He leaned in and whispered in her ear. ‘Only around you, Hattie.’
They emerged into the bright sunshine again and Luc insisted on taking her to lunch.
‘I know a place that does an excellentplat du jour. Three courses.’
‘For lunch?’ It seemed such a decadent thing to do. ‘I’d be quite happy with a baguette on a park bench or a quick sandwich.’
‘That isn’t lunch.’ He sounded mildly outraged.
‘Are you sure?’ Hattie asked.
‘I’m French. I’m sure. Lunch is the most important meal of the day.’
‘Really? What about dinner?’
‘That’s equally important. But we’re not in a hurry. We will have time to digest properly and then we can visit Notre Dame.’
‘I thought that was in Paris.’
‘Notre Dame is Our Lady – there are lots of Notre Dames all over France. The cathedral here is officially Notre Dame de Reims. The one in Paris is Notre Dame de Paris.’
Luc led her through the streets to a tiny restaurant that had fewer than ten tables inside and some crammed onto the pavement.
‘This looks lovely.’
‘It is. The food is excellent.’
‘It’s very busy.’
‘That’s because everyone stops for lunch in France.’
Hattie, a great one for sandwiches at her desk, raised a sceptical eyebrow.
‘It’s true. Did you know UNESCO declared French gastronomic meals a part of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity?’
‘You’re having me on,’ said Hattie, not believing a word of it.
‘I promise you. Look it up.’ He tapped at his phone screen and then held it up. ‘It is important for togetherness, pleasure and the balance between people and the bounty of nature. Do you want to sit inside or out?’
‘Can we sit outside?’ replied Hattie immediately. ‘I love being able to eat outside. It always feels terribly decadent and as if I’m on holiday.’
Once seated at a table with crisp white napkins and a blue and white checked tablecloth, and with a leather-bound menu in her hand, Hattie struggled with a few words that were beyond her schoolgirl vocabulary.
‘What’s aballotine?’ she asked, having worked out thatpurée fuméewas smoked mash, although smoked mash of what, she wasn’t quite sure.
‘It’s a boned thigh that is stuffed and rolled and served in slices.’
‘And what ismaroilles?’
‘It’s a type of cheese.’
‘Okay. What do you recommend?’
‘Everything,’ said Luc. ‘It’s all good here.’
‘You’re no help.’ She laughed and went back to the set menu. ‘I’m not sure I can eat three courses for lunch.’
‘Don’t worry. Here the focus is on quality rather than quantity. French people don’t tend to snack between meals.’
