‘It’s my core business. Moreish Photography. London based but I have an office in France as well, now.’
‘Great name.’
Luc shrugged again. ‘It’s almost mine, anyway.’
‘True.’
Sophie took a sip of her champagne. Luc picked up his glass of water.
She kept her gaze on her glass as she put it down on the table again, pressing her lips together before she could add that it had always been his planned career, or worse, let a query about how he’d chosen the name for his dark alter ego escape.
Why on earth would she want to remind him of the man who’d been going to be his partner in crime for that chosen food photography career? Or hear him confirm that he’d chosen the name of Phoenix because he’d risen from the ashes of his torched life? The life that Sophie had led the destruction of by demanding that he was banned from attending Tom’s funeral. By standing side-by-side with her best friend as Hannah ended her engagement by almost throwing her ring back at Luc while telling him that she hated him. That she never,everwanted to see him or speak to him again.
It would hardly be conducive to a positive outcome to this meeting when his cooperation was the only way she could save her beloved business, would it?
Opening her menu, at least she didn’t need to search for something to redirect the conversation.
‘You’re very talented,’ she told him. ‘These photos are extraordinary. That lobster tail – it looks as if it’s been lifted straight from the sea.’
‘That glaze is actually a spray of glycerine and water,’ Luc told her. ‘One of the tricks of the trade. It’s got more sheen and clings a lot better than water or a glaze.’
The snowy cooked flesh of the luxury food item was clearly visible at the top end of the curl of the tail, presented upside down on a black oval plate. The blurred background, which could have been the exact sea view Sophie had at the moment, made it even more plausible that the gleam of moisture on the bright burnt-orange and red shell was sea water. The swirl of yellow lemon butter was eye-catching but not nearly as dramatic as the black tuile.
‘Squid ink,’ Sophie murmured, as she read the description of the featured dish.
Maybe this wasn’t a better direction for conversation, after all. Sophie could feel colour creeping into her cheeks as she remembered Luc asking Tom how he’d made the honeycomb tuile he put with the crème brûlée – the favourite dessert she’d never been tempted to taste since then.
Or was she remembering how it made her feel to watch Luc take a bite of that wafer?
That had been served on a black plate, as well. Maybe Luc still had one of the photos he’d taken of it. Had the plating of the lobster been an idea he’d suggested to the chef as they’d planned the photoshoot?
Sophie closed the menu. ‘It’s so hot today,’ she said. ‘Do you think the chef would be insulted if I just asked for the sucrine and tomato side salad as a main course?’
‘You can ask for anything you like,’ Luc replied. He hadn’t opened his menu and Sophie didn’t need to raise her gaze to know he was watching her face.
It didn’t sound like he was suggesting she asked for a personalised dish that wasn’t on the menu. It sounded like an invitation to get on with why they were together today, so Sophie glanced up as she accepted it.
‘I understand you spoke to Hélène Fournier yesterday?’
‘I did. She has arranged for me to meetle comtelater this afternoon.’
‘She said you would make a public apology for the inference that the kitchen staff were neglecting their responsibilities at the castle?’
‘I also said I would contact theDDPPand explain that I created the rubbish.’ He tilted his head. ‘I will not say that the original mess was what had caught my eye in the first place. Or that the publicity they’ve received from the artistic side of my photoshoot might boost their visitor numbers by a considerable amount. I may even offer them an update of the photography on their website, at no charge.’
He was prepared to lie, by omission, for her. And to provide time and talent they would be unwise to refuse if their own business, rather than their pride, was their priority.
‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘I really appreciate that.’
If the owner of the Château d’Orval changed his mind about cancelling her future bookings, Sophie would be on her way to saving her own business. There was a bigger favour she needed to ask for, mind you, but she would wait until they’d eaten their meal. If her suggestion was unacceptable to Luc, she might feel the need to escape his company as soon as possible. She would be offering him an opportunity for revenge for how she’d treated him all those years ago.
He could take it and still feel as if he’d done the right thing, couldn’t he? He’d come to France, after all, and he was going to smooth the troubled waters between Marry Me in Provence and the destination venue that was a clear favourite with her clients. Why would she expect anything more?
* * *
Sophie was happy with what he was going to do.
But Luc could feel something still hanging in the air between them. As if it wasn’t enough. Or was there something else on her mind?
