Page 43 of Never Too Late
‘The wine thing? You were right about that. I mean, I don’t know my Chardonnay from my elbow but still. Actually, the most I know about Chardonnay is that the woman two doors down from the house we just sold named her baby that and the woman next door was livid and thought it was bringing down the tone of the neighbourhood.’
‘Really?’ Ashok leant forward, his eyes glittering with mirth at the gossip. ‘And what did you think?’
‘I thought it was hilarious that next door had got so worked up over a baby name and took the new mum some barely worn baby clothes I’d found in the loft when I was sorting out for the move.’ I took a sip of the crisp wine, letting the bubbles play on my tongue and tickle my throat as I swallowed. ‘Poor girl. She looked shattered. I remember those days.’
‘I expect it feels like yesterday?’ His voice was soft, sensing that memories of times long gone were drifting in my mind.
‘Sometimes. Sometimes, all of it feels like yesterday and then some days, it feels like everything was so, so long ago and I’m not exactly sure what I’ve done with all the time.’
‘Raised a child?’
‘Yes.’ I took another sip. ‘Anyway, what else?’ I steered the conversation back on course, afraid of the memories more reminiscing might drag to the surface. There was a lot of my time in Paris I wanted to remember and fall in love with once more. But there were also parts of that time I wanted to stay buried. No good would come of that particular exhumation.
Together, we discussed things we liked and loathed about hotels in general and very occasionally, Ashok made a note until the starters arrived.
I looked over with suspicion at Ashok’s snails. Despite being adventurous in my taste as a young woman, I’d still not conquered the snails. They were, and always would be, garden creatures.Slimygarden creatures.
I took a small forkful of my steak tartare and nearly cried as the flavours exploded in my mouth – the sharpness of the capers and cornichons, the richness of the steak and egg, cut through with the zinging warmth of French mustard. It was like heaven in a mouthful.
‘Good?’ Ashok asked.
‘So good,’ I said, closing my eyes.
The main course of sole fillets in a rich, buttery, lemon sauce with dauphinoise potatoes and charredcarotte de gardewas just as delicious.
‘And for pudding?’
‘I’m full!’
‘No! You can’t be!’ he replied, laughing. ‘You’re my accomplice in undercover dining. You have to choose something.’
I didn’t take too much persuading and before long, a syllabub, lighter than air and flecked with vanilla, arrived and was finished far too soon, while opposite me, the glossy dark-chocolate bombe that Ashok had ordered was now nothing but a few scrapings of decorative drizzled chocolate and raspberry coulis.
‘I think we can put the food in the “Excellent” column.’
‘Definitely.’
‘What time is your meeting tomorrow?’ I asked.
‘Tena.m. Thank God it’s France. I’d probably be looking at six thirty if it was the States.’
‘Whoever invented breakfast meetings needs a stern talking to. At least.’
‘Definitely. I refuse them if it’s at all possible.’
‘Don’t blame you. Are you going straight home after that?’
The smile faded. ‘Sadly, yes. The hotel you stayed at is hosting a wedding for a top Bollywood actress at the end of the week and although I know my team are more than capable, the bride-to-be has requested my presence for the entire week of celebrations.’
‘Tricky to wriggle out of.’
‘Impossible.’
‘Shame.’
‘Very much so. But with taking over this hotel and, if things go well tomorrow in talks for the next one here, I’ll likely be back and forth for a while. All of which gives me a legitimate excuse to come back to Paris as often as possible.’
‘I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed.’ I did the action for added emphasis and Ashok echoed it with both hands.
