Chapter 30
30
After work I rush home raring to have a proper sit down with Eloise and grill her on the so-called incident, as so far she has refused to tell me anything. I need every minuscule detail so I’m ready for the upcoming meeting. I’m still processing it all and need to work out what our rights are in this situation. I don’t believe for one minute that Eloise slapped Léa. For a couple of reasons: firstly, my daughter is not violent and has never displayed aggressive characteristics that make me believe she’s capable of that. Secondly, this alleged slap wasn’t caught on camera, which is convenient. Who were the witnesses? If Léa does intimidate the cohort as much as Eloise says, then surely those children would say anything to remain in Léa’s good graces?
Back at the apartment, I’m frustrated to find a note.
I’ve taken Eloise to dinner and a movie. Maman x
Well, I suppose that gives me time to get ready for my dinner date with Henri. I shower and change into a summery dress and a pair of strappy sandals. I’ve been so caught up in Eloise all afternoon, I haven’t given much thought to tonight. What if the conversation is stilted? Or what if he’s one of those odious types who drinks too much and we end up in a slanging match?
I write a note for Maman telling her I’m out to dinner with a friend and head outside to order an Uber. The driver and I chat about the state of the economy before he deposits me in front of the Les éditeurs, coming to a full stop, I might add; none of this jumping out of a vehicle at speed.
Henri, ever the gentleman, is standing out the front. It’s touching that instead of waiting inside at a table, he’s waited for me so we can walk in together. Little details like this show me what sort of man he is.
‘ Bonsoir , Coco. You look beautiful.’
‘ Merci. You look…’ What? Handsome, too formal? Hot, too suggestive? Shockingly good looking, too desperate? ‘…Well.’ There. Sufficient.
‘Ah – merci .’
He seems tongue-tied so perhaps I better limit the compliments. Maybe he’s got a hidden nervous disposition that lies just beneath the surface?
‘Shall we?’ He offers his arm, which I take. It’s all rather wholesome and sweet. When I feel the outline of his muscles through his light jacket, a swoony thrill runs through me.
We’re seated at a table and talk soon turns to the book club. ‘Agnes isn’t well,’ Henri says.
‘Oh?’ Agnes is one of those formidable women who appear indestructible. ‘I hope it’s nothing serious?’
‘Well, it is rather. She’s been admitted to hospital. Valérie called me and asked for a lift so she could check in on her.’
The waiter takes our order. I’m relieved when Henri doesn’t suggest I order a salad like Alexander so often did. ‘I’m glad Valérie is with her. Do you need to get back to pick her up?’
‘ Non , she’s going to catch a taxi. But here’s the thing. The reason Valérie didn’t take a taxi in the first place is because Agnes asked her to stop past her apartment and get her some clothes and toiletries, so it was easier for me to drive her there and then back to the hospital.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘Why couldn’t Agnes’s husband take her things?’
‘Exactly.’
‘What did Valérie think about that?’
The waiter returns with our wine and pours. ‘She didn’t think much at first. She was more worried about getting whatever Agnes needed and getting to the hospital to make sure she was OK. We both sort of presumed maybe Agnes’s husband was away, or caught up at work, or already at the hospital.’
I take a sip of the wine, rolling the passionfruit taste on my tongue. ‘And he wasn’t?’
Henri grimaces. ‘Agnes told Valérie where the spare key was hidden, so she let herself in only to find him sitting on the sofa watching television.’
‘Did he know about his wife?’
‘Valérie queried this and he said he knew and that he’d see Agnes whenever she was discharged.’
My heart hurts for Agnes. ‘That’s so callous. Or is it that whatever she’s in for is minor, and maybe her husband hates hospitals?’
‘They suspect it was a heart attack.’
My hand flies to my throat. ‘And he’s at home on the sofa !’ Poor Agnes. ‘What a beast of a man.’
‘You know, it explains a lot about Agnes and all her bluster. She’s in a loveless marriage. ’
‘We don’t know that for sure.’
He makes a face. ‘We sort of do. Valérie told me. She was incensed after seeing him sitting there so relaxed, as if Agnes didn’t need any care or comfort.’
‘Oh no, what did Valérie do?’
‘I’m not entirely sure, but I could hear her yelling at him from all the way down the road where I was double parked.’
‘I can’t imagine Valérie yelling, somehow.’ I try and picture her enraged and fail. Aside from the times she disappears during the day and comes back glum, she’s cheerful, happy.
‘We should visit Agnes, let the book club know too.’
‘Yes. You really are soft under all that muscle, aren’t you?’
He laughs, feigning shyness. ‘ Moi? ’
‘ Toi .’
After dinner, we stroll along the Seine as the Eiffel Tower sparkles in the inky night. Dinner cruises chug along the river and the air is fresh with promise.
Under the leafy canopy of a horse chestnut tree, Henri stops.
I hold my breath, my body feeling like liquid beneath me. I take his collar and pull him against me, making my intent clear. We fall against the trunk of the tree as he holds my hips and drops his head to kiss me. Stars explode inside me. I’m sure I’ve never felt so woozy as this before. Blame the wine, the night, the man, the chemicals in my brain that scream at me that I haven’t felt like this before. Were they all frogs and this is the prince?
There’s a sensation of falling, a heady dizziness as our hands explore the outline of each other’s bodies. I so badly want to give in to this wildness, abandon all sense and let my desire take over, but common sense prevails when he pulls away for a moment, leaving a space between us, the space where his body was a mere moment ago, pushing against mine.
The street comes alive again. There are people milling about, staring.
I can’t help but laugh. Sensible me doesn’t subscribe to public displays of affection. Doesn’t behave in a tacky uncouth manner, but this new me wants to ravish this man, consequences be damned.
Is it so base as only a physical attraction? I trace his bottom lip with a finger, wanting to leave an imprint and to take the memory home. If I’m honest with myself, this is more than just a spark. More than desire. The very first moment I laid eyes on him, I felt that recognition. That weighted pause, the caesura moment, but I allowed the knowledge to slip past because my confidence was shattered, my heart already bruised and sore.
But how to say all of this? Does it even need to be whispered out loud? If it is what I hope for, I won’t have to do any encouraging.
‘I’m fighting an internal battle so hard right now,’ he says, tucking a lock of my hair back from my face.
‘Oh?’
‘I want to take you home, but I can’t, and we should go slow…’
I let out my own frustrated laugh. ‘ Oui , such delicious torment.’
‘Argh.’ We kiss again and I let myself melt into his arms, realising that my own happy ever after may come much sooner than expected. Did The Bookshop for the Broken Hearted have a hand in this…?