“I’ve hired a new waitress. She starts on Wednesday.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I did it for you.”
14
On Tuesday night, Paul set his alarm and went to bed around midnight. At nine the next morning, he left his apartment, stopped for some coffee, waved good-bye to Moustache, and went off to do his shopping. His first stop was the greengrocer, with its radiant display of colors. Next, he made stops at the butcher, the fishmonger, the cheesemonger, and finally the patisserie. Back outside his apartment building, he did a U-turn in the direction of the wine merchant. He chose two bottles of agrand cruBordeaux, checked his shopping list, and finally went home again.
He spent the rest of the day in the kitchen, set the table at four p.m., took a bath at five, got dressed at six, and sat on his sofa, skimming his latest chapters with one eye while checking his watch with the other.
Mia had allowed herself a lie-in. The night before, she had celebrated her last shift at Daisy’s restaurant with a few drinks too many. Feeling very tipsy, the two friends had ventured outside to Place du Tertre, hoping the fresh air would sober them up. They had sat on a bench talking about life, and getting nowhere. Except Mia did manage to make Daisy promise she would close La Clamada at the end of September, so the two of them could spend a week together in Greece.
At noon, Mia went for a walk up to Place du Tertre and said hello to the caricaturist. She ate breakfast outside at a café, and then went to the hairdresser. Then she stopped at a boutique and emerged with a pretty spring dress. She went back to the apartment around five o’clock and ran herself a deep bath.
At seven thirty, Paul checked the temperature of the oven, browned the crawfish, chopped the fresh herbs and mixed them into the salad, coated the lamb chops with a Parmesan-cheese crust, then went back to check that there was nothing missing on the table. Next, he opened one of the bottles of wine to let it breathe, went back to the living room to read, returned fifteen minutes later to the kitchen to put the rack of lamb in the oven, went back to the living room, looked out the window, examined his reflection in the mirror, tucked his shirt in and then immediately untucked it again, lowered the temperature of the oven, looked out the window again (leaning out this time for a better view of the street), decided to air the room, took the rack of lamb out of the oven, sat down on the sofa again, checked his watch, sent a text, started reading again, sent a second text at nine p.m., blew out the candles in the candelabra at nine thirty, and sent one last text at ten o’clock.
“Why do you keep looking at your phone?”
“No reason. Just a habit.”
“Mia, look me in the eyes. I came all the way across the Channel to win you back.”
“I am looking you in the eyes, David.”
“So just where were you headed when I rang the doorbell at Daisy’s?”
“Nowhere.”
“Right. Headed nowhere, all made-up with a new hairstyle. Why on earth would you cut your hair like that?”
“I just wanted a change.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Did you have a date with somebody?”
“Yes, I was off to go screw my lover. Is that what you want me to say? At least then we’d be even.”
“God’s sake, Mia! I came here to make up with you.”
“Have you seen her again?”
“No, I already told you: I’ve been on my own in London since you left, and I haven’t been thinking about anyone but you. I sent you so many messages, but you never replied to any of them. So here I am . . . to tell you I love you. That I made a stupid mistake. And I can’t forgive myself.”
“Yet you want me to forgive you.”
“I want you to give our marriage another chance. What can I say to make you understand? It was nothing more than a lapse of judgment. It didn’t mean anything.”
“To you, maybe.”
“I was in a bad place. That shoot was hard on both of us. You seemed inaccessible. I was weak. Mia, I would do anything for you to forgive me. I’ll never hurt you again. I swear it. If you could agree to draw a line through this mistake, move past it, and forget the whole thing.”
“Hit the delete key and make the past disappear like the pages of a manuscript . . .”Mia muttered under her breath.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
David grabbed Mia’s hand and kissed it. She watched him, feeling a lump rise in her throat.
