As I emerged from the underground station he was leaning against a nearby wall. Around him teemed such a mish-mash of styles, it would have made the hardest game of “Where’s Wally?”.Moroccan women, draped in black, passed by carrying hessian bags. Tourists searched for bargains alongside local bohemian types, dressed in a mosaic of colours. For once in my life I looked decidedly conservative. ‘Bonjour, Gemma,’ said Blade and gave me one of his crooked smiles. I smiled back. ‘Thought I was never going to get here. I lost count of the number of Métro stops. It’s so far up the underground map…’ I shivered. ‘…but then this could be the North pole…’ I smiled again into those inky eyes and scanned the spiky hair. Today he wore an awesome silver skull necklace and a small charcoal scarf wrapped around his neck. ‘Did you remember to bring coins and notes – no credit cards?’ he said as we headed towards the stallholders. I nodded and switched the position of my leopard-print handbag, so that the strap went diagonally across my body.
