Free Finding Monsieur Right (2010) by Muriel Zagha

an exasperated ' Ah, ces machines infernales! ' and the line went dead. Isabelle smiled. Clothaire loathed technology of any kind. She looked at the time. It would be after midnight in Paris and Clothaire was always peevish when she disturbed his sleep. Best to call him in the morning. She erased the message. There was no point in leaving it for Jules to find. In fairness, now that she and Isabelle were on more friendly terms, Jules no longer mimicked Clothaire's voice and manner (at least not openly), but why put temptation in her way? Besides, after tonight, the tables had turned. Now it would be Isabelle's turn to tease Jules about her love life.

8 Daisy
    Daisy and Agathe were shopping. 'How French women shop for clothes' was to be the topic of Daisy's next Sparkle blog and she was very keen to learn from her friend. That was the thing about the French: they did everything differently.
    First, apparently, there was a correct way to walk into a shop. You didn't smile at the vendeur or vendeuse and say a bright ' Bonjour! ' You did , however, brush off their own greeting and repel any offer of help with a chilly ' Merci ,' sometimes accompanied by the briefest of smiles. Then you turned your back on them.
    Looking through the rails, you didn't express enthusiasm or admiration. What you did do was flick through the clothes disdainfully, occasionally pulling something out and quickly rejecting it as tragically hideous and unworthy of you. 'Agathe somewhat Terminator, except prettier,' Daisy jotted down excitedly on her pad. 'Seems in trance. Probably wouldn't notice if earthquake or even end of world. Shop assistant suggests another colour, A. laughs crushingly. V. efficient but a bit scary.' What was fascinating was that, although Agathe didn't particularly appear to be enjoying herself - she looked like she was taking some kind of exam - Daisy had to admit that her friend had a very good eye for what suited her.
    After three hours, Agathe had acquired two jersey tops, one black, one olive green, both with exquisitely flattering necklines, and a chocolate-brown pleated silk skirt which made her legs look at their most coltish and graceful. Daisy meanwhile had bought a huge lime-green velvet corsage, a frilly purple wraparound shirt, a lot of bangles, a baby-blue suede jacket and some raffia wedge sandals adorned with plastic fruit.
    'But all these things, they do not go together,' objected Agathe as they reviewed their purchases over a Perrier.
    'Well, no ... but I always find a use for everything in the end! I promise you that, one day, I'll be rummaging in my wardrobe, half-ready to go out and saying, "Oh, if only I had a ... purple wraparound shirt! A frilly one!" And then I'll find it and it'll be such a nice surprise because, of course, I'll have forgotten all about it by then. It's my way of planning for every eventuality.'
    Agathe laughed and gave a delicate mock-shudder. 'I could never do this.'
    'But it's so great to have a lot of fun clothes!'
    'Perhaps. I like beautiful, well-cut things. But of course for you it is different. You are English.' She gave Daisy an affectionate smile.
    This statement had become a familiar way for Agathe to agree to disagree with Daisy. There had, for example, been the recent occasion when Agathe had invited a few friends around for dinner and Daisy had got there early to help her. In fact Agathe was so organised that Daisy had had very little to do, except for one thing. To round off her menu of taboule au melon et jambon de parme and saumon en papillote , Agathe had made a chocolate cake. 'It needs a little decoration,' she had said musingly. 'What do you think?'
    Daisy had looked at the cake - a perfect cube dusted with cocoa powder - and said, 'Yeah, perhaps it looks a little boring like that.' Then inspiration had struck. 'You know what, I have some Smarties in my bag. We could dot them all over, it would look brilliant.'
    'Hmmmmm ...' said Agathe, on a rising note. It was a sort