‘You can’t eat lunch here without wine,’ he said. ‘You do drink?’
‘I—’Not usually at lunch. ‘Of course, wine is perfect.’
‘So this design of yours, it is from the 1930s,’ he said, ‘and although I don’t recognise the signature, I know someone who’s very knowledgeable in this particular period.’
They both took a sip of wine before he reached for the box. ‘May I?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
She watched as he opened the lid and took out the piece of fabric with a tenderness that surprised her, as if the material might disintegrate in his fingers.
‘This is special,’ he told her, holding it up to the light and gently rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb. ‘The mostused fabrics from this period were cotton and rayon, and linen in some cases. But this is silk velvet. If this sketch was made in this fabric? Let’s just say it would have been a very expensive finished product, not to mention a stunning one.’
She held out her hand and he dropped the fabric into her palm. ‘It’s different from regular velvet?’
‘You can tell from the softness and the luxurious sheen, and it has a shimmer through it when you hold it up to the light. It also looks slightly darker at some angles and lighter at others.’
‘The dress would have looked incredible in this fabric, if that’s why it was with the drawing.’
‘Oui. It would have been a dress like no other in the ’30s, of that I’m very sure. Not to mention that it would have been very expensive. For a dress to be made in a fabric like this, it would have to be designed for a very wealthy woman, or made by a well-known fashion house.’
‘But if no one recognises the signature…’ she said.
Henri held up his wine glass and gave her a smile that she couldn’t look away from. ‘Just because I don’t recognise it immediately does not mean I won’t have answers for you.’
Their food arrived then, and Blake’s eyes widened at the number of plates the waiter placed on the table in front of them.
‘I hope you don’t mind, I can’t remember the last time I ate.’
Blake’s stomach rumbled and made them both laugh. She didn’t mind at all.
An hour later, Blake could barely recall the grumpy, unimpressed man who’d answered the door to her. Henri had proved to be warm, interesting and most definitely charming, and she was sad that their lunch was drawing to a close.
‘Thank you for lunch,’ he said as he paid the bill, waving her away when their waiter took his credit card. ‘It was nice to see daylight.’
‘You’re working long hours?’
‘I am. This belief that the French barely work is nothing more than a fable. I can’t remember the last day I had off.’
‘I’ve always been told that the French work to live, not live to work.’
‘Well, that may be true in some cases, but you haven’t met my mother. She most definitely does not agree with that saying, which unfortunately is a trait that I have inherited.’
‘Well, I’m pleased we had lunch, too. This is my first time in Paris, so?—’
‘This is your first time in Paris?’ he asked. She loved the way he saidParis, in the way that only a Frenchman could.
‘I’m embarrassed to say that it is, indeed, my first time in France. And before you say it, yes, I do know how close London is.’
‘Do you plan on shopping while you’re here?’ Henri asked.
‘Yes,’ she replied without hesitating. She wondered if she should have told him the truth—that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the quaint boutiques she’d passed in the taxi, and that she intended on spending hours wandering the streets and shopping. ‘Anywhere I should go?’
‘The shops around here are fantastic, and you might like exploring Le Marais. Or if you’d like a French department store experience, you could try the Galeries Lafayette, which is right in the centre of the city.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll shop for a few hours and then go back to my hotel. It’s been a long time since I’ve given myself permission to shop for fun.’More like I’ve been saving for a rainy day most of my life, worrying about the future so much that I haven’t enjoyed the present.
‘You have dinner plans?’
