Perfect Strangers

Miss Aniston? What the hell was he on about? she thought with alarm as Josh strode confidently up to the reception desk. Hovering behind him, anxious not to say the wrong thing, she could hear Josh talking in French to a middle-aged man with half-moon spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He had a rather severe look, but he was nodding sympathetically as Josh spoke.

‘Mademoiselle Aniston, bienvenue.’ Sophie turned to see a pretty young girl in a receptionist’s uniform.

Miss Aniston – again. What on earth had Josh told them?

‘Would you and your manager like to follow me up to your suite?’ she asked cordially in her heavy accent. Sophie smiled weakly and tried to catch Josh’s eye, but he was now on the phone barking instructions about a film premiere in an American accent.

‘Suite?’ she said. ‘Oh, yes, yes, of course.’

They had a suite? What had Josh done? But she had no real option but to follow the girl, who led her to the lifts and up five floors, where they stepped into a corridor, with the deepest carpets Sophie had ever felt under her feet. At the end of the corridor, the girl stopped at a large wooden door and, opening it with a pass key, held it open for Sophie to step inside. It was stunning, stately and yet intimate, decorated in cool ivory with rich mahogany antiques and pale citron drapes. Surely this couldn’t be their room?

‘This is our Panoramic Suite, mademoiselle,’ said the girl. ‘I hope it meets with your desires. Would you like me to show you around?’

‘No, no. I think I’ll be fine,’ said Sophie quickly. She felt strange enough being here without having to trail around after the girl. The receptionist tried to take her bag, but she declined.

‘Would you like me to send some tea up to your room? Champagne? Our spa is excellent, although I am sure you have a busy day in preparation for tonight.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Sophie politely as Josh walked in. When the girl had closed the door, he immediately began laughing.

‘Josh! What the bloody hell is going on?’ asked Sophie, watching him walking about the suite inspecting it.

‘Very nice view,’ he said approvingly, feeling the silk drapes between his fingers. ‘I thought we might get an upgrade, but nothing like this.’

‘Josh!’

‘Oh all right, don’t get your knickers in a twist,’ he laughed. ‘That was the call I made at the station. I rang the manager’s office here at Le Bristol and said that Sophie Aniston was in town for the Aristocrats premiere tonight.’

‘What’s the Aristocrats? And who’s Sophie Aniston?’

‘You.’ He grinned. ‘Thought I’d change your surname to something a bit more recognisable. The Aristocrats is that big Tom Cruise movie out on Friday; they are having the European premiere at the Grand Rex tonight. I read it in a paper on the train. Anyway – I said you’d checked out of Le Meurice because you’d been unhappy about the size of your room. There’s a lot of rivalry between the Big Six Paris hotels, so of course they were going to accommodate you.’

‘But . . . there is no Sophie Aniston,’ she said.

‘There is now,’ laughed Josh. ‘If they were going to check on it, they’d have done it before we arrived. Obviously they’ve assumed you’re Tom’s love interest. Lucky you, eh?’

‘Josh, this isn’t funny. What if they . . .’

But Josh was bouncing up and down on the bed.

‘Hey, come and try this. Makes a change from sleeping on cardboard boxes last night.’

She frowned, noticing for the first time that there was only one bed. Her mind flashed back to that kiss at St Pancras and she pushed the uncomfortable thought away. She walked over to the window and looked out at the view of the exquisite hotel gardens.

‘So how long do you think we’ll be staying here?’ she asked, thinking that she never wanted to leave.

‘That depends on how long it takes us to find out what Nick was up to,’ said Josh.

‘And how are we going to do that?’

‘Well,’ said Josh, picking up her bag, ‘that depends what’s in here.’

Before she could stop him, he had unzipped it and tipped the contents on to the bed.

‘What are you doing?’ gasped Sophie.

‘Looking for clues,’ he said, emptying her make-up bag on to the crisp white duvet.

There wasn’t much to see. A book, her purse, passport, internet key fob, small bag of jewellery and an Oyster card. Josh emptied the jewellery bag into his hand. There were two small gold chains, a charm bracelet and a sapphire ring that had once belonged to her grandmother.