‘Bonfire Night weekend!’
‘That’s quick!’ Fox said.
‘It’s a personal deadline,’ said Isabella. ‘I want it open within a year of being divorced.’
Etienne again had two thoughts at once. Firstly, he admired her honesty. Secondly, he wondered if that meant Guy Fawkes’ weekend was also the end of her self-imposed sex ban.
‘Good on you, girl,’ Amber said. ‘Successful and single.’
They banged plastic glasses together across the wooden tabletop.
‘And it’s Italian?’ Walker asked.
‘Traditional, old school, communal eating– but I’m not telling you anything more, what with the competition present. . .’ She glanced at Etienne from under black lashes. ‘You’ll just have to come along.’
Fred Barrow shuffled past on his way to the clubhouse. It was unusual for Etienne to see him anywhere apart from at the restaurant when he came for his weekly dinner. Fred seemed to be leaning heavily on his stick.
‘Everything okay, Fred?’ Etienne called and the old man turned, taking a moment to find who had spoken. His face creased into a smile.
‘All fine, Etienne, thank you.’ He edged closer. ‘Off to put a bet on the horses.’ He tapped the side of his nose and winked.
‘Be lucky,’ Etienne said.
‘And it’s nice to see you out with your lovely girlfriend,’ Fred said next, his eyes alighting on Isabella. ‘Isabella,’ he said, taking her hand in his and dropping a kiss to it.
She laughed.
‘No, we’re not—’ Etienne said hurriedly, but the old man wasn’t listening.
‘Thank you for the maps you delivered,’ he said to Isabella. ‘I have had a wonderful time retracing our routes. Truly wonderful.’
‘You’re welcome, Mr Barrow. Keep them, please.’
‘Fred, please,’ he said before planting another kiss on her hand and shuffling off.
‘What’s all that about?’ Etienne asked her.
‘When I met him at your restaurant he told me that he travelled through Italy in the sixties. It was where he proposed to his wife. I had some old maps of the area he mentioned so I dropped them in to him.’ She shrugged. ‘Glad he liked them.’
Etienne raised his beer bottle to her, acknowledging her effort. It was only a small thing, but it would mean a lot to Fred. She held his gaze and it immediately turned into something more fiery, before she dropped her eyes to concentrate on her drink.
‘So have you come up with anything for the rocket yet, Fox?’ Walker asked and Fox put his head in his hands.
‘The next school project,’ he clarified to the women. ‘We’ve had mountains, castles, dinosaurs and now rockets.’
‘When he says “we”, he means “we”,’ Walker said, indicating Etienne and himself.
‘True. You’re lifesavers, both of you,’ Fox agreed. ‘Next one is on food so hopefully that will be easier– a batch of flapjacks or something, which even I can manage. Anyway, from my quick look on Google, yoghurt pots seem to be the way to go for rockets.’
Conversation turned to the advantages of plastic models over ones made from clay. Etienne stretched his legs under the table, other things on his mind. He met Isabella’s feet on the floor beneath the table. She flicked a questioning glance at him. He grinned.
‘Have you thought about using papier-mâché?’ Wren asked up the other end of the table. Discussion followed on the messiness of the wet paper, and the fact that George would probably glue his own eyelids together.
Etienne pushed gently against Isabella’s shoe, moving his own foot forwards until it nestled directly in between hers.
She glanced at him again, and this time he imagined her parted knees under the table.
Rosie flashed her phone screen across the table to Fox.
