Page 54 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘Ah yes, Marie told me…’

Stop, thought Sophie. Don’t let him think that you knew about the set-up.

‘Provincial conversations bore me, Sophie. Let’s talk about you.’

Ah, another line. Horatio the sweet-talker. I bet it works on most women. Well, I’m not going to fall for it.

Sophie summoned the waiter. ‘May I have a glass of rosé?’

‘Not a good idea to mix the two.’

‘Thank you for your advice, but it’s fine. I’m used to mixing my drinks. And to be honest I have already had two glasses of the Merlot and it’s a very heady wine.’

Sophie was not on her best behaviour. She swayed a little, and saw Marie watching her, but she really couldn’t give a damn what people thought about her.

And, certainly, she had marked her card with a pretty but older woman in a floral dress who approached the count.

‘Horatio!’ She flung her arms around his neck. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were still in Paris setting up the new exhibition. Anyway, I’m glad you’re back. Missed you.’ She turned to Sophie and looked her up and down. ‘You’redoing the art course?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s a nice break. And you get to meet new people like Horatio. He’s always happy to add fresh blood to his stable. Aren’t you, darling?’ she said.

‘Especially if he has old nags like you around,’ Sophie replied. ‘I think it’s probably time to put you out to pasture.’

The woman turned on her heel and fled.

Sophie stood proud and gave Horatio a big smile. A waiter had arrived with a tray of canapés.

She took a bite of a Roquefort cheese and pear morsel. ‘Delicious,’ she said. ‘The sweet with the savoury, such a great combination.’

Horatio laughed. ‘What a wicked woman you are.’

Had she gone too far? She glanced back at the woman in the floral dress who was whispering to Marie.

‘Oh dear, I hope she isn’t cross with me.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. She likes a bit of drama,’ Horatio replied. ‘But I think we should go anyway before the good women of Bordeaux put you in the stocks and throw canapés at you.’

She laughed, but he’d made her feel uncomfortable. ‘You make me feel like a Jezebel.’

‘Too biblical,’ he said. ‘More medieval. Maybe a witch. They probably would have burnt you at the stake. I’ll tell you what, there’s a lovely restaurant near here.’ He took her hand and guided her up the steps. ‘We’ll have dinner first and then I’ll take you home.’

***

Horatio drove them in his open-topped Mercedes to the village. The sultry air sobered Sophie up. She glanced at Horatio. His eyes were steady on the road.

It was a pretty brasserie. Diners sat outside under a canopy of vines. Laughing and drinking. An easy atmosphere. Maurice,the patron, showed them to a table in the corner away from the other guests where Horatio always sat.

‘Here, Sophie.’ Horatio poured her a large glass of ice water. ‘This will clear your head.’

They ate white asparagus with béchamel sauce, followed by tender pigeon with sweet potato and parsnip, accompanied by two glasses of excellent Bordeaux and, to finish, canelés, delectable little pastries flavoured with rum and vanilla with a soft and tender custard centre and a dark, thick caramelised crust, followed by mint tea.

Sophie was happy. The water and delicious cuisine had calmed her. She felt safe with Horatio. He was witty and charming and disarmingly romantic.

There was music coming from the Cafe de la Place in the square: a group of musicians played a lilting melody and a female chanteuse sang slow French songs full of passion in her deep, fluid voice.

‘Come, Sophie.’ Horatio took her in his arms and they danced for hours until they were alone. Just the two of them, Sophie with her head nestled in Horatio’s neck.

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