‘I’m fine,’ Orla answered. ‘You’re talking to someone who’s had to run from lava in Italy.’
‘This does not happen usually,’ Jacques remarked.
‘You surprise me,’ Orla said. ‘Seeing as how there was a lady stationed by a fire extinguisher throughout the whole contest.’
‘That is Madame Voisin,’ Jacques said, as if that explained it all.
‘And?’
‘She needs to have something to do or she will start doing things that Delphine does not want her to do.’
‘Ah,’ Orla said, sipping the cognac, which was pleasantly warming. ‘Delphine seems to be at the very heart of everything here, doesn’t she? This fiery contest, the shop-stroke-café-stroke-bed-and-very-rapid-breakfast, my being here, the non-existent reindeer…’ She let the sentence linger.
‘You still do not believe it is coming,’ Jacques said as a statement.
‘Do you? If you’re really honest?’
She looked straight into his eyes, wanted to see any flicker of hesitation. She usually had a good read on whether someone was telling the truth or not.
‘I believe that Delphine would not deliberately mislead me,’ he answered.
‘But would she misleadme?’
‘Delphine is a good person. Why would you think otherwise?’
He had a point. What was this immediate distrust she was sending out into the world lately? Was how things had ended with Henry now making her question everything and everyone?
‘I… don’t know,’ she admitted.
‘Well, I have known her for a while now and her motive behind anything is good-natured.’
‘Apart from when she’s insisting I’m standing over the mark on the floor for the beanbag throw.’
‘You were,’ Jacques said with a smile.
‘Maybe one tiny toe’s worth,’ she admitted.
‘And you made the final so…’
Yes, that’s how crazy this place was. She was in the final of a beanbag slinging contest.
‘So I should probably ask you some questions before I have to spend my days practising for that. Is there a cash prize or an actual crown?’
‘Is that your first question?’
It was beginning to be a running joke now but she really did have to get her journalistic head on if she was going to make anything productive out of this trip. Even if the pregnant reindeer turned out to be no more than a festive myth, she would be expected to come up with goods of some kind. And currently, in any spare second, Orla was going back over autumn conversations she’d had with Frances where her boss had definitely been budget conscious. WasTravel in Mindin financial difficulty? Could her job be at risk if this story didn’t fly? It was one thing to want bigger and better things – like her dream ofTimemagazine – but it was quite another to have to jump ship quick if the need suddenly arose. She took a sip of her drink.
‘I asked it before – why do some people call you “Wolf”?’ She cradled the cognac glass in her hands.
He shrugged. ‘What does it matter?’
‘OK, well, I get “Wolf” is giving all manly and strong, but you’re telling me if the village called you “Buttercup” or something you wouldn’t want to know why?’
He shrugged again. ‘Why doyouthink they call me “Wolf”?’
She looked at him again with this in mind. ‘Well, it wouldn’t be a name I would call you in relation to how you look.’
‘No?’
