Chapter 20
In order to get to their next meeting, Bente and Didrik hired bicycles and launched themselves into the Paris traffic.
They rode through her old district. The streets were so familiar to her, with patches of grass where early spring flowers bloomed.
Somewhere beneath the earth, the summer flowers were beginning to grow, too, and Bente knew they would provide the neighborhood with glorious color in only a couple of months.
“I used to live along there,” she said, nodding down one quiet road. The sand-colored stone block hadn’t changed at all. “There’s my apartment.” She pointed up at a small French balcony made of black wrought iron.
The bakery across the street, the best in Paris to her mind, was still there.
“Would you like to try the most delicious croissant in the world?”
“Absolutely.”
They parked their bikes and went inside. Everything was exactly the same as she remembered it. It was like stepping into an earlier part of her life.
They bought a whole bag of croissants and shared one on the way out. The buttery, flaky consistency was like something from a dream. She closed her eyes. Opened them and realized that Didrik was watching her.
She smiled. “Good, aren’t they?”
He smiled back. “They certainly are.” He reached out a hand. “You’ve got something just . . .” He wiped a crumb from her chin. The touch was gentle, but it burned her skin and set all her pleasure receptors on full alert.
Her phone rang. It was Elnaz.
“Oh God, our meeting!” Bente inhaled sharply.
“Are we late?”
She nodded. They jumped on their bikes and pedaled as fast as they could until they reached the sommelier school where Bente had once studied.
They had arranged an appointment with the principal, who was the most knowledgeable person Bente knew when it came to wine. Elnaz was waiting for them outside.
“Where have you been?”
“We went to the antiquarian bookstore we mentioned,” Bente explained.
“And I got to see where Bente used to live.”
“And we bought croissants.” Bente happily held up the bag.
Walking into the sommelier school was also like revisiting a part of her former life, but she had no time to reflect on her memories of how she had met Frederic and what life had been like back then—she had to focus on the reason why they were there.
Didrik’s presence, however, made that difficult.
It was as if she could feel the nearness of his body even though he was sitting three feet away.
That touch, that brief moment, had changed something between them.
The head of the school, unlike the school itself, was virtually unchanged—just an older version of the man she’d known. They told him they wanted some guidance on how to track down more information, and he had plenty of suggestions.
“Would it be possible to analyze the wine from a small sample?” Bente wondered.
“Unfortunately, that wouldn’t help. You can’t establish the origin based on chemistry alone. Have you checked the ship’s log?”
“We have, but it’s not very specific—it just states that the wine was sent from Bordeaux.”
“So that leaves the packaging—the box and the bottle itself.” He looked at the bottle, held it up to the light. Took off his glasses and went over to the window to examine it in daylight.
“I can’t see anything unusual. Certain vineyards had a slightly different-shaped bottle or special glass, but this one is standard for both the region and the time. Apart from the brass plaque, that is. But I believe Frederic was looking into that for you?”
Bente nodded.
The man moved on to the box. “It might be worth taking a closer look at this—the kind of wood, the craftsmanship. I have one or two contacts who might be able to help us there.”
“That would be fantastic,” Bente said, feeling more optimistic now. “This has been very useful.”
“Absolutely.” Elnaz nodded.
It was late afternoon by the time they emerged from the gloomy interior.
Elnaz was in a hurry to get back to the hotel and jumped in a cab, while Bente and Didrik decided they felt like a walk.
They returned their bikes to the nearest docking station and set off.
They stopped at a small market on the way and bought peaches to eat as they strolled along.
They cut through the Jardin du Luxembourg, passing the boules courts. Didrik watched the men playing. “I’ve always dreamed of becoming one of those old men. Wearing a beret and playing boules in the evenings.”
“I’ve never played boules in Paris. Or pétanque, as it’s called here.”
“Never?”
Bente shook her head. “I’ve only played at home, at the odd staff party. And with friends a couple of times in R?lis skate park.”
“Then we need to try it.” Didrik headed for the court.
Bente shrugged. “Sure, why not?” They were in no rush to get back.
“It’s more fun if you play for something,” he said, picking up a boule.
She laughed. “Okay—what shall we play for?”
“The loser has to reveal a secret.”
