“Perhaps that’s because you’ve lived a regimented life as a married man for the past few years, spending your evenings drinking tea and looking forward to the excitement of a new British crime series on TV ...”
He laughed. “Marriage can be more exciting than that. And you’re forgetting that I work in TV; it’s very fast-paced and you meet all kinds of people. Who find themselves interesting, at least, even if no one else does.” He paused, seemed to be gathering himself. “But I mean what I said. I think you’re interesting. I recognize myself in you, your passion for wine.”
“Same. You’re ... interesting too.”And absolutely gorgeous.She hardly dared move, he was so close. At that moment her phone buzzed and she picked it up. Frederic. She quickly rejected the call.
“Let me guess—Frederic?”
Bente raised her eyebrows. “Frederic, yes.”
“So what’s the story with you two?”
She told him about meeting Frederic in Paris, about him being her tutor when she was training to be a sommelier. “We started dating. He showed me the city.” She was turning her glass around and around as she talked. “I fell in love and he broke my heart.” She finished her wine. “When we saw each other today, I realized I’m too old for men like him.”
Didrik nodded and gave a faint smile. There was clearly some satisfaction in that smile, the same one Camille wore when she tasted a really fruity Shiraz from the New World—her “guilty pleasure” wine.
That smile made Bente’s heart beat even faster.
There were plenty of people out and about on this Parisian spring evening. The streetlamps along their route back to the hotel looked like a necklace of glowing beads. They were surrounded by the typical hum of a big city, the typical hum of Paris.
They stopped outside the hotel.
Didrik glanced around and began to laugh, then he looked deep into her eyes.
“What?” Bente was confused. “Is something wrong?”
Didrik didn’t answer. He leaned toward her ... and wiped something off her cheek.
There was silence all around them, as if the world was holding its breath.
Thecrémantthey had drunk, the red wine, the good food, all those spices, the shimmering lights all around them, the smells of the city—she almost felt dizzy. Or was it his closeness that was to blame?
What if he kissed her? What would she do? Kiss him back? They were colleagues. And he was in the middle of a divorce.
As if he could read her mind, he looked away and turned toward the door. They walked inside.
“Tomorrow will be exciting,” he said, as if nothing had happened.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“By the way, I booked a meeting with a military historian for tomorrow. Apparently she knows a lot about the French Foreign Legion.”
Bente stopped in her tracks. What had he just said?He’dbooked a meeting? Wasn’tshethe one who was supposed to be running the production side of things—or had she misunderstood? He’d taken the meeting with the man who ran the blog on the Foreign Legion, and now this.
“Okay ... When did you do that?”
“Sometime last week.”
“And can we fit it in tomorrow?”
“Yes, around lunchtime. Elnaz thought it sounded great when I mentioned it to her.”
“Did she. And when did the two of you discuss it?” God, she sounded difficult—she could hear it in her voice. Was she overreacting? Was it arrogant to think that everything should go through her? After all, Didrik was the star of the show.
“I don’t remember—I think we did it via email.” He looked warily at her. “I just wanted to help out.”
They had reached the elevator. She turned to him.
“Thanks, but I can handle the show myself.” She forced a smile. “See you tomorrow.” She left him standing by the elevator and headed for the stairs.
