But she wasn’t convinced. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t this…’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m trying to think of the English sayingthat’s like our “remuer le couteau dans la plaie”, which means “to wiggle the knife in the wound”.’
Angus’s lips twitched. ‘Are you thinking of “to rub salt into the wound”?’
‘Ah, oui. C’est ça. Thank you. It’s harder to remember when I don’t have someone to speak English with every day.’
‘I saw you sending the champagne back,’ Angus said calmly. ‘Because you remembered that it was on that rather long list of romantic things I didn’t want to see, yes?’
Tilly nodded.
‘I think that cancels out a little salt, don’t you? And… it’s not as though you’re going to order the bouillabaisse, is it?’
Tilly’s eyes widened. She shook her head – a small but emphatic movement.
It was Angus’s turn to nod. ‘Because you prefer steak, don’t you? Like me.’
‘I do,’ Tilly agreed.
Laurent appeared with the wine list but Angus didn’t open it. ‘Your best Merlot, please,’ he said. ‘We’re both going to have your steak frites this evening.’
‘An excellent choice, monsieur. A bottle or a glass?’
Angus’s gaze rested on Tilly. ‘Will you share the red?’
She really wanted to share his taste in wine as well as the meal but she just couldn’t. Tilly hated red wine. She did her best not to let an expression of distaste show on her face but she caught the almost invisible change to the crinkles at the side of his eyes.
Nothing got past this man, did it?
‘What’s your preference?’ he asked. Then one side of his mouth tilted in a wry twist, accompanied by a resigned shake of his head. ‘No… let me guess… champagne?’
Tilly felt her lower lip curve downwards in a grimace that was both an admission and an apology. Angus handed the wine list back to Laurent. ‘Please bring back the champagne.’
‘Just a glass,’ Tilly said quickly. She smiled at Laurent. ‘Your house crémant would be lovely.’ She didn’t want Angus forking out for a premium vintage champagne when he wasn’t going to be drinking it himself.
‘Crémant?’
‘It’s a wine made in the same way as champagne but it can’t be called champagne because it comes from a different region and the name is protected by the rules of appellation.’ Tilly smiled. ‘And it’s often very, very good but much, much cheaper. Your DNA will appreciate that,oui?’
Angus laughed.
A real laugh. Like the one she’d heard over the phone, only this one was so much better because she could see his face as well as hear the rich sound. She could see the way some of those deep lines softened – as if he was escaping, just for a moment, from the weight of disappointment and rejection that he was carrying on his shoulders.
Tilly had given him that moment and that made it a thing of joy.
* * *
The unexpected amusement that had made him laugh had changed something and it felt… significant.
She had just finished translating a conversation with the waiter who’d come to take their order and it seemed that there was quite a choice of the types of sauce their steaks could be adorned with.
The classic was peppercorn sauce but there was also Béarnaise, with butter and tarragon, Roquefort, with strong cheese, and bordelaise.
‘It has red wine and shallot and… what is the soft stuff in the middle of bones?’
‘Marrow?’
‘Oui. Merci. Marrow.’ Tilly was smiling as she gave a chef’s kiss. ‘Tellement délicieux.’
Angus didn’t normally have sauce added to anything. It was messy and came with the risk of splashing clothing. But listening to Tilly describe the sauces, with an accent that was so different to his own it seemed like her words were coated with the literary equivalent of a creamy sauce, made him want to taste one.
