One Summer in Paris

“For a start because I’ve been with the same man for twenty-five years. I know nothing about dating.”

“No problem. I might not know anything about French verbs, but I know all there is to know about sexy lingerie. This is delicious by the way—” Audrey caught the crumbs in her palm. “I never thought I liked olives until I came to France.”

“My lingerie isn’t an issue. If I go, and I still haven’t decided, I won’t be taking my clothes off.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dinner. Catching up with a friend.”

“Not dinner and sex?”

“Definitely not dinner and sex.”

“So why are you so stressed-out?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I was eighteen when I saw him last.” Grace smoothed her beige dress over her thighs. “That’s a long time ago.”

So it was a confidence thing.

Audrey chewed. It was weird. Grace had to be at least… er…how old? She was completely crap at guessing ages.

She trod carefully. “How many years since you saw him?”

“Are you asking my age? It’s not something I hide. I’m forty-seven.”

Forty-seven?

Audrey had guessed her to be at least fifty. Forty was old, too, of course, but not as old as fifty.

“Okay, so I’m going to say it the way it is and you’re not to get mad at me.” Audrey helped herself to another delicious morsel from the plate next to her. “You’re only forty-seven, but you dress like—” she waved a hand “—the way you do. What is that about?”

“I’m dressing my age.”

“No. You’re dressing like a grandmother. We have to fix that.”

“We’re not fixing anything. This is the style I like.”

Audrey took another bite of food. She didn’t want to hurt Grace’s feelings, but still—sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind, didn’t you? “All I’m saying is that I think we could make a few small changes. I mean, the tights have got to go, obviously. Who the hell wears tights in the summer?”

“I do.”

“Not anymore you don’t. Take them off.”

Grace pressed her hands to her thighs, as if she was afraid Audrey might physically remove them. “I li

ke them.”

“No one ‘likes’ tights, Grace. They’re an abomination. Need me to learn how to say that in French?”

“I do not. And I disagree. Women of a certain age shouldn’t be showing their legs.”

“Maybe not if you’ve got veins and things, but you haven’t.” Audrey studied Grace’s legs. “All you need is a little fake tan and you’re away.”

“I’m not turning my legs orange.”

Audrey sighed. “They won’t be orange. And if you want me to learn a ton of new French words, then you are going to have to lose those tights. That’s the deal.”

“The new words are for you. To help you.”