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‘So tell me about the kind of food you make?’
Marianne did.
He picked up the business proposal again, and downed the last dregs of his coffee.
‘Madame, I am impressed. It is not far from my base, lots of important men visit this city, and I can tell you a restaurant with this kind of menu, in this location – slightly more discreet – would be just what we need.’
‘Oh, do you think so?’ she said, forcing another smile, squeezing her legs tightly together as she really tried to sell it. ‘I hope that it could be useful to you and your men, you all work so hard. The food is good for the soul, and it’s something very close to my heart, simple, yet nourishing country fare. Like my grandmother used to make.’
His smile widened.
‘You are married, Madame Blanchet?’
For a moment, she forgot to breathe. She thought for a second of ending it right there and then with the knife at her side. She looked down and realised she didn’t just have to sell the restaurant but herself as well.
‘Not anymore.’
His eyes flared with interest.
She had him.
She felt like she might throw up.
‘You leave this with me, madame. I can tell you already I look forward to working with you, I am pleased you got in contact with me.’
‘Call me Marianne, please,’ she said, with a smile. ‘And I assure you, monsieur, the pleasure is all mine.’
