Page 16 of Oyster

Pleased with her reaction, I gave a modest shrug. “Of course. Harvested at low tide at seven o’clock this morning. By my fair hand, just for you.”

And for twelve restaurants in and around central Paris, too, but I kept that to myself. I pointed out to sea. “This particular chap has spent the last three years growing over there, to the left of that clump of rocks. We have 12 frames built into the seabed, with around two tonnes of oysters on them.”

“Waouh,” she cooed again, like I’d presented her with a giant pearl, not a craggy lumpen shell.

As I fished out half a baguette, a few lemon slices, and an oyster for myself, she turned the one I’d given her over in her hand, rubbing the pad of her thumb across its coarse grey ridges.

“A feast for a queen, Nico. You’re spoiling me.”

“Hardly.” I delved in my jeans pocket for my penknife. “I’m the one who feels spoiled. I’m still pinching myself this is actually happening.”

She threw me a dimpled grin. “Well, if it’s any consolation, so am I. Éti Salvador is wearing her favourite red dress and having an oyster picnic on the beach. She is not having to pretend to be serious, dull Étienne.”

“She certainly seems a lot more… playful.”

“She is,” Éti agreed. “Oh my god, Étienne takes himself way too seriously. As befits his position as an ambassador and role model for the sport, and indeed, as a representative of our proud country on the national stage.”

She parroted the last bit in her idiotic, pompous commentator voice, and I chuckled. Could she be any different to that sad, drunk woman I’d rescued from the onrushing tide? Who hadn’t seemed to care if she’d been swept out to sea or not?

Levering with the sharp tip of my penknife, and in the blink of an eye, seeing as I’d done it a gazillion times, I shucked her oyster.

“Ça alors. So manly, Nico.”

“Shuck off,” I said in my appalling English accent, trying not to laugh.

“It is, though! I bet a handsome fisherman has local girls flocking, don’t you? All that flicky-flacky hair falling over your soulful brown eyes? All those mysterious dark tattoos? And that lip piercing. Waouh.Very sexy.” She fanned her face. “Especially when you are trying to be cool. You have a stream of girlfriends dangling, I think.”

“Flicky-flacky hair? Me?” I tossed it from my forehead, playing up to her teasing. “More like 'can’t be arsed to get it cut' hair. And I don’t need to try! I am effortlessly cool!”

My lips twitched as I caught her doing more piss-taking eyelash-batting. This gentle flirting had snuck up on me.

“So, are there?” she persisted. “A string of women? Or are you saving yourself for Mrs Right?”

Amused, I snapped closed my knife. “I get by. My friend, Florian, loves to tell me my girlfriends never last for very long because I smell of dead fish.”

Leaning over, she sniffed my shoulder, and then pretended to sniff under my armpit, before wrinkling her nose. “Yeah, maybe he’s got a point.”

I squirted lemon juice over her oyster, making sure to squirt some over her hand too. “Get that down your neck, you horror.”

I watched as she tilted her head back, opened her mouth wide, and, with a hum of approval, swallowed it down.

“Mon dieu, that tastes amazing! So zingy and fresh!” She licked her lips. “Mmm. Like snogging a merman.”

Chuckling, I tossed down my own. Yep, delicious. I still adored the flavour, even if I did farm the bloody things all day. “Done a lot of that, have you?”

She scooped up the second oyster I’d prepared for her, side-eyeing me. “What, snogged mermen or eaten raw oysters?”

Delicately, she tipped back the shell. “Not enough of either, more’s the pity.” She swallowed. “Mmm. I think I’ve discovered a favourite food after all. Next time someone asks me, I will be able to declare it is a platter of La Forge’s finest oysters while stretched out on a sandy beach, with Nico La Forge himself preparing them for me. Like a pampered princess.”

“I’m honoured.”

“It’s true! It’s like I’m eating the actual ocean. Why did that taste so good?”

“Probably because it was still alive and clinging to a rack until a few hours ago. And we have the perfect conditions here.” I prepared another and handed it over. “The area is well iodised, so they grow to the right size. Not too fleshy or scrawny. And my family have farmed these tides for over a hundred years. We know where to move them around, to maximise growth and flavour.”

In a much less ladylike fashion, accompanied by a louder and more wicked groan, she wolfed the third, noisily slurping the last of the salt water from the shell. Some drops escaped and dribbled down her chin.

“I need a bib.” She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

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