“I don’t eat bread.”
“This isn’t ordinary bread. It’s infused with rosemary and sea salt. Try it.”
She tried it and almost moaned with pleasure.
He was a man of many passions, and food was one of them. She liked that about him. He was the one who had taught her that food should never be about quantity and always about quality. A perfect ripe brie, a juicy steak. A glass of full-bodied red wine. He’d opened the door to a life she’d never seen before. Growing up, food had been another source of chaos in her household, never pleasure.
As they ate, she felt herself slide back in time.
Philippe was demonstrative, expressive and passionate. The time she’d spent with him had been a shocking contrast to the emotional poverty of her upbringing. At home, no one had wanted to know how she felt. No one cared. No one talked enthusiastically about books, art or music. No one said you have to read this or listen to this because it’s sublime or try this because you will never taste anything more exquisite.
Philippe had done all those things. He’d swamped her with experiences and drowned her senses. He’d wanted to know everything that was going on in her mind and it was so alien that to begin with she hadn’t been able to find the words, and when she had she’d stammered them out and waited for him to tell her she was wrong. That what she was feeling wasn’t valid. But he never had. He hadn’t cared that she knew little about music. He’d been interested in whether she enjoyed it, whether the music stirred her in some way.
Even when she’d been anxious, worried about what was happening at home, he’d made her laugh. That’s tomorrow. Let’s enjoy today. Taste this, listen to this…
She picked up her glass and took a sip. “It’s delicious.”
“It’s from a vineyard near my uncle’s house in Bordeaux. The climate is perfect for the grape.” He talked about the vineyard, and the few weeks he’d spent there in the spring after a long concert tour. And all the time he was watching her, studying her with those blue eyes and that gaze that saw everything.
She was eighteen again and standing on the edge of something new and overwhelmingly exciting.
She told him about a holiday she’d taken to the Californian wine country, and they talked about climate and grapes. She told him about the cookery classes she’d taken and they shared a laugh over her first attempts to make macarons.
“They looked like spaceships. And I made such a mess!”
“Still, I’m impressed.” He took a sip of his wine. “I have only ever bought dessert.”
“About this concert—”
“I’m playing Mozart.”
“Could I bring a friend? Her name is Audrey,” she added it hastily, in case he thought she was planning on bringing a man. “I met her here, in Paris.”
“I will arrange four tickets. Bring anyone you like. Give me your address and I’ll send a car for you. And afterward I will take you for dinner. But promise me one thing—”
“What?”
“That you’ll wear that dress.”
He was looking at her the way men looked at attractive women, so openly interested that she felt flustered. She could feel the undercurrents, the sexual tension.
It was something she wouldn’t have imagined six months before, but now? Her life had changed. Everything was different.
“I’ll wear this dress.”
She saw the woman at the next table looking at t
hem. Maybe she recognized Philippe. How must they look? Like two people on a date. Enjoying each other’s company. Everything about the scene suggested romance. The flicker of candles, the faint hum of music in the background. The way he occasionally reached across and touched her hand. The way he focused on her, his blue eyes fixed intently on hers.
“Remember the night I took you around Paris on the motorcycle?”
“How could I forget? It was raining, and I was terrified. You were unpredictable, unreliable, ridiculously reckless—I still have nightmares about it. Also about climbing over the wall of the palace—we could both have been arrested.”
“You were so cautious and careful.” He took a mouthful of wine, his gaze fixed on hers. “Are you still like that, Grace?”
“Invite me on the back of your motorcycle and I’ll tell you.”
He laughed. “I sold my motorcycle a long time ago. These days I prefer to travel in comfort. But the fact that you’re asking tells me you have changed.”