‘Unfortunately not, but I did send it through to my mother, and trust me, she will be the one to discover who it was drawn by,’ he said. ‘I have had it pinned to my wall, though, as I worked, and the whole mystery of it all has intrigued me, I have to say.’
‘Your mother is in fashion?’
Henri gave her a tight smile. ‘Ah, you could say that, yes. Anyway, tell me, why now? What made you start searching for answers?’
Blake twisted slightly in her seat to better look at Henri when he spoke. ‘I ignored the clues for so long, but something about that design, it’s really drawn me in. Now that I’ve started searching for whoever created it, I feel as if I can’t stop until I find out who it is.’
‘It was like that for me when I started to curate my exhibition,’ Henri said. ‘I became obsessed with searching for the right pieces, and once I’d started, I simply couldn’t stop.’ He was quiet for a moment before continuing. ‘It’s actually why I asked you for dinner tonight. Yesterday when you came to mystudio was the first time I’ve gone out for lunch or even left the building in days. It reminded me that I need to stop and enjoy myself once in a while.’
‘Well, I appreciate the invitation. I know no one else in Paris, so it’s lovely to have someone take me out to dinner.’
‘You dined alone last night?’
She laughed. ‘I certainly did.’
‘Well, no woman as beautiful as you should ever have dinner in Paris alone. I think it is perhaps a crime.’
Blake laughed, immediately wondering if he truly thought that, or if it was just his French charm. Either way, it made her skin flush. ‘I’m sure it’s not, but thank you.’
They pulled into a car park and he got out and walked around the vehicle to open her door, before holding his arm out to her. She took it, liking that he was making such an effort to be a gentleman. He’d spoken twice about his mother now, and she found herself curious to know how she knew so much about fashion.
‘It’s straight across the road there,’ Henri said, pointing to a restaurant with planter boxes filled with meticulously trimmed green hedges, creating a room-like feel around the front. In the fading light, she could see that the awning around it was a crisp white to match the chairs and tablecloths, with a wide glass frontage through which she could see impossibly beautiful couples dining and laughing in the low light.
‘Something tells me this isn’t somewhere I could have come to and been offered a table tonight,’ Blake said. How had he even managed to get a reservation at such short notice?
‘It’s one of my favourite places to eat,’ he said, ‘and they make unforgettable cocktails.’
Blake didn’t need to be convinced—she happily walked through the door, dropping her hand from his arm as she stepped ahead of him. As she’d guessed, he was greeted by nameand they were ushered to a very private table near the back, and within seconds there was a waiter standing at their table holding a very expensive-looking bottle of champagne.
‘Thank you,’ she said, when it was offered to her first, before correcting herself by saying, ‘Merci.’
‘To unexpected dinners,’ Henri said, holding up his glass for her to clink hers to.
She repeated his words and held up her glass, before they each took a sip.
‘I have to confess that I wanted to make it up to you, for the way I answered the door yesterday,’ Henri said. ‘I want you to know that I’m not usually such a monster when pretty women knock at my place of work.’
Blake laughed. ‘You’ve already apologised, and besides, it’s fine. I know what it’s like to be caught up in work like that. I knocked at the wrong time.’
‘Did Mathilda tell you about my exhibition?’
‘She told me that you were putting together something extraordinary that had been years in the making.’
Henri’s eyes met hers as they both sipped their champagne again. ‘I’m flattered that she called it extraordinary, but she’s right about the time frame. I’ve been wanting to create something for many years, to make fashion accessible for all. I want anyone to be able to visit the exhibition and walk through the past century in French fashion.’
‘Well, it does sound rather extraordinary,’ Blake said. ‘I think you’re being modest.’
‘Tell me about you,’ Henri said, sitting back in his chair. ‘What do you do for work?’
‘I’m a journalist,’ she said. ‘I’m writing a series of articles on finding out what I can about my great-grandmother, and the clues that have led me here to Paris. It’s the lead story for our new digital platform.’
‘I believe your readers are eagerly waiting for the third instalment.’
She was certain her cheeks flushed a very deep shade of pink. ‘You’ve read my articles?’
‘It would be far more concerning if I hadn’t done my research before asking you out for dinner,’ he said with a wink. ‘Although I couldn’t help but wonder if I might be mentioned in the next story, now that you’ve finally tracked down the Frenchman who might hold the key to the past.’
Blake groaned. He’d just quoted her. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m sure my pink cheeks did a very good job of conveying my embarrassment, though.’
