Chapter 36
There is something innately sexy about watching a man cook for you. I’d discovered this the first time Tomas had made me that first omelette all those years ago. And what a revelation that had been!
‘I don’t like omelettes,’ I’d told him at the time.
‘Everybody likes omelettes.’
‘Clearly not.’
He’d made me one anyway and annoyingly was right.
Apparently, I did like omelettes but only the way he made them, and not the pale, rubbery, unappetising discs I’d known prior.
These were rich and creamy, the cheese melting together with orange-yolked eggs, the subtle tang of herbs adding another layer of taste.
The fact that there was any taste at all, let alone layers, had been incredible to me.
And now, here we were again. This time in a high-end kitchen in a luxuriously renovated townhouse rather than my tiny studio apartment of years back with Tomas cooking on the two-ring hob that only worked intermittently – usually when the landlord came round.
He turned to the floor-to-ceiling fridge, producing a bunch of fresh salad leaves and a bottle of what appeared to be homemade dressing.
Moments later, once the leaves had been gently placed on the plate and a drizzle of dressing artfully poured over them, he slid the folded omelette alongside and served it to me.
‘Bon appetit.’
‘Wow. People pay a lot of money for food that looks like this.’
‘Please start,’ he said, gesturing to me as I waited for his own supper to be ready.
That first mouthful brought all the memories rushing back and for a moment, we were back there, back before the heartbreak, back in that bubble of happiness, that hot final summer, that time when we thought we knew who we were and where we were going and that no one could change that.
‘Good?’ he asked as he plated up his own meal.
I flicked my gaze up as I finished my mouthful. ‘You already know it is.’
He slid into the seat beside me at the huge marble island, grinning. ‘True. But I wanted to make sure.’
‘It’s delicious, Tomas. Thank you.’
We chatted about everything and nothing as we ate and, once finished, Tomas brewed a cafetière of strong, aromatic coffee and poured us both a glass cupful.
‘It’s decaf,’ he said, handing mine to me.
‘I did wonder but it smells so good, it’d have been worth being kept awake all night.’
‘I’ve had enough years of not sleeping properly. I’m all for the taste without the caffeine in the evening these days.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said, sliding from the bar chair and wandering over to one of the large sash windows.
Below us, a cobbled street bore the marks of thousands of footsteps and hooves, worn into the fabric of the place.
Looking across, I could see the lights of Paris twinkling in the evening and there, like a scene from a film, was the stunning Tour Eiffel, its twenty thousand lights switching from static to sparkling as the hour chimed on a clock somewhere else in the house.
‘Shame you didn’t get a view with the place.’
He came to stand beside me.
‘I know. It’s a bit shit, non?’
‘It really is.’
He glanced down, his lips tipped into a smile before disappearing behind his coffee cup.
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘About five years. I bought it around two years before that but it was…’ He grimaced. ‘Ooh la la.’
‘That bad, eh?’
‘Even Gabby struggled to see the potential and you know how much she loves these old places.’
‘She always has had great taste.’
He nodded in agreement. ‘I think she was worried it was going to be a money pit.’
‘Do you have any photos of what it was like?’
‘I do. Would you like to see?’
‘Very much so.’
‘They’re upstairs on the computer in the office. Did you want a tour?’
‘I thought you’d never ask!’
We finished our coffees, placed the cups back on the counter and headed out of the kitchen. Opposite was a beautiful dining room, decorated in pale blue with white and subtle gold details. A huge, warm oak table dominated the room, easily seating twelve.
‘You like to party, party?’ I did a little wiggle to accompany my words. Sasha would have died on the spot.
His arm slid to my waist as he smiled at my antics. ‘Not especially. But I do like good food shared with good friends.’
‘And you cook?’
He shrugged. ‘Sometimes. Sometimes, they are catered.’
‘Fancy.’
He shot me an amused look before leading me up another flight of stairs to a large, comfortable sitting room, welcoming with overstuffed sofas and chairs in an array of fabrics of rich jewel tones.
It was an opulent contrast to the restrained décor of the dining room below.
Two stunning chandeliers hung from the ceiling, but the room was currently lit by several table lamps, the soft light they threw out catching the crystal of the spectacular lights above them.
‘Wow.’
‘Good wow, or no?’
I looked up at him and saw the hesitation in his eyes. It mattered to him.
‘Definitely good wow.’
He released a breath and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
‘Why were you so worried?’
‘Because I think this is probably my favourite room.’ His hands settled into his pockets, the confidence of earlier now less obvious, something about his stance, the expression on his face, reminding me of the first time he asked me out.
I’d been surprised then at how nervous he’d been as we’d already become good friends.
But when I’d said that, Tomas had told me that was exactly why he was so nervous and I understood. But now?
‘I was hoping you’d love it too.’
‘I do. It’s so inviting and luxurious. It would be easy for a room like this to seem intimidating, or overdone.’ I rephrased. ‘Too formal, I mean.’
He nodded.
‘But this, even with those magnificent lights, it’s… perfect.’
And then I saw it.
