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‘Dan.’
She wriggled closer, put her head on his shoulder, her hand flat on his chest.
‘Claire?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Can we talk?’
Her reply was reflexive. ‘Can we not? Please?’
He turned, kissed her forehead, inhaled and lay back again.
She waited, staring into the velvet black.
‘Goodnight,’ she said.
‘Goodnight, love.’
‘That fig clafoutis was a thing of wondrous beauty,’ she said.
‘Nah, you should have had the rice pudding.’
In a Parisian Garret
‘Oh my God.’
‘Oui, me voici.’
Dan laughed as Noémie rolled off him and reached for the pack of cigarettes lying on top of the stack of books that served as a bedside table.
‘You shouldn’t smoke,’ he said.
In response, she held the lit cigarette to his lips.
He inhaled, blew smoke towards the ceiling. ‘You’re a witch.’
‘Take care,chéri, or I will make a spell to keep you here forever’ She reached to the end of the bed for the blanket and pulled it up, tucked it around Dan’s chest.
‘Cast– to cast a spell.’
‘Ooh, I like this word. I will cast a spell to keep you here.’
‘You wouldmakea potion.’
‘Icouldmake a potion.C’est vrai.I know how to make the potions.’
‘Is that what you do, to all those sad tourists I send to you? Do you bewitch them with potions?’
‘Not exactly.’
He extracted one arm from beneath the blanket, caught her free hand and held it. ‘Not exactly? You mean, sort of, yes?’
He expected her to laugh, but she didn’t. She seemed to be thinking seriously about the question. He saw the tip of her cigarette flare, felt her rib cage expand against his arm.
‘It’s not like that. It’s just that I know what a person should eat. I know what will make them feel better.’
‘You mean you can sense their nutritional deficits?’
