“Your cooperation would mean a great deal,” she added.
“Okay.” He slammed both hands down on the desk with an unexpectedly loud bang. “I’m in!”
She couldn’t help leaping to her feet, beaming at him. She tried to dampen her enthusiasm; she didn’t want to show how much shereallyneeded him. “Fantastic!” she said with a laugh.
“I’ll contact Elnaz about the logistics.”
“Excellent—I’ll book my trip as soon as everything is sorted.”
“Where will you go?”
Bente realized she’d been thinking aloud, but she was ecstatic. The show was going to happen! She smiled at Didrik. “Paris. The research won’t do itself, and I have some contacts there, so I’m hoping I can get some help with information about the bottle and its origin. A little bit of groundwork before we go over there to start filming.”
“Paris?” He looked thoughtful.
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if I tag along?” He seemed much more alert and brighter than before.
She hesitated. She had planned to do this on her own. On the other hand ... his knowledge was invaluable. She was no history expert.
“Okay, why not?”
“When are you going?”
“As soon as I get the green light from the production company confirming that there’s actually going to be a show. As soon as you agree on the practicalities.”
He remained silent for a moment, then nodded decisively.
“Cool. I’ll speak to Elnaz right away and ask her to book tickets for us.” He smiled at her, and her stomach flipped.
Perhaps it was because she would soon be in Paris.
Or maybe it was because Didrik Holgersson had just fired off the most charming smile.
10
Bente woke on the morning of her departure with a tingling, throbbing sensation in her body. She floated into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee while humming along to Bruce Springsteen, the way Dad used to do on the weekends: as a kind of warm-up for an afternoon of cooking, while playing Bruce at full volume.
The sun was shining from a cloudless sky. She wrapped herself in a thick cardigan and took her cup out onto the balcony and into the damp freshness of spring. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine that she was in Paris. The smell of asphalt warming up in the sun, the green shimmer of leaves in bud, about to burst forth yet still a little subdued, the way spring always was in a big city. Like the blurred contours of a painting.
It was happening; she was about to start work on her show. Her own TV show. After the meeting with Didrik, they had kept in touch and made a plan for their research in Paris—who they would contact ahead of time, which museums they would visit. She had done her part, and she hoped that Didrik had done his. He had been difficult to get ahold of, slow to answer emails, and even worse when it came to confirming that tasks had been done. All she could do was keep her fingers crossed.
She had arranged to see Camille, who she hoped could tell them more about the bottle, and some colleagues from her time as a sommelier in Paris: people who were experts on older wines. She had also tried toget in touch with Frederic. Her ex-boyfriend’s family owned a vineyard in Bordeaux, and he knew the area well. She hoped he would be able to answer several of her questions. She had to admit that she was also looking forward to seeing him. In typical fashion, he hadn’t yet replied. She was pretty sure they would see each other, though; he never missed her when she was in Paris.
She finished her coffee. Time for a shower. On her way to the bathroom, she bumped into her sister.
“You’re going today?”
“I am.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “There’s coffee if you want it.”
“You could still drop out of the trip,” Hanna said.
“Why would I do that? I want to go. Plus this is for work; I’m taking my camera so I can get some authentic material we might be able to use for the show.”
“But will doing the show make you feel good?”
“It’s going to be different this time. People have forgotten all about what happened.” At least that was what she told herself.