‘I hope you don’t mind?’
I felt tears prick my eyes as I shook my head, my throat too thick to speak just now. There, above the stunning fireplace, hung Summer’s Bliss, displayed in a simple soft gold frame, the colour choice reflecting both the sun and the colour of my hair in the painting.
‘It’s part of why it’s my favourite room.’
I nodded, smiled again at that girl in the painting and took his hand.
His smile widened and I followed as we crossed the hall to two other rooms. Originally, they had been one, but as part of the renovations, Tomas had chosen to have it made into two. Not that you’d have known that wasn’t the original design. Everything had been specified to the highest level.
‘I didn’t want to do anything that would take away from the character of the house, or look like it wasn’t supposed to be there.’
‘I’d say it was a resounding triumph,’ I said as he closed the door on the snug.
I could imagine him in there, the walls lined with cherry-wood bookshelves and filled with an eclectic mix of classic novels in French, English and Spanish, all the languages he spoke fluently.
Alongside them sat contemporary novels, non-fiction books in a range of subjects, a great swathe of history books and an entire case of ones on art and architecture.
An original fireplace was settled against one wall.
I thought of Tomas on a cold, wet rainy night snuggled up in here, the fire crackling, its golden light highlighting the planes of his face, his expression serious as it always was when he read.
‘Again. Perfect.’
We climbed to the top of the house. Only the attic rooms were above us now. Tomas opened a set of antique white panelled double doors and stood back, allowing me to enter first.
The carpet of the bedroom was as deep and thick as soft sand.
‘I bet this is a nightmare to hoover,’ I said almost automatically.
A faint blush coloured his cheeks. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’
The simple and honest reply highlighted the differences between our lifestyles. Both then and now.
‘No, I suppose you don’t.’ I gave him a look.
‘Lucky you. It’s a beautiful room though, Tomas.
’ I stayed at the periphery. It didn’t seem quite right to stride into there and nose around.
We hadn’t even agreed that we were officially dating.
Were we? Did people ‘officially agree’ on that sort of thing these days or was it just accepted?
Was it automatically assumed that we were, as the Americans put it, ‘exclusive’ or was it automatically assumed that we weren’t?
Did it bother me? Was I getting ahead of myself?
‘Am I going to be invited into the conversation?’
‘Huh?’ My head snapped up and I met his eyes, gold flecks in the deep blue dancing in the low light of the lamps that had illuminated when he flicked the switch at the door.
‘You seemed to be having a very in-depth conversation over there. I wondered if I was going to be invited to join at any point?’
‘Oh!’ I laughed with a hint of embarrassment. ‘Sorry. Miles away.’
Fibber.
‘Really?’
Bugger. That was the thing with old friends. They knew you too well, even when there had been years in between, changes of all kind. The people that knew you really knew you.
‘You have very good taste. It’s all beautiful, Tomas.’
There was a pause. He knew I’d avoided the question and, thankfully, let it go.
‘I can’t take the credit for that.’
‘I’m sure you had input with the interior designer,’ I said, stepping from the room and back into the hallway. He followed me and pulled the doors closed behind us.
‘Yes.’
‘Then don’t be so modest.’
‘Would you like a drink?’
I checked my watch. ‘I ought to be getting home, but thank you.’
A flicker of disappointment crossed his face and I felt the same but I wasn’t ready for the possibility that one drink might lead to another and that to something else.
I was feeling freer, more confident, than I had in a long time but I’d also not shown my bits off to anyone other than my husband in a very long while and even the latter had been pretty intermittent over the last few years.
The last time Tomas and I had gone to bed, I’d been a lot younger, and a lot perkier than I was now.
Thankfully, being less endowed in the boob department meant that I was hardly kicking them along if I didn’t wear a bra – which, with the French resistance to such undergarments I was succumbing to more and more, was just as well.
But they still weren’t exactly standing to attention with the same gusto they had in years gone by and various other bits of me were definitely more southerly located than they had been back then.
Tomas, on the other hand, appeared to have aged as well as one of his family vineyard’s fine wines.
‘You’re doing it again.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked as he held my coat up and I slipped my arms into the sleeves.
‘Chatting away to yourself.’
‘Was I?’
‘Mentally,’ he said, shrugging on his own impeccably cut overcoat.
‘Oh. Well, I have a lot to say,’ I joked.
‘I’d like to hear it.’
‘Another time, perhaps.’
He looked like he was about to reply but then changed his mind.
‘Why are you putting your coat on?’
‘To walk you home.’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s chilly out there now. Stay here in the warm. I know my way.’
‘I know that,’ he replied, picking up his keys from the gleaming blue marble bowl on the console table he’d dropped them in when we’d entered the house several hours ago.
He looked down at me. Even with the new heeled boots I’d chosen to go with my outfit today, he still had a good seven inches of height on me.
‘Kitty, would you allow me to walk you home?’
I looked up into his face and knew it wasn’t just the wine that meant I’d find it hard to say no to anything this man asked.
‘That would be lovely, thank you.’