It made Sophie catch her breath. Wasthiswhat the danger she had been avoiding all her life really felt like?
Had Luc felt it, too? Was that why the smile that had been hovering around the corners of his mouth faded so suddenly?
‘The history of thewholeworld, huh?’ His gaze slid away from hers. ‘I’m impressed.’
* * *
Tom’s newfound passion for food led them away from their favourite pub eventually. London was a dream destination for a student of gourmet cookery and he declared that everyone had to join him in what he called ‘doing some homework’ because he didn’t want to be eating alone in posh restaurants. For the same reason he insisted on paying for their fine dining at what were considered to be the top restaurants in London, but it still wasn’t comfortable for either Luc or Sophie to know that hundreds of pounds per person were being paid for them to sample a legendary Italian menu at The River Café, and they could only take a wild stab at how much it was to experience why The Fat Duck had earned its three Michelin stars.
They all, however, fell in love with a restaurant on Canary Wharf, where the tasting menu changed to a new theme every few weeks and was affordable enough for Sophie and Luc to insist on paying for themselves. Even better was when Tom practised the dishes at home and it was mandatory not only for Luc to take photographs of his efforts, but for Hannah and Sophie be there to eat them.
They weren’t complaining. Tom had discovered his passion and he had a gift for everything to do with cooking. He was learning all he could about classic cooking techniques, ingredients and presentation but he was blessed with an astonishing sensory awareness that gave him an exceptional palate, and he had an instinct for flavour balance and textures. He could create his own dishes but was happy to learn by recreating the work of others. Sophie was especially grateful for this talent.
‘Oh… you’ve made my favourite dessert. Crème brûlée.’
Tom’s face lit up. ‘I’ll make it every year,’ he murmured as he set a black bowl down in front of her. ‘On our anniversaries.’
Sophie barely heard the animated conversation that was going on around her. Suddenly, his words on the night they’d met didn’t feel like he’d been joking at all. And that gave her a thrill that sparkled all the way down to her toes. In a good way, not like the scorching heat of flames that were so obviously dangerous. Tom was exactly the kind of man she’d always seen as part of her future.
Asafeman…
A beautiful man, even, and not simply because he was good looking. He was kind. Fun to be with. Loving and trustworthy. He was the kind of man you could imagine being a wonderful husband and father.
‘That is the perfect quenelle,’ Hannah congratulated Tom, as she put her spoon into the decoration on the plate beside the small bowl. ‘I didn’t even know you could do it with custard instead of ice cream.’
‘And this tuile…’ Luc plucked a paper-thin caramelised wafer from on top of the quenelle after he’d snapped a last photo. ‘How do you get the honeycomb pattern?’
Sophie was watching as he put the tuile to his lips and closed his eyes as he took a tiny bite. She averted her gaze swiftly, feeling an odd frisson of… what was it? Guilt? Or was it annoyance because the awareness was creating interference in the thrill that Tom had just given her?
Nobody had noticed her sudden discomfort. Hannah was watching Luc as well. So was Tom.
‘You make a really thin batter,’ he explained, in response to Luc’s query. ‘And pour it on a silicone mat to bake it. That gives it the pattern.’
‘It’s all gorgeous.’ Sophie picked up her own tuile. ‘Almost too pretty to eat. I’m not surprised you’re top of your class for plating.’
‘I love this trend of using the negative space on the plate.’ Tom’s gaze was on Sophie again and he was smiling – so happy to be sharing his passion. ‘See the way the food is only on one side of the bowl? And it’s a dark bowl so it puts the focus on that silky cream of the custard. It’sla mise-en-scène.’
Hannah laughed. ‘The what?’
‘The staging,’ Luc translated. ‘Where you put things in relation to each other.’
‘So youdidlearn to speak some French in Paris.’ Hannah was still smiling. ‘When you totally failed at school despite having a best friend who’s half French?C’est un miracle.’
Sophie had never seen a smile quite like that on Luc’s face. So relaxed. So warm it felt like the sun was coming out and any broody kind of shadows had vanished. It lit up his face. Was that because it was directed purely at Hannah – his almost sister? Then the smile faded, leaving his face sombre. Unguarded? It was impossible to look away this time.
‘Nobody knew I was half French then,’ he said quietly. ‘Survival was about fitting in. Theprésentationis everything.’ He shrugged off his serious tone. ‘That applies to the personandthe plate. Tom, this is…’ He put his bunched fingertips to his lips and caught a kiss, releasing it into the air with a flourish. ‘Incroyable.’
Hannah pressed a hand to her heart with a gasp of delight. ‘Oh… that’s soFrench. Do it again.’
Luc shook his head but his smile had returned.
Sophie helped Tom carry the dessert dishes into the kitchen and that was the first time he kissed her. His mouth tasted of vanilla custard and caramel and she could still hear him promising to make her favourite dessert for her on every anniversary. That was the night their friendship slipped seamlessly into romance and a whirlwind courtship that was always going to end in their engagement and an epic party just a few months later.
In retrospect, it had always seemed like that party had been the beginning of the end.
They’d all been dancing on the tracks and they hadn’t seen the bright headlight of the train coming slowly but inexorably straight towards them. None of them had the slightest inkling that their worlds were going to be so utterly shattered in the very near future.
7
