A couple of minutes later with a ‘Voilà – bien cuit,’ the woman reappeared and shoved Lily’s plate rather roughly in front of her. The meat on it was steaming from the griddle.
‘Merci,’ Lily said. ‘Et désolé!’ she called after the woman’s retreating back.
‘Are you sure I haven’t done something wrong?’ she said to Frédérique with a grimace.
‘Do not worry about it,’ Frédérique replied, chomping on a chunk of what was basically raw cow arse, ‘they are very precious about their cooking, eh? The chef, ’e is insulted a bit I think?’
‘Oh,’ she said, her heart sinking. ‘Well, I didn’t mean…’
‘It is nothing, we are the customers!’ Frédérique told her, his smile a little spoiled by the small runnel of blood seeping from mouth to beard. ‘We come first, zey say this?’
She nodded, then cut into the steak, which – after an initial millimetre of cooked meat, was still entirely raw.
‘It iz better, yes?’
‘Much better,’ she lied, reaching for her wine and taking an enormous gulp before forcing a bit of raw meat into her mouth. ‘Yummy.’
They began to talk about her plans for running retreats, about Frédérique’s hope that he could introduce a new market day into the local town. They spoke about family – carefully avoiding anything about ex-husbands or divorces – and life in the local area.
The conversation flowed, the wine kept pace and soon Lily was relaxed, happy and tipsy enough to chow through her dinner without too many issues.
After the steak came dessert, paired with a rosé, then coffee and a small shot of something sticky and sweet. She offered to pay, but Frédérique refused. ‘Mais non, you are my guest,’ he said, handing his bank card to the waitress, whose look in Lily’s direction showed that she still hadn’t been forgiven for rejecting the steak.
After this, her memory got a bit blurry. She remembered stumbling back to the car with Frédérique afterwards – who clearly hadn’t filled his own glass as much as hers – laughing as she almost broke her heel on a rogue stone, climbing awkwardly into the passenger seat and beginning the journey back to Broussas, with Frédérique at the wheel.
But when she found herself in a strange room the next morning, she couldn’t really remember much about what had happened after that.
26
The curves in the road towards Broussas were car-sick inducing at the best of times. But this morning Lily definitely couldn’t be described as ‘being at her best’. As the driver signalled to turn into the road leading to her house, Lily asked him to pull over. ‘C’est bon,’ she said. ‘Je veux marcher… I’ll enjoy the walk.’
It was partially true, partially a complete and utter lie. Although the walk wouldn’t be completely unwelcome, she was more worried that navigating the bumpy road in the back of a taxi might wreak havoc on her stomach, which was already grumbling worryingly after its overdose of vin rouge, raw meat and whatever they’d had for dessert. The last thing she wanted to do was vomit in the back of a cab – not only because it was pretty disgusting, but because the driver was a local guy, one of only two taxi drivers around.
As it was, she was already a bit embarrassed at the fact she’d called a taxi to pick her up from Frédérique’s house. She’d woken at 8 a.m., to find a note telling her he’d had to go to work, but to help herself to coffee. He’d put the card for the taxi firm next to the note, and €20 for her fare, which she hadn’t taken.
It was kind of him not to wake her, but in some ways she wished she’d seen him this morning – if only to reassure herself that the magic that she’d felt the night before hadn’t just been caused by having too much wine. As she’d drunk her coffee, memories had began to flood back and she’d relived the last couple of hours of their date, piecing everything together. Frédérique driving them back along windy dark roads, laughing when she’d been convinced that a log on the verge had been a deer about to spring in front of the car.
Then she’d come back to his, sat on the sofa while he’d made them both a nightcap. They’d talked a little more, before he’d leaned in for a kiss – a deep, passionate embrace that had left her fizzing on the inside. But then, as she’d laid back and pulled him towards her, he’d broken off and told her it might be time they went to bed – separately. ‘I fink it will be better for us when per’aps you have not had quite so much to drink?’ he’d said. At the time, she’d felt a bit put out, but this morning she felt grateful that they hadn’t rushed into anything. Instead, he’d shown her to a guest room, where she’d crashed – fully clothed – on top of the feather duvet.