Page 47 of Never Too Late
For a few long moments, silence settled over the table. Tomas and I locked eyes and despite the boundless love I’d once felt for him, all that burned in me now was anger and hurt and I wasn’t sure if that was because he’d refused to accept my word, thereby insulting both me and my friend, or for reasons that went far further back. He swallowed then broke the gaze, turning to Ashok.
‘My apologies.’ He held out his hand to Ashok. Ashok hesitated for a fraction of a moment before taking it.
‘Accepted. Thank you. Shall we begin again? It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tomas. I’m Ashok, a friend of Katherine’s.’
‘Tomas Bertholle. I used to be a friend of Kitty’s.’ As their hands separated, Tomas’s eyes once again met mine and for a moment, there was a flicker of a smile. ‘I was young and stupid enough to mess that up – something I’ve regretted ever since.’
I felt frozen in place. Part of me wanted to go to him, to have him hold me as he’d done so many times. The other half wanted to scream at him that he had no right to say those words. He’d had his chance and I’d moved on. Made a life. Without him.
‘Well said!’ Gabby said, placing her coffee cup back on the saucer. ‘Glad to see the old Kitty is still in there somewhere, putting my brother back in his place.’ She turned to Ashok. ‘Kitty was one of the few who always stood up to him.’
‘This is true,’ Tomas agreed. ‘If I hadn’t met Kitty all those years ago, I dread to think what kind of person I’d have become. Unbearable, I suspect.’
Gabby wiggled her head to and fro. ‘There are still plenty of times you are unbearable.’
Her brother grinned and my stomach flipped before my brain sent down a very sternly worded message telling it to behave.
‘Probably also true.’
‘So what are you doing in Paris?’ Gabby asked Ashok. ‘Apart from visiting your friend.’ She darted a look at her brother and I smiled inwardly. The days of attempting to make him jealous on my behalf were long gone, whatever platitudes he spouted.
‘A business trip,’ Ashok replied. ‘Sadly not a long one.’
‘But perhaps you might be back again soon?’
‘I very much hope so,’ he replied as they exchanged a flirtatious smile.
‘And what business is it that you are in?’ Tomas asked.
‘Hospitality. Specifically hotels.’
‘I first met Ashok when I stayed at one of his beautiful hotels in Goa last year with my daughter.’
‘You got to India then?’ Tomas replied, his eyes softening as the faintest of smiles tipped his lips. ‘I’m glad. I remember you had always wanted to go there.’
My heart swelled with a mixture of emotions that were hard to separate or even name. When I looked up, I saw some of those same emotions reflected in Tomas’s eyes. Travelling India together was another one of the many plans we’d made that had never become reality.
‘Did you ever go?’ I asked, making sure to keep the question light and conversational despite my insides churning like a washing machine on super spin mode.
He shook his head.
‘You really should. It’s an incredible country.’
A smile that got lost long before reaching the deep blue eyes touched his lips. Just as quickly, it was gone.
‘So what are you doing here? I thought you had planned to move to Provence?’ I focused on Gabby, pulling myself away from the look on Tomas’s face.
I wasn’t going back there. I couldn’t. I’d put those memories, the many plans we’d had away in a corner of my mind and gradually, other memories had piled up in front of them but they were never quite hidden. As much as I tried, a glimmer always remained.
‘Oh, I did. But I’ve been back in Paris for about ten years now, since my divorce. Tomas has an exhibition at a local gallery not far from here. For my sins, I am his agent.’
‘An exhibition?’ Ashok asked as he signalled the waiter for more tea and coffee.
‘My brother is an artist.’ Gabby’s eyes flicked towards me. ‘A painter.’
The decades crumbled away and suddenly, I was back in that restaurant with Tomas, Gabby and their parents, attempting to make sense of the surprise and shock that Tomas was apparently due to be crowned heir of the family winery. All the talks of his wish to paint, the endless discussions we’d had about his longed-for career as an artist as he painted and I watched, dismissed not only by his mother, but also by him. The end of the dreams he’d confessed to me – and the end of us.
‘But… I thought… the winery?’
