Chapter 2

"Salut Martin! Ça va?" he asked greeting of the owner of the Italian bistro on the first floor of his building who was coming back from the market. They knew each other quite well by now; Martin was giving Alex cooking lessons and Alex had installed wi-fi access and his point-of-sale packages and kept them running. Alex felt it was a good exchange and it had many benefits for both of them. Alex spent many a night on a corner stool in the bar chatting with the regular patrons or pouring drinks when it was really busy or someone was out sick. In return, Alex almost never had to buy dinner, a benefit when business was slow and he had learned a great number of secrets to making fast, tasty dinners that he had used to good advantage with friends and business associates alike. He was happy that Martin did not have a sister though, no matter how much Martin's mother liked him.

"Bonjour Alex. Bien. Et tu?"

"Bon, merci, Alex!" he said waving back as he unlocked the door and they climbed the stairs to the apartment.

"Wow, this place is beautiful," Samantha said, stepping into the room and looking around.

It had taken him a while and more than a few francs to find this place initially. It was not large but it was a fairly open floor plan, only the bedroom and the adjoining bathroom had doors or even separating walls. The kitchen was along the back wall and the rest of the space was a great room. Wood floors with throw rugs to keep the noise down held a couple of deep couches and book cases. The entertainment centre, with a TV and stereo were against one wall. Opposite the kitchen wall was a series of high arched windows, the blinds fully retracted to let the morning light stream into the room. That it overlooked a small park and had a small Italian bistro on the ground level did not hurt its location either.

"Make yourself comfortable. I will go and see if I can find you a shirt to put on while we throw yours in the laundry. Un moment."

Samantha took him at his word and looked around. The large square table, surrounded by the couches had all manner of things on it. Notebooks, loose papers, dishes, books and magazines, a couple of laptops, iPods and some other things she was not immediately familiar with. Most of the books were technical in nature. Things about how to build a network, managing your IT investment and in depth desktop management were just a few of the titles she saw. But there were just as many non-technical books scattered around on topics covering medieval history, American politics, language, immigration and there was even a comic book flopped open.

"Here, I think this should do," Alex said, coming back into the room. He had stripped off his coffee-stained shirt and was now wearing a grey polo. He passed her a cream coloured t-shirt and pointed back the way he had come saying, "Bedroom is through there. If you want to shower, go right ahead, the towels are clean. The laundry is here." He opened a closet door, behind which were a combination washer and dryer. "Just toss your shirt in and we will get it cleaned in a jiffy."

"What is it exactly that you do?" Samantha asked as she came around the end of the far couch, the collection of Jane's books having grabbed her attention from their nook on the bottom of the bookshelf. Of course, the twenty-two volume edition of the Oxford Dictionary, one of the volumes currently open on the stand next to the shelves had also piqued her curiosity as she had come past the bookcase.

"I dabble. I do a little of this and a little of that. I write, I work with computers, some basic assassination, even the occasional axe murder," he said with a smile when she jerked her head up, looking at him. "OK, I am kidding about the assassination part. I am a free spirit. An artist if you will. Really, I dabble," he said, trying to convince her.

"So how do you afford this place?" she asked waving her hand about generally. An apartment this size would have cost a month's salary in New York and she doubted the prices in Paris were any less steep. And here he was saying he 'dabbled?' She was beginning to think that dabbling paid better than working for a living, at least if this was any indication.

"What this dump? With its chrome appliances? And stellar view? Did I mention the satellite TV? No? Hmm, well, anyway, like I said, I dabble. I have sold a couple of books, I trade favors with those that have something I need and might not be able to pay for in the normal method and when things get really tight, I actually work for a living. I have a contract in London late next week in fact that will pay me enough to let me put my feet up and do nothing for the rest of the year if I really felt so inclined, but a friend has asked me to come to the Islands to winter with him and help figure out why his network has gone wonky, I believe that is the technical term he used, so I expect I will be able to feed myself for a couple of days yet." He was not sure if the look on her face was incredulity or simple disbelief. "So, go, strip, toss me out your shirt and we will take it from there, shall we?" She was still shaking her head as she walked into the bedroom, his t-shirt in her hand.

"So what does your wife think," Samantha asked a couple of minutes later, naked, but wrapped in a towel, tossing dirty clothing into the washing machine. "Where's the soap?"

"I will get it," Alex said, putting a laptop back on the table and walking around to a cupboard for the bottle of liquid detergent. "And my wife does not think anything of it because I do not have one. A wife that is." He measured and poured the soap in and turned the knobs and started the machine, closing the door behind him. "The towel suits you by the way," he said with a grin trying hard to look only at her face and not stare at the numerous parts of her body that were not well covered by the very short towel.

"Thanks," she said wryly. I am going to take a shower; I seem to have jam in my hair.

"Raspberry preserves actually and remember that C is for chaud, which over here means hot, don't burn yourself," he said, walking back around to his spot on the couch, trying not to look too leeringly at her strong legs or the slight bit of cleavage being displayed by the towel wrapped around her. He was trying not to think of her as sexy but it was quickly becoming a real challenge, even with her out of the room. He heard the shower turn on and tried to turn his focus back to working on the paper he was supposed to present six weeks from now, attempting to banish all thought of her from his mind and not doing a very good job of it.