Page 83 of Sisters Making Mischief
‘Lovely,’ I said, trying to think of some things to say that I had heard, ‘grassy, with a hint of green.’
Arnaud went off satisfied and Luc’s eyes twinkled at me across the table.
‘I might be French but I’m not a snob about it. It tastes like wine to me too,’ he said, and I grinned.
The starter came, a minute portion of terrine garnished with three drops of truffle oil, some pea shoots, one sliver of red pepper and one thin slice of melba toast. I gave a mental sigh of relief. If these were the portion sizes, perhaps I would be okay. And it was delicious, in fact, I could have eaten a big slab of it.
Actually, back home I could remember scooping pâté out of the packet in front of the television with some ordinary toast, but of course that was not the way things were done here. I picked daintily at my food, savouring every tiny bite, taking little sips of water and remembering to sit up straight, not hunch over my plate as though it was a school dinner.
We talked about his house, how he had been busy rearranging his furniture and belongings now that they had arrived from the storage unit.
‘I am enjoying the process, but I would appreciate your advice, if you were free to come over one day. You need to pick up your car anyway,’ he said.
‘Of course,’ I said, ‘I’d promise not to make everything too – what did Felix call it –l’air girly.’
He laughed. ‘I don’t mind, it’s a long time since my home had any feminine influence.’
‘That’s a shame,’ I said.
He was about to reply when Arnaud appeared and cleared away our plates, checking very respectfully that everything had been to our satisfaction.
And then he brought thesole meunière, which was nestled comfortably in its own butter bath and was accompanied by three miniature new potatoes and three green beans in a china dish on the side.
I looked around at all the other diners, who were evidently having a pleasant evening too. No one was making a fuss or grumbling, no one was looking at their watch or complaining that the beans or the potatoes were the wrong shape. I bit back a smile at the thought of the speed eating and general dissatisfaction that had accompanied the meals in my house over Christmas. Wow, that seemed a very long time ago.
‘This is possibly the best thing I have ever eaten,’ I said after a few mouthfuls.
He smiled. ‘You can see why the King liked it.’
As the meal progressed, the sole was followed by a tiny fillet steak that was the most melting I had ever tasted, again swimming in sizzling hot butter, plus five identical, hand-cut and probably much-loved chips in a metal pot. It was scrumptious, and I discovered that eating small amounts of food very slowly and thoughtfully, meant I felt fuller than if I had eaten larger amounts very rapidly; how odd.
I told him about my family, the town where I lived, how I spent my time. He told me about his life, what he had done since his wife had died, how he wished they’d had children. I could tell he was lonely, but then so was I. I don’t think I’d really realised that. It seemed a bond was forming between us, one I hadn’t expected.
‘And what have you been doing today?’ Luc asked.
I had a mental flashback to the five-legged dog, saving the ceramic buttock from the Marcel and Isabel falling over the wheelbarrow and grinned at the memory. I don’t think I had laughed so much for ages. There was fun to be had, and sometimes in the most unexpected places.
‘Something fun by the looks of it,’ he said.
I chuckled. ‘Isabel and I were trying to make videos for social media. Let’s just say it didn’t quite go as planned.’
Then there was the prospect of cheese before dessert, which was how the French preferred things. A tiny, equally unreadable menu was brought to us with a flourish, and again I squinted at it, wondering what these cheeses were.
What I really needed was a menu with pictures. Like in the Wimpy Bars I had frequented as a kid. You knew where you were then; a Brown Derby was in your face – a doughnut, ice cream and chocolate sauce. And the light from the candle on the table was romantic and probably flattering, but it didn’t make life anyeasier. What should I do? Of course, the perfect get out of jail free card. I tucked the menu into my pocket.
‘I’m just off to…’
… The Ladies, although I didn’t say that I just tried to look mysterious.
Once in the lady’s cloakroom, the light was better and there was a young woman in there, in a blue wraparound dress.
I hadn’t actually needed the loo, but of course once in there I realised I probably should. Always take the opportunity.
When I came back, after wrestling a bit with the button on my trousers, she was still there, wiping the tap with a tissue and then examining her lipstick in the mirror.
‘Can you help me?Aidez-moi?’ I said, whipping out the menu from the pocket of my jacket.
‘C’est une menu,’ she said, looking confused.
