Mia grabbed the pen and began scribbling in his notebook. Paul looked at her in surprise.
“You kept your English number.”
“I did,” she admitted, blushing slightly.
“You have to agree that you are complicated.”
“Me in particular, or women in general?”
“Women in general,” Paul muttered.
“Just imagine how dull men’s lives would be if we weren’t. Oh, and this one’s on me. No ifs, ands, or buts.”
“I’m not sure the waiter’s going to go for that. I come here for lunch every day, and he has been given strict orders. Besides, I’m not sure they take British credit cards . . .”
Mia was obliged to accept.
“See you soon, then,” she said, shaking his hand.
“You got it. See you soon,” Paul replied.
He watched her disappear down the steps of the métro.
9
Arthur was waiting for Paul on the landing.
“Guess what? It seems I may have lost your spare keys,” he said.
“It just gets better and better,” Paul replied, opening the door. “How was Honfleur?”
“Gorgeous, charming.”
Paul entered the apartment without another word.
“Are you really still mad at me? It was only a joke.”
“Where’s your wife?”
“She’s visiting a colleague who’s interning at the American Hospital.”
“Do you have anything planned for tonight?” Paul asked as he started making coffee.
“You’re going to leave me in suspense—is that your sweet, sweet revenge?”
“Grow up, will you? I’m not going to waste my breath.”
“That bad, huh?”
“You mean during the half hour when this lovely woman thought she was having dinner with a psycho? Or afterward, when I realized just how god-awfully ridiculous you made me look?”
“She seemed nice. You might have had a good time together.”
Paul thrust a cup of coffee into Arthur’s hands.
“Tell me how she could have a good time when the best friend of the guy she was out with had mocked her in a way no man should be allowed to mock a woman.”
“You like her!” Arthur gasped. “You do! If you’re defending her honor, you must like this woman!”