“That’s not fair—I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to boules.”
“And I am?” He grinned.
“Well, I don’t know, do I? You might already be halfway to becoming one of those old men. You might have picked it up secretly, perhaps meeting up with your little gang of old men in the suburbs every evening?”
“Maybe—you’ll never know.”
“So are you thinking along the lines of . . . truth or dare? Like we all played in high school?” She winked.
“Exactly.” There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes behind those round glasses.
Had she gone too far? Was he embarrassed?
“Cool, let’s do this,” she said quickly before he could change his mind. Actually, she didn’t know if this was going to be cool at all; revealing secrets wasn’t her strong suit, but there was something about Didrik’s playful spontaneity that drew her in.
Didrik threw the smallest ball, the jack, then the first large one, which landed in the sand with a thud.
“Your turn,” he said, looking up at her.
The court was framed by trees in blossom, white flowers like little tufts of clouds against the sky. The shimmering pink glow of the setting sun made his brown eyes sparkle.
Her ball landed only inches from the jack. “Yes!” she shouted.
It was an even and enjoyable game, but no matter how hard Didrik tried, Bente was always the closest, and won in the end.
She was taken by surprise when he gave her a big hug. “Congratulations!”
He held her in his arms for a fraction too long, and she rested her head on his shoulder. His coat was rough against her cheek and smelled of him.
“Sorry!” He let go and took a step away from her.
Smiled. That smile. The one that had possibly been written about even more than the Mona Lisa’s smile, at least in Swedish magazines.
She thought about a song whose lyrics said the singer wanted to drink a particular woman’s smile.
Slightly macabre, in Bente’s opinion—but now she understood the sentiment.
She wanted to drink that smile. She immediately began to wonder what it would taste like.
As sweet as honey, a little salty. Maybe with a hint of peach.
“So,” she said, clearing her throat and attempting to pull herself together. “Tell me a big secret.”
“No problem.” He thought for a moment. “I steal plastic folders from TV24’s photocopying room.”
She laughed. “I don’t think that’s much of a secret.”
“Okay. In that case I’ve got something else.
” His eyes twinkled, as if he had something really juicy up his sleeve.
Something naughty? She hoped he wasn’t going to reveal something about Lovisa, about how the two of them had had a wild sex life.
That would be embarrassing, and she would prefer not to know.
She was pretty sure Didrik wasn’t the kind of guy who would kiss and tell, though. Or was he?
“The reason why I said yes to this TV show was you.”
Suddenly, it was as if the world was holding its breath again. Her heart was racing, and the expression in his eyes made her head spin as if she had knocked back a whole glass of crémant. She looked at him warily. Was he flirting with her?
“I’ve said too much.” He shook his head. “This . . . My mom hates this side of me. Too talkative.”
“I think it’s fantastic.” She meant it.
“Oh?”
She nodded. “It makes me feel special. The fact that you share things with me, it’s wonderful. It’s a great quality, being vulnerable and opening up to someone else.”
“It’s naive.”
“I think it’s a sign of trust. And it shows you’re genuine.” She wanted him to understand how valuable that side of him was.
He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her.
She didn’t really want to break the mood, but she cleared her throat anyway and bent down. “Ready for another game?” She gathered up the boules, the dust whirling around her as she moved across the court.
They positioned themselves at the short end of the court.
He touched her on several occasions: placed a hand on her arm when he laughed, squeezed her shoulder when she achieved a good throw.
It was intoxicating. At the same time, a clear voice inside her head said, This is not ideal.
Although this guy clearly appealed to her, the last thing she needed in her life was a man in crisis.
He hadn’t gotten over his wife; this flirtation was just a way of making him feel better.
A rebound. Which Bente could usually tolerate, and might have this time if it wasn’t for the fact that this attraction felt so different from her usual ones.
Plus a relationship between them could scuttle the show.
She couldn’t help returning his touch, though. She wanted to be near him.
They played a second game, and once again she won.
She gave him a triumphant smile. “Another secret, please.”
“So who’s been playing boules in their spare time?” He laughed. She loved that laugh. Deep and clear. Just like his voice—he could sing tenor in a choir.
“Come on, what’s your next secret?”