A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,35

and she needed it now. Barrelling through, she waited for the icy temperatures to hit her cheeks…

‘Ow!’

Instead something hit her – and not just on her cheeks. It was full-on body contact with something hard and firm and she was currently spiralling her way down to the pavement.

Fifteen

‘Non!’ a voice ordered. ‘Non! Non! Non!’

There was a loud clatter and for a millisecond, Keeley thought it was her body meeting the cobbles, but it wasn’t her bones that were breaking, it was her fall. Two strong arms were underneath her and she was suspended, gazing upwards, the strong winter sunlight refracting and making it almost impossible to see anything. Although… Focusing, her breath catching in her chest, Keeley made out the features of the person who was holding her. Dark wavy hair, a little tousled, angular features including a not unattractive nose, and rather appealing grey eyes…

The man said something else in French and Keeley couldn’t reply. She wasn’t sure whether it was because she didn’t have the local vocabulary or because she was winded.

‘Can you stand?’ the man asked, tipping her upright almost in a move like he was trying to rid her of vertigo.

‘I… yes…’ She was on her feet again now and he hadn’t given her much choice in the matter.

‘Where the hell is it?’ The man was spinning around now, looking up and down the street outside the hotel. He picked up a plastic carrying box, its metal gate swinging loose at the front and peered inside. ‘Fuck!’ That word wasn’t French.

‘Was there… something in there?’ Keeley found herself asking.

‘Yes!’ he snapped a reply. ‘And it wasn’t mine! I borrowed it and I have to take it back in a couple of hours before anyone notices it is missing.’

‘O-K,’ Keeley replied. Was this man sane? Or was this some sort of avant-garde street entertainment the French were keen on?

‘Can you look behind the bags?’

He was pointing now at a collection of refuse sacks to the left of the hotel. This was so bizarre. But Keeley found herself stepping towards the pile of bin bags… Was it a cat or a dog that had escaped?

‘What am I looking for and does it have a name?’

‘Pepe,’ the man replied.

‘OK,’ Keeley said. She picked up a bin bag and looked beneath, but how this man thought an animal could have got under it without them seeing was a bit mad in itself. She shook another bin bag to make sure. ‘Is Pepe a cat or a dog?’

There was no reply and, when Keeley turned around, the man had disappeared. Where was he? She sighed. Why did she care? She had come outside to try and quell the irritation of being stood up and maybe regroup. Suddenly, she gasped as the man appeared from behind a giant green recycling bin. He still looked harried. He still looked attractive…

Keeley swallowed. ‘Is Pepe a cat?’ she repeated. ‘Or a dog?’

‘A penguin,’ the man replied almost nonchalantly. ‘Not something I can easily pick up a replacement for.’

‘What?’ Keeley exclaimed. ‘Did you say penguin?!’

He couldn’t have said ‘penguin’. That was craziness of the highest order. Who carried around a penguin on the streets of Paris? Who carried around a penguin at any time? Unless you were… heading for a zoo. Keeley side-eyed the man as he mounted a large bin on wheels and the top half of his torso disappeared completely inside. He didn’t look like a zookeeper. He was wearing a three-piece suit underneath his dark, expensive-looking woollen coat, smart brown shoes… She shook herself. She should retreat now. This penguin business wasn’t her business. She was here on the street to get her head together. She should focus on the festive lights being strung up across the street and a stall of shabby chic Santas and star ornaments doing a roaring trade…

The man popped back up, a piece of orange peel in his hair. ‘Have you seen him?’ he asked her.

‘No, I… don’t know where else to look.’ And helping strangers recover animals who should be living in the Antarctic wasn’t her remit.

‘There!’ the man shouted, pointing a finger to a bright red fire hydrant. ‘Pick up the box!’ He took off in hot pursuit.

Before Keeley knew it, she was doing as he’d asked, snatching up the carrier and charging down the street after him… and it. She could just see Pepe the penguin, running at quite a pace, weaving in and around passers-by making a hideous squawking noise and flapping its flippers