Page 72 of Sisters Making Mischief
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Not too bad,’ I said, ‘still a bit sore and stiff. I don’t think I will be going out dancing any time soon.’
‘That is a pity, you must tell me when you are up to it, although as I cannot dance at all well, we might give the whole thing a miss.’
I laughed. ‘That would probably be a good idea.’
Luc looked away, and then examined his wristwatch, polishing the glass with his thumb. He seemed nervous, unsure of himself.
‘But I suppose we could just go out to dinner one evening, when you are feeling better? I mean, if you liked the idea, and you weren’t busy. You might not want to, and I would understand perfectly if you didn’t.’
I looked across the table at him rather astonished. Was he actually trying, in his reticent way, to ask me out? And what should I say? Yes, please? Don’t worry about it? Where are we going and what should I wear? I had nothing which could be described as evening wear in my suitcases.
Honestly, what on earth was the matter with me?
I was behaving like some giddy schoolgirl, not a strong, confident woman who had no interest in men or their invitations to dinner.
Although, of course, we might go to some glorious place by the river and the evening would be warm, the air sultry, and there might even be a little pipistrelle bat swooping about in the sky. (I like bats. They eat a whole shedload of mosquitos, which mean there are fewer around to bite me.) And there would be a candle in a wine bottle on the table, and we would have a simple meal of unparalleled flavour. Perhaps there would be a young chef, on his way to Michelin glory, who would come to ask us if everything was okay, and we would nod and smile and…
‘Yes, okay. I’d like that,’ I said at last, realising that my imagination had got the better of me and he was still waiting for my answer.
‘Really? That’s very good,’ he said, smiling, obviously relieved, ‘so you can’t go home any time soon. Some of the best places are opening up now, ready for the new season’s visitors. I will give it some thought. Now, please, eat your food, it will be getting cold.’
The trouble was, eating in front of him when he was just sitting there, was unbelievably embarrassing. Knowing me I would spill something down myself or drop my cutlery on the floor.
‘I just wanted to find out if you were being well looked after,’ he said, ‘I felt terrible that you had hurt yourself, when I should have been there to help you.’
‘You didn’t know I was just going to drop in,’ I said, taking a tiny, manageable spoonful of the casserole, ‘I should have rung first. But I didn’t have your number, and Isabel was busy.’
I took his mobile phone off the table and then I rang my own number.
‘There, now you do have my number,’ I said, ‘and I have yours.’
‘Yes, so I do,’ he said.
I couldn’t believe what I had just done and by the look on his face nor could he.
‘Right then, I’d better go and leave you to your meal in peace. Nothing worse than someone watching you eat, is there?’
‘No, you’re right,’ I said, rather relieved and surprised that he understood.
He stopped in the doorway. ‘Would you like me to call in and see you again? Just to make sure you are all right, and you don’t need anything?’
‘Yes, that would be great,’ I said.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes, absolutely.’
He sounded startled, though why he should be, was anyone’s guess. It was rather disarming.
Then my spoon wobbled, and I dropped a particularly juicy chunk of beef on my shirt.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! And I was being so careful.’
He laughed and closed the door behind him, and I sat chewing thoughtfully on my bread and wondered what I was going to do next.
23
