‘It’s very pleasant here,’ he was saying, but she noticed that there was something new in his voice. Something she hadn’t heard before. She looked at him again and saw a musing expression in his lamp-lit face. He lifted a hand and gestured around.
‘Relaxing,’ he said. ‘Just sitting here, diningen pleinair,like this, with the warmth all around and the cicadas and no traffic noise. No noise at all,’ he mused. His face tilted up.
‘And the stars above,’ he said. He lowered his hand so that it covered the table lamp, bringing the heavens instantly to light. ‘Looks like that van Gogh painting,’ he remarked. ‘Starry, starry night…’
Arielle’s face tightened. She didn’t want Lycos Dimistrios saying things like that, she didn’t want him praising theMas Delfine, or the wine or anything else. She didn’t want him fullstop. His gaze dropped to her. A sardonic tug pulled at his mouth.
‘Why don’t you just hold up a sign saying, “Go Away”,’ he said cynically.
She didn’t answer, only attacked herboeuf bourguignonwith renewed force. A low laugh broke from him and he picked up his own fork again. After a moment he spoke.
‘I mean it, Arielle, I might stay another day. There’s no rush for me to reach Paris. And, like I said, this really is very pleasant. Good food and drink, a warm evening, a starry sky, the scent of…’ He paused, looking at her quizzically.
‘Jasmine,’ she said shortly. ‘It’s always more fragrant at night.’
‘Jasmine,’ he echoed meditatively. He set down his fork, plate cleared. ‘That was good,’ he said approvingly. ‘Maybe, I should keep you on as my personal chef while I’m here,’ he said with the sardonic note back in his voice, although it was tinged with something else. ‘Tell me, what is for dessert? And what liqueurs might there be? The evening calls for something sweet, I feel, on both counts.’
Saying nothing, Arielle stood up, cleared the plates and marched indoors. She didn’t want his compliments, or his praise, or anything at all. She felt her eyes sting as she went into the kitchen, and she blinked rapidly. She didn’t want him here at all.
But there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that she could do about it.
A hand squeezed around her heart, hard and painful. And despairing.
Lycos stretched out his legs under the table, switched off the table lamp and lifted his face to the stars as the rich winecoursed through his veins, replete from that very goodboeuf bourguignon.
Relaxed.
He frowned slightly, gazing upwards at the stars studding the night sky. They burned much more vividly here than they ever did at the coast with all the light pollution from buildings and lit up yachts. Other than the cicadas he really couldn’t hear a thing, maybe just vague sounds coming from the direction of the kitchen.
When had he last felt this relaxed? It was a pointless question because the answer was that he never felt relaxed. Not like this.
He heard Arielle emerge from the house and reaching out a hand he flicked the table lamp back on. She deposited a tray on the table holding dessert—a carton of vanilla ice cream and a bowl of raspberries—along with a square glass bottle and two small glasses.
‘That looks promising,’ he said approvingly, nodding at the glass bottle as he helped himself to a bowl and spoon.
‘It’s an orange liqueur,’ Arielle informed him.
‘Do you make it yourself?’ he asked, helping himself to a generous scoop of raspberries and another of ice cream.
When had he last ate this simply?He did not know. What he did know was that it was surprisingly enjoyable.
She shook her head. ‘No, my neighbours do. They have the equipment and the skill. But the oranges are from here. I’ve soaked the raspberries in it too.’
She filled the glasses, pushing one across at him. He took a cautious mouthful and blinked.
‘It’s strong,’ she said unnecessarily. ‘I’ve no idea what proof, but it’s got a kick.’
‘Very definitely,’ Lycos said dryly, lowering the glass again. He looked across at her. ‘This dinner has been very good, Arielle.You know, I think I will definitely keep you on as my personal chef,’ he said.
He was baiting her and she reacted as he knew she would. Her face tightened, lips compressed. Very tender lips…
‘So…’ he went on, still in baiting mode, ‘…how do you intend to entertain me tomorrow?’
‘I don’t intend to entertain you in any way, at any time,’ she said bitterly. ‘I don’t care what you do,M’sieuDimistrios, tomorrow or any other day. I’ll start packing up my personal belongings and I must go and see my neighbours about their taking the poultry. Then I must contact the locallycée, to collect the piano I’m giving them.’
He looked across at her. Her expression was closed, but there was something in the bleakness of her eyes she could not hide. Something that might have been tears welling. Something that made him speak.
‘There’s no rush,’ he heard himself saying. ‘Not for me. Nor you.’
