Simon set the neatly wrapped package on the table. “Hello, Delphine,” he said. “Brought you a present.”
It was one o’clock. The restaurant Bibendum on Fulham Road in Chelsea was nearly full. It was one of Simon’s favorite spots. He liked the food and the décor, which changed according to the season. Today, the fifth of July, the colors were yellows and oranges—something to do with growth and abundance. Mostly, though, he liked the memories the restaurant evoked. He had a history with the place.
Delphine Blackmon offered her cheek. Simon bent to kiss her, then took his place across the table.
“We missed you at the service,” she said. “I didn’t know he’d come from such a small town. So remote.”
“I’m sorry,” said Simon. “I couldn’t get there.” It was all he wanted to say.
He’d had his own service for Rafa. One Friday evening not long after he returned, he made his way to the Blackfriar. He bought two pints and set them on the bar where they used to sit. Guinness for himself. Stella for Rafa. He hadn’t known what to say, so he’d thanked him silently for the good times they’d had. It was enough. Upon leaving, he gave the untouched beer to a young man in an almost decent suit. A banker, probably a trainee. Rafa would have liked that.
“What’s this, then?” With care, Delphine unwrapped the plain brown paper. Inside was an old hardcover copy of Alexandre Dumas’sThe Three Musketeers.
“Or should I call you ‘Milady’?”
Delphine put down the book. “She was always my favorite character.”
“She was a spy for Cardinal Richelieu. She tried to betray the king. I believe that made her the villain.”
“That’s one way of looking at things. She also knew how to look after herself. She didn’t rely on husbands, lovers, orfriends. For a woman in the seventeenth century, that was something.” Delphine set down the book. She looked at Simon forthrightly and without apology. “How long have you known?”
“Long enough.”
“The first time I saw the painting I was with you.”
“I remember the day.”
Delphine’s eyes shifted to the distance. “I didn’t like it. It scared me. Still does.” She looked back at him. “I guess it stayed with me.”
“Guess so.”
Simon ordered a DeLap—grape juice, soda water, a large chunk of lime—a thing he’d picked up from a former flame.
“You’re looking prosperous,” she said. “Business good?”
“Very. Smart money is figuring out that the right sports car is a better investment than the stock market or real estate.”
“Doesn’t that spoil the fun?”
“Fun is for purists. I’m more of a mercenary these days. My bank account comes first. People want to pay me a half-million pounds to restore a car, I don’t care what they do with it afterward. Drive it in the Gumball Rally or keep it under lock and key in a bonded warehouse. Their choice.”
“My, that doesn’t sound like you at all.”
“It’s been a tough couple of months.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“Spare me the crocodile tears.”
“And I thought you’d invited me here to cheer me up after all I’d been through.” She sipped her mineral water, eyes locked on his. “Now that I’m a single woman.”
Simon laughed dryly. “Isn’t six weeks a little short as far as periods of mourning go?”
Delphine put down her glass and sat tall, appraising him. “You know, I think I rather prefer you this way.”
“What way is that?”
“Stripped of all illusion. You were such a wide-eyed dreamer.”
