Poppy Does Paris (Girls On Tour 1) (Girls On Tour Book) by Nicola Doherty

lunch.’
    ‘Oh. Of course not,’ I say. And it’s mostly true. I think it’s going to be OK. Jonathan loved my editorial suggestions. Constance loves our publishing plans. And Jonathan and I will figure all the other stuff out.
    The terrace has a fabulous view of the rooftops of Paris, dominated by the Eiffel Tower. It’s so close by that you can see people going up and down in the lifts. The other diners are mostly men and women who I presume work in the government buildings nearby – though, in their designer suits, they look considerably more dashing than British civil servants.
    ‘You look great, by the way,’ says Charlie. It’s nice of him to throw a bone my way when he’s so clearly got a crush on Constance. He’s made an effort himself, wearing a self-consciously trendy, shiny navy blue jacket with the sleeves rolled up over a grey T-shirt. Then Jonathan and Constance arrive. Constance looks lovely in a white high-necked blouse and skinny black trousers. I can’t take in what Jonathan’s wearing, other than that it’s some kind of jacket and tie; I concentrate on making sure that I smile, stand up to receive his cheek kisses, and generally act normal.
    Occasionally when I’m in an important meeting or other formal situation, I get a mad urge to say something completely inappropriate. This is one of those times: I wonder what would happen if I told everyone, ‘Hey! Jonathan and I slept together yesterday.’ Luckily I’m prevented from doing so by our waiter, who wants to know about drinks.
    ‘Actually,’ says Jonathan, ‘why don’t we make it champagne?’ He shoots me a modest look. ‘We certainly feel like celebrating.’
    For a surreal moment I wonder if he’s about to tell everyone we’re an item, or something, but then I see that Constance is smiling too. She says, ‘We’d like to accept your offer to publish Jonathan’s book.’
    Praise the Lord! As the waiter comes back with our champagne, I thank baby Jesus and all the angels that what happened yesterday obviously didn’t mess anything up. Or . . . a very icky thought strikes me. Could it actually have
helped
? Does Jonathan think he’s landed himself an editor with benefits? Surely not.
    ‘That’s great news. We’re thrilled. Well, Jonathan, here’s to your book,’ I say, holding up a glass.
    ‘To the book.’ Jonathan holds my eye as he toasts. Then he pauses, glass mid-air, and thinks for a while before adding, ‘And to our partnership.’
    The conversation turns to writers we might send Jonathan’s book to for an endorsement. Jonathan has lots of celebrity and literary friends, but Constance also seems to be on first-name terms with all sorts of big fish.
    ‘Wow, Constance, you have great contacts,’ I say.
    ‘Yes, I do know lots of people,’ she says calmly.
    This reminds me of her reaction to my inane compliment yesterday, about her being brave to ride her motorbike. I’m not used to people – especially women – accepting compliments with such ease instead of contradicting them or apologising. Maybe it’s a French thing.
    ‘How about Denis Last?’ Charlie is saying. ‘He could be a good person to endorse the book.’
    ‘Denis Last,’ Jonathan recoils. ‘He’s very popular, of course, but –’ He makes the word ‘popular’ sounds like a skin condition. Which seems a bit odd. Jonathan writes really well, but he is on the popular end of the literary spectrum, after all.
    ‘I love his books,’ says Constance. I find myself warming to her more, especially when she tells me how much she admired my ‘costume’ of yesterday.
    ‘We have some great shops for antique clothes here,’ she says. ‘There’s Kilo Shop in the Marais, which sells things by the kilo, and Odetta.’
    ‘Is there still that place in Clichy – I used to go there all the time – what’s it called again?’
    ‘Ah, Guerrisol!’
    Jonathan and Charlie are talking about something, but it’s a bit stilted, and I get the