Page 82 of Sisters Making Mischief
At seven thirty exactly, Luc arrived. He had evidently given his truck a wash and even cleaned the empty canvas bags, bits of stone and gravel out of the back. That more than anything made me feel rather sentimental. I had made an effort but so had he. And he looked very smart in a dark suit and white shirt. He even had cufflinks on.
‘You look wonderful,’ he said as he saw me, ‘très elegante.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, fidgeting in my borrowed shoes, which were slightly too tight.
‘Shall we go?’
I got up into the truck as gracefully as I could, remembering the last time when he had hauled me up, me squeaking and complaining with my sore back.
We went toLe Poulet Argenté,as Isabel had predicted. An unremarkable stone building set back from the road behind a gravelled car park, which was almost full of swanky looking cars.
‘I hope you are hungry,’ Luc said as we parked, ‘the food here is wonderful.’
‘Very,’ I lied.
In fact, I wasn’t at all. I hadn’t had much to eat since my breakfast croissant because I’d been too nervous, and also the thought of the borrowed trousers possibly cutting into me had been on my mind. How they would cope with this meal was anyone’s guess.
Inside we were welcomed by a stout chap who introduced himself as Arnaud. He was wearing a black shirt and black trousers, had obviously spent a lot of time and money on hair products and flapped his hands about a lot. He was rather sweet and reminded me of an enthusiastic seal.
Our table was by the window with a view over the car park, but was elegantly set with a white cloth, gleaming silver cutlery and four different wine glasses.
As we sat down Arnaud lit the candle in the middle of the table, and then fussed about with our dinner napkins like a magician. The menu was short and, of course, all in French.
Moments later Arnaud brought us a bottle of chilled water and someamuse-boucheon little porcelain spoons. It was a little sliver of smoked salmon on top of a tiny blini, plus a swirl of cream, a few grains of caviar and a tiny frond of dill. It was exquisite and mybouchewas very amused indeed.
‘The terrine here with black truffle oil is excellent. And I recommend thesole meunièreif you like fish,’ Luc said, ‘it was supposed to be a favourite of Louis XIV.’
I’d seen Julia Child’s videos in the past, and I knew what that meant. Fish cooked in a lot of butter. Sounded brilliant to me.
‘That would be wonderful,’ I said.
I watched him across the table from me for a moment, he looked as appetising as anything that could possibly be on the menu, and how amazing that he had wanted to bring me here.
I gave a little sigh of pleasure and went back to the menu, wishing I had put my reading glasses into my bag, and angled it back and forth trying to read the swirly font. It could have said anything. At this rate I would be ordering something I didn’t like.
‘I’ll have the sole,’ I said at last.
‘And some wine?’
‘Always,’ I said, more confidently that time, ‘what goes well with it do you think?’
‘Perhaps a Sancerre or a white Burgundy?’
‘Ideal,’ I said, ‘I like either.’
‘And I am going to have the steak for the main course. What about you?’
Main course? I didn’t know we were going to have that too.Amuse-bouche, starter, fish and then steak, not to mention the possibility of a dessert, which was often my favourite part of the meal. In fact, in the past, I had been known to have a starter and a dessert and do without a main course. I was going to have to be rolled out of there at that rate.
I gave a confident smile and put the unreadable menu down.
‘Splendid. Me too.’
We ordered and Arnaud went off to find wine, a white napkin, ice and an ice bucket, which he brought back to the table and did a lot of fussing about with the cork.
‘You taste it,’ Luc said, ‘see what you think.’
My ability to taste wine was non-existent other than to say it was very wine-y, but I did my best, swirling it around the glass and giving an appreciative sniff and a sip.
