Chapter 15

“Juste vous deux?” he asks.

I look to Brendon to deal with this.

He nods, hands the man some money then turns to me.

“Okay, my friend. Off with your clothes.”

My heart’s beating a tattoo, but as Brenton already has his jacket and shirt off, I’m not about to be left behind. I have no idea what we’re doing here. I’m too nervous to ask. More importantly, I want to come across as man of the world. Back home, at Hilldare Manor, that’s exactly what I considered myself to be. My trip to Paris has proved otherwise.

When we’re both naked, the man behind the counter speaks to us in French while putting our clothes on a hangar. He pins a number to the hangar, one to our shoes then picks up a stick of chalk

“Votre nom?”

“Charlesworth and…” He turns to me. “Surname?”

“Harrison.”

The man writes our names on a blackboard and puts the number 31 beside Brenton’s name and the number 32 beside my name.

“Entrez, s’il vous plait,” says the man with a grand sweeping gesture.