen it a little.
‘Oui, because I see him making eyes at the lifeguard. Like this!’ He blinks rapidly, his perfectly curled silky lashes like the wings of an angry bee. ‘Fils de pute,’ he spits.
I open my mouth to ask him if it’s Phillipe or the lifeguard who is the son of a whore in his estimation, finding myself asking instead, ‘Are you wearing fake lashes right now?’
‘Pfft!’ He gives a perfectly Gallic shrug as if to say what do you think? I think yes, yes he is. ‘I just curl them and wear a little mascara sometimes.’
‘They must rub the lenses of your glasses.’ And annoy the heck out of him.
‘I do not want to talk about this. I am énervé—how you say, pissed! I ’ave my revenge on ’im.’
‘Oh, dear.’ With an indulgent shake of my head, I splash some hot water over my teabag. ‘Can I expect a visit from the police today?’
‘I will not kill him! I still love him!’
‘Okay, so you don’t need help disposing of the body. Good to know. Hey, do you think the prison in Monaco is fancy?’
‘I do not know, and I do not wish to find out.’
‘O-kay.’ Someone has their panties in a wad today. ‘If you didn’t kill him, what did you do?’
‘Phillipe ’as no work today, and I begin late, so I made an offer to make le bacon pour le petit déjeuner—bacon for breakfast, yes?’ I nod. I both understand and agree with bacon. Bacon beats Cheerios any day for breakfast. ‘Bon. I wipe a little grease on the power bouton of his Xbox.’
As he describes his not so dastardly deed, he’s carefully tidying his hair using his reflection in the glass cabinets.
‘Oh, good one. I’m sure he’ll be mildly irritated when he goes to switch it on and finds he has bacon grease on his finger. Zut alors!’ I exclaim, examining my hand in faux horror.
‘No one says this, Rose,’ he chides. ‘Not in France and not in Monaco.’
‘And in America, we’re more likely to take a baseball bat to someone’s car as revenge. It’s a much more effective way to express yourself.’
‘Voyons.’ Let’s see. ‘I think he will be totally pissed when he is playing le Xbox and Loulou keeps sniffing the button and turning it off.’ I snigger as Charles pauses, pulling out his chair, then in a change of direction, asks, ‘What does le