“Fair enough, but I’ve watched a few episodes ofThe Amazing Race, and it’s not bad. It’s probably the best of the genre.”
“Faint praise indeed.”
“I don’t mean it to be,” Julia protested, laughing. “I rather enjoy the show—the spectacular scenery of all those faraway locales, the interesting tidbits of world cultures. It certainly isn’t howI’dlike to travel, racing around and completing challenges rather than savoring every moment, but as entertainment, it works. It deserved to win the Emmy last night.” She paused as a memory rose. “Charles never liked the idea of pitting artists against one another for prizes. He used to say that the work itself was the reward.”
“Charles could say such things. He had two Oscars.” Nigel sighed. “Well, one must endeavor to be a good sport. What are your plans for the evening?”
“I don’t really have any. It looks like I’ll have a quiet evening at home.”
“I have a better idea. Come with me to Napa.”
“Now? That’s nearly a seven-hour drive!”
“Santa Barbara, then. Dinner at Tre Lune. The food is excellent and they never recognize us. We can dine like ordinary people.”
“They always recognize us, Nigel,” Julia said, amused. “They just don’t make a fuss.”
“Then you have no reason to refuse. Do say yes,” he implored. “I’m bored and lonely. Don’t make me eat takeaway at my kitchen counter, alone and pathetic.”
“When you put it that way...” Julia glanced at the container of risotto gathering condensation on the counter. “What sort of friend would I be if I didn’t help you escape such a dreadful fate?”
“I’ll come by for you in fifteen minutes.”
Then she was already late. “See you soon.” She hung up and raced off to get ready.
Soon they were driving up the coast, taking Highway 1 to the 101 and on to Santa Barbara, gossiping and bantering all the way. Arriving just as the sun was setting, they had a brief wait at the bar, but soon were seated at a white-draped table for two, perusing menus and sighing with anticipation as delectable aromas from the kitchen wafted their way. Black-and-white photographs of stars from the Golden Age of Hollywood adorned the walls, but otherwise the ambiance was of a classic Italian bistro, reminding Julia fondly of her travels in Tuscany with Charles. As Nigel studied the wine list, vowing to limit himself to a single glass, Julia’s gaze lingered on a still of Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart fromSabrina, regarding each other warily as they danced. With a sudden, wistful ache, she wondered if anything she had ever accomplished in her career would merit including her photo on the wall in such company. Probably not, she decided, and returned her attention to the menu.
Julia was savoring a decadent dish ofrigatoni ai tre funghi, Nigel thepenne al ragù di cinghiale, when she finally broached the question that had been bothering her since the previous evening. “Where was your favorite plus-one last night?” she asked lightly, sipping heracqua frizzante. “If memory serves, you said he was coming in for the ceremony.”
“He meant to have done.” Nigel offered a melancholy smile and reached for his wineglass. “At the last minute, UNESCO asked him to join a team tasked with identifying and recovering antiquities looted from the Iraq Museum in Baghdad.”
Startled, Julia set down her water glass, nearly toppling it. “Alistair is in Baghdad?”
Nigel allowed a small smile. “Themuseumis in Baghdad. Alistair is in Switzerland, where some of the artifacts have been shipped to black-market buyers—allegedly. That’s what he’s meant to determine.From there, he expects to be sent on to Jordan or Paris, but he definitely won’t be going to Iraq.”
“I’m glad he’s safe,” said Julia, relieved. “This assignment sounds terribly important, but I’m sorry he had to cancel his visit with you.”
“Fortunately, I didn’t win the Emmy, so he didn’t miss my heartbreakingly beautiful acceptance speech.”
Julia reached across the table and clasped his hand. “But he missed seeing you. And I know you miss him terribly.”
“Hence my desperate, last-minute invitation to dinner, which you so kindly accepted. I wanted to wallow in self-pity, and for that, I require a sympathetic audience.”
“You don’t wallow.”
“Perhaps ‘indulging’ is a better word for it.” He sighed. “To be honest, I could use a distraction. Alistair meant to spend a fortnight here with me before we returned to London together. Now our plans are scrapped and our reunion has been postponed indefinitely.”
“I’m so sorry,” Julia said. “How about this—I know I’m a poor substitute for Alistair, but I’m free this weekend. Why don’t we drive up to Napa after all? We can tour some wineries, visit a spa, go hiking among the redwoods—”
“Thank you, darling,” he said, placing his hand over hers, “but it was a bad idea and I never should have asked you. I wouldn’t be a very pleasant travel companion. I fear I’d only make you as miserable as I am myself.”
“I’m willing to risk it.” When he shook his head and reached for his wineglass again, she changed tack. “At least come for dinner at my place Thursday night. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t do the cooking. We’ll watch the new episode ofPatchworkand congratulate each other for our brilliant performances.”
He mulled it over. “That sounds rather nice, actually.”
“Then it’s a date,” she declared, before he could talk himself out of it.
The mood was more hopeful as they finished the meal. Nigel’s promised single glass of wine turned into two, followed by limoncello in a chilled cordial glass, so Julia drove Nigel’s Jaguar back to her place. She settled him into her guest room, brushing off his apologies and smiling at his vows of eternal devotion. He was snoring before she switched off the light and softly closed the door.
