Chapter Seven #2
I opened my door and scanned the hallway.
There was no one around. So I darted toward the stairs and went down.
I kept my eyes focused on the exit as I crossed the lobby, so that whether he was there or not, I wouldn’t see him.
I went out the back and onto the wide, paved promenade that lined the beach.
The breeze was salty and damp and slightly stiffer than it had been on the street side of the building.
It was near dark now; a sliver of the sun’s light still peeked from the edge of the horizon.
Many of the oceanfront hotels had casinos and theaters, making the promenade the center of nightlife in an otherwise sleepy coastal town.
I started walking toward where Apolline had said the new casino was located, watching the passersby as I went, taking in the scene and their bits of conversation.
Revelers traveled in groups and couples from one venue to the next.
I thought about finding a bench somewhere and perhaps sitting and observing for a while.
But observation was hard in the shadowy light, so I decided to walk until I found somewhere that looked interesting to duck inside for a drink and note taking.
Three doors down, fashionable people and lively music were spilling out from two sets of matching gatefold glass doors.
I went inside, where a busy, casual dining room abutted a stage where a woman in a long sparkling dress was singing.
Everything at the beach was more casual than venues in Paris.
It enhanced the freewheeling vacation feeling of being out of town and closer to nature.
It was more rustic. More summery. I could see why everyone wanted to come.
For some people, getting out of Paris was as much a part of Parisian life as the city.
Not so much for me, but for some people.
Although getting here had been quite an ordeal, it was fascinating to be somewhere so different.
There was a lot of pleasure in dining out alone in a new place as well.
I sat at an open seat at the bar, which was also crowded but not full.
The bartender passed me a menu and glass of water, then told me about the wines.
The menu was small and simple with classic rustic seafood dishes and a roasted chicken that sounded delicious.
Chicken was always a safe choice, but I was feeling adventurous and decided les fruits de mer were more in the spirit of my first night at the beach.
“I’ll try the steamed oysters, s’il vous plait. With the chardonnay.”
He gave me a business-like nod and poured my wine, which was cool and buttery. I was smiling to myself and feeling quite smug, thinking about my coworkers snoozing in their hotel rooms, when there was Benoit, across the bar, watching me, equally as smug.
I gasped, but my heart didn’t sink. It did something quite different, more fluttery and strangely joyful. He waved and then got up and started toward me. I had not been lonely or in need of company, and now suddenly I was glad to have it—for what reason I had no idea. Him of all people.
He had changed his clothes as well and was now dressed in an evening coat and bowler hat. He was smiling, and for a second, my mind—rascal that it was—went back to those moments of sleepy bliss when my cheek pressed against his chest. Again.
“I thought that was you.”
“Shame. I tried to sneak in undetected.”
“My dear, in that dress, everyone in the room noticed.”
I smiled like a foolish girl, and then promptly caught myself and straightened out my face. “I thought I had the place to myself. You said you were staying in for the night.”
“I said I was settling in and not joining you for dinner, which was nice of me.”
“Underhanded, you mean?”
“No. What do you mean?”
“I mean that you tried to leave me behind so that you could gain an edge on your reporting. You know, the reporting that determines which one of us will remain at the L’Entreprise .”
Something like pain twitched across his otherwise sly and sculpted face. “I assumed you’d had enough of my company. I was giving you your space.”
“Could you do that now?”
His eyes narrowed, but his seductive smile didn’t falter. “No.”
Before I could protest, the bartender returned with my oysters, and Benoit seated himself on the empty stool next to me.
I thanked the bartender and turned my attention to Benoit. “So you’re here for the show? Or you’ve come to work?”
He shrugged. “Maybe a little of both. We’ll have to see where the evening leads.”
“I came to work.” I pulled my notebook and pencil from my pocket and held them aloft.
“And eat oysters?”
“Yes. I was hungry.” Twelve steamed oysters were splayed on my plate, arranged in a circle around a pile of sliced lemons nestled in a bed of bib lettuce. It looked delicious, and he was still looking at my plate. “Do you want one?”
“Hm? Oh, no merci.”
“Suit yourself.” I squeezed a lemon wedge over several shells, then scooped up an oyster with the provided tiny fork.
Oysters were often on restaurant menus in Paris, but they were too fancy for Cook.
I’d eaten them a few times, but these were better.
The bodies were delicately rubbery with pockets of seawater.
These must have been so fresh compared to the ones I’d tried.
It was the most delicious and potent thing I’d ever consumed.
I groaned in pleasure, and then realized he was still watching me.
“Good?”
“Oh, they’re wonderful. Are you sure you don’t want one?”
“I’m sure.” He sipped his wine, which was red and half gone. “I ate not long ago.”
“Well, pardon me.” I scooped another salty oyster into my mouth. “Have you talked to anyone?”
“I did speak to a few gentlemen from Rouen who’ve been coming here since they were boys.”
I was not happy to hear that he’d already started working.
Not to be outdone, I told him about how much scenery I’d taken in.
How much background I could fill in from just my short walk here.
I also put down my oyster fork and opened my notebook, like I was ready to start taking furious notes and show just how serious I was.
Just as serious as him. I ate two more oysters, as delicious and delightful as the first.
After listening to me rattle on, he swallowed the last of his wine. “Well, I can leave you to it. I am more tired than I thought, and we should get an early start tomorrow. Apolline doesn’t strike me as the sort who sleeps away the morning.”
“Oh, okay.” This, strangely, was when my heart sank. Just a little. I was enjoying his company more than I thought. More than I wanted to. “Are you sure you’re not trying to lose me again?”
“No. I’m tired.” He stood and pushed in his barstool.
“I’m teasing. Au revoir.”
He nodded and turned to go. But then I stopped him. “What time tomorrow?”
“We could meet for breakfast at nine?”
“That sounds good. Au revoir.”
He smiled again. “Au revoir.”
He strode out of the wide doors and disappeared in the promenade crowd.
I ate another oyster and took up my pencil, scrawling out as many details about the place as I could think to note.
I would need settings and backdrops for everything I’d write here.
I watched the crowd and tried to note faces.
A few were perhaps familiar from Paris, and I wanted to notice as many as possible in case some of these faces became familiar in the coming days.
And while paying my check, I talked to the bartender for a few minutes about what he thought of the new casino coming, how long he’d worked here, and if his views represented that of the community at large, in his estimation.
By the time I left, I had a solid start, and I reveled in the pleasure of accomplishment.
I was the most productive reporter in the world.
Outside, the sky was fully dark now. The half moon clung to the top of the sky.
And cast just enough light to illuminate the white caps rolling in at their regular intervals.
Traffic on the promenade had eased; the shows had started and the gaming tables were full.
Underneath all the chatter of tourists and music from the hotels, ran the slow rhythm of the waves breaking.
I let it drown out all the lingering noise in my mind.
I walked back to the hotel, upstairs, and into my room without more than a glance down the hall toward Benoit’s.