Page 43 of The Riviera House Swap

‘I will walk the bike to the restaurant then I can ride her home,’ he’d said.

‘Well, you must not drink then,’ Sabine had told him firmly, then added conspiratorially to Nina, ‘He rode after one glass of wine once, and he crashed into a tiny wall and broke his nose. He is not so good after a drink, I think.’

Nina had laughed a little, conscious that Antoine’s face did not register amusement at the memory. And then they were there, seated at a small table with a linen tablecloth, scouring a delicious-looking menu with a waiter hovering nearby.

They made their order and then, once Antoine had poured them each a generous glass of white wine and put a couple of inches into a glass for himself – despite Sabine’s protest – he smiled at Nina and said, ‘So you wish to meet Pierre Dupont.’

‘Well, yes,’ she said, feeling her hands get hot. Something about the way Antoine was looking at her, his eyes sparkling, unsettled her. Perhaps he was laughing at her, thought her ridiculous. ‘Just… I mean, it’s just a bit of fun… I…’

Antoine raised an eyebrow, ‘Ah so when my sister say that it is very important – a question of life and death – she is perhaps not being quite truthful?’

‘Life or death?’ Nina repeated, looking at Sabine. ‘No, it’s not quite that important.’

‘Pah!’ Sabine said, a smile on her lips. ‘But love is the most important thing! It is what life is about.’

Nina and Antoine exchanged a glance of mutual amusement.

‘My sister is very romantic,’ Antoine said. ‘Probably because she has not yet been disappointed in love. If she had been married to Bernice like me, I think she might think a little differently.’

Sabine slapped his arm playfully. ‘And you are so old and disappointed and no longer have hope,’ she said. ‘But some of us, we still believe in a one true love. In fate.’ She looked at Nina for solidarity.

Nina smiled at the pair of them. She didn’t have any siblings and envied for a moment their clear mutual affection. ‘I wouldn’t call him old,’ she said, smiling. ‘What would that make me?’

They looked up. ‘I don’t understand,’ said Sabine.

‘Well if he’s old at, what, I’m guessing thirty-three, thirty-four, maybe, then me being forty must make me practically an antique!’ she said.

They laughed. ‘Ah, all our family have baby faces,’ said Sabine. ‘He is forty-two, and very old.’

‘Oh, he seems much younger,’ Nina said, surprised.

‘But perhaps that is because old is not to do with age, not really. It is to do with in here,’ Sabine patted her chest. ‘Here we are as young as we allow ourselves to be.’

Nina nodded. ‘Well, you might have a point,’ she said, still surprised that Antoine was older than she was. Perhaps it was all the sea air. People used salt as a preservative, didn’t they? Perhaps it worked on humans as well as food?

‘Anyway,’ Antoine said as the waiter leaned in with the dishes – salmon for him, chicken for Sabine and steak for Nina. ‘I amhappy to give fate a helping hand for you. And I have found that Pierre goes to the restaurant almost every day at 11.30a.m.’

‘That early?’ Nina said, realising that was why she hadn’t seen Pierre the day before.

‘Yes. He eats at twelve and always walks there. Anyway, I accidentally bumped into him when he was paying and spoke to him for a moment, about the brasserie, what food he recommends,’ he said. ‘He told me that it is his daily habit. So it’s certain that if you wish to meet him, you could do it almost any day.’

Nina’s heart thundered. So she could actually ‘bump into’ Pierre tomorrow – or whenever she wanted.

‘Thank you,’ she said, cutting her steak without really paying it much attention. ‘That’s amazing. Really.’

Antoine blushed. ‘No problem,’ he told her, attempting to stick his fork into a new potato which skittered around his plate.

‘We can help you with a plan,’ said Sabine. ‘We will find a way for you to meet him, but it seems like an accident!’

Nina nodded, feeling slightly sick. ‘Thank you,’ she said again.

She raised her fork to her lips and felt an unexpected cold and clammy feeling. The meat was soft and chilly… and raw. Horrified, she spat into her napkin then looked at her plate. Her steak, the one she’d assumed would be at least seared on the outside, was a mass of curled fronds of raw meat. ‘My… I…’ she said, looking at Sabine with panic.

‘What is the matter?’ said her friend, concerned.

‘It’s… my meat hasn’t been cooked!’ she said.

‘But you ordered steak tartare!’ said Sabine. ‘That is raw steak.’

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