Her Miracle Twins. Margaret Barker
his glass towards Chantal.
They could relax now. Michel was beginning to actually look her in the eyes. He seemed to be studying her face now, as if it was the first time he’d ever really seen her. Well, it was the first time they’d been alone together in an off-duty situation and it felt very strange.
She sipped the wine. Mmm, the house wine was always good here and the first bottle was usually a gift to regular clients.
She looked around her. ‘The babies seem to be settling at last.’
Michel smiled. ‘I love the sound of families enjoying themselves.’ He paused, his voice husky. ‘Except it reminds me …’
He was looking down at the table now, tracing the pattern woven into the lace. She waited until he looked across at her a few seconds later. There was a sad expression on his face.
‘What does it remind you of?’ she prompted gently.
‘Oh, it’s not important. I was simply going to say …’
‘Here you two go, a small starter for you.’
Florence was placing a couple of plates in front of them. There was pâté garnished with a tomato salad and gherkins and a basket containing warm, freshly baked bread in the centre of the table.
Chantal made a mental note to ask Michel what he’d been going to say just now about the families enjoying supper together. It had appeared to have had a profound effect on him. But she wasn’t going to pursue that line of conversation at the moment. Not when she was feeling relaxed and could see Michel was enjoying himself at last.
He picked up the bottle and poured more wine into her glass. She knew she would have to slow down on the wine at some point. Still, they weren’t driving and if she stumbled on the sand, Michel could always carry her. She suppressed a giggle as she reached for more of the delicious bread to accompany the tasty pâté.
‘What’s so amusing?’
She laughed. ‘I was just reminding myself I’ve got to walk over the sand near where I sprained my ankle so I’d better go easy on the wine.’
He laughed with her. ‘No problem. We coped last time, didn’t we?’
‘There won’t be a repeat tonight, I assure you,’ she said firmly, biting into a gherkin.
Florence took away their starter plates and placed a steaming tureen of asparagus soup on the table.
By the time the main course was served Chantal’s initial hunger was feeling deliciously appeased. They were both eating the roast-chicken dish much more slowly, talking more across the table, and the wine seemed to be disappearing very quickly. This was definitely a fun evening at last. The ice had been well and truly broken.
They had started discussing the theatres in Paris, shows they’d seen, music that pleased or displeased them. All the worthwhile frills of life that got pushed into the background when they filled their days with work, however important it was.
‘Yes, I do find I have to make time for leisure pursuits when I’m living away from Paris,’ Chantal said. ‘I love the countryside and the sea but sometimes I long to go out to the theatre.’
‘There’s a very good theatre in Le Touquet. I must take you there one evening.’
‘I’d like that.’ She would, she really would. Going to the theatre was something that good friends and colleagues could enjoy together without it meaning any commitment on either side.
Florence’s husband, Giles, who was now waiting on the tables while Florence concentrated on the cooking, paused beside their table to remove the empty bottle and bring back a new one. Michel was now chatting amicably with Giles about wine. It transpired that Giles’s brother had a vineyard near Bordeaux so supplies of good wine were easy to come by.
Chantal could feel herself warming more and more towards Michel. She was seeing sides of his character she’d never seen before. Asking him to come out for supper tonight had been a good idea after all. And whatever her motives might have been, she was enjoying herself, delighted that she was getting to know the real man behind the work-obsessed Michel.
The restaurant was now completely full and people were queuing outside. They’d finished their delicious dessert of raspberry tart when Florence asked if they would like to have their coffee served on the veranda.
Michel said that was an excellent idea. It was one of those splendid early summer evenings that were made to be enjoyed in the fresh air.
Michel chose a secluded table in the corner of the veranda, overlooking the sea. The gentle sound of the waves was so romantic, just the sort of evening for a stroll along the beach, hand in hand with someone close to you. That wouldn’t happen with herself and Michel. It was obvious that even though they were enjoying themselves they were both carrying too much baggage from the past.
She took a sip from her coffee cup, her eyes on the man opposite her. His enigmatic expression was giving nothing away. Placing her delicate china cup carefully back on the saucer, she tentatively asked Michel what he’d been going to say when they had first arrived. ‘You said this place reminded you of something.’
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